The year is 1374 DR. Sixteen years have passed since the Time of Troubles, when the gods were made humble, and forced to wander the Realms as mortals. With the ascension of the mad god Cyric, Prince of Lies, and the recent return of the tyrant god Bane, Lord of Darkness, the future of Faerûn seems increasingly uncertain. It falls to bold individuals who possess an abundance of cunning, might, and determination to shape the future... should they be up to the challenge.

"Is is done, Phaere?" Purrs Vierna, eldest daughter and de facto matriarch of House Delyl. She sneers, causing her nose to turn up in a manner most hideous, though none dared inform her of this. It is an ugly idiosyncrasy that has possessed her since childhood, the sole blemish of a woman so otherwise fetching. Ever the impatient sibling, she paces back and forth, supervising the project expectantly.

"No, sister. It has only just begun." Playfully slapping her hand against the construct's burnished carapace, Phaere works some mystifying Art, activating the monster-machine. Thrumming mightily, the creature of steel comes alive, ready to fulfill its purpose. She holds an old garment in front of its snout, suppressing a cackle as it commits the scent to memory.

"The curtain rises, and the first act of our show begins!" She exclaims, sweeping her arms toward the mouth of the cavern, from which the daylight trickles into the dark below. "Run along now, lovely. And do play nice with Jezyrene - I love her so much! I ordered a glass coffin for her, so no mangling, understand?" Vierna jabs Phaere in the side with her scepter, employing just enough force to leave a bruise. "You waste my time with your grandstanding," insists the elder Delyl. "Get on with it."

Phaere laughs mirthfully, despite her recent injury. "Yes. Yes! Forgive me, sister. Hurry along now, my lovely!" Demanding no further instruction, the hunter speeds hell for leather toward the sunlit Realms.