TEXT:  
   
  
   
   
   
  THE BORDER KINGDOMS 
   
   
  According to the sage Meriadas of Westgate: “The Border Kingdoms are the most favored destination 
  for adventurers who want to proudly and boldly conquer a realm or establish their own new 
  kingdom. Lords, counts, dukes, kings and emperors rise, proclaim themselves, and are swept away 
  with the speed and regularity of waves crashing upon a shore.” 
   
   
  A Forgotten Realms Campaign Supplement 
   
   
  ED GREENWOOD 
  Author 
   
   
   
   
   
   
  Design: Ed Greenwood 
  Layout: Dave Zajac 
  Organized Play: Chris Lindsay 
  D&D Adventurers League Wizards Team: Adam Lee, Chris Lindsay, Mike Mearls, Matt Sernett 
  D&D Adventurers League Administrators: Bill Benham, Travis Woodall, Claire Hoffman, Greg Marks, Lysa Chen, Alan Patrick 
   
  DUNGEONS & DRAGONS, D&D, Wizards of the Coast, Forgotten Realms, the dragon ampersand, Player’s Handbook, Monster Manual, Dungeon Master’s Guide, D&D Adventurers League, all other Wizards of the Coast 
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  protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or unauthorized use of the material or artwork contained herein is prohibited without the express written permission of Wizards of 
  the Coast. 
   
  ©2016 Wizards of the Coast LLC, PO Box 707, Renton, WA 98057-0707, USA. Manufactured by Hasbro SA, Rue Emile-Boéchat 31, 2800 Delémont, CH. Represented by Hasbro Europe, 4 The Square, Stockley Park, Uxbridge, 
  Middlesex, UB11 1ET, UK. 
  
   
  3 
  TABLE OF CONTENTS 
  THE BORDER KINGDOMS ..................................................5 
  THE GEOGRAPHY .................................................................................. 5 
  WAYS OF LIFE ....................................................................................... 6 
  ADAERGLAST (THE LAND OF MAGES) ..........................7 
  ALAMONTYR .........................................................................7 
  ARNGLAR ...............................................................................7 
  ARTHYN ..................................................................................8 
  THE BARONY OF BLACKSADDLE ....................................9 
  THE BARONY OFGREAT OAK ...........................................9 
  BEDORN ............................................................................... 10 
  BELDARGAN ....................................................................... 10 
  BLACKALBLADE ................................................................ 12 
  DRAUDA .............................................................................................. 13 
  BLACKBARN ....................................................................... 14 
  THE BLACKBARN CURSE ................................................................... 14 
  THE GHOST LANCES .......................................................................... 14 
  FOR THE VISITOR ............................................................................... 15 
  LOCAL LEGEND................................................................................... 16 
  BLOUTAR ............................................................................ 16 
  BOWSHOT ........................................................................... 17 
  BURNTBRIDGES ................................................................ 19 
  DAPPLEGATE ..................................................................... 20 
  DERLUSK ............................................................................. 21 
  GOVERNANCE ..................................................................................... 23 
  DUNBRIDGES ..................................................................... 23 
  DEFENSES ........................................................................................... 24 
  GOVERNANCE ..................................................................................... 24 
  MYSTERIES ......................................................................................... 24 
  DUSKWOOD ....................................................................... 25 
  THE VAUNTAGAR ............................................................................... 25 
  EMRYS .................................................................................. 26 
  WHAT MEETS THE EYE IN EMRYS ................................................... 26 
  GOVERNANCE ..................................................................................... 27 
  THOSE WHO DEFY THE DUKES ........................................................ 28 
  EMRYAN ATTRACTIONS AND PERILS ............................................... 28 
  THE EAGLES OF EMRYS ..................................................................... 28 
  ESTELKER ........................................................................... 29 
  FREE BARONY OF FELSHROUN .................................... 30 
  THE FREE BARON .............................................................................. 30 
  THE FORESTERS OF FELSHROUN ...................................................... 30 
  THE FOUR MAGES ............................................................................. 30 
   
  WHAT MEETS THE EYE IN FELSHROUN ........................................... 31 
  THE FUTURE OF THE BARONY .......................................................... 33 
  GALLARD ............................................................................. 33 
  FIRESWORD HOUSES .......................................................................... 34 
  THE COUNCIL ...................................................................................... 34 
  STREETS, INNS, AND TAVERNS ......................................................... 34 
  OUTLYING SITES ................................................................................. 35 
  Shaarsart .................................................................................... 35 
  Ong’s Batar ................................................................................ 35 
  Zarnmoot .................................................................................... 35 
  THE GRAND DUCHY OF SHANTAL ............................... 35 
  THE VIGILANT BAILIFFS .................................................................... 35 
  LOCAL GOODS ..................................................................................... 36 
  WHAT GREETS TRAVELERS IN SHANTAL ........................................ 36 
  THE HISTORY OF SHANTAL ............................................................... 36 
  WARDS OF THE DUCHY ...................................................................... 37 
  THE DAERNDAR ................................................................................. 37 
  THE GREEN ROAD ............................................................ 39 
  MYRAX FORD ...................................................................................... 39 
  TALLCANDLE INN ............................................................................... 39 
  SKULLS HOLLOW ................................................................................ 40 
  THE FOUR STAGS ............................................................................... 40 
  DRAGONTAIL LAKE ............................................................................ 40 
  HAWKGARTH (THE WOOD OF MANY MONSTERS) 41 
  HISTOKLE’S LAIR ................................................................................ 41 
  HISTOKLE’S DARK THRONE .............................................................. 41 
  HISTOKLE’S COMPANY ....................................................................... 41 
  HAWKGARTH’S HILL .......................................................................... 42 
  THE COUNTRYSIDE ............................................................................. 42 
  HAWKGARTHAN GOVERNANCE ......................................................... 43 
  LOCAL LORE AND HISTORY ............................................................... 43 
  THE BOOK OF BEASTS ....................................................................... 44 
  THE TREASURY OF HOULONGH SZOUL ............................................ 44 
  HAWKGARTH TODAY AND TOMORROW ........................................... 44 
  HIGH EMMEROCK ............................................................. 44 
  THE EMMEROCK DYNASTY ............................................................... 45 
  LEADERS AND DOMAINS .................................................................... 46 
  THE LAKE IN THE CLEFT ................................................................... 47 
  HIGH MUKSHAR ................................................................ 49 
  WHAT MEETS THE EYE IN HIGH MUKSHAR.................................... 50 
  IRL (“THE JEWELERS’PARADISE”) .............................. 51 
  WHO’S WHO IN IRL ........................................................................... 52 
  GOVERNANCE IN IRL .......................................................................... 52 
  JUNDARWOOD (OLD SHADOW) ................................... 53 
  JUNDARWOOD OF OLD ....................................................................... 53 
  JUNDARWOOD TODAY ........................................................................ 54 
  THE RIVERS OF JUNDARWOOD .......................................................... 54 
  WHO RULES IN JUNDARWOOD .......................................................... 54 
  
   
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  THE LAND OF TWO PRINCES ........................................ 55 
  THE HISTORY OF THE TWO PRINCES ............................................... 55 
  LUTHBAERN (THE STY OF FAT MERCHANTS) ........ 58 
  MANYWATERS ................................................................... 59 
  MIDDLE MUKSHAR (THE LAND OF SLAUGHTERED 
  KNIGHTS) ............................................................................ 61 
  MIDDLE MUKSHAR’S HISTORY ......................................................... 61 
  BORDERS AND PERILS ....................................................................... 62 
  THE TREASURES OF TIIRGLAROS ..................................................... 62 
  THE MIDDLE REALM TODAY ............................................................ 62 
  MYRINJAR (THE SEAT OF MIGHT) .............................. 62 
  THE NETH STAND ............................................................. 64 
  NETH LORE......................................................................................... 65 
  VENTURING INTO THE FOREST ......................................................... 65 
  THE NETH RIVERS ............................................................................. 65 
  THE FALL ............................................................................................ 66 
  NETHER MUKSHAR .......................................................... 66 
  OEBLE................................................................................... 67 
  THE UNDERWAYS .............................................................................. 68 
  THE RAINSPANS ................................................................................. 68 
  OEBLE’S PLACE IN THE BORDER KINGDOMS .................................. 68 
  LAW AND ORDER ............................................................................... 68 
  THE YUAN-TI OF OEBLE .................................................................... 69 
  THE DEAD CART ................................................................................ 70 
  ONDEEME ............................................................................ 70 
  OPARL .................................................................................. 72 
  OWLHOLD ........................................................................... 73 
  THE OWLEN ....................................................................................... 73 
  OWLEN HISTORY ............................................................................... 73 
  POWERFUL INHABITANTS ................................................................. 73 
  FOR THE WAYFARER ......................................................................... 73 
  QURTH FOREST ................................................................. 74 
  RAUNDAWN HILLS ........................................................... 74 
  THE REALM OF THE MOUNT ......................................... 75 
  MOUNT HISTORY ............................................................................... 75 
  THE WAY OF SCREAMING SWORDS ................................................. 76 
  THE DREAD KING .............................................................................. 76 
  PARTICULARS OF THE REALM ........................................................... 77 
  REALM OF THE READY SWORD ................................... 77 
  SHANDOLPHYN’S REACH ............................................... 78 
  REALM OF THE SMOKING STAR ................................... 78 
  RYMDYL ............................................................................... 79 
  SELPT ................................................................................... 80 
  THE SHIELDMAIDENS ..................................................... 80 
  SORNDORN ......................................................................... 80 
  SPLONDAR .......................................................................... 81 
  SULDAMMA ........................................................................ 81 
  SULDAMMA’S HISTORY ...................................................................... 81 
  THE SWARD ....................................................................... 82 
  THE HISTORY OF THE SWARD ........................................................... 82 
  THE DRIFTING PORTAL ..................................................................... 83 
  LURKING MAGIC ................................................................................. 84 
  THE SWORDPOINT STREAMS ....................................... 84 
  THE LORDS AND LADIES OF THE REALM ......................................... 84 
  HERALDRY .......................................................................................... 85 
  AMENITIES .......................................................................................... 85 
  OF INTEREST TO ADVENTURERS ...................................................... 86 
  SYRNT .................................................................................. 86 
  TAERMBOLD ...................................................................... 86 
  TALDUTH VALE ................................................................. 87 
  TELCHARN .......................................................................... 88 
  THEMASULTER ................................................................. 89 
  THEYMARSH ...................................................................... 90 
  THORT ................................................................................. 90 
  THUNTAR ............................................................................ 91 
  WHAT MEETS THE EYE IN THUNTAR .............................................. 91 
  GOVERNANCE IN THUNTAR ............................................................... 92 
  WEALTH IN THUNTAR ....................................................................... 92 
  THUR .................................................................................... 93 
  THE LORDS OF THUR ......................................................................... 93 
  RECENT TROUBLES ............................................................................ 94 
  AMENITIES .......................................................................................... 94 
  BUSINESSES ......................................................................................... 95 
  THURRAN HERALDRY ........................................................................ 96 
  URSPRETH .......................................................................... 96 
  WAERND ............................................................................. 97 
  YALLASCH ........................................................................... 98 
  YTHTYM .............................................................................. 99 
  1490S DR BORDER KINGDOMS PLOTS ................... 101 
  HUNT FOR THE MIGHTY ................................................................. 101 
  USURPERS IN THE MAKING ............................................................ 101 
  THE NIGHT ARROW ........................................................................ 102 
  RISE OF THE SWORD KING ............................................................. 103 
  THE EMERALD HAND ..................................................................... 103 
  ART CREDITS .................................................................. 104 
  
   
  5 
  THE BORDER KINGDOMS 
  LAYERS INTERESTED IN CARVING OUT  
  their own kingdom of the Realms can find no 
  better place than the Border Kingdoms, where 
  “a wayfarer can find just about anything.” 
   The Border Kingdoms are little more than names 
  on a map to most folk in the Heartlands of Faerûn. 
  Only a few sages and well-traveled merchants know 
  anything useful about them, thanks to their ever-
  changing nature, and travel there being constantly 
  hampered by incessant Borderer wars with each 
  other and land-hungry satraps of Calimshan. 
   According to the sage Meriadas of Westgate: “The 
  Border Kingdoms are the most favored destination 
  for adventurers who want to proudly and boldly 
  conquer a realm or establish their own new kingdom. 
  Lords, counts, dukes, kings and emperors rise, 
  proclaim themselves, and are swept away with the 
  speed and regularity of waves crashing upon a shore. 
  What comes to our ears... are a stream of amusing or 
  colorful little tales of their most daring, disastrous, 
  or funny deeds.” 
   Few folk go there except those who want to carve 
  out a place for themselves with a sword. Borders and 
  even the names of the realms they define change 
  with each passing month and even tenday; there is 
  no such thing as an accurate history or even map of 
  the Border Kingdoms, which are named thus 
  because they stand in the way of Calishite expansion, 
  their turmoil and stubborn strength defining the 
  eastern border of that proud realm. South of the 
  Lake of Steam, the Border Kingdoms spread east and 
  south to take in all the lands drained by the River 
  Scelptar as far as the Shieldmaidens (the hills at the 
  western end of the Firesteap Mountains, just east of 
  The Duskwood) and the rising land that defines the 
  northern edge of the vast rolling grasslands known 
  as The Shaar.” 
   If you would travel there, Meriadas adds: “Take 
  strong spells, trusty friends, and sharp swords, and 
  you may live long enough to have a brief look 
  around.” Meriadas was writing in the mid-1300s DR, 
  but his words remain true today. 
   Even before the Spellplague, the infamous mage 
  Elminster warned that the Border Kingdoms are 
  “riddled with wild magic, as a tattered cloak covers 
  much but not all of the beggar beneath it.” They are 
  even more alive with unmastered magic today. 
  The Geography 
  In the wake of the Sundering, the Border Kingdoms 
  very much settled back into the topography 
  prevailing there before the Spellplague. 
   They occupy a triangular strip of warm, lush 
  coastal downlands between the grassy uplands of 
  the Shaar and the Lake of Steam. Four major forests 
  divide up the Border countryside of rolling, fertile, 
  overgrown hills. Though smokeholes and volcanoes 
  are common around the rest of the Lake of Steam, 
  the only known volcanic activity in the Borders is 
  centered on a wood-cloaked ridge known as the 
  Mount, where sulfurous fume-holes vent steaming 
  vapor that from time to time causes trees to catch 
  fire and burn to the ground, while leaving 
  neighboring trees untouched (hence the old term 
  “the Flaming Wood”). Many volcanic-warmed caves 
  and crevices on the Mount shelter brigands and 
  monsters to this day. 
   The Border Kingdoms aren’t all “kingdoms.” They 
  are many small principalities governed in a wide 
  variety of ways, a confusing, ever-changing 
  hodgepodge of tiny, unstable realms with names 
  whose grandeur often outstrips reality. This verdant, 
  chaotically-governed region is prime adventuring 
  territory. Many adventuring bands come to the 
  Borders to conquer their own realm—yet those who 
  succeed often spend the rest of their days defending 
  it from other adventuring bands with similar 
  ambitions. The Borders are the birthplace of many a 
  mercenary and merchant who hails from “a place 
  you’ve never heard of.” 
   Borders and rulers have always changed with 
  bewildering rapidity in the Border Kingdoms, so 
  even local maps will be sadly out of date at best, and 
  full of willful distortions at the worst (many 
  cartographers seek to suggest the realm they 
  represent—or want their local ruler to trade with—
  is larger and more important than it really is). 
  Misinformation is the rule when Borderers travel the 
  Realms in search of adventurers to hire. So beware: 
  on any map of the Border Kingdoms, boundaries are 
  at best approximate, and between the making of the 
  map and your journey, realms will probably have 
  appeared, disappeared, or moved. 
   The land of Thuntar, for example, is named for the 
  self-styled “King of Adventurers,” a huge man from 
  the Tashalar who hoped to find quiet retirement in 
  the Border Kingdoms but found himself continually 
  hounded by the one thing he couldn’t fight: magic. 
  Accordingly, the land known as Thuntar has moved 
  thrice. Once it was roughly where most maps place 
  Talduth Vale now. Later it occupied the coastal 
  uplands of Ondeeme (before the mage of that name 
  transformed or drove out all inhabitants to found his 
  own realm there), before finding its present locale 
  on the western shore of the Borders--where it was 
  once in the uplands, but lost territory to marauding 
  giants (land later seized by adventurers who 
  P 
  
   
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  slaughtered the giants and founded the land of High 
  Emmerock). 
   Since the Sundering, realm names have survived in 
  the Borders, and even most boundaries, as 
  bewildered Borders sought to cling to anything 
  reassuringly familiar, but what’s within lands that 
  cleave to “being the same on maps” has often 
  changed markedly. For one thing, the Sundering 
  brought (and left behind) a deluge of wild, 
  bewildered beasts from Abeir, so the Border 
  Kingdoms were, in the words of one resident, the 
  Derlusk-based peddler of inks, quills, writing-
  parchment and bound ‘blank books’ Ieirstredd 
  Montryth, “inundated by all manner of monsters.” 
  Ways of Life 
  Migration and skirmishing are constant in the lives 
  of most Borderers. The warm climate and fertile 
  ground make it possible for inhabitants to do battle 
  whenever they desire and still have food enough to 
  see them through the winter ahead, and to live in 
  caves or shelters in the deep woods and not freeze in 
  the “cold months” (which are actually foggy, slushy 
  months far warmer than the howling, deadly 
  “winters” of more northerly regions). 
   The adventurer Steeleye once called the Border 
  Kingdoms “a deadly but enchanting place where 
  every winding lane takes you to another dotty little 
  realm, complete with pompous rulers and customs, 
  grinning and well-paid mercenaries—dubbed the 
  ‘Grand Guards’ or the ‘Imperial High Host’—who 
  tolerate these ruling dolts until the coins run out, 
  and crumbling castles here, there and 
  everywhere...monsters roam, crops fall off their 
  vines in such plenty that the feast-tables groan, and 
  magic goes wild, opening gates to perilous realms or 
  inverting keeps as often as it does whatever was 
  intended. It’s hard to ride half a day in the Border 
  Kingdoms without befriending or offending a Lord 
  High Protector, a Grand Savant, or a High Puissant 
  Duke—or all three.” 
   The Border Kingdoms are often raided by nomads 
  from the Shaar (seeking food, weapons, and 
  whatever else they can carry off). Their raids on 
  caravans have given The Realm of the Ready Sword 
  its name, and forced the creation of alert and capable 
  military forces in all of the Border realms south of 
  the River Scelptar. Borderers spend much of the rest 
  of their time fighting each other or privately-
  sponsored Calishite armies. 
   This makes many Borderers reluctant to leave 
  their lands (or at least the region). Consequently, 
  most merchants traveling through the Border 
  Kingdoms are enterprising folk from the Vilhon 
  Reach, who trade both coins and trade goods (such 
  as fine clothing or bolts of cloth and all manner of 
  smithywork) for the ever-abundant food. 
   Borderers tend to build stout and well-guarded 
  granaries, gather in food to these compounds, and 
  wait for merchants to show up, buy it, and carry it 
  away. Many folk in the overpopulated Vilhon Reach 
  lands would starve if Border Kingdoms crops ever 
  failed or were mostly destroyed. 
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
  
   
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  Adaerglast  
  (The Land of Mages) 
  Realm 
  This pastoral-looking realm of coastal farms, “the 
  Garden Coast,” is one of the most prosperous—and 
  dangerous—in the Borders. Adaernen farmers work 
  hard every day, hauling in and spreading manure, 
  rooting out weeds, and digging the soil for ever-
  more-efficient irrigation. Once they led more sedate 
  lives, knowing their crops always brought good 
  prices in the nearby city of Yallasch from the 
  citizenry and merchant captains who docked there 
  to buy food for many hungry mouths in Calimshan. 
   That all changed when two young, close-mouthed 
  and very observant mages from Murghôm arrived. 
  Deeming the Adaern farmlands ideal, they built a 
  castle in Myrinjar. Safe behind its stout walls, 
  defended by many animated or conjured guardians, 
  they began to work magic on the surrounding lands. 
  Their keep became known as “The Castle of Dark 
  Dreams” because spells they devised sent dream-
  visions to all Adaernen, revealing the two mages as 
  the rightful, gods-chosen rulers of Adaerglast. Soon 
  brutally officious mercenaries appeared in the land, 
  commanded by constructs (animated armors) 
  controlled by the wizards from afar. Bodyguards of 
  helmed horrors accompanied the two mages at all 
  times, protecting Lord Iraun and Lord Srivven 
  against possible treachery from their own hirelings. 
  It wasn’t long before the two Lord High Mages were 
  absolute rulers of Adaerglast, holding court in 
  Myrinjar and seeking to control affairs in Yallasch. 
  The wizard-kings destroyed Zhentarim and Red 
  Wizards, and even rebuffed an emissary from 
  Halruaa—before the Spellplague came and twisted 
  them into horrid ghostly spellhurling undead who 
  haunt their castle but are now magically tied to it, 
  able to send forth their animated armors but not 
  depart the crumbling castle themselves. 
   The castle is crammed with seized magic items 
  and roiling permanent spells—linked by magics that 
  cause one item or spell to erupt against intruders if 
  another is disturbed. 
   The ruthless, power-mad undead Lord High Mages 
  hunger to rule everywhere, and will entice visiting 
  adventurers and mercenaries into carrying out 
  assassinations of, and bearing threatening messages 
  to, surrounding rulers for them. 
   The badge of this realm is a wickerwork basket 
  full of rounded red fruit (tomatoes, most folk think) 
  on a white circular field whose border is a purple 
  ring of lightning bolts arcing out in all directions, on 
  a green background. 
  Alamontyr 
  Large town 
  This quiet, peaceful, prosperous fishing port and 
  farmers’ market town has an old, crumbling castle, 
  and town walls in slightly better repair. The first 
  Borderer stop for caravans southbound on the 
  Golden Road, Alamontyr was well-ruled and 
  protected by its Shield Duke and his Griffon Knights 
  (forty mounted plate-armored warriors who patrol 
  the realm tirelessly, and have been known to affix 
  magical wands to their lances).  
   However, the Shield Duke and several knights 
  vanished a few months back, and the town is alive 
  with dark rumors and wild tales of their fates—as 
  well as a rising chaos as ambitious folk from 
  everywhere in the Realms arrive to try to seize the 
  dukedom for their own. The reason for this is that 
  Alamontyr is home to the largest gathering of 
  finesmiths, woodcarvers, potters, glaziers, jewelers, 
  tailors and other craft-folk in the Border Kingdoms. 
  Their wares are exported widely. However, agents of 
  Westgate, the Zhentarim and the Red Wizards are all 
  busy trying to corrupt anyone they can among the 
  Griffon Knights or the ducal household (civic 
  inspectors and clerks). 
   And the threat from the Underdark beneath 
  Alamontyr is growing. Back in the 1330s DR, 
  Alamontans delving into the Shieldmaidens in search 
  of once-plentiful local copper broke into extensive 
  subterranean caverns and passages, and disturbed 
  the denizens; since then, ropers have repeatedly 
  been discovered in Alamontan cellars, crypts, and 
  sewers. A shadowy cult of The Tentacled Ones exists 
  in Alamontyr, and it’s widely believed that 
  “something dark and terrible below” is commanding 
  the ropers, or at least forcing them up to the surface. 
   Moreover, the Zhentarim have at least once in the 
  past made use of a portal to send monsters into 
  Alamontyr; just where this portal is located is a 
  secret not known to Alamontans, but they fear it’s 
  still in use to ferry trade goods, coin, and Zhentarim 
  spies in and out of town. 
   The badge of Alamontyr is a full-face silver shield 
  held aloft by two white wings, on a dun background. 
  The shield displays a rampant red griffon facing to 
  the viewer’s right, and its base (bottom tip) drips 
  three large, crimson teardrops of blood. The dun 
  banners of the Griffon Knights display a plain winged 
  shield. 
  Arnglar 
  Village 
  This high, windswept sleepy hill-village is home to 
  hardy shepherds and their flocks. The fierce 
  
   
  8 
  Arnglarren make their own sleep-venom (a secret 
  mixture of local berry juices and plant saps, equal in 
  effects to drow poison) and are always armed with 
  crossbows and envenomed bolts to use on wolves, 
  wild dogs, and human sheep rustlers alike. 
   High, windswept Arnglar stands on the site of the 
  ruling seat of the long-vanished elven realm of 
  Glorfindral; burial mounds of elven kings form a 
  defensive ring around Arnglar’s simple cottages and 
  central never-failing well of deep, crystal-clear water. 
  Several of the mounds are crowned with the 
  crumbling ruins of old, long-abandoned, spell-
  blasted brigands’ keeps. In more sheltered locales, 
  ruins tend to get overgrown fast, reclaimed by the 
  ever-creeping forests, but on the high, windswept 
  hills where Arnglar sits, the storms and sharp frosts 
  keep growth slow and stunted. Aside from the hill 
  grass eaten by the sheep, crops not shrouded and 
  sheltered will fail. 
   The ruined keeps are plagued by lurking monsters, 
  and are said to conceal treasure (the caches of the 
  long-fallen brigands), but persistent legends insist 
  the elven burial mounds are crammed with 
  stupendous wealth and magic—that’s powerfully 
  guarded, and as the years pass is being tunneled into 
  by “dark things from Below.” 
   Arnglarren worship Talos, Hurler of Lightnings, 
  mainly to appease his wrath and so preserve their 
  flocks. Arnglar is an independent community 
  governed by a Circle of Elders. This council (of eight 
  laconic, weather-beaten local ranchers and the 
  village blacksmith) doesn’t welcome visitors looking 
  to settle, but will sell or trade wool, tallow candles, 
  and mutton sausages fairly with outlander 
  merchants. Arnglarren look most favorably on small 
  groups of merchants--and very suspiciously at large, 
  well-armed bands of strangers. 
   The sign of Arnglar, scratched on boundary-stones 
  and on the standing Beacon Stone in the center of its 
  market, that shelters the well, is two circles linked 
  by two diagonal zigzag lines (the sun or moon over 
  the well, joined by two lightning bolts). 
  Arthyn 
  Large Town 
  A proudly independent port on the Lake of Steam 
  shores, Arthyn has a poor harbor but has always 
  been an important trade-town, thanks to rich copper 
  and iron deposits in the surrounding hills. Borderers 
  still prefer the fine daggers made in town, known as 
  “Arthyn fangs,” over other knives. Arthryn also has a 
  strong local population of crafters and hill-farmers, 
  who avoid strife and seek to keep trouble away from 
  their town. It has always been a smuggling port, and 
  from time to time buried “treasure” is found, often in 
  the sea-caves near town, usually left behind by 
  smugglers who perished before they could return for 
  it. Slaves, horrific monsters, and kidnapped nobility 
  from realms all across Faerûn are among the 
  smuggling cargoes that pass through Arthyn, 
  because they can easily be concealed among large 
  shipments of daggers. 
   Of old, Arthyn was the home of the Witch of the 
  Mists, whose medicines saved the lives of many 
  Borderers in days gone by. Arth-folk still make, use, 
  and sell medicines claimed to be made from her 
  secret processes and ingredients, and “Borderers 
  born” grow up believing that “healing is at hand in 
  Arthyn.” A shrine to Lathander, The Morningtable, 
  and a long-established Arth walled garden temple of 
  Chauntea, The Bright Sheaf, seek to meet the needs 
  of the diseased and dying folk who come to town 
  willing to trade everything for life and health.  
   The two temples sponsor and largely control the 
  Arthlord, who is more of a police chief and 
  magistrate than a mayor. The Arthlord maintains the 
  “Lockgates” (jail) and commands the town watch 
  (sixteen leather-armored “stalwarts” who patrol in 
  groups of six, wield a variety of weapons, and are 
  liked and respected by Arth-folk). There’s also a 
  militia of seventeen “badged” merchants, who pay 
  lower taxes in return for responding when called by 
  the Watch-horn; miscreant outlanders should be 
  aware that these “Badgelars” include several former 
  adventurers of surprising battle-competence. The 
  Arthlord sits in judgment in all trials, which are local 
  public spectacles held in the town square, and 
  advocates can argue for and against accused persons, 
  and eloquent arguments often sway a verdict. Public 
  policy is proclaimed by the Arthlord, but formulated 
  by landowners of Arth. 
   The current Arthlord, a handsome old man named 
  Trannath Urmhreld, was well-liked and widely 
  believed to be fair and kind—but he fled after briefly 
  changing shape into a “horrible slithering monster 
  with tentacles and two biting heads on long necks” 
  in public, a transformation that seemed to astonish 
  and horrify him as much as it did onlookers. He’s not 
  been seen since, so there’s turmoil. Appoint a new 
  Arthlord? Who or what was the old one, and does he 
  still lurk in town? What dark aims or purposes might 
  he be pursuing? As usual, ambitious folk are showing 
  up from seemingly everywhere in hopes of becoming 
  the new Arthlord, and some local landowners have 
  already been bribed or intimidated. 
   The badge of Arthyn is a white pick (head to the 
  upper left) and crutch, diagonally crossed on a green 
  circle. In battle, this is simplified to a white “X” on 
  green silk armbands worn by Arth-folk. 
  
