Karsus' Folly

Snow flies around the dome of the city, giving the opposite effect of one of those festive confetti orbs that tend to be seen around the Yule. Karsus had no time to take in the view though, for today was the day, the day that he ascended, the day he took the power of the gods for himself. It took him years to craft the spell, more powerful than any spell even the gods dared to cast, the 12th circle of power. He had reserved time with the Mythallar and the city of Polantus, floating high above the mountain range, was slowly approaching the correct latitude, where the magnetic fields would be as strong. This was as close as he could get the High Magi to bring the city anyway.

He approached the towering Mythallar, the massive crystal sphere on its obsidian pedestal is a dull orange this morning. This is good news, it's not being used heavily today. Karsus laid out his spell book and began to draw his ritual circle. Slowly he chanted, the arcane language taking the utmost care and skill for this spell. One mistake, one simple mispronunciation, and the city will fall, or his body will be painfully ripped to pieces. Slowly the chant continued for another 10 minutes, until, he could feel it, the small window in the weave that would allow him to syphon the power he desired. Mystral, the goddess of magic must surely understand that he, Karsus, a loyal worshipper had studied hard, and a small piece of her divine spark would not be missed. He sought out her presence and began his chant anew.

As his ritual closed, the Mythallar began to flare a bright white, Karsus begged for the crystal to hold, he begged his body to hold, as he began to swell, the strength of the weave coursing through his veins. Taller and taller he grew, until he was nearly 50 feet tall, his massive body breaking through the ceiling of the room containing the Mythallar, his head mere feet away from the dome that covered the city, and then it happened. The divine spark that he sought broke free from its celestial host, as it did so, Karsus finally understood the mistake he had made, for without this piece of herself, Mystral could no longer control the weave, and the fabric of reality began to crumble.

Mystral, feeling a sudden break in her divine being, saw Karsus, and his silly ritual. These foolish mortals, and their quest for power, how far they dare to go. Immediately she began to tear more and more of herself apart, sealing bits of her divinity into the weave to stabilize it. She ripped the piece of her divinity away from Karsus, forcing his mortal body to bear all of the strain of the spell he was so foolish to cast, and it slowly, painfully, ripped his being apart. The Mythallar, still flashing an intense white, began to crack and splinter, before it exploded. Shards of blackened crystal flew out everywhere. The chain reaction across the weave, coupled with Mystral's heroic sacrifices, caused just the briefest instant of the material plane being cut off from magic entirely, every spell being cast at that instant failed, more tragically however, the hundreds of floating cities held aloft by their own Mythallar, began to fall back to the earth.

This tragedy, known today as the Spellplague, also commonly called Karsus' Folly, became a defining moment in the history of not just Icewind Dale, but of the world itself. The weave survived, but it destroyed Mystral. When her divine spirit recovered she was reborn as Mystra. This iteration of the Goddess of Magic brought about a change to the weave as well, limiting the power of spells the mortals can cast to the 9th circle of power. She also closed the connection between the mortal plane and the divine realms, so that no other arrogant mortal could even attempt to steal divinity for themselves. Men could no longer attempt to join the divine, this new weave however, did not stop the divine from joining the men'.