In the wake of the war, he had rushed from place to place handling all the affairs of Moonshadow Island and Luskan. After half a month of such turmoil, by the time he returned to Minas Tirith, he had arrived just in time for the annual Midwinter Festival—the Winter Feast that had been passed down from Cormyr to this day.
On this day, before the year came to an end, lords would hold a grand feast, forge alliances and renew old pacts with other lords, and exchange gifts.
In this regard, the three lords of the Northlands had undoubtedly enjoyed a bumper year unseen in a thousand years—they had just divided up a magnificent cake. What gift could possibly be more exciting and delightful than that?
As for the commoners of Minas Tirith, ever since the White City had entered a trajectory of steady growth, the bitter "Day of Dead Winter" of old seemed to have become a distant memory.
For one thing, so long as they remained indoors, they did not feel cold in the slightest. If anything, it was even a little hot.
At this point, outsiders might well have their heads full of question marks.
To explain it, they had to trace things back to a pipeline leak in the Underdark smelting district years ago:
As the scale of ore smelting and metal casting in the Zelandia underground city beneath the White City grew ever larger, the issue of Underdark waste-gas emissions had remained unresolved for far too long. There had even been cases where a leak in a waste-gas pipeline had poisoned personnel.
Most absurd of all, some thrill-seeking Drow had actually collected this waste gas, purified it, and mixed it into Energy Potions. The kick was indeed stronger, but they had nearly ascended straight to