   
  9 
  The Barony of  
  Blacksaddle 
  Realm 
  One of the most widely-known of the Border 
  Kingdoms, Blacksaddle is thought of across Faerûn 
  as a place of endless war by distant folk who know 
  little else about it. 
   It’s a land of many small hill farms, with walls of 
  heaped stones separating the fields. Small stone 
  watchtowers stand everywhere, each with a well 
  inside (thus, ready night-shelter for travelers, 
  though Sadlar frown on outlanders entering them). 
   The towns of Syrnt, Telcharn, and Bloutar occupy 
  the three corners of the barony (see their own 
  entries for more). In the center of their triangle 
  stands Blacksaddle Keep, formerly home of the 
  Swords, Blacksaddle’s standing army, and its ruling 
  baron. 
   Sadlar are always armed, alert for trouble, and 
  tend to be hard-working entrepreneurs. In addition 
  to farming, Sadlar earn their coins by stonecutting. 
  Both “blue gloss” and “red sheen” (blue and red 
  marble) are quarried in the Shaarwall, the range of 
  hills along the southern border of the barony that 
  cloak the rise of land separating the Border 
  Kingdoms from the Shaar. Stonecutting in the 
  Shaarwall “clefts” often reveal gem-lodes, and Sadlar 
  artisans have perfected a means of crafting goblets, 
  small coffers, and hand-sculptures of gemstone dust 
  and chips mixed with paste (akin to alabaster). To 
  increase sales of these fragile items, some merchant 
  long ago dubbed them “Wizard Ware,” and many 
  wild but utterly fanciful (or are they?) tales arose 
  about magic being used in the crafting (and possibly 
  properties that a “lucky few” gain in their Wizard 
  Ware). 
   Twoscore very skilled Sadlar carve small 
  “whitestone” cameo inlays, for adorning jewelry and 
  coffers fashioned in Calimshan and around the Lake 
  of Steam from rainbow glass, polished amber, and 
  obsidian. Sales of cut and polished whitestone 
  enriches the barony steadily. 
   Blacksaddle is haunted by the ghost of its founder, 
  Uorn Blacksaddle, “the Old Baron,” a tireless 
  whirlwind of a warrior infamous and much feared in 
  his day; his battered black coat-of-plate armor in still 
  seen on misty nights, drifting along above the 
  ground as if some invisible wearer is silently 
  treading the air. Soon after every sighting, a foe of 
  Blacksaddle attacks; a sighting of the Baron’s armor 
  as a sign of clear, reliable warning of impending 
  invasion. 
   Such bladeswinging comes often. Blacksaddle’s 
  location, prosperity, and the ease of entering it 
  swiftly on horseback down one of many broad 
  quarry-cart roads, makes it a popular target for 
  Shaarans, orc bands, and brigands seeking to raid 
  the Borders. The military prowess of Sadlar (among 
  so many lands whose armies are amusingly inept) 
  serves only to attract the arrogant-at-arms to try 
  their mettle against the Swords of the Barony. The 
  constant warfare also attracts many carrion-eating 
  monsters. 
   In recent years, the baronial haunting seems to 
  “open the way” for undeath: undead of all sorts 
  (except vampires and liches—at least, not yet) 
  appear in the wake of the flying armor, to stalk the 
  living. 
   Quarrying in the barony broke into Underdark 
  caverns more than a century ago, and creatures from 
  below issued forth with such swift ferocity that 
  quarrying ended forever. Despite tons of rubble 
  being shifted to block access to the surface “things 
  from below” still find their ways up into Blacksaddle, 
  to maraud, all too often. 
   The arms of Blacksaddle are a lone white castle 
  turret centered on a black shield. 
  The Barony of 
  Great Oak 
  Realm 
  This land occupies the high, wooded hills on the 
  north bank of the River Scelptar, just downstream 
  from its headwaters in the thick, almost impassable 
  Qurth Forest. The woods around the Barony grow 
  swiftly, and many a visitor has become lost on lanes 
  that fade away in deep woods, the farms and hamlets 
  they once reached now overgrown and reclaimed by 
  the forest. 
   Farm crops and forest game amply feed Oakers, 
  but the barony has traditionally traded little (beyond 
  forest syrup, berry wines, and woodcarvings) with 
  wider Faerûn. 
   The “village” of Great Oak is now just a handful of 
  ruined cottages, a half-collapsed mill used only a few 
  days a year as a sawmill, and an inn facing the doors 
  of Great Oak Keep, The Old Oak (Poor/Cheap), that’s 
  run by the Baron’s staff, and serves as servants’ 
  quarters when there are no visitors. Of old, the 
  village was much larger, and was the site of a Talking 
  Tree—an oak of huge girth—all trace of which has 
  now vanished. Some believe it was burned years ago 
  by priests of Baelros (Talos), who believed it to be “a 
  vile thing” whose “dark power in the land” had to be 
  destroyed. Traveling merchants are made welcome; 
  the coins brought in by the careful hospitality of 
  Great Oak’s inns (a store stands near each inn, where 
  merchants can purchase the forest syrup, 
  woodcarvings, and berry wines made by Oakers) 
  
   
  10 
  buy many things not otherwise available in the 
  barony. However, the largest source of local income 
  has for a century been the housing, healing, and 
  provisioning of adventuring companies who come to 
  the Barony to explore the ruins of Godswalk Keep 
  and the long-abandoned dwarf-hold of Copperdelve. 
   Godswalk Keep was a proud fortress-city in the 
  days of proud Netheril. Today, it’s an overgrown 
  valley of crumbling ruins haunted by spiders and 
  ettercaps, where stones often collapse underfoot to 
  plunge intruders down into dark cellars where 
  treasure or death may await. Before the Spellplague, 
  gods were said to walk these spider-haunted ruins 
  when the stars were right: Garagos would slay all 
  creatures he found—except the Dancing Lady (the 
  goddess Sharess) and the Forgotten One (the sinister, 
  shadowy figure of Jergal). But the Meeting of the 
  Three (or the Howling, as it was also called, after the 
  sound Garagos is said to make when he encounters 
  the deities he cannot slay) has not befallen since the 
  Sundering; it seems the gods come to Godswalk no 
  more. 
   However, something does; brief lights have been 
  seen flaring in some of the ruins, and there are 
  furtive comings and goings by night, by small groups 
  of dark cowl-hooded figures—who keep silent, and 
  may not even be human. What they come to the 
  valley for, and do there, remains mysterious; Oakers 
  stay away. 
   Copperdelve is a small underground city overlying 
  a dusty, worked-out copper mine. The dwarves left 
  when the copper ran out, though some say fell 
  Underdark creatures slew or drove them out. Many 
  monsters roam the hold today, and some 
  adventuring bands even seek out Copperdelve to 
  gain experience in facing such foes. 
   The badge of Great Oak is a stout old oak tree, its 
  foliage curving to form a circle meeting its roots. 
  Bedorn 
  Realm 
  A verdant coastal land of water-meadows, thickets, 
  and treacherous bogs that protect it against raiders 
  from the Shaar, this little-known land has fallen into 
  wild lawlessness. The outermost lamp-posts of the 
  independent town of Dapplegate mark its northern 
  limits; the only other coastal settlement south of 
  Scelptarmouth, Oparl, stands at the heart of Bedorn. 
   Of old, Bedorn was the little-known private 
  playground of rich satraps from Calimshan, where 
  they hosted beast-hunts, month-long revels, or 
  dangerous games involving monsters and champions 
  fighting to the death. Many of them delighted in 
  having landscapes resculpted to please themselves, 
  and remade Bedorn into a manicured realm of great 
  beauty, dominated by extensive lawns of 
  “greengrass” or moss and trees planted and pruned 
  back to create pleasant vistas for the eye—if one was 
  beholding the terrain from one of the many, many 
  soaring pleasure-palaces. 
   The Spellplague and the Sundering changed all 
  that, inundating the land with all manner of 
  marauding monsters who swiftly exterminated 
  those Calishites who didn’t flee fast enough. Other 
  beasts broke free from the breeding menageries of 
  some eccentric satraps, and prowled, hunting many 
  humans. 
   Today, Bedorn is overgrown and wild, studded 
  with the crumbling remnants of many grandiosely 
  over-ornate palaces. Where the swamps end, follies 
  and terraces begin, but the scrub trees of the bogs 
  have reclaimed the lawns and overgrown everything, 
  offering ample tangled cover for the roaming 
  monsters who make exploring and plundering the 
  derelict palaces perilous indeed. 
   Oparl was shattered by raging wild magic in the 
  wake of wizards’ duels twisted awry by the 
  Spellplague; many of its grandest buildings cracked 
  and fell. Today, Oparl is a ramshackle trademoot of 
  makeshift dwellings fashioned crudely out of the 
  cracked foundations of its once-soaring edifices. It is 
  home to outlaws being hunted elsewhere, the 
  desperate, slavers, and thieves, where stolen goods 
  too “hot” to be fenced elsewhere, poisons, weapons, 
  and skilled slaves are bought and sold. Unscrupulous 
  merchants come here—and adventurers, too, for 
  there’s abundant coin to be made hiring out as 
  bodyguards, and a lucky few even gain magic and 
  riches in the ruined palaces. 
   One notably unplundered site is just east of Oparl, 
  where Tantar’s Fine Enchantments once stood. This 
  extensive workshop was destroyed in a magical 
  explosion before the Spellplague, but some of its 
  deepest storage cellars may have survived, and they 
  were reputedly crowded with spell scrolls, healing 
  and love potions, glowing globes to illuminate shops 
  and homes, firewarded doors and shutters, and 
  enchanted daggers. The magical blast left spells 
  spontaneously and randomly taking effect in the 
  area, and the Spellplague has intensified and varied 
  these until almost any magical effect can be 
  encountered, without warning—as well as swirling 
  scores of will-o’-wisps, and, it’s rumored, a “ghost 
  beholder.” 
  Beldargan 
  Small town 
  This town has always been fiercely independent of 
  the surrounding Barony of Blacksaddle. Often raided 
  by brigands sweeping down out of the Shaar, it 
  consists of many stone cottages and attached 
  stonewalled orchards that climb the steep flanks of 
  
   
  11 
  Beldargan’s Mount, a natural hill crowned by a tiny 
  ring-fort and central stone keep. The keep, a single 
  square tower bristling with catapults, is known as 
  Beldarg’s Folly after its builder. (Beldarg was an 
  ancient warrior with a bristling beard, tusk-like 
  protruding teeth, big nose, and surly manner--all 
  preserved in local childrens’ jokes and tall tales, 
  though his deeds and fate have been forgotten down 
  the years. “Beldarg” long ago became the collective 
  name of the inhabitants of Beldargan.) 
   Beldargan is ruled by all town landowners, voting 
  in council. Government in Beldargan is light. In daily 
  life, its patrol-riders keep order, dispense rough 
  justice (there are prison cells in the Folly, and 
  patrols often just beat thieves and ruffians, and then 
  “ride them out of town”), and carry the sick to local 
  shrines for healing and shelter. 
   The conical, 300-foot-high Mount is home to over 
  450 of the 650 or so inhabitants of the town. It’s 
  surrounded by an unfriendly ring of deliberately 
  planted thorn hedge (taller than two men in most 
  places), pierced in three places by gates (stone 
  arches whose stone doors are fitted with drop-
  spikes that can be slid down into stone-lined pits to 
  wedge the doors solidly open or shut). A miniature 
  barbican fitted with arbalests (capable of transfixing 
  several horses and their riders with one of their 
  giant quarrels) stands just inside each gate, 
  commanding a clear view through it and along the 
  road leading to it. Forty households in town are 
  forgiven all taxes in return for providing trained, 
  fully-equipped armsmen to man the gates at all 
  times, and defend the town when the war-horns are 
  sounded (from the keep or by one of three senior 
  patrol-leaders who have them). 
   Springs rise in the heart of the Mount (which is 
  honeycombed by dungeons, cottage cellars, and 
  natural caverns, in a crazy maze of damp 
  underground ways leading down into the 
  Underdark) and cascade down its slopes in lovely 
  little gardens of stone-lined plunge-pools and moss-
  planted spillways where townfolk rear edible fish 
  (mostly blackfins) and snails. Beldarg bridge these 
  waters with tiny arched, covered follies festooned 
  with small crystals and shaped metal chimes that 
  dangle over the tinkling waters to flash reflected 
  sunlight or moonlight across their vestpocket-sized 
  gardens. Many cottages are built into the hill, and 
  seem to grow out of the heart of an endless garden; 
  at dawn the hill is alive with birdsong. 
   The orchards of Beldargan grow large, sour green 
  apples, used by the locals in the making of sauces, 
  potent and fiery green wine, cider that’s “like liquid 
  fire” (so saith a Sembian merchant, Mlaxlan 
  Alderguth), and to fatten the shaggy-coated sheep 
  Beldarg tend on the nearby Shaar and its 
  downslopes. The local delicacy of Beldargan 
  Groundworms and Snails in Pepper Butter sounds 
  revolting, but is mouthwateringly good; the 
  groundworms taste like roasted pecans. 
   The Mount is a lone spire of beauty in otherwise 
  rugged downslope country dominated by cairns, 
  bramble clumps, and wary, well-armed shepherds—
  whose children “sit watch” on the heights as 
  sentinels. Turf-roofed dugout huts and stone fences 
  with turn-and-turn-back-again entries (openings in 
  field walls too narrow for livestock—or fat or bulky 
  armored humans—to fit through, that open into 
  narrow passages turning diagonally back into the 
  wall, which then sharply double back again to reach 
  the outer world) rather than gates are the usual local 
  building style once away from the central hill and its 
  ring of ponds and pleasant surrounding manors. 
   A typical exit from a field consists of walking past 
  a jutting post and turning sharply to the left, into a 
  passage perhaps five feet long, wheeling around 
  another post to come diagonally back the way you 
  came for about three feet, and then doubling back 
  around a third post to parallel the same route once 
  more, heading outbound around a last “windcutter” 
  post. This sort of entrance cuts drafts and prevents 
  animals from wandering; when farmers do want to 
  get stock in and out, they use whips and cudgels for 
  herd control, and “slide out the slabs.” These zigzag 
  entries are made with stone posts erected in pairs to 
  bracket upright stone slabs or slates: two strong 
  men can raise these up and out of their “keeper” 
  posts to reveal a much wider opening; locked or 
  even warning spell-enchanted top-bars are often 
  used to prevent unauthorized slab removal. There 
  are many tales of hidden treasures behind loose 
  stones—and waiting traps, both mechanical and 
  magical—in the cozy confines of turn-and-turn-
  back-again passages. 
   The outlying farms, home to perhaps three 
  hundred folk, are known as the Horn Meadows 
  because horns typically signal the approach of any 
  traveler, large animal, or band (though it’s rare to 
  hear a local say more than “out Meadow way” or 
  “somewhere in the Meadows”), and look to 
  Beldargan for protection and supplies—and render 
  taxes to its patrol-riders. 
   Many adventurers doing a little brigand-hunting 
  or seeking the legendary Lost Mine of Hollowhill 
  make Beldargan their base. The Lost Mine is said to 
  be a linked series of eight or nine caverns whose 
  walls glisten with sapphires—enough to make many 
  large realms rich for years. Discovered by Barask 
  Hollowhill over three centuries ago, it was hidden by 
  magic he hired, walled away behind rock and 
  earthshifting magic so that it could only be entered 
  through an invisible portal: a “Moon Door” open just 
  on certain moonlit nights, and that can only be used 
  by someone passing through a particular spot from a 
  
   
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  certain direction. This entrance is said to be 
  somewhere very close to Beldargan, in the open 
  country on the slopes of the Shaar—but just where 
  the Door is, and when it’s open, are secrets lost when 
  Barask disappeared. Legend whispers that he died 
  (or was murdered) in his mine, and now awaits 
  would-be plunderers as its undead guardian. Some 
  folk say the land has sunk or worn away since the 
  Door was made, and it can only be found now by 
  someone stepping off a ladder erected in the proper 
  place. 
   Disquieting rumors are now spreading throughout 
  the Border Kingdoms that “something is amiss in the 
  Mount.” 
   Something is. Doppelgangers working for a death 
  tyrant and some night hags (in a shadowy band 
  calling itself Old Wisdom) have infiltrated 
  Beldargan’s Mount from below, are slaying and 
  impersonating the folk who live there one by one, 
  and intend to make this their home and from it 
  conquer the surrounding Barony of Blacksaddle. 
  Posing as locals who “think they’ve found a way into 
  the Lost Mine, but can’t dig their way in alone,” 
  they’re making covert deals with variously 
  Zhentarim and Lords’ Alliance agents (separately, of 
  course) to sponsor and aid them—purely to get 
  access to higher-ranking individuals of those 
  factions so they can slay and impersonate them, and 
  spread their reach. As a result of this aid, secret 
  adventuring expedition after expedition are 
  exploring the subterranean ways inside the Mount, 
  to try to get into the Mine—but really to map and 
  scour out (of monsters) these ways for the benefit of 
  Old Wisdom. 
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
  DOPPELGANGER 
  Blackalblade 
  Small city 
  This haughty, wealthy walled city is named for a 
  notorious pirate, Kururn Blackalblade, who built the 
  first (long-vanished) house on the site, and died in it 
  at the ripe old age of one hundred and twenty-six 
  winters. A magically-preserved painting depicts him 
  as balding, fierce-moustachioed, and fat—and sitting 
  on a heap of gold coins as tall as a coach! 
   Blackalblade is the capital of the realm of 
  Ondeeme (which was named for the merchant-mage 
  from Schamedar who founded it), but isn’t much 
  larger than a grand and sprawling castle. Yet 
  Blackalans possess all the airs and graces (complete 
  with arcane laws, fast-cudgel guardsmen, and 
  ridiculous fashions) of Calimport and other 
  prosperous, decadent cities of the South. It has 
  cobbled streets, tall stone buildings with tile roofs 
  which touch each other, but no parks or open space 
  (except street-moots). It does, however, have large 
  shop windows gleaming with fine—and expensive—
  wares from all over the known Realms. Rundaleer’s, 
  on Reldruth Street, is as pricey, glittering, and 
  haughty a gem-merchant as one can find anywhere 
  in Faerûn, with gliding, supercilious sales staff, 
  wizards to cast tracer spells against would-be 
  thieves, and furnishings opulent enough for many a 
  palace. 
   Blackalblade’s prosperity began with the wool-
  trade. Its weavers were enriched by working for, and 
  having their designs enhanced by, mages and would-
  be mages (wastrel sons of rich Calishite merchants) 
  that the wizard Ondeeme gathered around himself. 
  When Ondeeme and his school were shattered and 
  destroyed overnight (by an attacking Red Wizard, 
  some say, or a furious Calishite rival, others swear; 
  still other sources insist it was a spell-duel or dark 
  summoning that got out of hand, or that something 
  known only as “the Night Parade” was involved), the 
  weavers were well established, but wise enough to 
  attract more sedentary wizards to dwell in (and 
  thereby defend) their city with generous offers of 
  free residence and special status under local laws. 
  After a brief, ruthless power struggle, Blackalan 
  merchants formed a ruling council of eight. They set 
  about increasing Blackalblade’s wealth and 
  importance—only to cower into hiding at the return 
  of the Slee (who remained the true rulers of the city 
  until the Spellplague drove them all drooling mad). 
  Fine-forgers and jewelers came to Blackalblade 
  because of many and rich gem lodes in the 
  Raundawn Hills northwest of the city. The wily 
  council hired famous gemcutters to come to 
  Blackalblade and live like kings in Sparkling Hall, the 
  first formal (human) school of gemcutting and 
  
   
  13 
  jewelry-making. This establishment swiftly acquired 
  a reputation for hauteur extreme even in 
  Blackalblade, for the excellence of its stylish 
  products (now adorning many a noble across 
  Faerûn), and for the sadistic cruelty of its Masters to 
  their pupils. 
   Borderers laugh at Blackalblade as a ridiculously 
  pompous copy of the worst of larger, older cities. 
  Visiting Borderers are careful not to show such 
  feelings within the city’s high-towered walls, 
  however, because Blackalans have high prices, quick 
  tempers, and harsh laws (featuring floggings, 
  confiscations of all goods, and exiles down the 
  cobbled streets to the nearest gate at a fast drag—
  bound on the end of a rope pulled by a well-whipped 
  horse). 
   Blackalans in turn sneer at “back country hay-
  heads” who come visiting from less fortunate places 
  for “a look at the good life.” Blackalblade is one of the 
  wealthiest cities in the Borders, and “the” place to 
  buy odd, arcane, expensive and fashionable things. 
  The acquisitive hungers of its citizens—and those 
  who visit to shop—keep the nearby port of Thur 
  very busy. It’s a city of glittering shop windows, few 
  successful thieves, and grand, luxurious inns where 
  guests share scented baths, and can hire any sort of 
  service (for extremely stiff fees). These inns vie with 
  each other to be the “best” or at least the haughtiest, 
  but the top three are generally thought to be 
  Naraxalan’s (Excellent/Expensive) on Gardlaer 
  Street; The Old Knight (Excellent/Expensive) on 
  Reldruth Street; and Orlisk’s Orb 
  (Excellent/Expensive) on The Street of Stallions. 
   The ruling council functions well because 
  Blackalans are careful to elect bitter rivals to its 
  seats. Thanks to its years of being puppets to the 
  now-gone Slee, it’s derisively known in the city as 
  the Lords of the Empty Throne, but now wields real 
  power through decrees enforced by the Kauroanars 
  (russet-with-gold-trim uniformed constabulary), 
  whom citizens heed, and who wield cudgels, 
  capture-nets, swords, and daggers, patrol in groups 
  of five, and pounce on thieves, arsonists, and anyone 
  fighting or creating disturbances (except in “drauda,” 
  local clubs that combine the functions of taverns, 
  restaurants, brothels, and gambling houses; city law 
  doesn’t extend into the drauda, which have their 
  own armed guards to keep the peace). There are 
  over seventy leather-armored Kauroanars, headed 
  by the Lord Mace, who lives and works in dark-
  pillared, frowning Lawgauntlet Hall on Murloar 
  Street, which also houses the Hall of Law (courtroom, 
  for the rare cases when disputes are heard, as 
  opposed to Kauroanars dispensing justice on the 
  spot), the Kauroanar armory and barracks, and the 
  dungeon cells below (where the incarcerated are 
  always manacled to the ceiling with choke-chains). 
  Drauda 
  Most Blackalans like the spice of danger--in small 
  doses. Once or twice a tenday, usually after dark 
  when the shops are closed, they venture into a 
  drauda. A few are wealthy enough, or desperate and 
  lawless enough, to visit specific sorts of drauda often, 
  at any time of night or day. 
   Drauda can be roughly divided into three sorts of 
  establishments. There are “respectable” drauda, 
  frequented by wealthy matrons and families, where 
  nothing darker than gambling and cutting-tongued 
  gossip occurs. The Sunset Cloak 
  (Excellent/Expensive) on Darcandle Street is the 
  haughtiest and most expensive of these. 
   There are also “manydoors” drauda, open to all 
  and tightly policed by the house guards to keep 
  violence to a minimum, where shopkeepers, drovers, 
  and most visiting outlanders go to gamble and eat. 
  These are the cheapest of drauda, where any festhall 
  pursuits are discreet and carried on via code-
  phrases, on upper floors, and range from small, 
  dingy places dominated by locals relaxing and 
  chattering, such as Droum’s Beard (Poor/Cheap) on 
  Turnwall Lane, to large, bustling, noisy places with 
  central floors given over to dancing, darts and 
  hurlball and other sports gambled upon, or 
  exhibitions of fashions, inventions, or new goods--
  such as The Laughing Nazir (Good/Moderate) on 
  Glaudra Lane. 
   Finally, there are “dark” or “blood” drauda, usually 
  dimly-lit, violent places where stolen goods are 
  bought and sold, illicit business is conducted, 
  adventurers and hireswords are hired, dancing girls 
  writhe for customers in full view, fights (sometimes 
  duels to the death) are frequent entertainments for 
  gamblers, and halfbloods and near-monsters 
  unmask to drink at ease (food can sometimes be had, 
  but there’s seldom a variety of fare; one place might 
  specialize in platters of stewed, spiced eels, another 
  in liquor-drenched cheeses, and a third in particular 
  fish or fowl eaten raw). The most notorious of dark 
  drauda are Skaeling’s Scorpion (Poor/Expensive) on 
  Sarkskull Lane and The Burning Mask 
  (Fair/Moderate) on Dragonfang Street. 
   Blackalblade is now a center of investment from 
  elsewhere in Faerûn, and home to a shrewd 
  community of speculative investors (some of them 
  members of the ruling council) who invest in 
  businesses, shipbuilding, land and building 
  acquisitions, and even wild ventures, in many places 
  across the continent. These ‘coinlords’ often hired 
  adventurers to investigate the doings of others, or as 
  bodyguards. 
   There are recent and disquieting rumors in ‘the 
  Blade’ that someone is refounding the Slee—that is, 
  a new and shadowy cabal of mages has been formed 
  
   
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  with an eye to controlling local affairs and enriching 
  themselves by assassinations, investments, and 
  influence promotion across the Border Kingdoms 
  and neighboring lands. Some say the Zhentarim are 
  behind “the new Slee,” others that it’s the plaything 
  of the Red Wizards of Thay or the Wearers of the 
  Purple or even the Lords’ Alliance—but the wisest 
  gossips believe that even if such groups are involved 
  in the Slee, the Slee themselves are renegades who 
  deceive and betray such outside factions without 
  hesitation, for their own personal gain. Very much as 
  most ‘highcoin’ Blackalans would do. 
   The arms of Blackalblade are two vertical 
  unsheathed black broadswords, points uppermost, 
  bracketing a trio of all-alike gray castle turrets, the 
  turrets overlapped by a horizontal bottom border of 
  three gold coins, each of which has a faceted gem 
  graven on it. 
  Blackbarn 
  Large town 
  This dun-hued walled town is a busy market for the 
  farmers who dwell around it, dominated from dawn 
  to dusk by wagons on the move, and is home to some 
  superior wagonmakers. It stands where the Long 
  Trail (that runs along the edge of the Shaar, “down 
  the back” of the Border Kingdoms) meets the 
  Scelptar Road, that runs north-of-west out of 
  Blackbarn to the ruined Burntbridges. 
   Blackbarn is a prosperous place of bustling 
  cobbled streets and maroon tile-roofed brown stone 
  buildings, with nary a barn (black or otherwise) in 
  sight. Produce is stored in low buildings called 
  “wagonhouses” where farm deliveries are shoveled 
  into rows of large storage pits--which have wooden 
  gates at their bottoms, allowing them to be emptied 
  in small quantities into merchants’ long-haul wagons 
  brought down ramps into cellars beneath for loading. 
   The loading gates are fire bellows-shaped wooden 
  chutes that can be aimed by pulling on side-ropes, 
  and are fitted with sliding gates at top and bottom. 
  The gate at the top is opened to allow a crop to spill 
  down from the storage pit, and closed again when 
  the chute is full or a desired quantity has fallen into 
  it. Then a wagon is driven underneath the narrow 
  bottom mouth of the chute, and the lower gate 
  opened to let the crop down into it. When the wagon 
  is nearly full, the bottom gate is closed, and after the 
  potatoes or cabbages have stopped falling in from 
  above, and the chute is full again, men called 
  “pokers” thrust wooden poles in through small side-
  ports in the chute to clear the way for the upper gate 
  to slide across, closing off the bin. The lower gate is 
  then opened again, to dump the last chuteful of 
  produce into the wagon (the origin of the Border 
  expressions “Well, he’s taken in his last chuteful” and 
  “Had a chuteful too many, eh?”). Many wagons 
  loaded in Blackbarn go to the Scelptar and straight 
  onto barges for shipment throughout the Border 
  lands (and, via Border ports, to Calimshan and the 
  city-states around the Lake of Steam). 
  The Blackbarn Curse 
  Blackbarn is widely known to sea captains and 
  merchants as a granary. More infamously, it’s 
  infested with thieving, vandalizing, annoyingly hard-
  to-exterminate “graywings” (imps), whom 
  Blackbarnans wage endless war upon. For every 
  graywings slain, a handful more seems to spring up. 
  How they came to be here, and why they stay 
  (because of them, things in town are either made of 
  stone or locked away behind stout locks and 
  cupboard doors) are mysteries; in the Borders 
  they’re known as “the Blackbarn Curse.” 
   Despite this curse, Blackbarn is regarded as one of 
  the more desirable places to dwell in the Border 
  Kingdoms, largely because it’s also the home of the 
  Ghost Lances. Blakkar call undesirables or enemies 
  “grayskins” because of the graywings, and warn 
  those who’ve wronged them that “A Knight’ll get you 
  for this!” 
  The Ghost Lances 
  The Lances or “Black Knights” are watchghosts, said 
  to be knights exiled from Tethyr centuries ago 
  because they backed the wrong royal claimant. The 
  wizard Kulaskular, forbidden to slay them but 
  commanded to harry them from Tethyr and ensure 
  that they never returned, laid a powerful curse upon 
  them, putting them to sleep in a crypt deep under 
  Blackbarn, where water drips endlessly past the 
  stone biers where they lie, and allowing only their 
  ghostly essences to ride forth. Other tales claim the 
  Lances all fell in love with a local elf sorceress 
  centuries ago, and she enspelled them to guard the 
  place she loved, keeping them waiting so she could 
  court the elf lords she desired. 
   Whatever the truth, the Lances appear as spectral 
  knights in heavy armor, atop silent warhorses 
  (whose hooves never quite touch the ground) along 
  lanes and across fields around Blackbarn. They have 
  lowered visors and lowered lances (the tips of which 
  deal chill touch effects). They hunt brigands and 
  thieves, galloping hard across fields and through 
  walls without affecting crops or solid objects they 
  have no interest in disturbing, but otherwise striking 
  with the strength, fury, and weight of living knights 
  of large size and much skill. Silent, watchful Lances 
  (usually a trio or a dozen, but sometimes as many as 
  forty-six) appear anywhere and at any time when 
  deceit, violence, and criminal intent is loosed within 
  Blackbarn’s walls—from men kicking dogs to poison 
  being poured—or the town is threatened. They seem 
  
   
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  dedicated not to harm those who intend no harm to 
  others and have no desire to despoil or pillage 
  Blackbarn. The Lances never speak, but are eloquent 
  in their gestures, and have even been known to write 
  messages (in many languages) to living persons in 
  mud, ashes, dust, or snow. The presence of the 
  Lances has helped make the town a safe haven 
  where foes may meet in unspoken truce—and 
  seldom dare to do otherwise! 
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
  GHOST LANCER 
   
   Many adventurers have sought the crypt of the 
  Ghost Lances, because local legend insists they sleep 
  in a subterranean complex guarded by their 
  enchanted swords: blades that can fly and fight by 
  themselves. 
   Oddly, the ghostly knights never molest or watch 
  over adventurers digging in cellars or poking around 
  in the city’s sewers. Locals who say this inattention 
  is due to the delvers being engaged in a fools’ task, 
  seeking something that’s not there to be found, are 
  unable to explain why more than one adventurer 
  down the years, notably Aldegut of Port Kir (or 
  Kirlyntar, as it was then) and Myrmeen Lhal of 
  Arabel, left Blackbarn with a magic sword they did 
  not arrive with, and a quest they decline to discuss 
  to go with it. 
   The first time one sees a silent armored form 
  materialize at one’s elbow is disconcerting, but the 
  innocent have nothing to fear. Others may well find 
  that speedy flight is their best option. Locals tell of 
  one spiteful outlaw who tossed torches into 
  buildings as he rode out of town with the Lances 
  hard on his heels. By some magic at their disposal, 
  the ghostly knights teleported the conflagrations he 
  caused onto his own person, causing his horse to 
  rear and throw him—and his own fiery doom. 
   The spreading legend of the crypt of the Ghost 
  Lances has led to many brigand visits—and not a 
  few brigand deaths. This in turn has led many 
  peaceable folk to seek the sure safety of Blackbarn. 
  (Its protection is even celebrated in a soothing 
  ballad, Safe Behind Blackbarn’s Shield, a gentle 
  “restful place to go when the heart is torn” song 
  composed by an anonymous minstrel, but now 
  popular up and down the Sword Coast and Shining 
  Sea lands.) 
   Blackbarn is ruled by a High Trantor, elected by 
  the Trantors (merchant lords) of the town from 
  among their number. Thanks to the Lances, the town 
  neither needs nor has a Watch. 
  For the Visitor 
  Travelers are directed to The Silent Knight inn 
  (Excellent/Expensive: quiet, respectable, tasteful, 
  and very pricey), The Black Boot (Good/Moderate: 
  busy, crowded, reasonable, and noisy: the inn for 
  “everyone”), or The Unsnug Snail (Fair/Moderate: a 
  house of low repute, where escorts and gamblers 
  work, much drink is consumed, and live 
  entertainment of all sorts is the order of the day--
  and the night through, too). 
   Patrons of the Snail need no tavern to address 
  their complete pleasure, but others are directed to 
  The Laughing Cat (Good/Moderate) on Sarwynd 
  Street, or The Minstrel’s Folly (Good/Expensive) 
  upstairs above Bryntyn’s Barrelworks, at the corner 
  of Asp and Shariykian Streets. Most townsfolk prefer 
  the quiet frugality of the dingy Old Nag (Fair/Cheap) 
  on Gulgate Street. Those in the mood for a brawl or 
  revelry should go to Dance with the Knights 
  (Poor/Cheap) on Ravalaster’s Lane, an 
  establishment named for the frequency with which 
  Ghost Lance knights materialize forbiddingly in its 
  chambers, to silently admonish patrons to desist 
  from whatever illegalities they are engaged in. 
   Like the very different Beldargan, Blackbarn 
  serves as a base for many merchants and 
  adventurers exploring local reaches of the Border 
  Kingdoms. Most find it a trifle too dull (“all work, all 
  hustle, no fun”) for their tastes, but some happily 
  settle here. Prominent among the town merchants 
  are the bakers; most mornings bring a lingering, 
  mouth-watering smell of fresh-baked buns and 
  pastries to the streets. 
  
