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.

A good thing in excess can be a detriment, especially at your age. You lay splayed out on the floor, next to your most treasured Amaranth Cywir, High Sorcerer of Everlund. Despite his mild temperament, he possesses prowess that you did not account for, perchance derived from some sort of advanced magecraft. The two of you have been active all throughout the night until the dawn, leaving you breathless and totally spent. Worse, you are sore in all of the places that matter, and your entire body reeks of... perhaps there are things better left nondescript.

Your partner, by compare, does not seem worse for wear; he speaks his incantations and makes himself tidy and energetic instantaneously. Clothing himself, he extends his hand out to help you to your feet, an offer which you brusquely refuse. The cold stone floor is refreshing, and you are exhausted. Indeed, you shall remain where you are until you feel that it is appropriate to move. Willing to oblige you, he withdraws his arm, clearing his throat. "Sindiira, we really should discuss-"