In two, the roads west and south to Luskan, the nearest city to Ten-Towns, would be impassable to any but the sturdy or the stupid. Whenever a cloud blocked out the warming rays, though, Regis was reminded that it was September on the tundra. The sun rained down golden warmth, and the halfling was tempted now and then to take off his waistcoat. Regis managed to keep his eyes open for a while, peering up through the fuzzy limbs of the fur trees at the puffy white clouds as they sailed across the sky on the mild breezes. Only southern breezes promised any relief, and any wind that tried to reach this desolate area from that direction was usually blocked by the high peaks of the Spine of the World. Even on the few days that the wind shifted there was little relief, for Ten-Towns was bordered on the north and west by miles of empty tundra and then more ice, the Sea of Moving Ice. A rare day indeed for the land that had come to be called Icewind Dale, a name well-earned by the eastern breezes that always seemed to blow in, bringing with them the chilled air of Reghed Glacier. The result was an autumn day fitting for the civilized lands to the south. It seemed as though the weather demons that bent this harsh land to their iron will had taken a holiday, or perhaps they were just gathering their strength for a brutal winter. This time, though, unlike so many others, it truly bore credibility. вЂњToo fine a day,вЂќ he had rationalized, an excuse that never seemed to grow stale for him. Regis had meant to work on the piece while he was fishing. The beginnings of a horseвЂ™s muzzle marred the squareness of the block. Regis, too, would have gladly packed up his belongings and returned to the south, except for a little problem he had with a certain guildmaster of a prominent thievesвЂ™ guild.ДЄ four-inch block of the вЂњwhite goldвЂќ lay beside the reclining halfling, along with several delicate carving instruments.

Other halflings never came this far north, even during the summer months, preferring the comfort of the southern climes. He was truly a credit to his less-than-ambitious race, carving out a bit of civilization in a land where none existed, hundreds of miles from the most remote settlement that could rightly be called a city.

Besides, the halfling already had enough ivory stocked up from other peopleвЂ™s catches to keep him busy for all seven months of snow.

With winter coming on, Regis figured that this might well be his last excursion of the year to the lake he didnвЂ™t go in for winter fishing, like some of the fanatically greedy humans of Ten-Towns. In seconds, the hook was cleaned with no catch to show for it, but the halfling didnвЂ™t know, and it would be hours before heвЂ™d even bother to check. The line had floated in toward shore and hung limply in the water, so Regis couldnвЂ™t feel the fish nibbling at the bait.

Gentle ripples rolled down the image as the red-painted wooden bobber began to dance slightly. The crooked stick that served as his fishing pole rose up above him, clenched between two of his furry toes, and hung out over the quiet lake, mirrored perfectly in the glassy surface of Maer Dualdon. Regis was short, even by the standards of his diminutive race, with the fluff of his curly brown locks barely cresting the three-foot mark, but his belly was amply thickened by his love of a good meal, or several, as the opportunities presented themselves. Regis the halfling, the only one of his kind for hundreds of miles in any direction, locked his fingers behind his head and leaned back against the mossy blanket of the tree trunk.

Fan casting the crystal shard