   
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  Local Legend 
  Blackbarn is named for a long-vanished large black 
  barn (made of duskwood) built on its site by early 
  human settlers (female mercenaries of the Silent 
  Knife band, exiled from Calimshan in the days of the 
  Satrap in Purple for their support of She Who Would 
  Be Queen) who fought off fierce local halfling bands 
  to keep the land. 
   By night, Blakkar are increasingly used to hearing 
  tappings, ringings, and occasional short thunderous 
  stone tumblings of mining close beneath their feet. 
  The relatively safe security of their town, and its 
  trade-road importance, have led many traders, down 
  the years, to covertly store coins, gems, and other 
  valuables in cellars all over Blackbarn—and in 
  tunnels and hide-holes surreptitiously dug down 
  from some of those cellars. The Spellplague, and 
  many personal tragedies since, have led to a large 
  and mounting number of traders never returning to 
  claim their hidden caches. Now, agents of the 
  Zhentarim and various unscrupulous thieving bands 
  are racing to explore and plunder this subterranean 
  wealth—and Harpers and members of the Order of 
  the Gauntlet are working to thwart them, through 
  open armed confrontation in and beneath the cellars 
  if need be. At least two sizeable caches have been 
  found and emptied so far, and probably a score or 
  more that Blackbarn has never heard about—but 
  night after night, the chiseling and tunneling goes on, 
  and rumors are rising that these would-be 
  plunderings have broken through into the 
  Underdark, and the monstrous denizens thereof 
  have begun creeping up into Blackbarn’s cellars and 
  even, in the dark hours, its alleyways! 
  Bloutar 
  Small town 
  This dwindling town of woodcutters and hunters 
  nestles against the southern verges of Qurth Forest. 
  Of old it was the hold of the ‘Bloodsword Baron’ 
  Bloutar Hilathan, for whom it is named.  
   Bloutar was the scourge of orcs, rival rulers, and 
  just about anything living that came within his reach 
  and failed to swear fealty to him. He is said to have 
  slain no less than three dragons, the first when 
  fighting alone, and to have been an ugly monster of a 
  man, as shrewd and wary as he was iron-fisted and 
  mighty in battle. The Bloodsword Baron led his small 
  but fiercely loyal band of followers in always-
  victorious raids on the lands around and all travelers 
  who happened by. He took to the saddle when over 
  seventy years of age to defeat a rival, Lord Duke 
  Andilyon Ornth of the neighboring (and now-
  vanished) High Duchy of Blaemar, who’d unwisely 
  judged Bloutar too old to fight. In the end, Bloutar 
  died in his bed after over ninety years of a wild, 
  brawling life. The many sons he’d sired promptly 
  tore his realm apart fighting over it, leaving, over a 
  century later, only the town named for him and the 
  hamlets of Deltyn’s Dagger and Empaerla, since 
  overgrown by Qurth Forest. This small remnant, the 
  Bloodsword Lands, suffered under a succession of 
  brutal mercenary warrior rulers, until Klelder 
  Blackhawk (a fighter who’d founded and made 
  famous the Company of the Horn) conquered it and 
  some neighboring hamlets. It was named the Barony 
  of Blackhawk in his honor, and he retired there. 
  However, Klelder unwisely made an enemy of the 
  archmage Lyrildan of Calimport, whose spells made 
  Klelder’s realm teem with monsters. Klelder died in 
  his castle forecourt fighting seven dark nagas long 
  after most of his subjects had perished or fled the 
  mage’s curse. The Barony of Blackhawk continued to 
  spawn things taloned, fanged, and tentacled for over 
  three hundred years until Lyrildan was slain by an 
  ambitious apprentice. During that time the barony 
  became a widely-feared peril that made the lands 
  around unsafe. It occupied many adventurers and 
  avid hunters alike, yielding glory to some and 
  untimely graves to many others. 
   Even today the rolling, forested hills around 
  Bloutar are known as superb hunting country and 
  the nearby forest as decidedly perilous hunting 
  grounds. The area’s dangerous reputation has made 
  it a refuge for outlaws, exiles, and hunted folk who 
  dare go nowhere else. 
   Over the years, Bloutar’s folk have become known 
  for fierce independence, hardiness, fearless defiance 
  of authority, and dislike of outsiders. These traits 
  kept Bloutar ungoverned but independent until a 
  large army from the Barony of Blacksaddle 
  overwhelmed a few defiant armed Bloutarran 
  townsfolk. Bloutar has sullenly remained part of the 
  Barony ever since, largely because of the wealth that 
  comes by trade along the new road built by order of 
  Blacksaddle Keep. Bloutarran pelts and smoked 
  forest beast meats are snapped up as fast as the 
  locals can produce them. The pelts are traded north 
  to Derlusk for export to Calimshan, the city-states 
  around the Lake of Steam, and Tharsult, for use in 
  making fine fur garments sold throughout Faerûn. A 
  charismatic leader (priest of a forest god, fighter of 
  commanding prowess, or even a tightly-knit 
  adventuring band) could easily bring Bloutar to 
  rebellion. 
   Bloutar is a maze of long, rambling log houses that 
  seem to grow out of the sheltering stands of trees, 
  with wagon-ruts winding off in all directions to 
  outlying farms. From a few nearby woodcutter’s 
  clearings, hunting trails plunge into the vast gloom 
  of Qurth Forest in all directions. Hunters, trappers, 
  
   
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  seekers after rare woods, adventurers, and other 
  visitors are strongly advised to hire a local guide. 
   North of Bloutar, the trails lead into deep ravines 
  where owlbears lurk, and forest-dwelling spiders 
  spin many trap-webs. These features have almost 
  certainly been allowed to survive, or are even 
  encouraged by Bloutarrans, to ensure their 
  employment and control over Qurth’s most easily 
  reached resources. More than one hunter and sage 
  has (from a safe distance) voiced the suspicion that 
  local powers may have placed a deepspawn in a 
  nearby cave to produce endless stags, because 
  Bloutarran-led hunts seldom fail to bring back two 
  or more such prizes. 
   Beyond these defenses and arranged perils, a few 
  paths wander into the heart of Qurth Forest through 
  reaches roamed by korred and intelligent fungi, to 
  ruined, overgrown cities (including Hawklyn, where 
  Klelder made his court). Treasures are said to lie 
  forgotten under tree-roots, and monsters roam the 
  deep cellars and crumbling halls. 
   Every summer, hunters and adventurers with a 
  taste for hunting stags and boars or battling darker 
  forest beasts arrive. They find accommodation at 
  Althyn’s Lodge (Fair/Moderate; a shabby but cozy 
  rambling, old rooming house that leaks in 
  rainstorms) or The Spitted Stag inn 
  (Good/Expensive; a beast-trophy-decorated feasting 
  hall at the heart of three wings of guest suites 
  decorated in solid, rustic furniture, with hip-baths 
  and good wine available). 
   The badge of Bloutar is a tree stump cloven in half 
  by a broadaxe (blade lower left, long curving handle 
  running to upper right. A rack of antlers protrudes 
  from the stump (as if it was the head of a gigantic 
  stag). 
  Bowshot 
  A winding wagon road through the heart of the land 
  of Owlhold, the Bowshot has a well-deserved “fell 
  and dangerous” reputation, thanks to brigands, 
  monsters, and breakneck ravines and bogs that 
  claim a toll of travelers every season. Far more 
  travelers survive but lose their way, wandering for 
  days on the various backland trails of Owlhold 
  before either finding a way out, or succumbing to 
  bogs or repeated brigand attacks. 
   For all its windings, the Bowshot can be said to 
  run north-south, linking The Four Stags inn at the 
  midpoint of the Green Road (a larger, better-traveled 
  trade road between Oeble and Bloutar that largely 
  skirts the land of Owlhold) with The Griffon Aflame 
  inn on Longcrag Ride (a newly-rebuilt road that runs 
  between Talduth Vale and Beldargan), in Owlhold’s 
  interior. 
   Traversing the road from south to north, the 
  traveler will find the following features. 
   The Griffon Aflame. This inn is a 
  (Good/Moderate) rustic, timberbuilding standing in 
  a wooded hollow. Always damp and dimly-lit (like 
  the misty dell around it), it has a certain gloomy 
  charm. Mushrooms sprout unbidden in the wet, 
  rotting wood of this cozy house that throws 
  rambling wings out into the forest in all directions. 
  It’s home to many permanent residents (some of 
  them interesting folk indeed, with surprising skills 
  and secrets) as well as way-guests. The Griffon 
  boasts comfortable beds (many slung from the 
  rafters on thick ropes), formidable beer and wine 
  cellars, and generous, tasty stews. It’s named for a 
  long-ago aerial battle wherein a dragon rider 
  downed a flight of griffon-back foes. A good way to 
  start an argument at the Griffon is to ask the 
  identities of those warring parties or why they 
  clashed. 
   Fallenfalcon. Traveling the Bowshot north from 
  the Griffon, the wayfarer will first find Fallenfalcon, a 
  camping pavilion beside a drinkable stream and pool 
  faced by four cottages inhabited by half-elven 
  families, who serve hot or cold bread and soups to 
  travelers on short notice and can manage substantial 
  meals by prearrangement. Plentiful herbs and edible 
  berries grow wild for the picking along the trailside 
  north of Fallenfalcon. 
   Trollhead Bridge. The next site (continuing north 
  along the road) is Trollhead Bridge, a wide, rail-less 
  span across a bog. A message-stone at its south end 
  is carved in the likeness of a long-nosed troll head as 
  tall as a large warrior. (A message stone is rock in 
  whose crevices written missives are left by 
  prearrangement. Anyone who removes or alters a 
  message not meant for them receives an arrow 
  through one hand if any Owlen sees or hears of the 
  deed.) At the Bridge is a sleeping pavilion with 
  firepit and a pump. Travelers are warned that dry 
  firewood is rare in the vicinity, but stinging swamp 
  insects are not. 
   Hathlock House. The farer north from the Bridge 
  will traverse the road up out of bogs to arrive at 
  Hathlock’s Rest, a former foresters’ settlement now 
  abandoned except for Hathlock House 
  (Fair/Moderate), a rustic way-inn that offers 
  uninspired food and clean but spartan sleeping and 
  stabling. Luxuries and amenities can’t be had no 
  matter how many coins a traveler offers. The House 
  is primarily the common residence of seven hunters 
  and fur-trappers, not a well-supplied inn. 
   The Wolf Belt. Two days of hard travel through 
  deep, wolf-roamed woods north of the Rest stands 
  the Wolf Belt (Fair/Expensive), a tavern of sorts. It’s 
  a large, open campground with privies at one end 
  and a serving-shack at the other. The serving shack 
  
   
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  is no more than a rough, wooden shed built over a 
  keg cellar, wherein staff serve drinks across a 
  counter to patrons standing on a covered porch. The 
  drink is strong and rough rather than refined, 
  famous, or imported from afar, but the supply is 
  seemingly endless, and in winter the fare is usually 
  supplemented by a hot mushroom-and-herb rabbit 
  broth. The Belt is open at all hours. At night or in 
  severe weather, the porch shutters are fastened 
  down to leave only a single serving-opening. 
   The twenty-odd staff of the Belt dwell under the 
  serving-shack in cellars arranged in a series of 
  defensible points, with the keg-cellars outermost, a 
  firewood cellar next, then living quarters (with 
  beast-screened airshafts that come to the surface 
  halfway down the side of a wooded hill behind the 
  Belt, under the concealing greenery of many 
  broadleaf shrubs), and a pantry innermost. Much of 
  the drink sold at the Belt is brewed or distilled in the 
  woods behind the serving-shack. There are rumors 
  that an altar to a dark god (tales vary as to just which 
  one) stands back there, too, and that the staff of the 
  Belt worships this dark power. Such tales, it should 
  be noted, do little to discourage clientele or 
  consumption. The truth is that two local trappers 
  worship Shar at an old altar, and the staff of the Belt 
  (who dwell together in one large, multispouse 
  family) avoid it. 
   Sabroar’s Hold. Sabroar was a locally famous 
  priest of Silvanus who consecrated many groves to 
  the Green Father but here established herb gardens 
  for the use of his followers. They continued to tend 
  them after his death. So many buyers came here, 
  needing a place to stay overnight, that the two-story 
  inn of Sabroar’s Hold (Excellent/Moderate) was built. 
  In turn, its presence spurred artisans (weavers, 
  glassblowers, and sellers-of-seeds) to take rooms 
  here from time to time to sell their wares and then 
  melt back into the forest until next they have enough 
  to sell to make the trip. Priests of Silvanus police the 
  inn against thefts, swindlers, and to settle trade 
  disputes, acting as moneychangers and bankers 
  (keeping the funds of the nervous hidden safe in 
  exchange for trade-tokens). The inn kitchens turn 
  out wonderful breads, cakes, and pastries. In 
  addition, there are satisfying stews and roasts 
  garnished only with forest fowl, which owe most of 
  their hearty taste to forest vegetables and sauces 
  seasoned by fare found in the woods around the 
  Hold (mushrooms, mosses, roots, and berries). This 
  would come as a surprise to many of the travelers 
  who delight in the hearty “boar” and “stag” roasts 
  that seldom have anything to do with either beast. 
   Jester’s Hollow. This broad, wooded stream valley 
  is hung with lanterns and is often adrift with 
  pleasing cooking-smokes. It holds the inn that bears 
  its name and a dozen charming cottages. Six are the 
  clearly-signed homes of folk who welcome 
  customers. A rock-studded brook meanders through 
  the hollow. Laughing Lady Stream is named for a 
  long-dead sorceress who once dwelt in the hollow 
  (the inn stands on the foundations of her tiny tower) 
  and whose proper name, Jestra, became corrupted 
  into “Jester” to give the hollow its present name. 
  Jestra Illowhand liked to preserve music to hear over 
  and over in the privacy of her tower without 
  musicians. She devised a spell that captured short 
  snatches of sound in rock crystals and gemstones. 
  Any human touch on a stone caused it to ‘play’ the 
  captured sounds. Somewhere in the woods near the 
  hollow is the buried entrance to the cavern where 
  Jestra stored the gems she’d thus treated, now a 
  priceless collection of not just music but of long-
  dead kings, wizards, bards, and sages speaking on 
  everything from the whereabouts of buried treasure 
  to philosophical musings on the purposes of life and 
  ruling and wars. Its finder can literally name his 
  price for most of the gems. Descending into the 
  hollow from the south, the traveler comes first to the 
  home and shop of “Belomeier Tathchant, Dealer in 
  Locks, Keys, Chains, Hinges, Coffers, and Lanterns.” 
  Belomeier is long dead, but his descendants carry on 
  his business, making and repairing small and dainty 
  specimens of all the items the sign proclaims. They 
  also sell tiny, razor-sharp daggers with sheaths for 
  strapping onto forearms, into boots, and onto belts, 
  at prices are just slightly above average (but the 
  wares are of the best quality). Would-be thieves or 
  “aptrons” desiring to take wares by threat and force 
  will find out the hard way that no fewer than 
  fourteen Tathchants are semi-retired adventurers 
  (of formidable skills), wizards and rangers among 
  them. 
   Next to Belomeier stands the stone cottage of 
  “Jarvathra Ploorst, Talismans and Fortunes.” In her 
  spicy-scented, cluttered home, Jarvathra—a dreamy-
  eyed, gushing woman who never seems to sleep or 
  close her business—dispenses all manner of 
  talismans which may or may not have any real 
  power to ward anything. Some of them are unique 
  mixtures of feathers, carved glass, stones, and 
  smoked leather bindings. She tells fortunes, 
  specializing in the reading of candles lit by a client 
  and in the interpretation of card games played 
  between her and the client. Jarvathra has many male 
  patrons who delight in her affectionate, comforting 
  ways, but her oft-used bed is not for sale, and reacts 
  with cold anger when considered an escort-for-hire. 
  Those she entertains might be alarmed to learn that 
  Jarvathra is apparently about a hundred and sixty 
  summers old, and so can’t possibly be the graceful, 
  not-yet-aging woman she appears to be. (The real 
  Jarvathra died almost a century ago; the “Jarvathra” 
  of today is a doppelganger who deftly learns all she 
  
   
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  can of the doings and aims of her guests, and sells 
  this information to anyone willing to pay—which 
  includes roving spies of the Zhentarim, the Lords’ 
  Alliance, the Red Wizards, and several brigand and 
  thieving organizations and shady merchant cabals.) 
   Beyond Jarvathra’s home are the overgrown 
  foundations of two now-gone cottages, and beyond 
  them stands the inn: the handsome fieldstone 
  Jester’s Hollow (Excellent/Moderate) crowns a little 
  knoll at the bottom of the hollow where a simple 
  bridge crosses Laughing Lady Stream. This 
  wayhouse makes its coins as a resting-place for 
  those who come to trade with the artisans of the 
  hollow. Apt to be damp (and clammy in winter), it’s 
  breezy year-round, bright and welcoming within (all 
  rooms having pleasant window views and solid, 
  comfortable furnishings). It features a common, 
  heated herbal bathing tub just off the taproom, 
  where tired travelers can relax and banish the aches 
  of weary feet. 
   The mint wine is excellent and clears the palate for 
  buttery biscuits, served to all guests. Warm robes 
  are also provided for all, and the staff wear them to 
  encourage such casual dress everywhere indoors. 
  The dining room has a wall of windows that opens 
  onto a little dancing green where harpists, singers, 
  and horn players often entertain. Guests are 
  encouraged to dance for fun, not worrying about 
  skill. Those who like the Jester tend to really like it 
  and return to stay year after year, whenever they 
  can, lingering as long as possible. It’s said that a 
  disguised Azoun IV of Cormyr was among their 
  ranks more than once, accompanied by a certain 
  grumbling Royal Magician of Cormyr. 
   The woods hide several other ruins, including the 
  former home of the Jester himself, who went mad 
  when the Spellplague hit, and died soon after—for 
  he was a wealthy, powerful, and reclusive archmage. 
  Whose spellbooks and magic items (he was known 
  to wear several enchanted rings, and carry multiple 
  wands when expecting trouble) were never found. 
  So, find the right ruin, and uncover its hiding-
  places . . . 
   The Four Stags. This (Good/Expensive) log 
  building is large and handsome with cedar-shingles 
  and flagstone floors. It sits on a hillock surrounded 
  by a circular earthen wall thickly planted with tall 
  pines. It’s a bustling place that has three wings of 
  sleeping-chambers opening off a long, lofty, 
  crosswise common hall dominated by two spit-
  sizzling cooking hearths at either end (each having 
  an adjacent kitchen). “Below” the inn, on the slopes 
  of the knoll, are sheds where one can rent a secure 
  “long stall” for one’s intact team and wagon to be 
  driven into, settled (and locked in) for the night, and 
  then driven out the other end come morning. 
    “The Stags” is where many Owlen come to trade 
  goods with passing merchants, hire companionship, 
  and see all they desire of the wider world. Fresh 
  news from afar is eagerly devoured while maps and 
  curios from ‘the outlands’ fascinate the visiting 
  Owlen. Ruffians and brigands beware: the live-on 
  owners and staff of this inn are a retired band of 
  adventurers, who’ve lost none of their magic items, 
  weaponry, or skill at arms. 
  Burntbridges 
  Burntbridges is a series of seven fords across the 
  River Scelptar linking five almost-submerged islets 
  to each other in a bending, doubling-back route 
  across the fast-flowing river. The fords are named 
  for the bridges that once carried traffic dryshod over 
  the Scelptar at this spot -- and their fate. A sequence 
  of islet-hopping bridges called “The Sevenspans” 
  once carried The Scelptar Road across the River 
  Scelptar, linking the town of Blackbarn (to the east 
  and south) with lands north and west across the 
  river. Most of the wagon trade crossing the bridges 
  was between Blackbarn and the land of Suldamma to 
  the west and south. The bridges were of wood and 
  massive enough to withstand more than fourscore 
  years of wind and weather before the summer of 
  1317 DR, when they were destroyed by fire in a 
  fierce spell-battle. 
   No one quite remembers who was fighting whom, 
  but most tales agree that one armed force of knights 
  with a sorcerer was trying to stop another warband 
  of knights (who’d hired three lesser wizards to ride 
  with them) from crossing the river. The struggle cost 
  the lives of all but a few—the survivors fled, 
  spreading wild tales of fire raging across the river 
  and armored men screaming as they were 
  transformed into strange, ever-shifting beasts that 
  foundered, drowned, and were carried away by the 
  Scelptar as they struggled to learn how to control 
  their new, unfamiliar shapes. 
   The fords are passable only when the water is low 
  at high summer (at the end of Flamerule and the hot 
  early days of Eleasias) or in harshest winter, when 
  river ice is thick. Otherwise, barges must be built and 
  used unless travelers are strong swimmers and can 
  mount multiple ropes from bank to bank or islet to 
  islet. The rotting wrecks of dozens of riven barges 
  litter the islets, and anything useful was salvaged 
  from them long ago. 
   Although this would seem a logical place to 
  establish a ferry, attempts to do so have been ill-
  fated. One group of ferrymen were revealed to have 
  been “replaced” by shapeshifters, most of whom 
  perished in a battle against three adventuring bands, 
  but a few escaped and fled into the Borders in all 
  directions. Later, an adventuring band decided to 
  
   
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  “retire” to Burntbridges and become ferrymen, but 
  dwindled one by one, falling victim to mimics that 
  crept onto their barges and hid as part of the barges 
  or cargo until tired ferrymen slept on the barges. A 
  third group was eaten away to toppling, blood-
  drenched bones with frightening speed by a fell 
  magic unleashed by a passenger they’d displeased 
  (unleashed from a casket, most tales insist, not cast 
  as a spell). 
   Many and fell are the tales told about 
  Burntbridges, over tavern tables and by firesides 
  late at night all across the Borders. Stories of 
  hauntings, of strange undead or monstrous 
  guardians standing on phantom bridges of moonlit 
  nights, bringing death to all who seek to cross. 
  Stories of whispering, formless, chilling-fingered 
  things encountered while crossing the fords that 
  cling to the living for days or weeks afterward, 
  weakening and draining them. Of treasures hidden 
  under the islets, or in clefts in their streamweed-
  slick, submerged, rocky flanks (treasures never 
  found by persistent searches, old Borderers will 
  remind the tale-tellers). Of creatures that rise, 
  dripping, from the Scelptar to drag down travelers 
  crossing the fords by night. And of a “doorway of 
  cold fire” that appears, on rare nights, on one of the 
  islets, a portal through which strange beasts step—
  or slither. 
   At least two efforts have been made to rebuild the 
  burned bridges, and both have ended badly. One was 
  a sudden, silent slaughter of forty men and oxen, all 
  found slumped in the midst of their ropes and 
  timbers, with no mark on them but the buzzing flies, 
  as if they’d all just fallen dead at once in the midst of 
  bridge-building. The other was an emptying of 
  riverbank camps by night with fires still burning and 
  tools, weapons, and wealth all dropped as if laid 
  peacefully aside for slumber. The tents and wagons 
  were simply empty of men. 
   Borderers tell and retell the tales, and no one tries 
  to rebuild the Burntbridges now, though nothing at 
  all ill seems to befall travelers who bring their own 
  spars, build rafts, lash their wagons to them, and 
  struggle across the Scelptar. Outlanders who seek 
  treasures or the legendary portal depart empty-
  handed, and nothing seems to tarry around the islets 
  -- not even the birds (squawkwings, drey, and 
  dundippers) that nest in profusion up and down the 
  Scelptar-banks above and below the old bridge sites. 
  Dapplegate 
  Large town 
  This independent, lively place stands on the 
  northern border of Bedorn; Borderers know 
  Dapplegate as a pleasant place of cobbled streets and 
  solid, three-story stone buildings where merchants 
  rule (in a council of forty that can never agree on 
  much of anything) and fill the town with cheerful 
  bustle at all hours. 
   Native Dapplans can sleep through anything 
  thanks to crafters hammering through the night and 
  the din of wagons and pull-carts groaning and 
  rumbling endlessly through the streets—this town 
  never sleeps. Dapplegate’s resident craftfolk make 
  superb stormlanterns (of wrought iron or brass with 
  glass panes and hanging chains), adequate chain, and 
  rough but sturdy crates and chests for the transport 
  of bulk goods. Most businesses are open night and 
  day, staffed in three shifts, busily selling Borderers 
  all that Calimshan and more distant lands have to 
  offer and buying Border goods for export. Goods are 
  hauled north to wharves along the left bank of the 
  River Scelptar for shipment via barges. The 
  riverbanks in that area are so marshy and insect-
  infested that there are no other Borderer 
  settlements there. Lizard folk and mudmaws battle 
  for supremacy, and no less than six mercenary 
  companies based in Dapplegate are kept busy 
  providing protective escort duty for bargebound 
  shipments. 
   All of this makes Dapplegate a worthwhile stop for 
  shoppers seeking variety of wares (often an elusive 
  quality in the Border Kingdoms), but hardly an 
  exciting place for the romantic or adventurous. 
  Visitors to Dapplegate are directed to the Place of 
  Arrows (the central marketplace and the site of a 
  long-ago battle between rival companies of archers). 
  There, stalls of traveling merchants crowd together 
  inside a ring of eight circular, waist-high, walled 
  ponds (for watering draft animals). 
   The Place of Arrows was overlooked by 
  Danchilaer’s Tower, a simple, slender dark stone 
  tower that stands immediately northwest of the 
  market in its own walled garden (which it shares 
  with ancient, massive, stunted oaks, a cairn 
  commemorating the Valiant Fallen of Dapplegate in 
  the many wars that have raged across the region, 
  and—at most times—many children of the town at 
  play, though they shun the tower itself). Before the 
  Spellplague, this had been the home of the reclusive 
  Danchilaer the Mad Mage, but even before that 
  calamity, his home had been dark and empty (except 
  for occasional roaming bands of adventurers seeking 
  treasure in its trapped, labyrinthine chambers and 
  cellars), though his brooding, watchful presence 
  could be felt by anyone who drew near. Some say 
  Dapplegate grew up around this tower, after folk 
  staying at the nearby Dapplegate Inn struck bargains 
  with the sorcerer to protect them with spells in 
  return for payments of money, cooked food, and 
  lifting-and-carrying service around the tower). 
   The Spellplague destroyed the Mad Mage—or did 
  it? He’s still seen in the town from time to time, as a 
  
