REALM NEWS Evening to you, friends of the realm. I am Nightblade, keeper of the Adventurers Hall, and this week finds me with my boots dusty from a walk south to Vilnask, the town the silver and iron built. Lord Nasher has set his weekly bounty on Vilnask, that sturdy little mining town governed by its own Town Council, lying south of the city past Southwall and within an easy days ride of Crossergate. Whoever wins the most great battles there by Sunday night, three or more, takes the honour, the heralds call, and a place in the Hall of Fame. AYREON leads the count already with three battles won, though the week is young and Vilnask is a long road for anyone willing to walk it. Last weeks bounty, set upon Port Llast, went unclaimed. Nobody managed the three battles needed against those deadly stonecutters harbor, which tells you something about how fierce that coast has grown. Vilnask has always been patrolled well by Nashers private guard, a town mostly safe even for the inexperienced, but the old miners still mutter about something of monstrous evil said to live far below the town, deeper than any shaft they ever dug for silver or mithral. I asked after it at the gate and got only shrugs and a request that I not frighten the new arrivals. Make of that what you will. Meanwhile Windycliffs continues to answer Nashers call. The realm has now won five of the ten great battles he asks of us there, with AYREON again carrying the heaviest share of that work, five battles alone. Once we reach ten, Nasher turns his eye toward the Gallant Prince, that ghost ship still sitting wrong in Port Llast harbor with nobody quite brave enough to search her hold from bow to stern. TAVERN TALE Pull a bench close at the Wayward Blade and let me tell you about the miner who paid for his drink in riddles. An old prospector down from Vilnask, never gave his name, sat at the corner table one evening and offered to settle his tab not in coin but in puzzles, three of them, each one supposedly leading to a vein of silver nobody else had found. The barkeep, more amused than greedy, agreed. The first riddle led a clever patron to a crack in the cellar wall where a single tarnished coin sat waiting. The second sent three travelers chasing their own tails through town before admitting defeat. The third, the old miner refused to give at all, saying some answers were better left where they lay. He paid his tab anyway, counting out exact silver from a pouch that seemed far too light to hold it, thanked the room, and walked out into the dark toward the south road. Regulars at the Wayward Blade still argue over whether he was a real prospector down on his luck or something older wearing a miners boots, but nobody has managed to solve that third riddle yet, and the barkeep still keeps the tarnished coin behind the bar as proof the first two were true. FIRST TO MASTER No new name has reached the herald since last I wrote, so the honour of mastering Windycliffs, or of being first to clear any place the realm has not yet seen conquered, sits open for the taking. Step up and claim it, and I will be glad to write your name here next. THIS WEEKS GATHERING This Thursday the twelfth, at ten in the evening Central European time, which is nine in the evening in Britain, four in the afternoon on the American east coast and one in the afternoon on the west coast, come join me at the Wayward Blade Tavern for a round of riddles of our own, no silver required, just your wits and good company. Whether you are dusting off an old copy of the client or you have never once set foot past Neverwinter Square, log in through DOS or DOSBox and come find us by the fire. Keep your pick sharp and your lantern lit. I will see you on the road.

REALM NEWS Evening to you, friends of the realm. I am Nightblade, keeper of the Adventurers Hall, and I hardly know where to start, because the herald has had to clear his throat three times this week and every time the name was the same. AYREON mastered the Wharves on the nineteenth. Then the Warehouse District fell on the twenty seventh. Then, only yesterday, Southwall went the same way, every great battle in all three places won clean. I have kept this column for a good while now and I have never once had to write the same name three times running in the Hall of Fame. Whatever that adventurer is doing between fights, I half suspect they are not sleeping. With Southwall and the Warehouse District behind us, Nashers quest for the whole realm has already moved on, and Windycliffs is where his attention rests now, same as I told you last week, with the count still sitting at zero of the ten great battles the realm must win there together. Windycliffs has its own troubles worth knowing. The Lord Mayor governs the town, and the Lord Sheriff keeps order with whatever hands can be spared, deputizing shopkeepers when the inner square gets too crowded with things that bite. Both blame the pirate tyrant captains of Luskan, which will surprise nobody who has read this column before. Once we have won ten battles there, Nasher turns his eye to the Gallant Prince, still sitting quiet and wrong in Port Llast harbor. Which brings me neatly to this weeks bounty. Lord Nasher has set his sights on Port Llast itself, that close ally of ours under First Captain Haeromos Dothwintyl, known the coast over for its stonecutters and its nearness to trouble from the north. Whoever wins the most great battles there by Sunday night, three or more, takes the honour. Last weeks bounty, on the island of Trisk, went unclaimed. Nobody managed the three battles needed, which tells you something about how far out and how hard that rock really is. TAVERN TALE Settle by the fire of the Wayward Blade and let me tell you about the cracked mirror behind the bar. Nobody remembers who hung it there, only that it has always been slightly off, one long crack running corner to corner like a scar. Most nights it shows exactly what you would expect, tired faces and tankards. But every so often, if the fire burns low and the room goes quiet, a patron will glance up and swear the mirror shows the tavern as it looked years before, fuller benches, different faces, a round of cards nobody at the bar tonight is playing. One regular swears he saw his own grandfather in there once, young and laughing, though the old man had been gone a decade. Another claims the mirror showed an empty table that filled, moments later, with strangers who were never actually there when she turned around. The barkeep refuses to take it down, saying only that a tavern this old is allowed one or two secrets, and that the mirror has never once shown anybody anything untrue, only early. THIS WEEKS GATHERING This Thursday, the fifth, at ten in the evening Central European time, which is nine in the evening in Britain, four in the afternoon on the American east coast and one in the afternoon on the west coast, come raise a glass with me at the Wayward Blade Tavern. We will toast AYREON properly, swap theories on Windycliffs, and see who among us fancies being the next name the herald has to call. Whether you have walked this realm for years or you are only now dusting off the old client, log in through DOS or DOSBox and come find us. Keep your blade sharp and your lantern lit. I will see you on the road.

