One day . . . .

It was perhaps, the strangest invitation I'd ever seen, the engraved card, without signature, the Zhentil mercenary who had brought it to Neverwinter already gone. It certainly warranted equally strange preparations. It had already been decided that I would indeed meet Xalta, the Beholder, Master of the Tower of Twilight, the very next evening, at midnight, alone. I turned away, going off to complete my preparations for the meeting.

The next day . . . .

I rested before my departure. Upon my waking, I dressed myself appropriately for my meeting with this august personage, black woolen trews, a white silk shirt, grey woolen tunic, black leather boots (newly polished by my bootblack), the black elfin chainmail which my father's ancestor, Alaric Hawk, for whom I was named had won in the Elf Wars, and lastly, a cloak, wrought of Phase Spider Silk and shadows, the Cloak of Shadows which my mother's mother had woven with her own hands and talent. Xalta had promised safe passage to the person bearing the invitation, yet Neverwinter is a dangerous place, so I belted the blade MistWeaver to my side, and wove about myself certain magical defenses and charms.

Thus prepared I set out. It was a long journey to the Tower, evn upon a Phantom Steed. There, I was greeted by an obsequious mercenary and ushered in through many twisting passages to the Beholder's inner sanctum.

I turned my nose up in distaste at the roast meat which was upon the table, and was hard put not to express a similar emotion towards the pulsating globe which floated at the table's head. With a loud smacking of its lips, it swallowed, looking up and greeting me . . . .

"Ah, here you are. Punctual as I'd expected. I admire you for your courage in coming here. As I've promised, you will leave here alive, so long as you've kept to the conditions set . . . ."

The creature turned to the mercenary, asking, "Was there anyone with him?"

The man trembled as he replied, "No my Lord." Then, dismissed with a bobbing of the creature's head, he fairly ran from the room, the door's closing, echoing after his departing footsteps.

"Now, no doubt you are curious as to why I've invited you, of all the nobles and officials of Neverwinter? You are an Elf, long-lived with a viewpoint unlike that of mortal men, perhaps more like mine than you would admit . . . ." "Perhaps."

"Can you understand what it is like, being a Beholder? A superior intellect all but free of the constraints of the flesh? Have you any idea of my power?"

I looked somewhat uneasily about the grandly furnished room, noting the tapestries which covered the walls, the finely carved furniture, the meat and other delicacies which covered the table. There were no chairs.

Rather carefully, I observed, "I'm here now, as agreed, holding to the conditions which you set forth."

"Of course you did! Everyone does as I demand."

The creature floated about the room, seeming somewhat disorganized, lost in his thoughts. Turning to me again, he asked, "You've a family do you not?" After I nodded assent, he continued, "A Beholder has no family, he is hatched in some hidden hall, alone, save for the other eggs. Animals upon hatching are starving you know. It is no different for us . . . . You can imagine what happens." The ceature turned to me expectantly.

Searching for a way to be diplomatic, I quietly observed, "Nature takes its course."

"Nature! Nature! Such an understatement, The survival of the fittest, the elimination of the weak. The ultimate improvement of the species!"

"After hatching, one wanders alone, searching for food, ignored by other Beholder's, unless of course, they are hungry. Usually, before reaching maturity though, a young Beholder is taken in by another, mature one, as a pupil of sorts. In return, the young Beholder serves the elder absolutely. Can you conceive of the things taught and learned then? Of course not, you are bound by and imprisoned in your body. Incapable of imagining what it is to will a thing to move and move it with the power of your mind, to be able to slay at a glance, to see the very fabric of magic and to be able to unravel it at will."

"I was not always the Master of the Tower of Twilight. You are aware of this are you not? Of course you are, you yourself were instrumental in my ascendancy. You slew Xall, my master. What do you say to this?"

"I think that that is irrelevant to the topic at hand. Are we not going to discuss opening of a trade route through the Neverwinter Woods? You've demanded protection money for this. The merchants of Neverwinter have asked that bring back specific figures for their consideration."

The creature laughed then, and turned to me and declared, "Fable, when I conceived of this plan, I could scarce conceive that you would believe that, and yet, the more I thought, the more I knew you would. We are not here to discuss merchant agreements, but rather, that I may thank you properly for having slain Xall." The creature turned to me menacingly, grinned and said with a laugh, "Thank you. Now, you shall die."

I smiled as I pointed out, but you're mistaken, "I didn't kill Xall. I'm not Fable. I am Eric Dreamsmyth, a Lieutenant of The Grey Company."

"But, ifyou are not Fable, where is he?!?" The creature looked up in alarm, its smile melting from its face.

"Right here!" yelled voice from behind one of the tapestries, as a cloaked figure burst out from behind them, running up to the Beholder opposite myself, stabbing it with a two-handed sword.

The creature slowly sunk to the floor, the magical blade Fable used having nearly cloven it in twain.

"But you could not, would not have lied! You were to come alone!"

Fable smiled as he pointed out, "I did. I followed you messenger invisibly and hid in here when I found a chance. You invited Dreamsmyth in of your own free will. You could not conceive that I would not appear or that my seeming would be anything else." "Undone, by the seeming of a physical body. This I cannot condone!", it gasped. The creature struggled, but was unable to move, facing down on the floor.

"However, Xalta, you are now free of the constraints of the mind . . . ."