   
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  silent, gliding apparition, his face hidden by his 
  pulled-down cowl. He points or makes other 
  gestures, and then glides away. He was known to be 
  very wealthy, and magically mighty, and according 
  to Dapplans, no one has ever found his riches nor 
  any of his magic. Betimes adventurers still brave the 
  tower to search . . . and often perish within, or flee 
  babbling of “strange monsters.” 
   Beside the Tower is the round, turreted Council 
  Hall, an ungainly pile of a building that has flung out 
  wings in all directions over the years as kitchens, 
  meeting-rooms, and rental storage lockchambers for 
  visitors were added haphazardly. Its roof leaks in 
  many places, and no one seems bothered to do more 
  than slapdash repairs, so it might not grace 
  Dapplegate much longer. 
   Facing the Hall across Lockwyvern Street is The 
  Chased Unicorn (not, as some travelers think, “The 
  Chaste Unicorn”), an inn (Excellent/Expensive) 
  offering superior dining and fairly luxurious 
  appointments, including gaming rooms, private 
  baths, and chamber service. Such accommodations 
  are rare in the Border Kingdoms—and are priced 
  accordingly. 
   Most visitors stay at one of the three less 
  expensive (and more spartan) inns just inside the 
  town gates. Hard by Bedorn Gate is The Old Tin 
  Tankard (not, despite its name, a tavern; 
  Good/Moderate). Just inside Easting Gate is The 
  Watchful Warrior (large, new, noisy, and bright; 
  Fair/Moderate), and beside the River Gate is Mistfall 
  House (which many folk in town suspect has 
  something to do with the Harpers; known Harpers 
  stay there when in town; Excellent/Moderate). The 
  best tavern in town is Black Blasko’s on Sharaghil 
  Street (Good/Moderate). The most raucous and 
  shady is Tarnalar’s Tipple on Bloodserpent Lane 
  (Poor/Moderate). 
   Persistent local rumors insist that anywhere from 
  seven to a score tombs of Halruaan archwizards lie 
  hidden beneath the cellars of buildings all over 
  Dapplegate—including the crypt of Quarlin, a 
  Halruaan wizard who specialized in making many 
  magical staves of various sorts that unleashed battle 
  magics. Both Elminster and Volo have written in the 
  past that these rumors are founded on facts, but 
  refused to specify how to access any of the tombs. 
  Optimistic adventurers keep searching. 
   The badge of Dapplegate is a side-on wyvern’s 
  head facing to the left, jutting up from the center of a 
  crenelation (toothed stone top of a tower, 
  represented by three merlons separated by two 
  embrasures, so the wyvern’s neck rises squarely up 
  behind the center merlon). 
  Derlusk 
  Large city 
  Derlusk is a large port on the Lake of Steam, among 
  the best and busiest harbors in the Border Kingdoms. 
  It fills a natural bowl valley, sheltered on the west 
  and north by wooded Dragonsmoke Ridge, which 
  many of its lanes climb, and many of its stout stone 
  buildings are built into. By night, Derlusk is a quiet, 
  attractive vista of slate roofs and shimmering 
  lanterns. 
   Most of the crops and goods produced in the 
  Barony of Blacksaddle and Shandolphyn’s Reach are 
  shipped to wider Faerûn through Derlusk. Its four 
  rival shipyards are known for building swift, sleek 
  “wave runner” coastboats (preferred by smugglers 
  and pirates for their speed, nimble helms, and low 
  silhouettes), but their daily coin comes from 
  repairing visiting cogs and caravels, and maintaining 
  the local fishing fleet. A local acquired-taste delicacy 
  is salty “dlurn paste” of revolting drab “slug” green 
  hue, made from the small, green dlurn fish found in 
  profusion in Derlusk Harbor and nearby inlets). 
  Dlurn keeps well, smells marvelous, and makes a 
  solid meal when spread on biscuits, but its saltiness 
  goads fierce thirst. 
   Derlusk is a city of music where bards are highly 
  regarded; every inn, tavern, tankard-house, and 
  breakblades club (where patrons fence for exercise 
  and to improve their swordplay) offers musical 
  entertainment. 
   Derlusk is also a city of scriveners, bookbinders, 
  and book collectors, where bookshops prosper. 
  Books (fiction—the more fanciful, the better), are 
  eagerly collected, lent (for fees and book-deposit 
  sums), and discussed by Derluskans. Parties are held 
  to celebrate new releases or a collector’s acquisition 
  of a long-sought tome. Authors are treated like 
  royalty, and annual revels are held to commemorate 
  their deaths. Many scholars, sages, and limners dwell 
  in Derlusk, and it is Faerûn’s center for procuring old, 
  rare books (or hiring a “seeker” to find and procure 
  such a tome elsewhere). If a particularly rare or 
  valuable volume can’t be bought, a seeker will try to 
  negotiate a price at which the book’s owner will 
  allow bonded scribes to make a copy in the safety of 
  the owner’s private rooms (for this, buyers can 
  expect to pay at least 100 gp per copied page, and 
  thousands more for especially rare, valuable, or 
  sought-after tomes). Fees for copied maps begin at 
  1,000 gp each and rise rapidly from there; most cost 
  about 4,000 gp (one-of-a-kind or heavily illustrated 
  maps and books are accordingly more). 
   Derlusk also offers street-corner shops where a 
  new book can be had for as little as 6 sp. Passages 
  can be copied out from old books in most shops’ 
  
   
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  stock into a fresh chapbook for a customer willing to 
  part with 12 to 25 gp, or double that for anything 
  longer than a dozen finished pages. All of this 
  literary interest gives the port an air of 
  sophistication akin to far larger, cosmopolitan cities 
  like Waterdeep. 
   Accommodations in Derlusk range from seedy, 
  short-rent upstairs back rooms reached by rickety 
  outside stairs and shared involuntarily with gulls 
  and pigeons to the luxurious, sprawling The Turrets 
  at Twilight, a renovated former sea-castle with 
  plentiful chambermaids and no less than three 
  dining rooms. (The Turrets is famous for surviving 
  hosting a MageFair—but many magical pranks 
  wreaked widespread damage, leaving rooms, 
  doorways, cellars, stairs, windows, and even some 
  guests under nasty recurring enchantments. The 
  place reeks of magic, not to mention rumors of 
  magical treasures hidden away behind its wall-
  panels. According to Elminster, at least one 
  garderobe-seat, in his time, wasn’t just something to 
  sit on, it was a powerful magic item of a sort that’s 
  usually found in quite a different shape.) 
   The Turrets at Twilight stands on the northeastern 
  corner of the streetmoot of Shalath Street and 
  Runereaver’s Run. The complex sprawls for an entire 
  city block and encloses its own internal courtyard, 
  with a horse-and-coach tunnel from there to its 
  fortress-like stone stables that fill the next block to 
  the east. The stables are crowned by floors of rooms 
  for guests’ servants and the inn staff. 
   Most Derluskan inns are modest, quiet places of 
  friendly, slightly shabby comfort, like several homes 
  of old-money wealthy gentry who don’t care for 
  ostentatious show spliced together to provide three 
  floors that fill a city block of rooms, suites, and 
  lounges. Stalwarts among these hostelries are 
  Saltsea House on Yarendevvur Street, Beltarn’s 
  Hearth on Moonspire Lane, and Ostegul’s Roost on 
  Spurnserpent Street.  
   Many scholars, sages, and limners have settled in 
  Derlusk, creating a localized shared world of 
  interests that most Borderers dismiss as quite 
  mad—or at the very least odd, eccentric, and 
  frivolous. This is the place to come if you seek an old, 
  rare book. Though many dockworkers of Derlusk 
  find the world of books to be something strange,  
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
  DURLUSK MARKET 
   
   
  
   
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  they regard book lovers as harmlessly eccentric, true 
  fellow citizens—provided they share an appreciation 
  of music, and especially if they enjoy music that’s 
  sung lustily off-key as barrels are being loaded on 
  the wharves or bawled drunkenly out of windows 
  when the moon rides high. 
   Wealth is everywhere in Derlusk. It is a very clean 
  city, kept that way by rat-catching cats and diligent 
  streetswabbers, paid by the city so that no one need 
  hesitate to bring refuse to one of the frequently-
  passing carts. These carry dung and trash well 
  outside the city, to “the pits” dug out when an all-
  faiths cemetery hill was erected (and ringed with 
  shrines where local priests watch for, and work 
  against, the rise of undead from among the many 
  buried). 
   Derlusk’s shops provide superb arrays of choice in 
  goods, from the old, used, repaired, and simple, up to 
  the latest styles and innovations. Many Derluskans 
  live above their shops, having a storage cellar below, 
  the shop at street level, the floor immediately above 
  given over to wares-storage and workrooms (very 
  successful shops may expand into this floor, with 
  internal staircases opening onto little “halfway-up” 
  landings for the display of still more wares), and all 
  floors above that being living quarters with window-
  box herb-gardens and rooftop laundry-lines. If the 
  shopkeeper lives elsewhere, these floors are usually 
  rented out, often to shop staff or trusted friends. 
  Shady wares and oddities (such as some specialized 
  adventuring equipment, drugs, poisons, and 
  “monster relics”) may be hard to find in Derlusk, but 
  it can collectively offer a choice of more mundane 
  wares that rivals important trading-ports like 
  Baldur’s Gate or Alaghôn. 
   Derlusk’s streets aren’t laid out in a strict grid 
  pattern, but those routes that generally run down 
  from the lip of the valley to the wharves are named 
  “streets,” whereas those that wind in concentric arcs 
  around the valley, paralleling the shoreline, are 
  usually called “runs.” Streets tend to be dominated 
  by wagon-traffic moving to and from the dockside 
  warehouses, and runs tend to be dominated by 
  shopping and pedestrian traffic to and from above-
  shop lodgings. The mansions of the wealthiest 
  Derluskans tend to stand on the highest runs, high 
  up on the valley sides. 
   The busiest streets include Shalath Street, 
  Wavecaundel Street, and Arbelloe Street, and the 
  most popular shopping runs are Runereaver’s Run 
  (home to both The Faring Falcon and Fendelmer’s 
  Fine Folios), Furlar’s Run, and Oscalyaun Run. 
   The most exclusive addresses in Derlusk are along 
  the winding, garden-flanked Dawndancer’s Run and 
  Athal’s Run, where iron gates, ironspear walls, and 
  private guards lurk amid the greenery. 
  Governance 
  Derlusk has no city wall and no gates, though it does 
  have slender stone watchtowers from which 
  members of its storm-gray-uniformed Watch 
  observe arrivals and departures from the city. Their 
  main task is to quell brawls, catch murderers, 
  arsonists, vandals, and thieves, and generally keep 
  the city safe for trade. They tend to be disinterested 
  in shady dealings, except when those dealings 
  involve kidnappings, slavery, or thefts from 
  Derluskans. 
   Derlusk has no guilds, and the independent-
  minded merchants of this independent city frown on 
  such organizations. However, merchants vote nine of 
  their number to annually fill the Coinseats—the 
  chairs of their ruling Council, which passes laws 
  (usually to settle disputes between neighbors or 
  trade rivals), passes judgment in disputes brought to 
  them, and directs and pays (from docking-levies) the 
  Watch (sixty-odd strong, with another twenty-some 
  trainees) and the streetswabbers. Despite their 
  distaste for guilds, merchants in a given field tend to 
  nominate and vote for ‘one of their own’ to sit on 
  Council. Being a Councillor is a thankless, time-
  consuming job that tends to hurt the personal trade 
  prosperity of those sitting the Coinseats, so few 
  agree to serve consecutive terms or numerous terms. 
   All in all, Derlusk is lightly governed and prefers 
  matters that way. Local trade competition isn’t as 
  cutthroat as many other mercantile centers in the 
  Realms. When dusk falls, every shop that isn’t 
  concerned with nightly entertainment (food, drink, 
  and clubs) closes its doors and citizens relax or play. 
  It’s a rare Derluskan who sits up nights doing extra 
  work, though conducting trade negotiations over a 
  tankard or tallglass isn’t considered work. 
   Derlusk offers probably the widest selection of 
  goods available in one place in all the Border 
  Kingdoms; Borderers believe you can buy anything 
  in Derlusk if you’ve coin enough, and they just might 
  be right. 
  Dunbridges 
  Village 
  This picturesque, sleepy-looking village meets the 
  eye as a chaotic tangle of hedges, meandering paths, 
  and walled gardens studded here and there with 
  thatched, thick-walled cottages. Surrounded by 
  rolling pastureland, the settlement is dominated by 
  mills and their millponds, freely-wandering sheep 
  and goats, and the many small bridges for which the 
  place is named. The Dunbridges (named for Aldunn, 
  the dwarf stonemason who built them centuries ago) 
  leap over ponds—and the springs that feed them—
  in railless arches too narrow for many an outland 
  
   
  24 
  merchant’s wagon. As a result, Dunbradar spend a 
  lot of time hauling overturned wagons out of 
  normally-placid local waters by means of blocks, 
  pulleys, spars, and horse-winches (almost as much 
  time as visiting merchants spend heartily cursing the 
  bridges). The Dunbradar take such things with 
  patient good humor, secure in the prosperity won by 
  their sharp-flavored, Dunbradar cheese made of nuts 
  and goats’ milk, well-stocked fish ponds, and woolen 
  mills which produce distinctive Dunbradar 
  blankets—always woven in green-on-green, swirling 
  patterns that make good camouflage. 
  Defenses 
  Dunbradar can call on no less than three resident 
  adventuring companies of note to repel attempts at 
  brigandry, invasion (almost always by the 
  legendarily greedy and belligerent folk of Thuntar, 
  who rise every decade or so in another attempt at 
  building an empire), and enforced bridge 
  improvements (even by their nominal superiors, the 
  Sunbright Lances of High Emmerock). All three 
  companies have defended Dunbridges on occasion 
  and have done so in full muster together at least 
  twice—during the Wyrmstrike of 1332 DR (a dragon 
  attack) and at the battle of Six Smoking Shields in 
  1348 DR (the most recent resounding defeat of 
  invading Thuntarran armies). 
   These three stalwart bands are a rollicking, 
  pranksome, tankard-tossing rabble of dwarves 
  known as the Merciless Manticoreslayers (all 
  outlaws from the dwarven Deep Realm, led by 
  Khaladaen of the Double-ended Axe, a LN male gold 
  dwarf Ftr14); the all-female Company of the Bent 
  Blade, formed some eighty years ago by the 
  daughters of the Company of Sun Knights (who 
  founded High Emmerock); half-elven and human, 
  uniformly magnificent in gleaming plate armor and 
  mounted on glossy chargers; and the Deadhelms of 
  Dunbridges, a motley crew of semi-retired 
  adventurers and mercenaries from a score of 
  kingdoms and a dozen races. 
   The brawling, boisterous Manticoreslayers make 
  steady coin by distilling a strong, rough whisky 
  called “Slayers’ Fire” which is growing in popularity 
  as merchants take it throughout Faerûn. Local rumor 
  insists that they are girt in battle with strong 
  defensive magic and that their annual “long 
  vacations” are spent hunting and slaying dragons for 
  sport. 
   Rumor further asserts that the ever-wary 
  Deadhelms, who dwell in a fortified keep at the 
  western edge of Dunbridges, wield an array of 
  strange and powerful magic items. Further, it 
  whispers that their leaders are the remnants 
  (human and otherwise) of the crew of a ship that 
  sailed through the sky and between the stars! 
   Not to be done yet, the same ever-tireless rumor 
  mill holds that the “Blade Queens” (as the warrior-
  women of the Company of the Bent Blade are 
  affectionately known) are all sorceresses and 
  Harpers, or at the very least allies of and spies for 
  Those Who Harp. 
   The daring exploits (and domestic dalliances, as 
  the Blade Queens are endlessly courted by various 
  stalwarts of both other companies) provide constant 
  entertainment for Dunbradar and also leave them 
  unimpressed by most visiting adventurers. Brigands 
  may be able to force Dunbradar folk into doing 
  things, but they’ll fail to scare them into doing 
  anything. 
  Governance 
  Dunbridges is governed by the Mouth, a council of 
  local merchants (nominated by any citizen) who 
  serve for three seasons and have equal votes. No 
  councilor can serve two consecutive terms. The 
  Mouth has eleven members-at-large and a speaker, 
  the Lord of the Bridges. The Lord directly commands 
  the only employees of the Mouth: the Fingers, a 
  dozen-strong mounted constabulary (veteran, 
  capable LN male human fighters) who patrol the 
  streets, lead the militia, and keep close watch on 
  visitors, under the direction of their leader, the Lord 
  High Protector. This general-cum-chief of police is an 
  office which in the past was all too often occupied by 
  corrupt villains (several of whom tried to take direct 
  rule of Dunbridges and paid for the attempt with 
  their lives or were forced to flee far, fast, and 
  permanently). However, the principled Tharorgaun 
  Tarntree established a new alert and attentive 
  standard, and established “wide patrols” that scour 
  far afield in search of brigands and winter wolves, 
  always checking trouble spots like Sarglar’s Hill. In 
  his time, a mind flayer merchant with a wizard in 
  thrall once came to town and tried to take over the 
  minds of local millers. Tarntree beheaded the illithid 
  in single combat. The grateful, freed wizard cast a 
  preservative spell over the head, and it still hangs on 
  pike-point above the front gate of Tarntowers, the 
  Lord High Protector’s fortified mansion, eyes 
  glowing faintly and tentacles endlessly and gently 
  curling (an eerie sight that has made many a visitor 
  hurry past but of which locals are quite proud). 
  Mysteries 
  Dunbridges long ago became a supply center of sorts 
  for folk who dislike overly tight scrutiny and local 
  laws—or rather, a place for such folk to leave their 
  supplies. The Six Whistlers Lockhouse in the side of 
  Sarglar’s Hill just northeast of the settlement is a 
  fortress mated to a network of caverns where folk 
  can rent space to store whatever they need to keep 
  hidden for a while. No one but the Whistlers knows 
  
   
  25 
  how many human warriors guard the Lockhouse 
  fortress gate. The now-long-dead Bold Bards 
  adventuring band of Tashluta, who are known to 
  have disputed the fees charged by the Whistlers, 
  claimed some of the Whistler guards are 
  doppelgangers who shift their appearances to make 
  clients think there are far more guards than the 
  place really possesses. Down the years, many wild 
  tales have been told about the true identities of the 
  Whistlers themselves, most often that they wear 
  human guises until it suits them to take their true 
  shapes, as vargouilles who have heads six feet tall! 
  Local legend insists great treasures are hidden in 
  some of the Lockhouse caverns; treasures that 
  would “rock all Faerûn and tumble not a few of its 
  thrones” should they ever be released. 
   Perhaps only the watchful gods know what other 
  mysteries lurk behind the cozy cottages and bustling 
  little shops of Dunbridges. Visitors from larger and 
  more sophisticated places are warned that local 
  legend has always hinted that great power lies 
  “hidden, unsleeping” in and about the mills and their 
  placid ponds. 
  Duskwood 
  Deepest and least tamed of the Border Kingdoms 
  forests, the Duskwood fills the eastern end of the 
  Borders, separating the Realm of the Smoking Star (a 
  bucolic forest a-crawl with wild magic) from the 
  largely-lawless Realm of the Ready Sword (home to 
  brigands, misfits, and many monsters). 
   Few folk dare to venture far into the Duskwood’s 
  thick tangles of moss-girt trees, clinging vines, and 
  many tiny rivulets that tumble down from knife-
  sharp, central ridges to carve deep ‘breakneck’ 
  ravines thickly cloaked in underbrush. The 
  breaknecks render impossible mounted passage 
  through the forest—or ground pursuit of anything 
  that can jump long distances or fly. The undergrowth 
  provides ample cover for giant spiders, snakes of 
  astonishing size, and owlbears. Beholders are 
  reputed to drift menacingly among the trees, and the 
  forest is known to harbor at least one large thirst 
  (flock) of stirges. 
   So numerous are the monsters of the Duskwood 
  that some sages believe a colony of deepspawn must 
  dwell in its depths. Others point out that the forest’s 
  plant life flourishes just as frenetically and that old 
  tales of a nature god dwelling in the Duskwood, or it 
  being the onetime home of a Netherese sorcerer 
  whose now-untended generative magics run amok, 
  may be nearer the truth. 
   The Duskwood’s rich flora includes many rare, 
  shade-dwelling herbs and fungi that grow larger, 
  richer, and in more profusion than anywhere else in 
  the known Realms. Alchemists, dyers, herbalists, 
  scent-makers, mages, and priests will pay 
  handsomely for specimens. 
   Among the ridges at the heart of the forest lie 
  pools whose waters glow faintly with magic. Some 
  say these were created by a Netherese arcane 
  spellcaster of awesome might, but there are many 
  other wild tales about their origins. The truth is 
  unknown. These pools (the sources of the Dusking 
  Rivers) combine the abilities of a spellward of arcane 
  might with the power to restore charges to 
  immersed magic items of a charged nature. These 
  legendary properties have brought a host of 
  adventurers deep into the Duskwood down the 
  centuries, and most reported the pools to be 
  guarded by something called the Vauntagar. 
   Dusk Pool Effects. Non-magical items aren’t made 
  magical. Magic items that don’t use charges are 
  unaffected, but the fact that they don’t use charges 
  will be instantly communicated to any creature 
  touching them during immersion. At the end of every 
  ten hours of continual or partial immersion of any 
  magic item that uses charges, roll 1d6. A result of 1 
  means no charges have been gained, a result of 6 
  means ten charges have been gained. For rolls of 2 
  through 5, the item gains a number of charges 
  matching the number rolled. Broken periods of 
  immersion or periods of less than ten hours duration 
  confer no benefit. A Dusk Pool can ‘supercharge’ an 
  item to more than its total charge capacity, but in 
  doing so the item is altered in a way that prevents it 
  from ever again being recharged by that particular 
  pool. At the end of the ten hours in which an item 
  becomes ‘supercharged,’ the pool expels the item 
  (Dusk Pools never expel items under any other 
  circumstances). 
  The Vauntagar 
  Once venerated by a Borderer cult in ancient times, 
  this magic remains a dark horror in many fireside 
  tales and warriors’ legends. 
   Seemingly lost to wizardry today, the Vauntagar is 
  a permanent spell binding that links monsters of the 
  caster’s choice in a symbiotic cycle. Only one 
  monster prowls Faerûn at a time, but it is replaced 
  by the next in the cycle whenever the first is slain, 
  sorely wounded, or desires to escape its current 
  situation. The first beast vanishes, and the second 
  fades into view in the same spot. 
   Up to a dozen creatures of widely differing 
  abilities, natures, and alignments can be linked 
  without apparent harm or instability (most 
  Vauntagars consist of six to nine beasts). Combat 
  damage dealt by any monster in the cycle heals an 
  equal number of hit points, evenly distributed, 
  among any of its fellow monsters that are wounded 
  at the time (the unseen, ‘elsewhere’ beasts are 
  healed offstage, beyond the reach of even the most 
  
   
  26 
  potent magical attacks). The onstage beast can’t heal 
  itself through the damage it inflicts. This repair 
  extends to regeneration of completely destroyed 
  body parts and elements so long as actual death 
  hasn’t occurred. 
   The Vauntagar magic prevents aging and inhibits 
  disease and poisoning. The beasts in a cycle can only 
  die violently and can’t voluntarily leave the binding. 
  The death of a cycle creature doesn’t shatter a 
  Vauntagar binding but shuffles the order in which 
  the remaining beasts appear. (Some cycles are 
  reported to include the slumped forms of 
  decomposing or skeletal beasts, but the only account 
  of a Vauntagar entirely composed of various undead 
  has been dismissed as a drunken minstrel’s 
  fabrication.) The adventurer Maurra Thorntyger of 
  Athkatla escaped a Vauntagar in which she faced (in 
  order) an ogre, a grell, a leopard, a gorgon, a tlincalli, 
  a displacer beast, a giant bat, a chimera, and a 
  leucrotta. 
   At least one Vauntagar guards each Deep 
  Duskwood magical pool. Some sages speculate these 
  beasts bathe in the waters to prolong the bindings. 
  At least one binding (that includes an ogre mage) 
  wanders the Duskwood freely, another (perhaps 
  several) may be encountered in the depths of 
  Undermountain, and they may also lurk in various 
  ancient Netherese ruins. 
   Just what other secrets lie hidden in the depths of 
  the Duskwood, beyond the perils of the Vauntagars, 
  are the subject of many legends, all or none of which 
  may be true. One speaks of a vein of emerald ore so 
  rich that human-torso-sized lumps can be hewn 
  away from the rock and carried off, and another 
  whispers of an invisible tower where a wizard 
  dwells. A third speaks of a sunken dell where a lich 
  wanders the roofless, overgrown rooms of his once-
  grand mansion, compelling adventurers who reach 
  his abode to go back into Faerûn under the goad of 
  geas magics and perform tasks at his bidding—tasks 
  intended to change who wears this crown or what 
  road that realm pursues in the years ahead. 
   Whatever the truth of these tales, there is one cold 
  truth about the Duskwood: it has claimed the lives of 
  thousands of adventurers down the years and is still 
  doing so today. 
  Emrys 
  Large town 
  This large, fortified town is sometimes called “the 
  Throat of Talduth Vale” as it stands on the Sheep 
  Road linking the Borders with the Shaar fringes that 
  Vale farmers use as grazing land—and because it 
  forms a bottleneck for travelers. The countryside 
  around Emrys is typical of the upland Vale (the less 
  lush, more rolling part of Talduth Vale that lies along 
  the Landrise where the lower lands of the Border 
  Kingdoms become the high plateau of the Shaar). 
  Small farms that raise sheep and root crops are laid 
  out in a crazy-quilt of wandering lanes and 
  irregularly-shaped fields separated by high 
  fieldstone walls, with thorn trees and a few felsul 
  standing where walls meet. 
   Dominated by the massive and severe battlements 
  of central Emrystarl’s Keep, Emrys occupies a hill at 
  the south end of cold, deep Emrysar Lake. 
  Treacherous bogs drain into the lake from the north 
  and stretch to the Dragonback, a long, sharp, distant 
  ridge. Travelers going east or west must trek most of 
  the way to Oeble to pass these natural barriers if 
  they want to avoid Emrys. Most don’t bother. 
   Taldans come to Emrys for protection in time of 
  war (extensive underground caverns under 
  Emrystarl’s Keep contain armories and a stream of 
  sweet water), for selling sheep and wool to 
  outlanders in the Bawling Market (named for the din 
  made by penned sheep), and for supplies; Emrys is 
  Talduth Vale’s main source of ironmongery, 
  livestock feed, pottery, and large gear such as 
  wagons. The town is prosperous. Well-stocked shops 
  offer reasonable prices, and folk are always eager to 
  buy. 
  What Meets the Eye in Emrys 
  Defended by two concentric walls, Emrys is only a 
  little more than a mile in length and roughly half that 
  in width, cloaking the slopes of the oval hill crowned 
  by the keep. It is a crowded place of cobbled streets, 
  no trees, and tall, narrow, steep-roofed shops with 
  rental living-quarters rising four floors or more 
  above the selling floors. Cellars below house “candle-
  shops” (small chambers where skilled workers 
  repair or alter shoes, garments, or small items by 
  candlelight). New wares are never sold in 
  candleshops. 
   There are only two open spaces within the town 
  walls: the Broad and the Bawling Market. The Broad, 
  used for parking caravan-wagons and assembling 
  their harness-teams, lies between the outer and 
  inner town walls on the town’s southeastern edge. 
  The Market is the always-bustling local meeting 
  place, a ragged oval perhaps a quarter of a mile long, 
  bounded on the west by the frowning keep walls and 
  on the east by the Church of All Souls, a temple of six 
  sanctuaries open to all faiths (Chauntea, Lathander, 
  Tempus, and Tymora predominate among Emryans). 
   Lodgings in Emrys tend to be noisy, cramped, and 
  expensive. Stabling and even hitching fees are higher 
  than accommodation, so many caravan merchants 
  pay four to six silvers a wagon to camp in one of the 
  nearby fields. From these, they trudge into town 
  through one of three gates—the Vigilant Gate (on the 
  south), Vale Gate (northeast), and Sundown Gate 
  
   
  27 
  (west). A fourth gate, Sunshadow (on the southeast), 
  was blocked up after folk took to arriving and 
  departing from the Broad without stopping for 
  inspection and taxation by the Eagles of Emrys. 
  These town guards collect levies of one silver piece 
  per handcart or ‘man-drag’ litter, two silvers per 
  palanquin or two-wheeled cart, and three silvers per 
  wagon. Many visiting merchants still defiantly 
  consider the Broad to be a “free merchant stand” 
  territory where town laws can be ignored, but the 
  Eagles (and their masters) disagree. 
   Emrystarl’s Keep is an ancient, human-built 
  fortress from the times of Glendarl, a sorcerous 
  realm that preceded the yuan-ti rule of Sselempurrt, 
  the dwarven and human trading post of Brokaun, 
  and, most recently, the human land of Thuntar (now 
  flourishing far to the west, halfway across the 
  Border Kingdoms). 
   No one now remembers who Emrystarl was, 
  though folk share a vague impression of a mighty 
  warrior who died in his keep old, well-respected, 
  and undefeated—leaving behind, of course, a 
  treasure hoard no one’s ever found (yet). Tales are 
  told of the old lord’s phantom walking in the secret 
  passages that honeycomb the keep walls (“By the 
  Old Lord’s Ghost” is a local oath), but greed-besotted 
  adventurers are warned that (to the best of anyone’s 
  knowledge) every ‘secret’ passage in the keep has 
  been found and thoroughly explored. A silent 
  apparition of a helmed, fully-armored warrior has 
  been seen from time to time stalking the passages, 
  and legends tell of its chilling, insistent touch 
  awakening certain young men and maids and 
  leading them to weapons, maps, or missions that 
  need doing. Most Emryans, however, scoff at the 
  notion that Emrystarl still walks among them. 
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
                EMRYSTARL’S 
   
   
   
   
   
   
     GHOST 
  Governance 
  Emrys is ruled by a council of six hereditary Grand 
  Merchant Dukes and a citizen-elected Imperial 
  Overduke. These counselors consider themselves the 
  equals of the rulers of any great realm. 
   A flogging in the keep’s cellar awaits any visitor 
  who belittles the power or status of these seven 
  rulers. They swagger about Emrys or the Vale within 
  sight of the town daily (cynical Taldans say this is 
  because their real power only extends as far as they 
  can see from inside the town, and they know it). The 
  Dukes want no one but themselves to have 
  importance or influence in Emrys, so resident 
  adventurers and prominent merchants are few. 
  Emryan wizards and priests of any standing are 
  unknown. In the daylit hours, there’s always at least 
  one Duke (or his personal equerry) on careful watch 
  in the Broad for challenges to the dignity or 
  authority of the Dukes or the law of Emrys. 
   Severe affronts against these sacred matters earn 
  miscreants a body-brand in the shape of the symbol 
  of the Emryan Dukes (a large gold coin surrounded 
  by a circle of six smaller silver ones) and banishment 
  from the town by being “flogged down the streets 
  without delay.” The goods and property of such 
  offenders are forfeit to the ‘Ducal Hand.’ (In other 
  words, the Dukes take it as their own and fight over 
  the division behind closed doors.) 
   Many predecessors ago, the Dukes long ago seized 
  the best houses in town for their own use. As real 
  estate is in very short supply in Emrys, and therefore 
  overpriced, the ability to hand out residences gives 
  the Dukes real power. The Dukes, however, have 
  arrived at some painfully blunt understandings with 
  other powerful merchant families in town 
  concerning the inadvisability of future seizures of 
  properties belonging to said families. These days, the 
  Dukes seldom move personally into any newly-
  seized building. 
   An exile who was forced out one gate doubled 
  back into the city by another gate right after his 
  flogging and poisoned all the bottles in the extensive 
  cellars under what had been, until minutes before, 
  his house. The poisoning caused terrific carnage 
  among the ducal families and their allies and 
  favorites. That and many traps built into residences 
  (such as heavy furniture that crashes down to crush 
  anyone sitting in the high seat at table, or using the 
  high-poster master bed) caused enthusiasm on the 
  part of the greedier Dukes for future acquisitions 
  and house-movings to evaporate. 
   The office of Imperial Overduke was charged with 
  giving all Emryans a say in government in order to 
  prevent the hereditary Grand Merchant Dukes from 
  becoming decadent tyrants. In practice, the elevated 
  commoners (who serve a seven-year term) are 
  