REALM NEWS Evening to you, friends of the realm. Nightblade here, keeper of the Adventurers Hall, and I will not bury the lead tonight, because it has been buried for thirty years. Adventurers may now cross blades with one another. In the old days on AOL a mage could turn a spell on another player, but a sword never could. The game itself held every blade back. That hold is lifted now. Out in the wild lands, the woods, the dungeons and the arena corner of Triboar, a fighter may strike another adventurer, and a mage may still loose a spell at one, just as in the nineties. THE RULES OF THE ROAD Look at the status line beside the name of the place you stand in. Where it says PVP, other players can harm you, inside a battle you are both part of. Where it says NON-PVP, you are safe. The towns are safe, all of them. On AOL that peace was only a promise players made to each other. Here the realm itself keeps it. Two things work differently from a monster at your throat. Your armour counts against another player, but your protective spells may not. And a sleeping or held adventurer is struck like anyone else, not slain outright. Those who die by another hand die as they would to an orc, so choose your quarrels with care, and perhaps keep a friend nearby with a cure. YOUR CONNECTION PROGRAM To enter the realm you need NWN program 1.4.0 or newer. Call in as usual and the realm will offer you the newest, 1.4.1. Say yes, wait a few minutes, then call again. Those who play with the launcher need do nothing. The new program brings two smaller gifts. A slow old machine, such as a Tandy 1000 or an XT, should now keep up at 9600 with a WiFi modem. And a PC with a network card and the mTCP programs can reach the realm with no modem at all. The Download page says how. If you call one of our telephone numbers with a modem, keep the port speed at 2400. The lines answer at 2400 anyway, and some modems will not connect any faster. A WORD OF THANKS TORCH, who called in from his Tandy 1000 EX and would not give up when 9600 failed him, found the slow-machine trouble for us. AYREON asked in the Tavern only last night whether there was any fighting between players at all. There is now, AYREON. Mind your back. See you in the realm. Nightblade

REALM NEWS Evening to you, friends of the realm. I am Nightblade, keeper of the Adventurers Hall, and I have good news stacked three deep tonight, so settle in. First, and loudest: the herald proclaimed it from the palace steps only this afternoon. The Warehouse District and Southwall stand clear at last, ten great battles won between the two of them, and the lions share of that credit, so Lord Nasher tells me, belongs to AYREON, who seems to have made something of a habit of turning up wherever the realm most needs clearing out. Nasher wasted no breath naming where he turns next. Windycliffs, that wind battered town along the coast road to Port Llast, is now the realms shared quest. Its Lord Mayor has been begging aid for some time, and the Lord Sheriff there has taken to deputizing ordinary shopkeepers just to keep the inner square from being overrun entirely. Both of them lay the blame on the pirate tyrant captains up in Luskan, same as always, though I notice Luskan gets blamed for a great many things it may or may not have gotten around to arranging yet. Speaking of AYREON, the herald had one more thing to say about that name this week. AYREON was the first adventurer in this whole revived realm to master the Wharves outright, clearing every great battle there, and the honour was called out loud in the game and in the Tavern both. I do not hand out praise lightly in this column, but credit where it is earned, and this one was earned twice over. TAVERN TALE Settle in by the fire of the Wayward Blade and let me tell you about the fiddler who made grown adventurers weep over losses they had not yet suffered. He called himself Corwyn Vale, and he arrived one rainy evening with nothing but a battered fiddle and a request for a seat near the hearth. The barkeep let him play for his supper, expecting the usual reels and drinking songs. Instead Corwyn drew his bow across the strings and the whole room fell silent, then one by one the patrons began to weep, quietly, for mothers still living, for roads not yet walked, for swords not yet broken. A grizzled veteran who had not shed a tear since his first battle found himself sobbing into his ale over a home he had not lost, only to realize afterward he had never owned such a home at all. When the tune ended, Corwyn simply bowed, finished his meal in silence, and asked directions to the next town over. He has not returned to the Wayward Blade since, though the regulars say that on quiet nights, if the wind sets right, you can hear a fiddle somewhere out past the gate, playing a tune for a grief that has not happened yet. LORD NASHERS BOUNTY This week, says Lord Nasher, my bounty lies upon Trisk, that black fortress island out past Utheraal where the Kraken Society keeps its seat of power. Whoever wins the most great battles there by Sunday night, so long as it be three or more, takes the honour, the heralds call and a place in the Hall of Fame. As for last weeks bounty upon the sewers, nobody managed the three battles needed to claim it, so that trophy goes unclaimed. The sewers will keep, I am sure. THE