As twilight deepens into evening, Selune rises over the treetops of Cormanthor, surrounded by twinkling stars. You make your way slowly to the avariel chambers, which Nerissus tells you have never been occupied. When the elves came together to build this place, they included a sanctum for the lost avariel, not knowing if they would ever be found again but wanting to make them feel welcome in this special place.
The walls are clear; the ceilings and floor as transparent as glass. Stepping onto the open balcony is like floating in the free air. Though many, no doubt, would find the chamber disorienting or even alarming, but you have always felt at home with heights. Stepping into the rooms built around the great central trunk, you drop your gear in a pile and strip down to a simple loincloth, allowing your muscles to relax as you settle down on a comfortable pillow. Breathing deep the clean air of this ancient wood, you cross your legs in a meditative posture, close your eyes, and settle down for your reverie.
The memories of your long life filter through you, reminding you where you have been and what you have done. Reminding you who you are. One hundred years of life pass in your mind's eye, the memories like old friends: your earliest companions, your parents, your sister, your days walking the many miles of the High Forest, all your adventures across the length and breadth of Faerun.
And then comes a strange memory: a vision of falling snow, the flakes blowing gently in the wind. The shock brings you out of your reverie. Snow was not unusual in the forests of your home, but nothing like this: open spaces without trees, like the peaks of a high mountain... try as you might, you cannot place this memory. You cannot remember where this place is. It is as if it erupted from a deep place in your soul, unbidden, without context. You breathe deep and try to enter the reverie again, but the memory is elusive now; it will not come back to you.
The night is restless, uncertain. Despite the peaceful surroundings, your heart is in turmoil. What is happening to you? Are you losing your grasp on your own mind? Some elves suffer thus, slowly losing their identities over the long years, degenerating into amnesia, despair, or madness. And if that is not the case, then where did the memory come from? Where did it come from?