   
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  quickly corrupted by the supposedly subservient 
  Dukes. Those who can’t be corrupted are kept 
  senseless with drugged wine and then poisoned, if 
  they prove particularly stubborn, principled, or 
  power-hungry. The current Overduke, Urlingh 
  Varrtro, is a retired Sheirtalan merchant who loves 
  fine food and wine to a fault, enjoys tales of 
  adventurers and their doings, and enriches himself 
  with “insider information” investments in cities all 
  over Faerûn. 
   The six families who supply Emrys with its 
  hereditary Grand Merchant Dukes (and true rulers 
  of the town) are the houses of Bulisstan, Dlanivaer, 
  Klornu, Lylitrath, Orglast, and Relantovir. 
  Those Who Defy the Dukes 
  Despite all the local tales about the corruption, 
  cruelty, and underhandedness of their rulers, most 
  Emryans support the Dukes, crediting their 
  energetic aggressiveness for giving Emrys a (little) 
  international importance, and therefore trading 
  prosperity. Other citizens keep their hatreds of the 
  ducal rule well-hidden and obey the Dukes out of 
  simple fear.  
   There are a few defiant exceptions, such as the 
  Masked Ladies of the Bronzen Buckler and Butterfly 
  dance and gambling club (whom the Dukes were 
  bluntly told, a century back, to leave alone or face a 
  general revolt of town merchants, and so content 
  themselves with inspecting the club often and taxing 
  it heavily).  
   A second is an underground group styling itself 
  “the Riders of the Cracked Cauldron,” alluding to the 
  steaming cauldron badge of the onetime ruler of 
  Emrys, the fat, jovial, High Councilor ‘Mother’ 
  Laddath Hambreth (who died in a Vale hovel after 
  being exiled by the first Merchant Dukes some four 
  hundred winters ago). The Riders play pranks on the 
  Dukes and occasionally threaten something more 
  dangerous. Once, the portcullis of the Vale Gate fell 
  on a horse and knight of the Ducal Bodyguard a bare 
  armlength ahead of two mounted Dukes. Another 
  time, a fire started in the Overduke’s feasting hall, 
  and fleeing guests discovered that a wagon just 
  confiscated from a banished merchant was wedged 
  into a bend in the stairs, blocking that way out. 
  Certain outland merchants covertly support the 
  efforts of the Riders in hopea of doing away with the 
  present system of governance in Emrys. 
   There are also local legends of a masked bandit, 
  Creeping Caladyn, who uses a bit of magic and an 
  unmatched knowledge of the secret passages that 
  “everyone knows” link many cellars and shops in 
  hidden ways all over (or rather under) the town. 
  This shadowy figure steals from the Dukes as 
  ruthlessly and as often as they take from everyone 
  else, and has been doing so for well over a century 
  now, suggesting that a succession of miscreants have 
  operated under this nickname. 
   From time to time, an exasperated visiting 
  merchant or Taldan farmer from the outlying Vale 
  growls that “the Dukes must go!” No one has yet 
  mustered the necessary force. Would-be conquerors 
  are warned that the Dukes are known to have 
  effective spying and slaying magic items, and they 
  have used them swiftly and mercilessly to quell two 
  revolts and at least four external takeover attempts 
  (that the town in general knows about). 
   The Dukes also have their private, personal 
  bodyguards. Most of them are never without at least 
  a dozen ready-for-battle fighters and thieves. Add to 
  these their family retainers, house guards, and the 
  Eagles to call upon whenever trouble erupts. 
  Emryan 
  Attractions and Perils 
  Why travel to Emrys at all? It’s a prosperous place 
  where people are always eager to buy. The shops in 
  town are judged by most wayfarers to be unusually 
  well-stocked for so small a center, and to charge 
  reasonable, though not bargain basement, rates. Like 
  the folk who run them, few are superb or 
  particularly memorable. This allows the wares of a 
  good traveling merchant to shine, and business is 
  usually brisk. 
   The exceptions to the mediocrity of local 
  establishments are the Old Barrel Run tavern 
  (Fair/Cheap), a dark cellar where locals like to 
  drown their troubles in strong tankards of local 
  brew, and visitors come in search of low-priced ale 
  and relative anonymity when negotiating deals; and 
  the aforementioned Bronzen Buckler and Butterfly 
  dance and gambling club (popular neither for 
  dancing nor gaming, but rather for the company of 
  the Masked Ladies, who, as one outlander merchant 
  put it, “make up for shortfalls in ambience with 
  enthusiasm and a lively sense of fun”). The hushed, 
  isolated stone cellars that make up the private 
  chambers of the Old Butterfly are the best of the very 
  few places in Emrys where business can be 
  discussed in complete privacy. Nevertheless, patrons 
  of the Butterfly are warned that the Dukes and their 
  agents visit the place often, hoping to overhear 
  things of interest. Delicate negotiations are best 
  conducted at the back of a chamber with a Masked 
  Lady singing a soft ballad between you and the 
  firmly closed door. 
  The Eagles of Emrys 
  The town guard consists of hired, fairly competent 
  outlander adventurers under the command of 
  officers drawn from the families of the Grand 
  Merchant Dukes. Their ranks, riddled with spies for 
  
   
  29 
  the Dukes, are in a constant state of rivalry and 
  intrigue engineered by the Dukes to keep the troops 
  from becoming bored or uniting to overthrow the 
  ducal rule. The Eagles patrol throughout Talduth 
  Vale under orders to slay or drive out suspected 
  wizards and priests of “any but trifling power,” so no 
  such persons are known to be resident in Emrys. 
   Over the past two centuries, local legend has 
  always insisted that a mighty archmage dwells in 
  hiding in Emrys, using the unwitting Dukes as a 
  front—and propping up their rule against all serious 
  challenges—to keep order in the town around his 
  hideaway. According to these tales, this shadowy 
  man (who must be undead by now, or if living has 
  been supplanted by a younger apprentice) 
  occasionally hurls world-rending magics at any 
  wizard brash and capable enough to seriously 
  challenge the Dukes. There have been confrontations 
  between Dukes or their agents and traveling mages 
  over the years, and the mages have mysteriously 
  disappeared or moved on without the mayhem and 
  carnage one might expect to befall. The ranks of the 
  vanished are even said to include Zhentarim 
  magelings and Red Wizards. Are they the origin of 
  the phantom apparitions of floating, flying human 
  skulls seen flitting above the Emrysar Bog some 
  nights? 
   The mysteries at the heart of Emrys remain to be 
  unraveled. Yet what might seem a simple thing for 
  wayfaring heroes to untangle persists from year to 
  year. 
   The badge of Emrys is the device of the symbol of 
  the Emryan Dukes, a large gold coin surrounded by a 
  circle of six smaller silver ones. 
  Estelker 
  Small Town 
  This market town in the Realm of the Smoking Star 
  consists of modest wooden houses standing amid 
  shady trees. It stretches along both sides of the 
  coastal road that runs the length of the realm (which 
  is typical of Starran settlements—it’s been said the 
  only difference between a Starran settled area and a 
  “wild” area is that in settlements, tree branches don’t 
  meet over any road to roof it in a continuous 
  canopy). Most cartographers copy larger, grander 
  maps, and so perpetuate the omission of Estelker 
  from their depicted views. On the map published in 
  Power of Faerûn it stands on the road (dotted brown 
  line) east of Ythtym, directly under the top curve of 
  the capital “S” in the word “Smoking.” 
   Cartographers trying to view the Border 
  Kingdoms from aerial steeds or conveyances to 
  check their maps can be forgiven for missing 
  Estelker. Despite its local importance, it’s largely 
  hidden by the trees, except to travelers on the 
  coastal road. The everpresent foliage and its coastal 
  location makes it a damp, shady, often fog-shrouded 
  and dripping place. 
   Almost all of Estelker’s houses sport roadside 
  stalls (counters with bench seats and awnings) 
  where Stelkers sell forest herbs and roots they’ve 
  gathered, live rabbits and crayfish caught locally, 
  and rabbit pie. Folk from all over the realm come to 
  Estelker and pay a few copper pieces or a silver 
  piece for the use of a stall for a day to trade and sell 
  smoked forest meat and fish from the Lake of Steam, 
  medicines derived from sylvan substances, and 
  clothes and furniture both newly made and no 
  longer wanted. 
   Within the curve of the sharpest road bend in 
  town, near the west end of Estelker and on the north 
  or seaward side of the road, stands a rustic but well-
  run inn, The Haunted Harpy (Good/Cheap). Sellers 
  who can’t find stall space to rent usually pay the inn 
  to set up in its stable yard. 
   Most Stelkers are carpenters and boatbuilders. 
  Though the town sits on wooded cliffs well above the 
  Lake of Steam, most folk who dwell on the north side 
  of its lone road knock together small, poorly-made, 
  open fishing boats and let them down the cliff on 
  ropes to go fishing. They troll with long lines for 
  whatever they can catch for their own tables, but 
  their main effort is drag-netting for rocklhar, a large, 
  speckled, gray, hard-armored crayfish that digs in 
  the shallow, coastal mud of the Starran shore of the 
  Lake of Steam. Rocklhar flesh has (in the words of 
  one traveling Harper) a flavor “like old cheese.” They 
  are eaten locally with gusto—and various herb 
  sauces. 
   Like all Starrans, Stelkers have minor aptitudes for 
  magic. For example, one can conjure faerie fire in his 
  or her palm and either carry it along or leave it 
  stationary in the air where it first formed, whereas 
  another might manage an outbound-only, six-words-
  maximum sending. They tend not to use or speak of 
  these abilities around strangers. 
   Local legends say something of “great magical 
  might” lies hidden in Estelker, perhaps behind a false 
  wall or in a shallow cellar. Something so powerful 
  that its emanations permeate everything in Estelker 
  and everyone dwelling there, “twisting” them subtly 
  so as to awaken abilities to influence the Weave 
  (“steer” the areas of effect of spells cast by others, or 
  other manifestations of magic). 
   The badge of Estelker (most often seen as low-to-
  the-ground blazes on forest trails, marking the “way 
  back home” when ground fogs are thick) is a crab 
  balanced atop a vertical (disembodied) human finger. 
  The crab’s two large claws curve out and around (in 
  a horns-down crescent) to touch the finger on both 
  sides. 
  
   
  30 
  Free Barony of  
  Felshroun 
  Town 
  This independent town stands between 
  Shandolphyn’s Reach, the Realm of the Smoking Star, 
  and the Barony of Blacksaddle, where roads from all 
  three places meet. An important trading market and 
  neutral ground meeting-place in the Borders (much 
  visited by outlander traders), Felshroun is the center 
  of a highly-regarded horsebreeding industry. 
   The surrounding horse farms (ranches) rear hardy, 
  go-anywhere mounts (such as the Feathermane and 
  the Dusky) that are larger than ponies but smaller 
  than most riding horses, yet have the stamina and 
  sure-footedness to carry saddle loads over rough 
  terrain like the best mountain ponies. Word of these 
  practical, rather plain horses is spreading in the 
  Vilhon and Tashalar, and every year more buyers 
  come to Felshroun to procure all the horses they can. 
   Ruled (very lightly) by an elected-for-a-decade 
  Free Baron, Felshroun claims as its protectorate 
  domain all land north of the Duskwood between 
  Lammatar’s Water and the West Dusking River. This 
  pleasant, rolling meadowland is given over to horse 
  farms, open pasture, small walled gardens, and 
  coppices from which folk of the Free Barony cut 
  their fence posts and rails. It holds few perils beyond 
  a rare banshee or doppelganger. 
  The Free Baron 
  Since the founding of the barony, there have been 
  nine Free Barons. Although certain Felshrounans 
  have always suspected the Four Mages of subtly 
  steering this or that baron (especially Baeroph 
  Heglaern, the second baron, who had decidedly 
  dishonest tendencies) into acting as they saw best, 
  or directed unwitting Foresters into encounters with 
  forces advancing to attack the town stealthily on 
  their own terms, such meddling has never been 
  proven. 
   The current Baron, a grim retired adventurer by 
  the name of Jathralee Haernhand, a NG human 
  female ranger who is gaunt, much-scarred, tall, 
  ramrod-straight, and smiles very rarely) tries to 
  avoid all contact with the “Unseen Friends” (as the 
  Four Mages are called by Felshrounans, sometimes 
  wryly or bitterly). She adjudicates crimes, trade 
  disputes, and visitor and citizen complaints in the 
  Hall of Domes at the center of town. The Hall of 
  Domes has an armory and a dungeon, but the Free 
  Baron much prefers to use its meeting rooms, dining 
  lounges, and Hall of High State. Any visitor or citizen 
  is entitled to bring complaints before the Baron or 
  her three Knights of Justice (black-masked and 
  robed judges appointed by the Baron, who at the 
  moment happen to be two elderly Felshrounan 
  matrons, shrewd and worldly-wise, and one irascible 
  old male halfling rogue who was one of Jathralee’s 
  longtime adventuring companions in her Company 
  of the Bared Blade). Fines, exile for a season or a 
  decade, and “the tenday lockup” or “the month of 
  rotting” (in a dungeon cell) are the usual 
  punishments handed out. There’s an emphasis on 
  restitution to the victims of crimes and a “forgive but 
  don’t forget” attitude. Habitual criminals may find a 
  watchful Forester or even one of the Baron’s 
  bodyguard at their elbows whenever they set foot 
  out of their homes in Felshroun. (“There goes 
  Aldhoun, with his tail wagging behind him” is a 
  typical local comment on this sort of vigilant escort.) 
  Disputes between merchants are more often settled 
  by negotiations and the payment of damages than 
  jailing. This tolerance, coupled with light taxation 
  (10 gp/building owned/year, plus 1 sp/wagon 
  owned/gate passage) long ago made Felshroun a 
  popular “echo of Waterdeep.” 
  The Foresters of Felshroun 
  Felshroun keeps order in its domain by means of the 
  Foresters, highly skilled rangers who know and love 
  the land they patrol. They dress informally in brown, 
  green, and gray battle leathers adorned only with 
  maroon sashes marked with their symbol: a 
  watchful falcon’s head, beak to the right, atop a bear 
  pawprint, nails downward, all in silver except the 
  falcon’s eyeball, which is emerald green). 
   The Foresters do as much diligent planting, 
  irrigation, and burning away of diseased plants and 
  trees as they do drawing swords against miscreants. 
  They ride the Free Barony in dozen-strong mounted 
  patrols bolstered by priests of Chauntea and Mielikki. 
  The patrol leader (a ranger of 8th or higher level) 
  carries a silver hunting horn and wears a ring of 
  shooting stars crafted so that its light power consists 
  of a blinding burst of amber-hued fireworks that 
  blossoms 200 feet into the air. 
   This fireburst or a ranger’s horn call alerts local 
  Watchers (usually tavernmasters or farmers) to light 
  one of three beacons which are always ready to each 
  Watcher. A lit beacon summons aid in the form of 
  two dozen Foresters riding pegasi and accompanied 
  by at least two battle-ready hired outlander mages. 
  This backup force is stationed on Highgirt Hold (a 
  grassy hill on the edge of the Duskwood). As a result, 
  brigand and monster raids in the Free Barony are 
  few and brief. 
  The Four Mages 
  The Free Barony of Felshroun was founded by its 
  original Four Mages, who forged that rarest of 
  things: an agreement among powerful wizards to 
  
   
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  dwell near each other in peace, without trying to 
  control or watch over each other, trusting in 
  common cause and skill to keep their shared 
  demesne safe and in good order. The Mages founded 
  the offices of the Free Baron and the Foresters, then 
  let both function unhampered by sorcerous 
  meddling. They raised the wall around Felshroun 
  and the towers at the four corners of that wall, one 
  to be the abode of each Mage. 
   In the Spellplague, all Four Mages went mad and 
  soon died thanks to wild magical miscastings or 
  misadventure in their babbling delirium; the Four 
  Mages now resident in Felshroun are newcomers 
  who came to the barony from elsewhere seeking 
  shelter from the world—as all four happen to be shy, 
  reclusive students of magic, not power-hungry nor 
  adventurous. 
   As their predecessors did, these new Four Mages 
  keep to their towers, working on their magic, and 
  are usually seen in public only at the festivals of 
  Midsummer, Shieldmeet, Greengrass, and the Feast 
  of the Founding (the fourth day of Ches, which 
  marks the day they raised the town walls around 
  what was then largely farm fields and announced 
  their pact and the formation of the Free Barony). 
  They prefer seclusion and magical study to statecraft 
  or adventuring and take no apprentices. 
   The Four Mages of today, in order of decreasing 
  amount of contact with the world outside their 
  tower, are: 
   Ethantra Tarthsemmer, a rail-thin woman of 
  raven-black hair, sharp features, and piercing 
  green eyes, who is most interested in crafting 
  warding spells and fields that serve as alarms, 
  barriers, and attacks. [medium humanoid (human 
  female), lawful neutral; a 9th-level spellcaster] 
   Jalavandra Harreth, a brown-skinned, plump 
  woman covered with tattooed sigils that each 
  contain a stored emergency spell (casting one 
  “burns” the tattoo out of her skin and costs her 
  1d4+1 hp) who has teeth filed to points, hair dyed 
  tomato red, and brown eyes, and is a jovial person 
  most interested in linking spells to other spells so 
  that casting or “setting off” one triggers or readies 
  or wakens another. [medium humanoid (human 
  female), neutral good; a 7th-level spellcaster] 
   Ivander Varlwyvern, a sallow-skinned, brown-
  haired and hazel-eyed short man with 
  “daggerboard” sideburns and a sharply-pointed 
  cleft chin, who always wears grandly-styled robes, 
  and is short-tempered, irritable, wasp-tongued but 
  timid; he’s most interested in devising new 
  versions of battle spells that offer increased 
  precision in their effects, or can be sent at multiple 
  targets, or that “look different” than most 
  offensive spells and have a secondary effect that 
  shields the caster, like a “smoke screen” or vision-
  distorting field. [medium humanoid (human male), 
  chaotic neutral; a 6th-level spellcaster] 
   Beloume Dawnhond, a sun elf afflicted by a 
  bloating disease caused by a miscast protective 
  magic reacting with her blood, that’s made her 
  body bulge grotesquely all over, each bulge 
  growing many warts, all of which sprout silver-
  blue hair; she is sour and depressed by what she’s 
  become, and liable to lash out ruthlessly at those 
  who ridicule, oppose, or threaten her; the rest of 
  the time, she’s obsessed with finding a cure for 
  herself, and casts many experimental spells on her 
  own body that often leave her racked with pain 
  and her shape shifting involuntarily for short 
  periods; music soothes her, and she loves to listen 
  to or read poetry, and watch dancing, [medium 
  humanoid (sun elf female), chaotic neutral; an 8th-
  level spellcaster] 
  What Meets the Eye 
  in Felshroun 
  Felshroun is a town of walled gardens, tall houses, 
  and narrow, winding, crowded streets. 
   It takes the shape of a large diamond with towers 
  at each compass-point corner and gates in the center 
  of each wall between. Each tower can be entered (by 
  those on foot, in the conventional manner) only 
  through a huge double door on the inside of the 
  town walls, in the angle where two walls meet. Each 
  swinging door of these entries is actually a stone 
  golem, and the two golems grind open to reveal an 
  iron inner door that is an iron golem. Beyond it is a 
  gauntlet of traps and holding areas that vary from 
  mage to mage but are known to include trained 
  mimics, portcullises that fall in closely spaced grids 
  to create pillar-like trap areas just large enough to 
  encase an immobile standing man, and so on. 
  Defenses are typically activated by any use of hostile 
  or destructive magic, any attempt to dig, pry open, or 
  shatter any part of the walls, floor, or ceiling near the 
  doors, or whenever a scrying apprentice believes 
  that visitors mean ill to those in the tower. 
   The northern turret is Lakelight Tower, and the 
  gate on the northeastern wall is the Dusking Gate. 
  The road out of it to the Duskfords is called Ralavar’s 
  Way. 
   The eastern tower is called The Sentinel. It 
  commands an easterly view clear across the 
  Waevendusk to the far banks.  
   The southeastern gate is Lambsgate, so called 
  because it opens onto a meadow divided into 
  paddocks where sheep are marshaled for market 
  rather than emitting a road that goes anywhere. 
   The southern turret is named Watchwood Tower 
  because it overlooks the Duskwood, and the 
  southwestern gate is Burning Banner Gate thanks to 
  
   
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  a long-ago battle between competing mercenary 
  bands which hoped to rule Felshroun (both came to 
  bad ends, one at the hands of the other and the 
  survivor at the hands of the Four Mages). The road 
  out of it is Westwater Way, named for the ford over 
  Lammatar’s Water, where the road winds on its way 
  southwest to Luthbaern and the Barony of 
  Blacksaddle. 
   The town’s western tower is Felshroun’s Folly (or 
  more often simply “the Folly”). The name comes 
  from the grizzled old farmer whose lands these once 
  were. He built a ramshackle wooden lookout tower 
  on this spot just because he wanted to, only to see it 
  fall down in high winds, several times, though he 
  kept calmly rebuilding it. The gate in the 
  northwestern wall is Reach Gate (so named because 
  the Shore Road, which runs out of it, shortly enters 
  the realm of Shandolphyn’s Reach). 
   Inside the town walls is a cramped labyrinth of 
  four- and five-floor houses, winding flagstone streets, 
  little walled gardens with pump-wells and public 
  benches, many cats wandering as public pets, and 
  two focal areas: the central Hall of Domes (seat of 
  the Free Baron) and Sevenways, where seven streets 
  meet in a crazy conjunction of angled alleys. 
   The best and most popular tavern in Felshroun is 
  the Moldy Cheese and Laughing Spoon 
  (Good/Moderate), with The Rum Boot (Fair/Cheap) 
  and Pinchbeck’sTankard (Poor/Cheap) as 
  competition. The best inn is The Sunset Swan 
  (Excellent/Expensive), but folk who feel uneasy in 
  haughty luxury prefer the less formal The Gone 
  Gallant (Good/Moderate), the more spartan 
  BlackBoar’s Eye (Fair/Cheap), or the down-and-
  dirty Dunselbow’s House (Poor/Cheap). 
   There are also rooming houses (Mother Fustin’s is 
  unquestionably the best, thanks to its always-on-
  offer meat pie with sharp cheese, though “Mother” 
  Fustin herself is long dead) and The Beardhouse, a 
  warriors’ hostel (bare bunk and outhouse for 1 
  cp/night), where gruff dwarves keep order and 
  make sure there’s no thievery from sleeping men. 
   In such a bustling town, shops and deals change 
  with bewildering rapidity, but one superb 
  establishment deserves lasting mention: the Rolling 
  Gnome music shop on Baraedur Lane, where 
  
   
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  instruments, sheet music, and touchstones (small, 
  smooth, hand-sized rocks enchanted to replay the 
  same short tune whenever touched by a bare finger) 
  are sold. The Gnome is now run by three female 
  elves who live in the shop attic and sometimes make 
  weird harp and flute music at night; all are Harpers 
  and not-all-that-retired adventurers. 
   Fendle Street is the busiest street for small shops. 
  Used goods and sundries are sold in profusion, and 
  the aforementioned Moldy Cheese can be found, as 
  well as several cheap ‘soup and frybun’ eateries. 
   Lorndragon Lane is the haughtiest Felshrounan 
  address, lined with gem shops with glittering 
  windows, dealers of fine furnishings, high-coin scent 
  shops, and brightcloak establishments (high fashion 
  clothiers) that stand amid the many-balconied, arch-
  gated, high-walled mansions of the very wealthy. 
   Shuttle Street is a long and quiet way where 
  wealthy and successful Felshrounans dwell who 
  can’t quite afford (or stomach) the glitter and 
  hauteur of Lorndragon Lane. Up and down “the 
  Shuttle,” splendors give way to solid large stone 
  homes surrounded by tiny walled gardens and small 
  private stables “at the back.” 
   Storrockh Street is where visitors and commoners 
  can stable mounts or draft-beasts, coaches and 
  horse-carts (suitably narrow for navigating the 
  cramped town streets) can be rented or bought, and 
  “strongshoulders” (loaders and moving men) can be 
  hired by the day (typically 2 sp/head) or half-day (1 
  sp/head). 
   Houndworm Street (and, running off it, Sark Alley 
  and Blackknife Lane) come to mind when 
  Felshrounans think of “the seediest part of town.” 
  Brawls and muggings befall wanderers on dark 
  nights, bodyguards and fast-dagger toughs can be 
  hired, and the cheapest ‘alley-comfort’ lasses offer 
  their wares. Those contemplating mayhem are 
  warned that maskfaced Foresters visit the 
  Houndworm often, keeping watch for troublemakers. 
  (“Maskfaced” refers to the Foresters using disguises 
  or otherwise operating undercover, not to the 
  wearing of actual masks.) 
  The Future of the Barony 
  Thanks to its trade-friendliness and its steady output 
  of quality equine mounts, the Free Barony of 
  Felshroun is one of the best-known Border locales 
  among folk outside the Border Kingdoms. Minstrels 
  sing of it often when performing the ballads “The 
  Rider O’er the Moon” and “The Dryad and the 
  Gargoyle.” The Zhentarim has long been interested 
  in seizing control of the barony, but is opposed by all 
  of the other foremost factions (the Harpers, the 
  Order of the Gauntlet, the Emerald Enclave, and the 
  Lords’ Alliance), all of whom have spies and agents 
  in Felshroun. 
   Crowding within the town walls has been a 
  problem now for nigh a century, and there are now 
  clusters of hastily-erected, ramshackle timber homes 
  outside the walls, along the roads leading out of each 
  gate. By the Free Baron’s decree, to cut down on 
  drunken lawlessness and thievery, no inns or 
  taverns can be run for a half day’s-ride from the 
  walls. 
   The arms of Felshroun are a watchful (glaring) 
  silver falcon’s head, beak to the right, on a round 
  field of emerald green. 
  Gallard 
  Small Town 
  This walled settlement was once the capitol of the 
  now-fallen Land of Two Princes. Now reduced in 
  populace and reach, it remains home to many 
  locksmiths, pewtersmiths, tinsmiths, potters, 
  enamellers, bootmakers, leatherworkers, and 
  smallsmiths (makers of such things as hinges, 
  wirework, fastenings, corner-caps for chests and 
  coffers, and edgings for doors, panels, and slots). It’s 
  a hive of skilled craftworkers and close-guarded 
  wealth, one of the busiest and most prosperous 
  places in all the Borders, but also one of the most 
  grasping and grubby (“like a Sword Coast seaport,” 
  according to Borderers who aren’t its friends; 
  Gallard is accurately described as “unlovely” by 
  many). Galardians have earned the general dislike of 
  Borderers for being too unfriendly, self-important, 
  and ‘sharp’ in their dealings. They tend to be hard 
  workers and “always in a hurry.” Gallard is a place of 
  bustling commerce, not a romantic backwater of 
  bucolic beauty. In the words of one Galardian, 
  “Gallard’s necessary—like a privy or rubbish-heap.” 
   Galardian merchants usually go about 
  accompanied by at least one personal bodyguard 
  and an amanuensis (clerk, scribe, and bookkeeper). 
  Most hire at least three ‘trustyblades’ to guard their 
  home and family when they’re at work, and their 
  workplace when they’re at home. This vigilance is 
  the result of a long history of nomad and brigand 
  raids out of the Shaar, but these days it is more a 
  matter of custom and status rather than vital to daily 
  survival. 
   Gallard is a place of winding cobbled streets and 
  mud-and-gravel alleys. Its timbered houses are 
  narrow, steep-roofed, and close-crowded. They rise 
  four or five floors above street level, typically having 
  storage cellars and kitchens below, and a rear 
  chimney flanked by a dumbwaiter and a shaft that 
  serves to drop laundry and refuse to lower levels. 
  Kitchen smells and kitchen warmth waft up these 
  chimneys into any upper room where a metal ‘shaft 
  screen’ stands open. 
  