QUEST FOR THE REALM With the Warehouse District and Southwall behind us, Nashers eyes now rest on Windycliffs, and the count there starts fresh at zero of the ten great battles he asks of the realm together. Once we have won ten there, his attention turns to the Gallant Prince, that drifting ghost ship still moored in Port Llast harbor with all her secrets intact. FIRST TO MASTER As told above, AYREON stands as the first to master a place in this revived realm, having cleared every great battle the Wharves had to offer. The honour is a lasting one, named by the herald for all to hear. If you fancy being the second name in that book, or the first to master somewhere else, there is no better time than now to start counting your battles. THIS WEEKS GATHERING Next Thursday, the twenty ninth, at ten in the evening Central European time, which is nine in the evening in Britain, five in the afternoon on the American east coast and two in the afternoon on the west coast, come join me in the Wayward Blade Tavern. We will swap theories on what Windycliffs needs clearing out, and whoever brings the most convincing rumour earns a keepers toast. Whether you have walked this realm for years or you are only now dusting off the old client, log in through DOS or DOSBox and come find us. Keep your blade sharp and your lantern lit. I will see you on the road.

REALM NEWS Evening to you, friends of the realm. I am Nightblade, keeper of the Adventurers Hall, and tonight I get to ring a bell I have been waiting weeks to ring. The herald stood on the steps of the palace this morning and called it plain: the Wharves are won. Ten great battles fought and claimed there, the last of them only hours ago, and the honour of having helped most goes to AYREON, BERENGAR and BILBO, whose names Lord Nasher himself asked the herald to speak twice so nobody at the back of the crowd would miss them. Whatever quiet corner of the Wharves those three cleared out between them, the east bank breathes easier for it tonight. Lord Nasher wasted no time naming what comes next. His eyes have turned to the Warehouse District and Southwall both, and he is asking every able adventurer to help clear them of the monsters, thieves and bandits that have made a home there. The Warehouse District, on the northern edge of the city, was once the beating heart of Neverwinter trade, and the guards at that gate still warn newcomers plainly that it can be dangerous through there now. South of the city, past the old crumbling wall that gives Southwall its name, once-fine homes stand sacked and quiet, and the guards at that gate give much the same warning in a different voice. Two gates, two warnings, one quest, and I expect we will see both filling up with hopeful blades before the week is out. What strikes me walking between the two is how differently they wear their trouble. The Warehouse District still smells of old commerce gone to rust, crates and ledgers left where they fell. Southwall is quieter, sadder somehow, like a street that remembers being lovely and has not yet decided to stop hoping. Clear either one and you will have Nasher's gratitude, and mine besides. TAVERN TALE Pull up a chair at the Wayward Blade and let me tell you about Smudge, the one-eyed cat who picks fights before they happen. Nobody can say where Smudge came from. He simply appeared one evening curled on the warmest stool by the hearth, and the tavern keeper, finding no heart to chase him off, let him stay. It was not long before the regulars noticed his habit. Some ten minutes before any brawl broke out, whether over cards, coin, or somebody's honour, Smudge would rise, stretch, and plant himself squarely beneath the chair of whoever was about to throw the first punch, watching the room with his one good eye as if he already knew how it would end. At first folk thought it coincidence. Then a visiting gambler, sharper than most, started watching the cat instead of the cards, and left the table early three nights running the moment Smudge took his post, pockets considerably fuller than the men who stayed. Word got around, and now half the tavern keeps one eye on their drink and one on the cat. Nobody has tried to ask Smudge how he knows. He only blinks, slow and satisfied, and goes back to pretending to sleep. THIS WEEK'S GATHERING This Wednesday, the 21st, at ten o'clock in the evening Central European time (nine in Britain, four in the afternoon on the American east coast, one on the west coast), come to the Wayward Blade Tavern for a scouting report night. Bring word of anything you have seen poking around the Warehouse District or Southwall, every rumour and every ratty trail helps the realm chase down Nasher's quest a little faster. No wrong answers, only a keepers toast for the tale that makes the room go quiet. Lord Nasher's bounty this week still lies upon the sewers, and the week turns tonight, so if you have three or more great battles down in that foul dark to your name, speak up before the herald closes the books and names the winner. Whether you have walked this realm for years or you are only now finding the gate, dust off the old client under DOS or DOSBox and come log in. The realm status page at nwnrevival.com will tell you who is on and how the quest stands. Keep your blade sharp and your lantern lit. I will see you on the road.