   
  34 
  Firesword Houses 
  Visitors will search Gallard in vain for grand palaces, 
  manors, or civic buildings. Business is conducted in 
  shops or at Galardian ‘firesword houses’—numerous 
  establishments (slightly more than three dozen, in 
  all) named for skewers of meat constantly sizzling 
  over cooking fires lit in round brick-and-stone 
  hearths situated in the centers of their dining 
  chambers. The skewers bear roast fowl, sausages, 
  hams, and diced meats. Spiced fried onions and 
  cheeses melted over slabs of bread are customary 
  side-dishes. These (plus savory meat-and-sauce pies 
  whose recipes are closely guarded secrets and a 
  source of competitive pride from house to house) 
  can be had by any diner, typically for 1 sp for a 
  heaping plateful, along with pickles, pickled fish, and 
  a ‘mint mix’ of diced radishes, parsnips, and carrots, 
  a plate of hot bread, and much drink (which costs 
  extra) to wash it all down. Drinks include ale, zzar, 
  ‘smokespiced’ ciders, teas, and wines sold by the 
  tallglass or tankard. 
   Galardians use firesword houses as meeting-
  places to transact business, as well as day-and-night-
  long sources of ready meals. In the better houses, 
  patrons can rent private rooms, or at least curtained 
  booths, plus minstrels to make noise or ‘fenders’ 
  (guards who make sure no one slips close enough to 
  listen to sensitive negotiations). Sleeping 
  accommodations aren’t available at such 
  establishments (officially, at least, though it’s said 
  one can hire both a bed and someone to share it at 
  certain houses), and they don’t deal in stabling or 
  safe storage. The largest houses (for steep fees, and 
  with little price competition among them) will 
  deliver hot food to visitors camped outside the town 
  walls. 
   The best-known firesword houses in town are the 
  Risen Dragon Finest Fireswords on Ovirstreen Street, 
  the Black Buck on Telsusk Lane, and Oster’s 
  Manyfires on Durdarl Street. The Scowling Tankard 
  (Lurusk Lane) is generally held to be the best place 
  to hire folk for shady dealings. 
  The Council 
  The closest thing in Gallard to a seat of government 
  is the Risen Dragon Finest Fireswords, as for years it 
  was owned and run by the head of the Galardian 
  Council of Bodyguards and Trustyblades. This 
  organization still licenses every town resident who 
  customarily bears a weapon outside his or her own 
  home. Visitors and citizens “come Updragon” (to the 
  Risen Dragon) to pay their sword taxes, hear Council 
  justice, and hire bodyguards or trustyblades (or 
  rather, to register such hirings with the Council; 
  actual negotiations are typically conducted 
  elsewhere beforehand, though most visitors to 
  Gallard come to Hithtor to swiftly and easily find 
  protection for hire). 
   The Council keeps the peace in Gallard by 
  enforcing the laws it passes and sending out street 
  patrols of at least a dozen ‘Watchful Helms’. The 
  Helms are senior Council members (veteran 
  fighters) who anticipate traps well, laugh at 
  attempted bribes, and wield blades and fire 
  crossbow bolts dipped in blue whinnis poison. (They 
  dismiss bribes with scornful amusement rather than 
  anger or attempts to arrest, as bribery isn’t actually 
  against the law in Gallard, and because Council 
  members are very well off and will do nothing to 
  endanger their standing, with its ready access to 
  means of getting ever richer.) Though there’s also no 
  law against being on a rooftop, Helms will loose 
  bolts at anyone they see on a roof after dark or 
  fleeing; only building owners and roofers known to 
  them can expect to pass unchallenged. 
   Council laws include “no sale of tainted or 
  deceitful goods, no sale or possession of poison, no 
  extortion, no attacking rivals or their goods or 
  premises, no theft, and no murder.” Penalties include 
  stiff fines, property confiscation, and “being under 
  the Ban” (exile). 
   Mercenary companies aren’t allowed to operate in 
  Gallard, but several local ‘sternshields’ (weapons-
  trainers and stalwart Council members) equip and 
  train warriors in town. It is rare for any sternshield 
  to have more than a score of trainees at a time, and 
  to have more than 40 badged (to bear arms in the 
  streets, they must wear the badge of the sternshield 
  training them) and active without voted Council 
  permission is grounds for dismissal from the Council. 
  Trainees who depart or go missing without turning 
  in their badges are usually denounced by their 
  trainer and are considered outlaws in Gallard from 
  that moment on. 
  Streets, Inns, and Taverns 
  Few streets in Gallard are named, but the four major 
  ones are:  
   Sellserpent Street, which runs on a fairly straight 
  course southwest to northeast from town gate to 
  town gate;  
   Rithtor Street, which wiggles southeast to 
  northwest from gate to gate, so that it and 
  DwarfSellserpent form a giant ‘X’ and link up all 
  four gates in the town wall;  
   Orlyn’s Way, running in a giant circle all around 
  the inside of the town wall, and so meeting with 
  most streets.  
   Ovirstreen Street runs east to west clear across 
  town, just north of the meeting of Sellserpent and 
  Rithtor, to enclose a central triangle that holds 
  Gallard’s most important and luxurious inns, the 
  
   
  35 
  Proud Phantom (Good/Expensive) to the west and 
  Sharyn’s Smiling Sphinx (Excellent/Expensive) on 
  the east.  
   Between the Phantom and the Sphinx stands The 
  Tarrasque at Twilight, a pretentious, dimly-lit, 
  cavernous tavern that boasts dancers and minstrels 
  day and night in ‘grotto’ rooms (Good/Expensive). 
  (That is, rooms sculpted to look like caverns that 
  have lots of handy seating and smoothly undulating 
  stone ‘couches,’ among a minimum of dangerously-
  placed stalactites and stalagmites.) Its bouncers 
  wear fanciful tarrasque masks and are rumored to 
  include several real drow and a doppelganger who 
  can impersonate guests who’ve gone “missing.” 
   More typical of the run-down, cramped taverns of 
  Gallard is The Blade And Bucket (Fair/Cheap) on 
  Mysker Street (just east off Rithtor, one street north 
  of Orlyn’s Way), where pipesmoke and the steam of 
  fried fish sandwiches mingle in a crowded, dimly-lit 
  labyrinth of pillars and tables. 
  Outlying Sites 
  Its detractors sometimes call Gallard “Dungstink Sty” 
  because of two sites that lie to southwest and 
  southeast of the walls, within sight of anyone atop 
  the walls. 
  Shaarsart 
  To the southeast is a large, muddy market where 
  farmers bring cattle for slaughter and 
  transformation into hides for tanners and the spicy 
  ‘trailmeat’ known to many wayfarers and caravan-
  guards. Its pens, paddocks, and slaughter-chutes 
  tend to be crowded day and night except in winter 
  and spring. They form a confusing maze for visitors 
  or anyone else trying to traverse Shaarsar in a hurry. 
  Helms don’t patrol Shaarsar, where the keeping of 
  law and order is left to drovers’ fists, and the hurled 
  cleavers of butchers, who tend to be a law unto 
  themselves. 
  Ong’s Batar 
  Tto the southwest is a reeking cluster of tanneries 
  that service the ever-busy Galardian craftworkers. 
  The Helms don’t patrol in Ong’s Batar, either (and 
  the Council refuses to have anything to do with 
  events there). No one keeps order in the Batar, 
  though troublemakers are often found drowned in 
  the flesh-melting tanning vats (the tanners, of course, 
  deny having any idea how victims got there). “Ong” 
  was Ongalar, the long-dead, mountainously tall and 
  fat tanner from “far eastern lands” who built the first 
  tannery here. A “batar” is what he called his tannery 
  (this term for such establishments is still used in 
  Murghom and Semphar). Blackmeir’s is the largest 
  ‘hide house’ where visitors can buy finished hides in 
  the Batar. The Blackmeir family have always 
  sponsored several bands of adventurers at once to 
  guard them and their premises, do “dirtywork” for 
  them, and protect their investments all across 
  Faerûn. 
  Zarnmoot 
  South of the road linking Shaarsar and Ong’s Batar 
  lies an everchanging chaos of encamped caravans 
  and horse dealers. Mounts stolen anywhere in the 
  Borders may appear for sale in this ‘Zarnmoot’ with 
  astonishing speed. From time to time doppelgangers 
  are discovered here lurking in horse shape, hoping 
  to be sold to lone travelers they can devour when 
  their new owners fall asleep. Wandering traders 
  often tell folk to seek out “Marl” in Zarnmoot if they 
  want good bargains in horseflesh, but (as Galardians 
  know) “Marl” is a pseudonym used by at least six 
  dealers who often trade at Zarnmoot. 
   The arms of Gallard (seen on its black, metal-
  sheathed city gates) are a side-on steel-gray anvil, 
  tongue to the viewer’s left, below which is a column 
  of three featureless coins (gold uppermost, silver in 
  the center, and copper lowest) above a black 
  cauldron at the bottom, all on a light, dun-hued 
  shield. 
  The Grand Duchy 
  of Shantal 
  Realm 
  Some folk call Shantal “the heart of the Border 
  Kingdoms,” not just because it’s centrally located in 
  the tamer western half of the Borders, but because 
  it’s almost stereotypical of these realms; it has 
  bucolic beauty, eccentric rulership, and lurking 
  danger.  
   The Grand Duchy today is a broad, tranquil-
  seeming valley of gently rolling farmland studded 
  with woodlots, flanked to east and west by lightly 
  wooded hills, and crisscrossed by winding lanes. At 
  its center rise the triple-spired Duchal Towers, 
  surrounded by a neat ring of cottages; the village of 
  Shantal. These in turn are encircled by a road, 
  beyond which lie long, narrow vegetable gardens 
  that end in orchards, one for each cottage, radiating 
  outward like the spokes of a wagonwheel.  
  The Vigilant Bailiffs 
  The Grand Duchy of Shantal is a curiously neat and 
  ordered settlement for the Border Kingdoms, and 
  the impression of alert, tidy authority is further 
  enhanced by the everpresent Grand Patrols of 
  Vigilant Bailiffs, dozen-strong mounted groups of 
  capable-looking warriors who know the ground and 
  
   
  36 
  work well together in chases, captures, and battle. 
  The Bailiffs are capable fighters armed with 
  crossbows, swords, javelins, and weighted throwing 
  nets. They wear chainmail beneath black surcoats 
  emblazoned with the badge of the duchy: an emerald 
  green Kaudraun (human left hand, palm toward 
  viewer, shown from the wrist up; fingers spread and 
  wavering into tongues of flame; thumb tapering into 
  a zig-zag lightning bolt).  
   The Vigilant Bailiffs dominate the roads of the 
  duchy. They are empowered to defend Shantal’s 
  peace with lethal force but are more sternly tolerant 
  than ruthless or zealous. Bribery drives them to 
  quiet fury, and they are never careless, bored, or 
  inattentive. Visiting mages are closely escorted by 
  Bailiffs at all times while in the Duchy. The Bailiffs 
  won’t hesitate to summon reinforcements (more 
  Grand Patrols and certain beasts) by horn if faced 
  with magical or formidable foes, such as adventurers 
  of obvious battle-skill.  
  Local Goods 
  Shantan farmers keep livestock, grow vegetables, 
  and sell (to way-merchants and passing travelers) 
  smoky-flavored, dark beer known as “Old Oakey” 
  after the casks it’s stored in (hand keg, 10 cp; cask, 4 
  sp; barrel, 1 gp; and butt, 3 gp; not shipped in tuns). 
  They also deal in sausage, hams, and Shantan Slice, a 
  sharp-flavored, red cheese that sells in 10-lb. wheels 
  for 5 sp. Most Shantans sell from covered carts at 
  their gates, or the traveler can stop at The Roping 
  Post and choose from a wide selection of local 
  produce. 
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
  A CASK OF 
   
   
   
   
   
                 OLD OAKEY 
   
   
   
   
  What Greets Travelers 
  in Shantal 
  Almost any visitor can’t help but notice at least three 
  things while in Shantal: visiting mages are watched 
  very closely at all times; there don’t seem to be many 
  priests or mages about; and almost all of the 
  villagers are well-armed and look like retired 
  warriors. This is all because most Shantans are well-
  armed former warriors who are glad to dwell in a 
  place free of hostile magic and those who wield it. 
  Most are self-sufficient farmers and craftworkers 
  producing such things as helms, shields, and bracers 
  of their own design (‘Shantan-make’ gear tends to be 
  non-reflective, rust-resistant, and fitted with handy 
  dagger sheaths and coin pouches). Most of these 
  veterans also volunteer for occasional duty as 
  Vigilant Bailiffs.  
   The lack of resident priests is an impression 
  rather than truth; a handful of Tempuran priests 
  who call themselves the Battleforges of Tempus 
  dwell in the Duchal Towers. From there, they 
  minister to the spiritual and healing needs of the 
  Vigilant Bailiffs, the Grand Duke, and any visiting 
  warriors who worship the Lord of Battles. They are 
  allowed to function in this manner in return for their 
  vow never to contest the Grand Duke’s authority or 
  that of his Bailiffs, and never to attempt to reach the 
  Daerndar (caverns under the Towers) or aid any 
  mage who does so.  
   Amenities also seem scarce in Shantal. There’s 
  only one well-stocked store: The Roping Post, a 
  cluttered barn across the road from the main gates 
  of the Duchal Towers. It’s crammed with old and 
  new hardware, ironmongery, ropes, earthenware, 
  and all manner of flashy peddlers’ wares, as well as 
  outright junk. 
   Beside the Post stands Shantal’s lone combined 
  inn and tavern, the Grand Duke’s Griffon 
  (Good/Cheap), a typically dingy, old roadhouse run 
  by two large gnome families, the Haerhogaunts and 
  the Talthwishes, who are all quick, quiet, and ever-
  bustling. The Talthwishes sell a small but good array 
  of long-lasting dyes for hair, skin, and clothing, sold 
  in head-sized earthen pots for 2 sp each. The Griffon 
  was named for an irascible, long-dead, winged steed 
  of the first Grand Duke. Visitors are warned not to 
  step on, capture, or torment any of the pet toads that 
  hop through the establishment; they’re apt to be 
  mages transformed by Flyndara or the Daerndar and 
  can be a mite irascible themselves.  
  The History of Shantal 
  The Grand Duchy was founded at the end of the 
  1200s DR by Pelindar Slendyn, the last surviving 
  warrior-servant of the archmage known as the 
  Arcanauh (after a duel that destroyed the Arcanauh, 
  his Red Tower, and his onetime consort-turned-
  bitter-foe, the Thayan sorceress Ithcatra Llumen). 
  Present-day Shantal stands on the site of the Red 
  Tower, which was reduced to rubble in the battle.  
   Pelindar forbade the use of magic in Shantal, as 
  did his son Thaerin, the second Grand Duke. Almost 
  continuous incursions by Daerndar-seekers made 
  necessary the establishment of an Official Mage early 
  
   
  37 
  in the reign of the third Grand Duke, Orsarr Slendyn. 
  That mage, the notorious “madwoman” Flyndara 
  Rildar, vanished in the onset of the Spellplague and 
  is presumed dead, though there are local rumors 
  that she escaped onto another plane of existence 
  (planewalking being something she was said to do 
  often). The Grand Duke disappeared at the same 
  time, and inevitably tales arose that they escaped 
  together, or she kidnapped him and took him to 
  another plane, or they met with some disaster and 
  died together. All that’s certain is that neither has 
  been seen in Shantal since the late spring of 1385 DR, 
  and their bodies have never been found. 
   For almost twenty years after Slendyn’s 
  disappearance, the Grand Duchy went without a 
  ruler, and no mages intruded on Shantal 
  (presumably for fear Flyndara was lurking, and what 
  she might do; she’d previously blasted many 
  intruding mages to dust, including such formidables 
  as a Red Wizard of They, an elder Halruaan archmagi, 
  and a battle-hardened Zhentarim). Then began a 
  long series of adventurers arriving, declaring 
  themselves Grand Duke, trying to give orders to the 
  Battleforges (and being rebuffed or ignored) and to 
  Shantans (and being obeyed only when threats or 
  outright coercion were used to bolster their 
  commands), and then being killed either by 
  Battleforges or Shantans, or by the next would-be 
  Grand Duke. 
   There have been twoscore-and-two Grand Dukes 
  since Slendyn—and the Grand Duchy is now without 
  one again. It has lacked an Official Mage or any 
  resident wizard at all after Flyndara. One of the 
  reasons Shantal is attractive to mages are the many 
  tales of powerful items acquired and wielded by 
  Flyndara that may still lie hidden in the Grand Duchy, 
  and one of the reasons many shun it are the “wild” 
  wards of the duchy—magical fields damaged in the 
  Spellplague, that affect Shantal in dangerous and 
  sometimes unpredictable ways. 
  Wards of the Duchy 
  Shantal is protected by strong, mythal-like wards 
  that absorb all natural and magical lightning and 
  electrical discharges and all magical fire, and prevent 
  the following magics from functioning: web and all 
  hold and invisibility spells (ongoing effects are 
  forcibly negated in the village of Shantal (and the 
  Daerndar), as bordered by the surrounding ring road. 
  The wards also prevent teleportation, dimension 
  door, and all similar translocation magics from 
  operating within, into, or out of their area of effect. 
  They may randomly twist the effects of other spells 
  (into something else entirely), boost their extent and 
  force (damage), or minimize them to mere harmless 
  visual discharges of magic (showers of varicolored 
  sparks, or brief rainbow-hued swirlings in the air). 
  (Elminster has hinted that Chosen of Mystra and 
  other accomplished masters of Weave manipulation 
  can influence the wards to prevent their negations). 
  Within the Duchal Towers, the wards also negate all 
  cold-based magic, and all shapechanging beings 
  (such as lycanthropes and doppelgangers) are forced 
  through a slow, continual cycle of all of the shapes 
  they customarily employ. Outside the ring road, the 
  invisible edges of the wards shift, seemingly at 
  random, here and there among the outlying farms of 
  the duchy. (Elminster has confirmed that the wards 
  persisted through the ravages of the Spellplague, and 
  survive today, because they’re powered by some 
  locally-hidden and truly mighty artifact.) 
  The Daerndar 
  The Daerndar, or “Heart of Spells,” is a series of dry, 
  natural caverns that once underlay the Red Tower 
  (before its destruction in a magical explosion). They 
  are under the Duchal Towers now. Some say they 
  drove Flyndara mad—and indisputably they are the 
  reason so many wandering mages show up in the 
  Grand Duchy, “nosing around” (as Shantans say) in 
  attempts to find a way down into the Daerndar. 
   Such reckless fools have a lot of digging to do. 
  There’s said to be a single, secret way down into the 
  Daerndar—a flooded tunnel a swimmer must know 
  well, or perish in dead-end side passages—that 
  descends from somewhere in the Official Mage’s 
  tower (from under Flyndara’s bed, local legend 
  insists, but this may be no more than a long-ago tale-
  teller’s embellishment that’s gained credence 
  through constant retelling over the years). On at 
  least one occasion, thieves discovered secret 
  passages in the Duchal Towers connecting with the 
  route Flyndara controlled, and visited the Daerndar 
  on the sly. When the few survivors emerged and told 
  their tales, Flyndara (who could ignore the 
  restrictions of the ward she created—or modified; 
  the tales differ) teleported slaying monsters after 
  them.  
   The Daerndar draw many mages to Shantal 
  because they’re full of magical radiations strong 
  enough to recharge most magic items, if one knows 
  the proper spells to focus and infuse. Elminster has 
  described one ritual that caused a wand of magic 
  missiles to gain more charges than such an item can 
  normally hold, but warned that most uses of the 
  radiation gain far more modest benefits. Rods and 
  staves, for example, seem to require a spell per 
  charge gained. (Those who don’t know the right 
  magic should beware, as most spell use in the 
  Daerndar causes chain-reaction outbursts of wild 
  magic!)  
   Twice the Grand Duke granted permission for 
  travelers to try to recharge items in the caverns. 
  Both attempts were made under Flyndara’s watchful 
  
   
  38 
  eye and were partial successes. Some items 
  benefited while others gained no charges or became 
  unstable, their discharges occasionally generating 
  wild magic effects.  
   Years ago, the Arcanauh accidentally broke into 
  these caverns while expanding his cellars and 
  thereafter used them for storage, spellcasting 
  experiments, and to hide his strongest magics. The 
  explosion that destroyed him and his artifacts 
  imbued the caves with strong magical radiation—fed, 
  some say, by the continuing discharges from 
  ruptured artifacts whose magic has been twisted 
  horribly awry. These radiations block all 
  translocation, scrying, and astral and ethereal spells 
  and spell-like powers. So far as is known, no being 
  can use magical means to journey into or out of the 
  Daerndar.  
   Blue-green, glowing mists now drift endlessly 
  through the caverns. Within them lurk at least three 
  beholder zombies the Vigilant Bailiffs can somehow 
  summon right across the duchy to fight for them. 
  (This summoning uses command words that compel 
  the obedience of either one or all of the beholder 
  zombies and causes the wards to teleport them, 
  within the wards only, from their present location to 
  right beside whoever uttered the command word.)  
   Only a few spells, known only to Flyndara and 
  Elminster, can safely be cast in the caverns. All other 
  spells and item discharges cause outbursts of wild 
  magic (see the Daerndar Effects Table). Occasionally, 
  violent spell storms arise spontaneously and tear 
  through the Daerndar, involving explosions, raging 
  lightning, and magic that polymorphs only parts of a 
  creature’s body. Spellcasters exposed to a storm 
  must make a Will save every round or be 
  feebleminded. 
   In storm-free times, Daerndar magic teleports 
  bewildered and usually belligerent monsters into the 
  caverns from various unknown, remote locations. In 
  descending order of how often they appear, these 
  creatures include trolls, minotaurs, mimics, ettins, 
  gibbering mouthers, and ropers appear most often.  
   All magic items brought into the Daerndar float 
  freely (drifting about gently—or hurtling violently if 
  a spell storm erupts) if released and not tethered. 
  The mists generate multiple (usually six or seven) 
  ‘ghost images’ of any magic item, moving 
  independently, but otherwise akin to the effects of a 
  mirror image spell. Touching a false image will 
  reveal that it isn’t solid, but won’t make it vanish. 
   The Daerndar walls seem to move from time to 
  time, changing the shape of the caverns and, in at 
  least one case, crushing a hapless wizard to pulp 
  between closing walls. The caverns have claimed the 
  lives of over forty adventurers during the past 
  decade. 
  Daerndar Effects Table (d10) 
  1 
  Teleport on a single, randomly-chosen being. This 
  spontaneous expulsion is a one-way trip out of the 
  caverns to 10 feet above the nearest roof, tree, or patch 
  of ground at some random spot in Shantal. The affected 
  being appears in midair, stripped of all clothing, gear, 
  and items, all of which remain behind in the caverns. 
  Villagers tend not to be sympathetic to such arrivals, 
  though they won’t be actively hostile unless attacked. 
  They direct naked adventurers to the Battleforges, who 
  tend to be either hostile or to demand services in return 
  for their aid. Mages who attempt their own teleport 
  spells in the Daerndar are warned that the usual result 
  is that a random species of monster is teleported into 
  the caverns, to attack the caster. On rare occasions, the 
  mage and another being anywhere in Faerûn (of the 
  same race but having extreme youth, a different 
  gender, and a complete inability to cast spells) instantly 
  exchange bodies. Teleport spells cast in the village of 
  Shantal are wasted, having no effect at all. 
  2 
  A single, unseen blow is delivered to one random being, 
  equal in effect to one strike of a clenched fist Bigby’s 
  hand. 
  3 
  A prismatic spray (or a wand of wonder effect) erupts 
  from a random point and in a random direction. 
  4 
  Polymorph effects are visited on 1d3 random, nearby 
  beings, changing them into other lifeforms (usually 
  giant crabs, camels, boars, large but soft and helpless 
  dew-worms, giant toads, or various sorts of vines and 
  creepers). This change lasts for random periods of time 
  (rarely exceeding an hour), after which harmless 
  reversion to the former shape takes place. The 
  transformation itself never does the polymorphed 
  creatures any harm, and the change is never into a 
  ‘fatal’ form (one that can’t live in the Daerndar, such as 
  water-breathing aquatic forms). 
  5 
  4d4 magic missiles (1d4+1 hp damage each) manifest 
  and hurtle aimlessly in all directions, changing their 
  trajectories often and at random. All beings within 200 
  feet must make three successful Dexterity Checks to 
  avoid these chaotically swarming bolts before they 
  strike the rock walls of the Daerndar. Each failed check 
  means that one missile has struck. 
  6 
  Chain lightning (9d6 damage to primary target; the last 
  ‘jump’ ends in a 4d6 fireball instead of a lightning 
  strike). 
  7 
  Reverse gravity (in three random, spot locations within 
  the same cave as the triggering magic). The Daerndar 
  caverns average about 60 feet from floor to ceiling -- 40 
  feet in low spots and 80 in the highest. 
  8 
  A flame strike hits a random spot, dying down into a 
  flaming sphere that rolls away in a random direction, 
  then dissipates after 1d3+1 rounds. Anyone hit by the 
  flame strike suffers no extra damage from its formation 
  around them. 
  9 
  A cone of cold erupts from a random point source and 
  in a random direction. 
  10 
   A blade barrier comes into existence, centered on 
  where the triggering magic was cast or in a random 
  locale. It lasts for 3d4 rounds before silently fading 
  away. 
  
   
  39 
  The Green Road 
  This three-coaches-broad highway runs between 
  Bloutar (in the Barony of Blacksaddle) and the 
  independent trading-town of Oeble (which straddles 
  the River Scelptar). Wagons, horses, and the feet of 
  travelers pound its earth into a hard-packed surface 
  atop gravel and a bed of logs. It is well-drained 
  thanks to the deep ditches flanking it on both sides. 
  The road gets its name from the hue of creeping 
  crushgrass that carpets it, seeming to thrive on the 
  hard and constant travel and keeping the road from 
  eroding.  
   The road is one of the busiest in the Border 
  Kingdoms and one of the best roads anywhere in the 
  Realms, with few steep slopes, no sharp bends, and 
  no good ambush sites. Diverse local adventuring 
  bands patrol it, making sure brigands, horse thieves, 
  and wagon plunderers never settle in to ply their 
  trades. Travelers who can afford an armed escort, 
  including all caravans transporting valuable goods, 
  also hire adventuring bands to accompany them, 
  which makes the route far too risky for open 
  brigandry.  
   The Green Road was begun in the 1290s DR when 
  the legendary wagon-merchant Ormurr of Oeble hit 
  upon a scheme of benefiting from debtors who 
  couldn’t pay. Using hired adventurers (usually the 
  long-ago-disbanded Company of the Galwyvern) to 
  enforce his authority, anyone who owed Ormurr 
  money was forced to work at maintaining and 
  improving the road. Ormurr judged his creditors’ 
  work at fair coin, and rose greatly in public regard 
  for the continual widening and improvement of the 
  road. Many local families now claim with pride that a 
  coin-poor ancestor “contributed to” the road. 
  (Ormurr, of course, has been dead for decades, his 
  extremely successful coster and great wealth broken 
  up and largely lost by many offspring and former 
  employees.)  
   The Green Road runs for more than sixty miles, 
  largely skirting the green and mysterious land of 
  Owlhold. An eastward-faring traveler on the road, 
  departing Oeble and bound for Bloutar, would 
  encounter the following features:  
  Myrax Ford 
  Pronounced “MY-racks”, this shallow, always-safe 
  ford over tiny Arhallow Stream, about eleven miles 
  out from Oeble, is named for a dwarf who died 
  heroically here long ago, single-handedly fighting 
  hobgoblins to allow his friends and family time to 
  escape. No trace remains of the much later wooden 
  manor of Arhallow, named after its owner, a retired 
  adventurer who settled here but was coaxed out on 
  “one last foray” by adventuring colleagues; an 
  adventure from which he never returned.  
   The stream rises in woods, is cold and sweetly 
  drinkable, and runs some miles to end in a bog. From 
  time to time, monsters lair in the thickets around the 
  bog but seldom last long if they challenge travelers 
  camped just south of the ford in three overgrown, 
  onetime manor fields.  
  Tallcandle Inn 
  Crowning a hill beside the road about twenty-six 
  miles from Oeble, this old, continually-rebuilt and 
  expanded hostelry is named for a distinctive stone 
  pinnacle that marks its front gates—a sixty-foot-high 
  natural shaft of weathered stone jutting into the sky 
  beside the road, leaning a little to the southeast. 
  Large lanterns hang on chains from the Tallcandle 
  and are lit every night to provide a beacon for 
  travelers. The Tallcandle is the usual first-night 
  stopover for travelers heading out from Oeble. 
   A rambling, single-story structure of fieldstone 
  below and timber above, the Tallcandle is laid out in 
  long halls flanked by guest-rooms that, at irregular 
  intervals and directions, extend short, spider-like 
  ‘legs’ (added-on niches, closets, sitting areas, and 
  entire rooms). It’s bounded by a smokehouse, wagon 
  repair shed, and extensive paddocks for caravans to 
  camp in, all of which entirely cover its hilltop. The 
  inn stands where it does because of the deep, cold-
  water well in its kitchen, which has never run dry. 
   The inn has low rates (Good/Cheap) for stabling 
  and wagon-parking (1 cp/night/mount or wagon). 
  Rates for accommodation are reasonable (2 
  cp/night/bed in a common chamber with four beds 
  and shared tables, wardrobes, and chamberpots, or 1 
  sp/night for a private room, which is a small cubicle 
  almost entirely filled with a bed that can just sleep 
  two adult humans if they’re on intimate terms, plus a 
  chamberpot and lots of wall pegs for clothing). Basic 
  meals (a hearty serving of soup, stew, or a “frymeat” 
  of diced meat and vegetables, fried in various herb 
  sauces, plus free bread and as much mintwater as 
  desired) are 3 cp, but charges are steeper for “full 
  roast platters” (2 sp). Alcoholic drinks cost 1 
  sp/flagon (to discourage drunken rowdiness).  
   The Tallcandle has a reputation for being safe and 
  clean, thanks to the worldly-wise (and armed) 
  vigilance of the all-female (human and half-elven) 
  staff, who’ve inherited half a dozen flying snakes as 
  spies, errand- and message-runners, and fighting 
  companions; they are the descendants of a mated 
  pair that were pets of a past Master of Tallcandle, the 
  long-dead Dantar Brothorr. The inn enjoys its “safe 
  refuge” reputation despite serving as the temporary 
  home for some decidedly ready-for-trouble guests; 
  half-orcs and even drow have traditionally been 
  tolerated. 
  
   
  40 
  Skulls Hollow 
  One of the few “wiggles” in the Green Road is a great 
  sinkhole known as Skulls Hollow, about twenty-eight 
  miles out from Oeble. A lightly-wooded, pleasant 
  place of many ferns, mosses, and edible forest 
  shrubs, it also hosts an eerie apparition by night: 
  seven glowing, bobbing human skulls that rise up 
  from the earth to whisper cryptic warnings and 
  phrases to all living creatures who approach them. 
  People have reported being told such things as:  
   Beware the six-blades man, for he knows the dire 
  spell! 
   There were three crowns; one is now claimed, one 
  is broken, and if you take the third, they will hunt 
  you! 
   Tell the wizard that his chained queen awakens, 
  and it is time for him to flee! 
   The glowing, flying human skulls are intangible 
  phantoms. If they move through anyone, that being 
  receives a vivid vision (never forgotten) of some 
  place or exciting incident in the life of the undead 
  when it was a living human. Each contact between a 
  skull and a living person yields a different image. 
  Such contact does no apparent harm to the living or 
  the skulls, though the skulls seem to avoid most 
  contacts. Casting any sort of spell on a skull will 
  cause it to sink into the ground, and it will not 
  reappear that night, but it seems impossible to 
  destroy the skulls. They are not associated with any 
  buried remains that diggers have been able to 
  unearth.  
   Tales told in Owlhold claim correctly that the 
  Hollow formed when part of a small, ancient, 
  subterranean city or stronghold, not very far 
  beneath the surface, collapsed into itself. That 
  cavern-fall created the current bowl-shaped 
  depression on the surface (though it’s large enough 
  that its precise shape is hard to discern). The 
  underground remainders of the collapsed passages 
  served as the lair of bugbears for years, but who 
  constructed them originally is unknown. Legend 
  insists they are crowded with old treasures that the 
  bugbears largely ignored. Other legends say the 
  skulls are the harmless, intangible, undead remnants 
  of adventurers killed in the cavern-fall while battling 
  the bugbears, and whose spells may even have 
  caused the collapse. 
  The Four Stags 
  This bustling establishment (Good/Expensive) 
  stands just east of “halfway along” the Green Road 
  (about thirty-six miles out from Oeble) at its moot 
  with the Bowshot (a winding, far-more-perilous 
  road that runs deep into Owlhold, where it meets the 
  trade road known as the Longcrag Ride). The Stags is 
  where many Owlen come to trade with way-
  merchants, hire guards or agents or a night’s 
  companionship, and meet outlanders. {For more, see 
  The Bowshot entry.} 
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
  THE FOUR STAGS 
   
   
   
  Dragontail Lake 
  About fifty miles along the Green Road from Oeble 
  (and just under fourteen miles outbound from 
  Bloutar, for travelers heading west), the highway 
  curves gently around a small, placid, spring-fed lake 
  that lies only a few strides south of the road. There’s 
  room to camp on its grassy shores (in a long 
  roadside strip rather than any large field), and many 
  travelers do, for the lake holds abundant fish (but 
  never, local lore insists, anything larger and nastier).  
   The lake is named for a long-ago aerial battle 
  above it between two young dragons, wherein one 
  wyrm had its tail bitten off; the severed tail fell into 
  the lake. Although many similar tales are told of 
  various locales across the Realms, this one is true. 
  Only a few sages know a more impressive truth 
  about the lake: that in its shallow depths lies the 
  overgrown, encrusted skeleton of a black dragon 
  that perished of natural causes long, long ago when 
  the lake was a hillock in a swamp. Presumably the 
  dragon’s hoard still lies beneath it. 
   The Green Road remains a busy route. By day, in 
  dry summer weather, it’s unusual to be traveling on 
  it and not have other wayfarers in view both before 
  and behind, traveling in both directions. Much of 
  Bloutar’s past prosperity (and not a little of Oeble’s, 
  too) can be explained by the presence and condition 
  of this relatively safe, wide, ever-more-heavily-
  traveled highway. 
  
   
  41 
  Hawkgarth  
  (The Wood of Many Monsters) 
  Realm 
  Named for the now-dead pirate and soldier-of-
  fortune who founded it, Hawkgarth was long known 
  as “the Wood of Many Monsters.” Fighting men who 
  loved to hunt beasts visited it by the score to battle 
  “the last” (or so it was said) giant owlbears, giant 
  stags, “greater” perytons, and other rare and deadly 
  predators; monsters that dwelt in Hawkgarth thanks 
  to an earlier resident wizard, Histokle Rireetha. He’s 
  said by some to be a refugee from ancient Netheril, 
  while others claim he still survives, hiding in 
  Hawkgarth as a demi-lich. Histokle assembled many 
  monsters to prowl as guardians around his floating 
  manor house, and bred minor beasts in profusion so 
  his guardians would have plentiful food and little 
  inclination to wander elsewhere. 
   Today, the grave of Hawkgarth is a grassy barrow, 
  almost all of the wild woods and monsters are gone, 
  and Histokle’s manor house is an open-roofed, 
  ruined shell floating in the air fifty feet above 
  Floating Shadow Bog. It still attracts adventurers 
  and sages, for its fading magics bring forth illusions 
  of beings who cast spells therein ages ago and 
  creatures brought forth by Histokle’s arts. Such 
  silent visions are especially numerous by moonlight, 
  which is also when the vampires that lurk around 
  the floating manor like to hunt. Yet many 
  adventurers brave the perils of the ruined manor 
  when the moon is high, because the entrance to 
  Histokle’s hidden lair is reputed to be through a 
  “moon-gate,” a magical portal visible and useable 
  only when moonlight shines on a certain, secret spot 
  in the ruins. 
  Histokle’s Lair 
  Histokle’s lair is a labyrinth of rooms containing 
  guardian monsters (such as bone nagas, cloakers, 
  giant scorpions, and monster zombies); treasure (its 
  stone pillars, in particular, are said to hide many 
  storage niches behind their curving stones 
  containing wands, rare and strange potions, and 
  spellbooks); a large, metal automaton (abilities and 
  means of controlling unknown; it attacks intruders 
  who “do the wrong things” in the chamber in which 
  it stands, and may be a shield guardian); and a magic 
  throne of unknown origin (a simple seat carved from 
  one piece of smooth black stone that’s reputed to 
  “enhance” {permanently augment one random ability 
  score of} any being who dares sit upon it). Floating 
  watchfully above the throne is the demi-lich himself. 
  Histokle’s Dark Throne 
  The ability augmentation of the throne affects each 
  being only once, instantly upon contact, but doesn’t 
  manifest until the sitter sleeps and then awakens. 
  Beings who manage to remain alive on the throne for 
  a continuous hour also gain immediate and fully-
  detailed knowledge of all magic items and artifacts 
  they’re wearing, holding, or carrying. No detail, 
  hidden power, or unawakened ability is omitted, and 
  every command word or procedure is impressed 
  into the sitter’s memory. 
   Where the throne came from and who gave it this 
  power are mysteries. There are persistent rumors 
  that the divine hand of Oghma himself had 
  something to do with its creation. Others insist it 
  was Azuth, or Mystra and Oghma working together, 
  or that it is the last surviving manifestation of the 
  great power that once belonged to Savras the All-
  Seeing. Considering the swift magically-twisted and 
  melted deaths of the last dozen priests who tried to 
  examine the throne, it seems likely the genesis of 
  this enchanted stone seat will remain a mystery. 
  Histokle’s Company 
  Many powerful mages don’t seek out the manor to 
  gain treasure, but rather to survive an hour on the 
  throne Histokle guards, keeping the demi-lich’s 
  attacks at bay by giving interesting answers to the 
  questions it asks (primarily about recent events in 
  the Realms). The lonely undead mage retains more 
  awareness and sanity than most liches who have 
  degenerated to its floating skull state, and can carry 
  on long conversations, appreciate jokes and well-
  told anecdotes, and exhibit curiosity and even envy. 
  Histokle is quite willing to hear alternative 
  information offered by an intruder in lieu of an 
  answer the intruder doesn’t know, provided it is 
  interesting. 
   Sometimes (such as when those openly purporting 
  to be priests visit) Histokle delights in destroying 
  visitors, and on other occasions he seems merely to 
  want to talk. Wherever his lair truly is, teleport spells 
  can safely return intruders from it to intended 
  destinations in Faerûn, but dimension door and 
  passwall spells that breach its ‘walls’ cause vortices 
  of wild magic that separate casters from all clothing 
  and gear before whirling them off to random locales 
  in the Realms, often badly injured (bludgeoning 
  damage, from violent random impacts with 
  surroundings). 
   A few mages have so impressed or befriended 
  Histokle that he’s freely given them a spell or 
  implanted a particular boon in their minds: a single-
  use summoning of one of Histokle’s guardian beasts 
  (typically a gargoyle, gauth, or death kiss) to fight for 
  
   
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  or aid the summoner, serving even to the point of 
  unhesitatingly performing suicidal acts. 
   One such visitor was the sorceress Harathralee of 
  Calimport. She agreed to provide Histokle with a 
  child of her own birthing for him to raise and train as 
  his heir. If the demi-lich’s plan proceeds as he 
  envisions it, he’ll pass on all of his knowledge mind-
  to-mind to his heir, then pass on into eternal sleep. 
  Hawkgarth’s Hill 
  Though wooded, the resting place of the dead 
  founder of Hawkgarth is readily identifiable by the 
  stone doors on its southeastern face, graven with the 
  device of a crown transfixed by a vertical, point-
  down sword. Hawkgarth’s barrow-tomb is, of course, 
  said to hold treasure—a cursed, floating, magical 
  long sword of powerful abilities that can be borne off 
  by anyone who defeats its guardian ghost, but must 
  soon be returned to the tomb. If not returned, it will 
  emit new ghosts to attack and slay its wielder before 
  eventually finding its own way back to its hovering 
  place above Hawkgarth’s casket. 
   One wizard’s chapbook (A Life of Wonders by 
  Harluth the Mighty, pub. 1342 DR) recounts the 
  writer’s examination of this blade after it was 
  brought to him by an adventurer. Harluth identified 
  the sword from Hawkgarth’s tomb as the Aershivar 
  Blackblade, a long sword that does no damage at all 
  to undead but strikes the living at +2 to hit for 2d8 
  (Medium-sized or smaller) or 2d12 (Large-sized and 
  bigger) slicing and chilling damage. Once per day, 
  when grasped and ordered to do so, it can deliver a 
  shrewd strike (a +5 attack that deals 4d12 damage to 
  a foe). It can also, with the same preconditions, also 
  defend its wearer with spell turning (against one 
  magical attack only, chosen by the sword wielder 
  rather than automatic; the bearer feels tingling from 
  incoming magic, strong if magic is powerful; the 
  sword turns away 100% of the magic, reflecting it at 
  any target of the wielder’s choosing, including the 
  source). 
  The Countryside 
  Travelers will find Hawkgarth a beautiful land of 
  prosperous cherry and apple farms, many woodlots, 
  and winding lanes stretching along the southern 
  bank of the River Scelptar for some distance. 
  However, settlements of the sort travelers usually 
  find are unknown in Hawkgarth; buildings are 
  spread out. Most travelers eventually find their ways 
  to one or both of two crossroads: Ingletar at the west 
  end of the realm, or Ambrees at the east end. 
   Ingletar offers a horsepond; a blacksmith (“Suther 
  Harlagus, Shoes & Froes/Four Generations of 
  Harlagus Smiths”); The Firefly Down inn 
  (Good/Moderate); Three Sheaves Tower, a shrine to 
  
   
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  Chauntea; and a farm market that gathers once a 
  tenday, where travelers can buy all the wares 
  Hawkgarth produces and more (from traveling 
  wagon-merchants). 
   Ambrees is home to Jalagar the Wheelwright, 
  famous for his fine-quality wagon wheels, and great-
  grandson of the founder of the business, “Old 
  Jalagar,” who perished at a ripe old age in 1402 DR; 
  the Old Pipe and Pearls inn (Excellent/Moderate); 
  and the cozy, superior Laughing Unicorn tavern, 
  which is known for the dancing, glowing white 
  unicorn illusion that appears briefly every midnight 
  (thanks to a spell cast long ago by a Harper sorceress 
  to give a sign to a friend she could wait no longer 
  for). The Unicorn is a favorite of many traveling 
  minstrels of Faerûn, and there’s even a ballad about 
  the welcoming sight of its flickering window-candles 
  at the end of a long and dangerous ride. 
   The song’s not all that fanciful, for the one thing 
  Hawkgarth can boast for its farmers is that some of 
  them are accomplished brigands. Their favored 
  tactic is to lean down from overhanging tree-boughs 
  to slice straps and lift away baggage or even cut a 
  horse away from a team when the coachman is 
  asleep—or has been carried from his seat by a 
  swinging, cloak-wielding bravo who swoops out of 
  the trees, wraps the man’s head in a smothering 
  cloak, and carries him to the ground and a stunned 
  slumber. In some cases, coaches or goods-wagons 
  have crashed down into ravines or into trees after 
  brigands removed the coachman. The injured or 
  dead occupants are dealt with at leisure by the 
  cutpurses, who are then free to loot the goods or 
  even right the wagon and drive it off to a remote 
  barn for stripping. There’s an old Hawkgarthan tall 
  tale about one brigand band doing this and then 
  being attacked by a second band who mistook them 
  for merchants. So few folk survived this clash in the 
  darkness that only two bravos were left to take the 
  wagon home, pulled by a single horse. Whereupon 
  they were, of course, ambushed by a third cutpurse 
  band. 
   In recent years, battlewise traveling mages have 
  evened the score with some of the more notorious 
  brigands, but the survivors have become wily; now, 
  before attacking, they often observe travelers 
  throughout several inn-stops along the road to learn 
  their targets thoroughly. As always, travelers are 
  cautioned to hide finery and keep boasting to a 
  minimum, or they’ll attract rough and ready 
  attention they might prefer to avoid. 
   Not all Hawkgarthan farmers, of course, are the 
  sort who’ll stick a blade in a throat when night falls. 
  Even those who prowl the forest lanes and high 
  roads by night tend to be genuinely friendly and 
  easy-going around the tavern-hearth during daylight. 
   All of this creeping about after dark can make 
  Hawkgarth a busy place for lovers seeking seclusion, 
  tramps seeking a quiet haystack to sleep in, and 
  travelers on foot cutting cross-country to avoid 
  unpleasantness (or at least most unpleasantness). 
  Many farmers have well-trained guard dogs that can 
  growl and even bay but not bark, that tend to 
  approach and spring silently, giving tongue only 
  after striking. The spell known as Darvo’s dancing 
  dogs, which lofts multiple canines of all sorts into the 
  air to ‘dance’ helplessly on nothing, for hours, is said 
  to have been born out of the warrior-mage Darvo’s 
  strong desire to enjoy an uninterrupted haystack 
  slumber one hot, summer night in deepest 
  Hawkgarth. 
  Hawkgarthan Governance 
  Hawkgarthans are quite content with their present 
  system of government: all landowners in Hawkgarth 
  nominate and vote for certain elders among them to 
  be Speakers. To be named so, a candidate must get a 
  thousand votes out of a population of not quite four 
  thousand voting farmers. Speakers propose laws and 
  policies for the land in short, pithy speeches at 
  twice-yearly meetings called moots. These are held 
  atop Hawkgarth’s Hill. Speakers call for votes, and 
  the Senior Speaker (currently an always-calm and 
  unruffled wrinkled old female human matron by the 
  name of Haldaree Tornreth, who farms just down 
  the road from the Floating Shadow Bog at Twotrees 
  Bridge) tallies all “close counts.” Enforcement of 
  laws and the putting down of lawlessness is handled 
  by the Striking Hawks, some thirty local lads (all LN 
  male human fighters) who dwell on family farms 
  near Wrinkled Hill. 
  Local Lore and History 
  Most local legends center on the “terrible haunted 
  floating manor” (“With these eyes, I’ve seen the 
  bodies of dead adventurers falling from it many a 
  night!”) or concern the ghost of Hawkgarth striding 
  forth from his tomb to right some wrong. Typical 
  day-to-day Hawkgarthan rumors concern the latest 
  dark plot of this or that nearby ruler who wants 
  (again) to conquer Hawkgarth. These rumors are 
  based on many previous attempts by various petty 
  rulers in the Border Kingdoms to seize this region of 
  rich, “unprotected” farmland. Hawkgarth himself 
  slaughtered a dozen would-be usurpers, and died of 
  the wounds he took hewing down most of the forces 
  of the thirteenth pretender. After his bodyguard was 
  ambushed and died to the last man and woman 
  defending their king, Hawkgarth alone held a 
  covered bridge over the River Mauraurin (today 
  little more than a dry creekbed save during spring 
  run-off) against the invaders. He killed over sixty 
  enemy knights before dusk came and he threatened 
  
   
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  to call up the dead to fight with him, whereupon the 
  pretender’s forces fled. Hard-riding knights found 
  Hawkgarth a few hours later, leaning against one rail 
  of the bridge, sword in hand and white as a ghost—
  stone dead, all his lifeblood in a deep pool around 
  him. One of them put on the King’s armor, and the 
  others mounted a guard around him. The invaders 
  made one cautious foray in the new day, saw the 
  King standing on the bridge with ready swords all 
  around him, and decided to seek easier lands to rule. 
   The spot is still known as the Ghost Bridge. 
  Hawkgarthans believe loyal subjects who were born 
  in the realm can receive guidance there, if they go to 
  the bridge by night and humbly offer their sword to 
  the King, it’s said they will see the phantom of 
  Hawkgarth the Mighty in his plate armor, sword in 
  hand, and hear him whisper words of wisdom before 
  he fades away. 
  The Book of Beasts 
  There is also a persistent local rumor that some 
  anonymous farmer of Hawkgarth keeps a precious 
  treasure hidden somewhere in the land: a Book of 
  Beasts. This large, ancient tome is said to have been 
  stolen from Histokle long ago. Bound about with 
  lockable clasps, its pages display vivid paintings of 
  monsters—beasts that can be called forth from the 
  book by those who touch a page and speak the 
  proper phrase. Unfortunately, local belief holds 
  (correctly) that the monsters that appear are in no 
  way subject to the command of their summoner and 
  typically attack everything in sight (except the book 
  they came from). Such tomes were quite fashionable 
  in Unther and Mulhorand centuries ago, and a few 
  were made in the waning days of Netheril and the 
  early days of Halruaa, but few survive into recent 
  years. 
  The Treasury of 
  Houlongh Szoul 
  Hawkgarth is widely (and correctly) rumored to be 
  the place where the thieves who stole the treasury of 
  the vizar Houlongh Szoul of Calimport fled to, and 
  perished, decades ago. There were six thieves, and 
  each stole an elegantly-carved ivory coffer of gems 
  not knowing that Szoul had hired a mage to enchant 
  each coffer with a tracer spell. Houlongh couldn’t 
  find the written instructions for activating the tracer 
  for almost a tenday, which gave the thieves time to 
  reach their homes in Hawkgarth and take their finds 
  to a local mage, Dhalberstant Hurthurimm for 
  examination. In exchange for a tenth of the gems, 
  Dhalberstant agreed to break any enchantments or 
  curses laid on the stones, remove any poisons or 
  traps, and forget all about ever having done so. He 
  performed his part of the deal, reported the tracers 
  to the thieves, and collected his payment. It is 
  recorded by his apprentice, Shalara of the Streams, 
  as being twenty-six rubies, “none smaller than my 
  thumb;” forty-one sapphires “of like size;” and 
  seventeen emeralds “a shade smaller than the other 
  sorts of gems.” Dhalberstant promptly ordered 
  Shalara to undertake a long journey to Neverwinter, 
  to search there for a certain magical substance he 
  required. He then vanished “on a tour of the planes” 
  (from which he never returned). Shalara suspected 
  her master was fleeing any doom the satrap might 
  send his way. 
   All six of the thieves were slain in Hawkgarth by 
  invisible stalkers within a tenday of Dhalberstant’s 
  disappearance, but no trace of the coffers or the 
  gems they held was ever found. It is certain that 
  Houlongh never recovered them, for he came 
  seeking them with a large band of hired warriors 
  and wizards and was slain with all his forces in 
  Dhalberstant’s mansion by Shalara when she 
  returned from her mission (largely through her use 
  of traps and magic items prepared by Dhalberstant 
  for use in defending his mansion). She later perished 
  in the Spellplague, when the mansion exploded in 
  bursts of violent and colorful magic. 
  Hawkgarth 
  Today and Tomorrow 
  Still bearing a reputation of being largely a wild 
  wood roamed by monsters and inhabited by 
  brigands who pounce on every visitor daring to 
  venture along its roads, Hawkgarth is avoided by 
  most outlanders (except those hungry for treasure, 
  who often find, once there, that many lesser-known 
  tales of smaller treasures and secrets await the 
  patiently inquisitive visitor.) Yet Hawkgarth remains 
  largely a pastoral backwater, which suits most of its 
  inhabitants just fine. Its location nigh the confluence 
  of the Rivers Rith and Scelptar (where a port on the 
  south bank of the Scelptar could dominate all 
  upriver shipping) and between other restless realms 
  make its future quite likely to feature other would-
  be conquerors. It remains to be seen just how much 
  success any invader can have in this realm of strong, 
  independent local inhabitants. 
  High Emmerock 
  Realm 
  High Emmerock is, as its name suggests, a region of 
  high, grassy meadows suited for grazing livestock. 
  One of the more prosperous Border Kingdoms, it is 
  unusually verdant. (A property born of magical 
  causes, some locals believe. That belief has persisted, 
  it should be noted, down many centuries.) As a 
  
   
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  result, it has always provided ample grazing, and so 
  has teemed with wild beasts. 
   What’s known today as High Emmerock was 
  formerly part of the land known as the Sward {see 
  the Sward entry for the area’s early history}. In the 
  days when there was a large meadowland realm 
  known as the Sward, priests of Helm were 
  encouraged to settle there and guard its borders. 
  They in turn welcomed adventurers who wanted a 
  safe haven to dwell in (provided they agreed to 
  submit to the instruction of the Helmite clergy). The 
  famous Company of Sun Knights adventuring band 
  did so, retiring to the Sward at the end of a long and 
  colorful career to found the now equally famous 
  Sunbright Lances, today the backbone of High 
  Emmerock. 
   The Lances are heavily armored men of great 
  height and strength. Their massed charge can smash 
  aside and trample most foes, and their almost 
  fanatical commanders train the Lances in fighting in 
  swamps, rainstorms, thick forest, blizzards, and mud 
  while both mounted and afoot. They become adept 
  at shedding armor while in battle or on the move if 
  need be and in anticipating and reacting to enemy 
  tricks. After a century of such training and victory 
  after victory in battle against various ambitious 
  neighbors, the Lances are widely feared in the 
  Border realms. Very few folk dare to trifle with the 
  laws and peace of High Emmerock.  
  The Emmerock Dynasty 
  The present name of the realm comes from one of its 
  most famous kings, a man from somewhere in the 
  Shining South (possibly Var the Golden) hight 
  Emmerock the Goblinbane, who hunted orcs, goblins, 
  and their kin as some men hunt stags in the forest, 
  until the enraged goblins mustered an army from 
  their usually-feuding tribes (who dwelt in the land 
  that today is Thuntar) and invaded the Sward. They 
  chased Swardar patrols who ‘fled’ into the deep 
  ravine at the heart of the realm, leading the goblin 
  army into a waiting trap. There, with the Lake in the 
  Cleft glimmering before them, the goblins died in 
  their thousands, beset from all sides by the rolled 
  rocks, hurled lances, and fired arrows of the Swardar.  
   A day after the goblin army was eradicated, the 
  Swardar charged down into the goblin lands to the 
  southwest. Goblin warrens were surrounded, 
  haycarts set ablaze and pushed into the tunnels, and 
  the goblins were smoked out to their deaths in the 
  face of withering arrow-volleys. When all of the 
  goblinkin had been hunted down, the King declared 
  that the Sward would henceforth be known as High 
  Emmerock and the goblin lands as Low Emmerock.  
   Emmerock then sired three sons, all as hard-
  driving and ambitious as their sire. Almost thirty 
  summers later, the eldest murdered him for the 
  crown, and was executed by the shocked younger 
  brothers—who then promptly went to war with 
  each other over who should rule the realm. The son 
  known as Esbolder prevailed, proclaiming himself 
  King and banishing his younger brother, Nothlan, to 
  everlasting exile.  
   Nothlan went straight to Calimshan and offered 
  certain horse-breeding families there a chance to 
  own part of the fabled Land of Horses again if they’d 
  back him in a bid to regain the throne. They did.  
   Nothlan’s forces landed in Low Emmerock only to 
  find the Emmeran armies waiting for them. The 
  struggle that followed ravaged both armies and went 
  on until a harsh winter forced the survivors to stop 
  fighting and scrabble to survive. Sometime during 
  the dark, chilly depths of that cold season, Nothlan 
  vanished. Some say he was murdered by his brother 
  (or an adventuring band hired by the King), others 
  that he simply froze to death and was devoured by 
  wolves before his body could be found and identified. 
  Still other folk whispered that he blundered through 
  a magical portal into “another place,” never to return. 
  Minstrels sing of the day when a son of Nothlan, “the 
  rightful king of all Emmerock,” will come “striding 
  out of nowhere” to reclaim his realm. A few folk 
  insist Nothlan sickened of the whole affair and went 
  away to take up a life of devotion to a peaceful god, 
  or to study at Candlekeep.  
   Whatever Nothlan’s true fate, spring found his 
  army reduced to handfuls of scattered, fleeing 
  warriors and Low Emmerock a lawless, ravaged land. 
  The surviving warriors of High Emmerock were 
  unable to hold it. All their attention was needed to 
  defend the original meadowland realm against wave 
  after wave of opportunistic invaders.  
   It was then that the Company of Sun Knights, 
  who’d been landholders in the realm for more than a 
  decade but spent most of their time off adventuring, 
  came to home to stay. Under their competent 
  leadership, High Emmerock survived, but its forces 
  were never able to retake their former sister realm 
  (which is today the land of Thuntar). The best they 
  could manage was holding this or that small piece of 
  it for scattered days or months at a time.  
   The last King of the Emmerock dynasty, Belder the 
  Sly, perished in 1344 DR of a bloating plague while 
  wenching in the port cities of the Lake of Steam. 
  After his death, High Emmerock slid peacefully 
  under the rule of a council of seven warrior lords 
  (the descendants of the Sun Knights). Their policies 
  ensured that Emmerans would stop trying to regain 
  Low Emmerock and instead concentrate on 
  improving their homeland.  
   They succeeded. Today, High Emmerock is a well-
  ordered, heavily-policed land that resembles nothing 
  so much as a huge farm in which stock is reared, 
  lands are carefully irrigated and trimmed, and 
  
   
  46 
  patrols are frequent and vigilant. The towers of the 
  Lords of the Lances ring the land (visitors seeking 
  accommodation or trade are advised to go to the 
  markets, taverns, shops, and inns that cluster about 
  each tower), and its interior consists of rolling, open 
  grasslands still known as the Sward. 
  Leaders and Domains 
  High Emmerock, a region of high, grassy meadows 
  suited for grazing livestock and one of the more 
  prosperous Border Kingdoms, is ruled by a council 
  of seven Lords of the Lance. Present members of the 
  council are listed below (note that regardless of 
  gender, Council members are styled Lord): 
   Annathra Hallowhand (a fat, food-loving, sturdy 
  NG female Damaran human retired adventurer 
  and “farm lass” who’s an accomplished rider, 
  horse trainer and doctor, and a veteran warrior 
  and general), Lord of the Blue Falcon, who dwells 
  in Falconkeep in northwesternmost High 
  Emmerock. 
   Larbreena Marounal (a quiet, grim, darkly 
  beautiful CG female Calishite human fighter and 
  mage who collects maps and conspiracies), Lord of 
  the Wavewatch, who lives in Wavewatch Tower on 
  a peak, Nightwind Pinnacle, overlooking the 
  village of Nightwind and the Lake of Steam beyond, 
  in northern High Emmerock. She’s the 
  granddaughter of Azlurla Marounal; the lordship 
  has been held by the Marounals for a century and 
  a half. 
   Dethran Morrowbrar (a huge-nosed, jovial male 
  gnome who’s a master of pumps, piping, and other 
  plumbing matters, and bellows and the making 
  and tending of forges), Lord of Oldstones, of 
  Oldstones Hall in rocky, northeasternmost High 
  Emmerock. 
   Archeln Harouklan (a grim, always alert, 
  eyepatch-sporting—he lost his left eye 
  adventuring—and much scarred LN male 
  Chondathan human fighter, a retired adventurer 
  who walks with a limp, and expects the enemies 
  he made in his adventuring career to show up for 
  revenge someday soon—and so keeps his mansion 
  on a war footing, with frequently-drilled guards 
  who get a lot of practice in archery and spear-
  throwing, and stand sentinel in concealed 
  watchposts all over the Lord’s grounds), Lord of 
  Eagles, who dwells in palatial Reddunsar Manor 
  (known for its shady, wooded gardens of falling 
  streams and pools) atop the Eaglesroost, a 
  wooded ridge in High Emmerock. 
   Bressa Dahlhawk (an elderly and increasingly 
  wrinkled and frail, but still sharp-tongued and 
  alert LG female Damaran human, a retired weaver 
  and cloth-merchant who’s correctly reputed to be 
  fabulously wealthy), Lord of the Vale, who dwells 
  in Silverstream Hall in Boldo’s Vale at the 
  southeastern edge of the realm. Boldo was the 
  most crude and boisterous of the Kings of the 
  Sward and is fondly remembered in jests and 
  legends. Bressa doesn’t sit on pots of gold, but puts 
  her wealth to work; she has investments in 
  Waterdeep, Baldur’s Gate, and many Sword Coast 
  settlements, often involving cold-weather and 
  “work” clothing (heavy aprons, gloves, and boots). 
   Paersraede Mythlyn, Hammer of Helm (a petite, 
  raven-black-haired, pert young cleric of Helm 
  who’s far more humorous, witty, and smart than 
  her “public face” suggests; a LN female Durpari 
  human), Lord of the Tower of Vigil (Helmite 
  monastery) atop Harethtoe Tor on the southern 
  edge of High Emmerock. Paersraede’s Lordship is 
  “in the gift” of the monastery; its elders 
  collectively select who will serve as Lord, and have 
  selected someone young, low-ranking in the 
  priesthood and therefore biddable to their 
  commands, who’s also diligent, swift-witted, and 
  interested in the woder world; Paersraede is 
  always thinking like a guardian of High Emmerock 
  and then the wider Border Kingdoms, and will 
  often hold feasts for, and provide the hospitality of 
  her Tower to, wayfarers so she can pump them for 
  what they’ve seen and the latest gossip, to update 
  her overall view of the military and political 
  situation in the region. She’s not above 
  manipulating adventurers or rival factions into 
  actions that will blunt threats to the Borders. 
   
            PAERSRAEDE 
               MYTHLYN 
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   Xelotar Sandras (a CN male Mulan human 
  veteran fighter of many victories, who must have 
  some magical means of longevity because he’s 
  been a Lord of the Council since the 1350s DR; a 
  saturnine, sarcastic fashion plate always 
  immersed in the gossip and politics of Calimshan, 
  
   
  47 
  the Lake of Steam, and the Tashalar), Lord of the 
  Crag, master of Dragonmount Crag Castle in 
  westernmost High Emmerock. Local rumors 
  persist that Sandras has dragon blood in his 
  heritage, and some dragon-related magical secret 
  hidden in caverns deep in the Crag, beneath the 
  dungeons of his castle.  
   Interested travelers should know that Falconkeep 
  towers over the small village of Irsprey, known for its 
  smiths and woodcarvers. Amid its hillocks, shady 
  stands of trees, and winding lanes, the only tavern is 
  the Old Anvil (Fair/Cheap), and its sole inn is 
  Gunderbar’s Place (Fair/Moderate). 
   Wavewatch Tower stands on Nightwind Pinnacle 
  above the village of Nightwind. Known for its 
  sapphire miners and stonecutters, this spartan 
  settlement of stone cottages and drystone-walled 
  gardens is surrounded by quarries and boasts the 
  Nightwind Tavern (Excellent/Moderate) and Stand 
  of Stones Inn (Good/Moderate). 
   Oldstones Hall overlooks a sheep-herding village, 
  Ornryl, known for its smelly, long-lasting tallow 
  candles (treated with a secret mixture of ground 
  stone and crushed plant juices to burn slowly and 
  hold their shape) and its smoked and jellied lamb 
  meat (sold in tins all around the Lake of Steam). 
  Wool is sent to the mills of Catanthar. Ornryl has two 
  small taverns, a family place known as Stulgin’s 
  Stook (Good/Cheap) and The Happy Homonculous 
  (Good/Moderate, named for a long-ago local mage-
  related event). The Happy Homonculous is a rough 
  watering hole where ladies dance and sing for guests 
  and outland visitors, who are directed hence. 
   The Eaglesroost, where Reddunsar Manor nestles 
  in its wooded gardens, rises above the fast-growing, 
  prosperous village of Catanthar. “The Cat” is the 
  closest thing High Emmerock has to a craftworkers’ 
  center (and a town of any size). It’s also the only 
  settlement in High Emmerock to have named streets. 
  Catanthar is home to carpenters, smiths, wool-
  millers, and makers of roof tiles and cobbles. Among 
  its winding streets, which are constantly crowded in 
  daylit hours, are a pair of taverns and another of 
  inns. The Mace & Mattock (Good/Moderate) on 
  Thurdan’s Street is the older, cleaner, and quieter of 
  the two taverns. The louder, more boisterous 
  drinkers go to the Just As I Was Falling (Fair/Cheap) 
  on Iythkyn Street. Both of the inns are apt to be 
  noisy, but the more exclusive of the two is the 
  Enchantment of Emmerock (Excellent/Expensive) 
  on Shool Street. The busier accomodation is that 
  afforded by The Galloping Stallion (Good/Moderate) 
  on Sward Way. 
   Boldo’s Vale is heavily settled, with the oldest 
  surviving homes in the realm. Its cottages are so 
  bedecked with flowers, ornamental ponds, and 
  shrubbery plantings that it’s sometimes called “the 
  Hidden Garden of the Border Kingdoms.” Amidst all 
  this pastoral beauty winds Engullar’s Way, the road 
  down into the rest of the Border realms. Along it one 
  can find all of the shops, smithies, cheesemakers, and 
  other establishments of the Vale, including the 
  popular The Laughing King tavern and dining hall 
  (Excellent/Moderate), the more rustic Old Ox tavern 
  (Good/Cheap), the Sylph and Stars festhall (visited 
  by dancers and lovers of minstrelry from all over the 
  Border lands), and two inns, the Bright Buckle Beds 
  (Good/Moderate), and the more rustic Green Griffon 
  (Good/Cheap). 
   The village of Harethtoe stands on the southern 
  edge of High Emmerock, astride the road from 
  Dunbridges. A rather spartan, no-nonsense trading 
  center, it was founded to sell the sapphires, smoked 
  meats, and livestock of the realm to visiting 
  merchants and buy their finecloth and ironmongery. 
  Both activities take place under the ever-watchful 
  eye of the Helmite clergy. Harethtoe was built for 
  defense, with concentric ring-walls, defensible gates 
  and towers, wide cobbled streets, and all-stone 
  construction with slate roofs. Nothing will readily 
  burn, and any attackers must climb a series of rising 
  cobbled slopes (despite anything slippery that’s 
  been poured underfoot) while the villagers fire 
  crossbows down their throats. Harethtoe has one 
  tavern, Obolder’s Tankard (Good/Expensive), and a 
  single (large) inn, the Southshield (Good/Expensive). 
  Both are policed diligently by Helmite priests to 
  keep order. Most visiting merchants chafe at the 
  attentive watch kept over them at first but come to 
  welcome the quiet, nearly crimeless setting. 
   The village of Dragonmount lies just east of 
  Dragonmount Crag, which is topped by the Lord’s 
  castle. It is a place of woodcarvers, butchers, and 
  shepherds famous for its spiced, smoked meats. It 
  offers the visitor The Flying Unicorn tavern and 
  festhall (Good/Moderate) and the Shanduth’s Hall 
  inn (Excellent/Moderate). Shanduth’s Hall is popular 
  with adventurers because its founder Shanduth was 
  a notable adventurer. After she died, longtime guests 
  took over the inn, and still provide the services she 
  did: advice, gear, aid for the injured, and discreet 
  help in shadier dealings. 
  The Lake in the Cleft 
  In the interior Sward of High Emmerock, the visitor 
  will find wells, covered pavilions to camp at, and 
  spartan watchtowers, but no settlements; none are 
  permitted. Lance patrols are frequent, and mounted 
  herders armed with wands of polymorph (and the 
  occasional staff of the python or some means of 
  monster summoning) keep alert watch over the 
  stock. Hostile intruders, monsters, or stock rustlers 
  are usually transformed into snails, collected, and 
  imprisoned in a midden-pit at one of the seven 
  
   
  48 
  towers, or attacked by the strangest beasts brought 
  out of thin air. The source of these items is the Lake 
  in the Cleft, hidden in its deep ravine at the high 
  heart of the realm. These days, much enlarged, it is 
  more often known as the “Haunted Lake.” 
   A small village, Argan’s Leap, grew up south of the 
  lake, after sapphires of unusual size and quality were 
  found in the rocky walls of the ravine. One day the 
  Argann delvers hewed just a bit too far, and 
  subterranean water surged forth, rapidly flooding 
  their mines and then the village itself. Today, its 
  cottages are little more than rings of stone under the 
  stagnant waters. Somewhere among the drowned 
  ruins, in a flooded cellar or cavern, dwells the 
  dreaded “Water Witch.” Local legends insist that she 
  drags those who venture too near her lair down to 
  watery dooms. 
   The Lords (and many veteran Emmeran warriors) 
  know better. They revere tragic Scsilda Starshield (a 
  LN female Calishite human powerful sorceress and 
  lich of unique—unturnable—status) who now 
  enjoys playing the Water Witch. She crafts the wands 
  used by the herder commanders (and the rare and 
  highly secret rods of giant mustering that call forth 
  imprisoned hill giants who once ruled the realm and 
  now serve its human inhabitants with magically-
  enforced loyalty). 
   Once a Calishite sorceress of some beauty, Scsilda 
  was disfigured by a rival’s curse that makes her flesh 
  crawl and melt away from her bones in an endless, 
  revolting surging and flowing. At first she fled to the 
  wilderness of the Cleft to hide and frantically try to 
  undo her condition. Her every effort met with failure, 
  and she tried many times to kill herself, but was 
  always undone by her own fears or the kindness of 
  the Emmeran shepherds. Ultimately, Scsilda came to 
  see the curse that had twisted her life-essence as a 
  means to achieving a strange state of lichdom, an 
  undead state in which her body does not decay or 
  deteriorate (beyond its current state), and she 
  cannot be turned or disrupted. She prefers to dwell 
  beneath the waters, though she emerges on occasion, 
  and has modified many spells (notably lightning 
  magics) to do widespread, far-reaching damage to 
  those who come unwanted into the waters of the 
  Haunted Lake. 
   Elminster of Shadowdale isn’t one of those 
  undesired guests. Though he’s uncharacteristically 
  coy when discussing Scsilda Starshield, it seems 
  clear that he tried—and failed—to undo the curse on 
  her. They became firm friends, perhaps even lovers. 
  They remain old and affectionate allies to this day. 
  More than one ambitious mage who considered High 
  Emmerock ripe for transformation to his or her 
  private realm and decided to make it so has been 
  destroyed by the spells of a certain Old Mage while 
  they were still reeling from the determined defense 
  mounted by the Water Witch. This ‘doom count’ of 
  foolish foes is known to include at least four 
  ambitious archwizards of Halruaa, the inevitable 
  pair or trio of Red Wizards of Thay, and no less than 
  a dozen Zhentarim magelings anxious to prove 
  themselves and gain power quickly. It also includes 
  at least one Magister, though neither Elminster nor 
  Scsilda took up the vacated office, handing it instead 
  to a weak but ruthless local novice wizard (who soon 
  met his doom). 
   One reason mages come so eagerly to be killed is 
  that they deem the Water Witch easy prey, a 
  waterlogged old lich rotting away in fetid waters. 
  Another reason is that the Haunted Lake is 
  (correctly) reputed to conceal the main treasury of 
  High Emmerock beneath its waters. The exact size of 
  that hoard (even leaving out the magic that Scsilda 
  guards for the use of Emmeran warriors and the bins 
  upon bins of mined sapphires) is uncertain, but it 
  must be large. Spell-images have been seen of a large, 
  stone coffer holding five thousand gold pieces, and 
  claims have been made that the lake hides at least 
  sixty such coffers. That much wealth should interest 
  dragons, brigands, and rapacious rulers everywhere, 
  so why isn’t High Emmerock trampled under the 
  rush of ambitious, at-all-costs treasure seekers? 
   The answer is twofold. Widespread tales (the 
  Water Witch has slain many adventurers, including 
  powerful wizards, who came seeking the drowned 
  treasury of High Emmerock, and the Haunted Lake 
  itself: Scsilda has enchanted its waters so they act 
  against intruders. Neither her powers nor those of 
  the Lake are fully known to anyone but the Water 
  Witch, but the known powers of the Haunted Lake 
  follow. 
   The presence of any being in contact with the 
  waters of the Lake for more than three continuous 
  rounds is revealed to Scsilda, along with their race 
  and true alignment. If contact continues for one 
  continuous turn, the general nature and principal 
  functions of any magic items they carry are also 
  revealed to her. 
   At any time, Scsilda can cause one to three water 
  elementals to arise and strike beings in contact with 
  the water. She can also hurl multiple lighting bolts (a 
  spell of her own devising allows her to unleash up to 
  six fireball-like, spherical, underwater ‘lightning 
  storms’ in a round). 
   The Water Witch can also cause an obscuring mist 
  to rise from the Lake and move about above the 
  water at her bidding. She can also work extensive 
  illusion magics under the waters. 
   Any being carrying memorized spells who remains 
  in continuous contact with the waters of the 
  Haunted Lake for six hours or more has the general 
  nature of all of their spells (level, arcane or divine, 
  and school) revealed to Scsilda. She can cause, at any 
  
   
  49 
  time after six hours, to force any one spell of her 
  choosing in the mind of an intruder to be forgotten. 
  After the first is gone, she can cause another to go 
  after another hour has passed, and so on. 
   Moreover, Scsilda can trace any being (distance, 
  direction, plane, above or below ground) whose skin, 
  clothes that they’re still wearing, or innards have 
  come into contact with the lake waters during the 
  previous 24-hour period. Within the same time 
  period, she can also cast a suggestion spell on any 
  being who has drunk of the waters. 
   In short, the Water Witch of High Emmerock is not 
  to be crossed. Even the seven Lords respect her 
  wishes. She keeps her realm one of the safest in all 
  the Border Kingdoms—and, if you like a good gallop 
  (buyers are always allowed to “test out” a horse in 
  this way), a “must visit” land. 
   According to Elminster, there’s a forgotten, still-
  open sapphire mine somewhere in High Emmerock 
  right now, just waiting for someone to stumble upon 
  it, but he can’t guarantee it will stay forgotten 
  forever. 
   The arms of High Emmerock are seven sapphire 
  (brilliant blue)-hued lances, butts to bottom left and 
  points to upper right, arranged in parallel diagonally 
  across (superimposed over) an iron-gray shield (of 
  what modern heraldry calls a “classic” shape). As a 
  simplified sleeve or breast-and-back badge, this is 
  simplified to seven light blue parallel diagonal lines. 
  High Mukshar 
  Realm 
  One of three tiny realms named for their common 
  origin (High, Middle, and Nether), High Mukshar is a 
  land of rocky outcrops, high, rolling meadows, and 
  rubblestone walls between fields, where sheep 
  ranching predominates. Many a traveler has become 
  lost in its winding lanes and dense woodlots and 
  heartily cursed the place. More than a few 
  outlanders have gone astray, been forced to camp in 
  the uplands when darkness came, and vanished 
  forever. 
   Border wisdom says able and well-armed brigands 
  shelter in old, played-out gold and copper mines in 
  the mountains along the realm’s western border. 
  The human, gnome, halfling, and half-elven 
  inhabitants of High Mukshar know this to be true, 
  except for the “played-out” part. Despite the 
  presence of murderous outlaws dwelling in some of 
  the old mines and preying on passersby, many High 
  Muksharran would take up their picks to mine mule-
  loads of gold but for the deadly presence of 
  mysterious monsters High Muksharran call “the 
  Others,” that hunt constantly in the highlands and 
  long ago forced abandonment of all three villages in 
  the realm. Despite this, more gold and copper still 
  come out of High Mukshar than out of all the 
  western Heartlands, but in a slow trickle of 
  muleloads, not by gangs of slaves or near-slaves, 
  mages blasting the rocks with spells, and lines of 
  wagons waiting to take the ore away. 
   The overgrown ruins of the three villages still 
  provide shelter and good wells to any daring to 
  camp there. They are Tleska, at the mouth of the 
  Tumblestone River, where the crumbling 
  Battleshield Bridge carries the coastal road across its 
  waters; Longsword, where three trails meet and a 
  lone, fortified inn and smithy (Thorn’s Smithy) still 
  operates; and Ramshead, high in the mountains at 
  the foot of the distinctive peak known as the Broken 
  Helm. 
   Most High Muksharran avoid the mountains, and 
  spend their nights in fortified caves and old cellars 
  with barricaded entrances and armed men standing 
  watch, their spears and crossbow bolts coated with 
  drow poison, or with pitch for fiery use. They know 
  many of the Others are man-eating creatures that 
  can assume the shapes of friends and loved ones, so 
  travelers asking for night shelter are always very 
  closely watched by numerous well-armed warriors. 
   Though there are many wild and contradictory 
  tales about the Others, most of them are actually 
  “druuth” (bands of four to six doppelgangers, each 
  led by a lone illithid). Elminster of Shadowdale has 
  called druuth “the rising scourge of the Realms,” and 
  warned they are all too common in the lands south 
  of the Shaar and the Dustwall. 
   At least four druuth uneasily share High Mukshar, 
  raiding stealthily into nearby realms (employing 
  disguises and striking seldom, to escape as much 
  notice as possible). They forage independently, but 
  will work together against intruding adventuring 
  bands, and have struck and slain far afield in other 
  Border lands, preying on High Muksharran as little 
  as possible (as “nearby cattle are easy meat”). In 
  their view, Muksharrans should be saved for bad 
  weather, hard winters, and other times when 
  hunting is difficult, uncomfortable, or dangerous. 
   The current working truce was arrived at after a 
  series of bloody battles destroyed at least another 
  three druuth. (One of the now-active druuth was 
  formed from the remnants of shattered groups). 
  When adventuring bands intrude into the monster-
  haunted mines or the high meadows, two or more 
  druuth often combine to attack them, sometimes 
  wearing them down until they can slaughter 
  survivors who are too tired to fight on and haven’t 
  the numbers left to mount a proper watch while the 
  rest of the band sleeps. Druuth are usually named for 
  their leaders; of the bands infesting High Mukshar, 
  the names “Sshreea” and “Oinuth” (probably illithid 
  nicknames) are known. 
  
   
  50 
   High Mukshar was not always thus. In the 1330s 
  DR, it was ruled by a Lord of the Realm in Tleska and 
  two High Knights (one in each of the two upland 
  villages), three men who were all retired 
  adventurers or warriors from Tethyr who liked to 
  wear splendid armor and canter fine horses along 
  the trails of the realm with boarspear-wielding 
  riders as escorts. The druuth made sure they died 
  first, slain in their beds, lords and then their 
  armsmen, until no one who’d ever fought for a living 
  was still alive in the land. (The body count to reach 
  that undefended state was less than thirty.) 
   A company of adventurers arrived soon after that, 
  but once stripped of their mage and priests (a task 
  involving one night’s work by dopplegangers shifted 
  into the shapes of attractive women backed by 
  strangling tentacles), the dozen swords mustered by 
  the Brave and Bold of Bedorn didn’t last long. 
   The Company of the Tristar Lance out of Baldur’s 
  Gate and thirsty for “the gold and gems that spill out 
  of every cupboard and cottage in the Border 
  Kingdoms” was next to arrive—and perish. When a 
  caravan of ironmongery subsequently disappeared, 
  every last merchant and wagoneer, word of “the fell 
  doings in High Muk” finally began to spread around 
  the Border Kingdoms. After that, new arrivals 
  became few and far between. 
   The druuth decided more subtlety was in order, 
  and began the careful series of expeditions they 
  continue to this day. They’ve struck and slain as far 
  afield as Oparl and the Duskwood and even spent 
  almost an entire year hunting in Jundarwood. During 
  this time they left the High Muksharran alone to gain 
  false hope and resume hunting for gold and grazing 
  their flocks on the highest meadows. 
   Yet fear and sorrow ride the Muksharran. Their 
  tales recall Lord Baelim, “the Laughing Lord,” and his 
  three fair ladies with the long, streaming hair. Local 
  lore remembers the tall and noble Athkontan, High 
  Knight of Longsword, and the short, stout, lusty 
  Baerben “Three Tankards” Nuim, High Knight of 
  Ramshead. They whisper of the Others that slew 
  them and lurk even now in their land, able to “wear 
  the masks” of folk and so get close enough to rend 
  with claws and thrust with spikes of bone. They 
  wonder who these Others are, why they came to 
  High Mukshar, and who might be powerful enough 
  to destroy them. 
   Five Harper bands have now tried and failed to 
  cleanse the realm, and more than a dozen bands of 
  adventurers—and the druuth have appropriated 
  their magic and weaponry, devising traps they lure 
  strong foes into. 
   The closest thing High Mukshar has to a ruler 
  today is Arennethra Thorn (LN female Illuskan 
  human fighter and smith, the granddaughter of 
  Draldimor Thorn, the founder) of Thorn’s Smithy. 
  Young but wealthy thanks to her grandsire’s 
  smithing success and finding and shrewdly selling 
  gold nuggets, “Arenna” is smart and stern, and 
  despite her tender years and the presence of a trio of 
  aging, gossiping aunts, is the matriarch of the 
  energetic Thorn family. The Thorns can muster 
  eleven strapping, muscular males for a brawl, wagon 
  assembling session, barn-raising, swift massed 
  smiths-task—or policing, though they restrict 
  themselves to keeping order along the roads and 
  roadside buildings and fields, not in the mountains 
  or deep woods. 
   Wayfarers in High Mukshar can get provender 
  (cheese, bread, small beer, and stew) at two farms 
  near Tleska and at Thorn’s Smithy in Longsword, 
  and at the inn and tavern that face each other across 
  the coastal road east of the Tumblestone, close 
  enough to Middle Mukshar that the river is a silver 
  ribbon in the distance. They are The Wailing Wolf 
  tavern (Fair/Cheap) and Anglabur’s Haven inn 
  (Good/Moderate). Both have castle-like walls, ditch-
  and-moat-bolstered fenced lands, and more than a 
  score of wary guards, each. The druuth have long 
  tried to prune these guards of their best warriors by 
  catching men alone and using the guises of their 
  comrades, so they are always wary (even at the 
  approach of someone familiar), stand watch over 
  each other when sleeping, and always have weapons 
  to hand. 
  What Meets the Eye 
  in High Mukshar 
   The landscape is rugged, with little level ground, 
  small cliffs everywhere, rivulets that rarely grow 
  larger than streams, and scrub forest overgrowing 
  field after meadow and the ruins of farmsteads. The 
  realm has few landmarks beyond the 
  aforementioned Broken Helm (a riven mountain 
  whose north flank is rounded and conical, except on 
  its south face, which falls away in asheer cliff) and 
  the Rise, an isolated hill traversed on three sides by 
  the meandering Tumblestone River. Its crest sports 
  an ancient, ring-shaped fort (the base of a long-fallen 
  tower), and from its stones one can look clear across 
  neighboring Nether Mukshar. 
   Unless one enjoys battling monsters (they swarm 
  in some of the mines almost as thickly as folk tales 
  say they do) or thinks that easy gold can be had by 
  anyone daring enough to ride in and scoop it up 
  (false, unless “scoop it up” refers to tons of raw ore), 
  there’s little reason to visit High Mukshar now. At 
  least one of its mines (Ilthamar’s Delve, in the heart 
  of the southernmost mountains of the realm) 
  descends to meet passages in the Underdark, which 
  ultimately link up with the Deep Realm of the 
  dwarves. As the ballad says, “There are faster and 
  
   
  51 
  easier ways to meet one’s doom” than descending a 
  mine in the backlands of High Mukshar. 
   Adventurers who enter High Mukshar will find 
  welcomes—of sorts—from the Muksharran . . . and 
  the Others. 
   High Mukshar has no blazon nor badge; anyone 
  claiming otherwise is a deceiver. 
  Irl (“The Jewelers’Paradise”) 
  Village 
  Nestled into a sheltering crescent of hills (the 
  Crumblerock Crags, named for the treacherously soft 
  rocks that adorn their weathered faces—climbers 
  beware) is the quiet village of Irl. Its tile- and slate-
  roofed cottages squat in hollows amid woodlots and 
  hedgerows that often crown knolls; a traveler can be 
  forgiven for thinking the entire settlement is 
  somehow trying to hide from passersby. Irl lies just 
  west of the River Rith, due north of The Realm of the 
  Mount. It boasts an inn as superb as any in haughty 
  Sembia or cosmopolitan Waterdeep, “without the 
  crowding but with the prices” (as the merchant 
  Ithyngo of Athkatla put it). A traveler can’t miss the 
  large, three-story, half-timbered mansion 
  of many chimneys (‘a hearth in every 
  room’) that houses The Bold Ki-rin. 
   The “Rin” (Excellent/Expensive) 
  boasts stables second to none 
  (its horsemaster, Telrorn, a LN 
  male half-elven fighter, is one of 
  a long line of Rin stable bosses 
  who’ve been trained by their 
  predecessors to identify and 
  treat equine ailments, as well as 
  how to train, calm and befriend 
  any horse). Its dining room is 
  famous for roasts, wines, and succulent 
  sauces. The owner and keeper of the Rin is the gentle, 
  good-natured ex-adventurer Erendarra Chassel (CG 
  female Illuskan human ranger). 
   Such luxury awaits visitors in a quiet village 
  thanks to Irl’s main claim to fame: gems. The 
  jewelers of Irl are reputed to be among the richest 
  and most powerful humans in all Faerûn. They’re a 
  secretive, reclusive lot of hunched old men whose 
  behind-the-scenes influence can move merchants of 
  Sembia, Zulkirs of Thay, and nobles of Waterdeep 
  alike to do things they’d rather not do. However, a 
  wayfarer visiting Irl (and there have been many, 
  some coming to plunder, and others to kidnap) will 
  find a shortage of impressively sinister, finely-robed 
  esthetes; the jewelers of Irl have survived down the 
  decades by living simply. 
   As the veteran adventurer Torbras of Westgate 
  put it, “If you accost a barefoot laborer digging in the 
  mud of a turnip field and stained-glass golems 
  suddenly lurch out of nearby sheds or the columns of 
  a barn come to life, and gemstones float out of the 
  man’s pockets to circle his head and spit lightning at 
  you—well, you’ve found one of those fabled jewelers 
  of Irl, and likely a swift end to your life, too!” 
   It’s certain that many of the larger and wealthier 
  Irlian families do have golems, shield guardians, and 
  various animated objects (in the Monster Manual 
  sense) at their command, and descendants of 
  apprentices of the mage Calagrath Halirl (from 
  whose name Irl is derived) may carry gems that 
  store attacking magics which animate when 
  activated. Irlians won’t willingly speak of such 
  things; anyone asking to buy magical gems will be 
  firmly shown the door of any shop in Irl, by 
  shopkeepers who’ll insist that tales of enchantments 
  on gems are “nonsense” or “wild fancies” when such 
  gems are linked to Irl. “What wizards do elsewhere 
  in Faerûn is their business—and their folly. Here, the 
  wonders of properly finished gemstones are quite 
  enough!” 
   Most Irlian shops feature jewelry (mainly earrings, 
  pendants, anklets, and rings) set with rubies, 
  emeralds, and moonstones (usually crown-cut, the 
  local fashion). Azurite (a striated, blue-green stone, 
  abundant locally) is also sold carved into 
  smooth ‘swirl-spiral’ candle-holders, 
  napkin rings, and ‘thumb-boxes’ 
  (named for their sliding lids, which 
  are usually opened with the thumb 
  while the fingers of the same hand 
  grasp the rounded container; these 
  are often used to carry small 
  quantities of powders). 
   Where the muddy village main street 
  curves around the thrusting front of The 
  Bold Ki-rin, a row of six well-established 
  jewelry shops stands. Less famous establishments 
  (whose proprietors may agree to buy stones of 
  uncertain origin or even sell raw or unset gems, 
  things most Irlians utterly refuse to do) are to be 
  found in their owners’ cottages, along winding back 
  lanes among orchards and sheep-paddocks. The 
  names Ormlam Durth and Sashanna Belrost circulate 
  among merchants interested in fencing shady gems 
  or getting raw gemstone material. Gentle caution 
  must be used while inquiring after these individuals, 
  or exaggerated false descriptions of their recent sad 
  demises is likely to be gained rather than clear 
  directions to reaching them. 
   The six ‘old family’ Irlian gemshops are:  
   The Black Bracelet, a pricey establishment with a 
  blink dog guardian, run by the Ephrost family 
  (Tethyrian humans); 
   The Moon In The Window, a shop reputed to have 
  magical guardians and a watchful resident ghost 
  run by the soft-spoken Shabadather clan (a large 
  IRLIAN 
  FRIENDSHIP RING 
  
   
  52 
  Illuskan human family that includes members of 
  all the major factions);  
   A Handful of Diamonds, the carving-house of the 
  only Irlian family to specialize in diamonds and 
  avoid working local gems, the proud rock gnome 
  Fendoun clan;  
   Felderstone’s Five Rings, a shop founded by the 
  wizard and infamous ringmaker Eddoun 
  Felderstone, who went mad and perished in the 
  Spellplague, that still specializes in making rings, 
  but not magical ones, and is now run by a retired 
  adventuring band, the all-female elven Loarelar’s 
  Lash (locally known as “Loarelar’s Lovelies,” but 
  only behind their backs) 
   Galabather’s Rain of Gold, a “height of fashion” 
  store that displays glittering gold-set pectorals, 
  masks, rings and bracelets in the latest styles, and 
  now (long after the death of its founder, Irpar 
  Galabather) reputed locally (and correctly) to be a 
  shop run by the Zhentarim that also serves as a 
  message drop, resupply center, and “safe house” 
  for Zhents (its urbane, well-armed, watchful staff 
  are headed by a Zhentarim wizard known only as 
  “Coldhand”);  
   The Serpent Biting His Tail, a small, dim shop 
  divided diagonally by many blue beaded curtains, 
  where children and elders of the Tamuraleon 
  (Illuskan human) family bring buyers trays of 
  samples and serve herbal teas that bring on 
  visions. 
  Who’s Who in Irl 
  The most powerful Irlian families are the Belingrosts 
  and the Mammantals. The Ephrost, Gultulbar, 
  Shabadather and Tamurleon clans are the second-
  rank houses, with the Irlingars rising and the once-
  proud Relingasters reduced to a few low-profile 
  individuals (who will work with almost anyone they 
  see as a road back to prosperity and power). Their 
  investments and influence reach as far as the ballads 
  and tales claim, but Irlians seldom issue orders or 
  otherwise inconvenience their debtors—except 
  when wars or other major crises seem imminent. 
  (What tales? Harken to these still-true words, from 
  Halgolyn Wraithblade, Knight of the Three Trees, 
  writing to his son almost a century and a half ago: 
  “Spend carefully, son … or all too soon, your life, 
  your future, and the very damnable air you breathe 
  will belong to the jewelers of Irl.”) 
   To illustrate the power and influence of the Irlian 
  “highcoin” families, consider Prester Mammantal 
  (the fifth successive family patriarch to bear the 
  same name). He employs dozens of traveling 
  merchants (who come through Irl twice or thrice a 
  year) as messengers and carriers-of-items to his 
  hundreds of trading contacts. As most of these 
  contacts owe Prester large amounts of money, he has 
  great influence over them, and they are numerous 
  enough that when they obey his commands to raise 
  prices or cause shortages by refusing to deal in 
  particular goods, their cumulative effect is great. 
  This in turn allows the Mammantals to invest with 
  foreknowledge of coming market trends, and various 
  Mammantal family members ‘on the ground’ all over 
  the Realms can make deals that win handsome 
  profits. They often use these profits to purchase 
  ships or caravans and get word and profits back to 
  Prester by literally sending their purchases home or 
  swapping them for land (usually in cities, and with 
  buildings on it). The Mamantals and the second-rank 
  Irlian families are landlords all over urban Faerûn, 
  earning a huge stream of coins from rents. 
   By way of contrast, the Belingrosts and the 
  Relingasters have always been primarily sponsors of 
  business ventures or coin-short nobles, gaining large 
  but sporadic windfall profits amid many losses. 
  These ventures also grant them much political 
  influence, which is why Belingrosts are high-salary 
  courtiers in many of the wealthiest lands in the 
  Realms. (Relingasters always preferred to operate 
  behind closed doors, and continue to do so. “We 
  have little love for fame; famous folk are targets,” to 
  quote a family saying.) 
  Governance in Irl 
  Ruling decisions in Irl aren’t a matter of courts and 
  grand buildings; they’re made in secret by the Eight-
  Sided Stone, a covert council whose members are 
  elders of the eight “highcoin” families. An outsider 
  will find no way to contact them. The Stone employ a 
  Master of the Mace (always a loyal, competent 
  veteran fighter) who commands eight Swords of 
  Justice, “armsmen” (police) who are battle-hardened 
  former adventurers that patrol Irl observing 
  attentively; little escapes their notice. They hate 
  strife and tend to be bad-tempered if they must give 
  battle. The village jail consists of two smelly cells 
  beneath a stable.  
   At the eastern edge of Irl is The Falcon’s Leaning 
  Watchpost, a bakery by day and tavern by night 
  notable for its blackberry wine, gooseberry and 
  spiceapple tarts, and for bread shot through with 
  melted cheese. Some merchants detour through Irl 
  just to dine at the Watchpost, never darkening the 
  doors of any gemshop. Its beloved and widely-
  trusted wise old founder and proprietress, the “Old 
  Post” Numbalaera Shuldasharee, died some years 
  ago, but her staff still run the place collectively. They 
  breed and rear the offspring of the flying snakes that 
  served Shuldasharee, and like she did, go about with 
  these loyal pets concealed under their clothing—and 
  apt to burst out and attack anyone menacing them! 
   Irl also has a pond, Umathar’s Water, where all are 
  welcome to bathe or sprawl on the banks to chat, 
  
   
  53 
  snooze, or laze. Years ago, dying Umathar decreed all 
  could freely use his horsepond, as his last horse had 
  died ten summers before he took to his deathbed.  
   Minstrels and talkative Border tavern lads spin 
  tales of labyrinthine storage tunnels underlying the 
  gardens, cellars, and orchards of Irl, so vast and old 
  that no one alive knows where all of them lead and 
  so crumbling that not a season passes without the 
  ground near this or that cottage collapsing suddenly 
  into a grave-like opening. Legend insists that the 
  jewelers of Irl all have secret storage caches behind 
  false walls in these passages and hidden ways out 
  that surface in stables, thickets, or via the gem-mines 
  in the Crags behind Irl. (Legend exaggerates only 
  slightly: not all Irlian jewelers store their wealth in 
  the passages; just most of them.) Legend usually 
  speaks of grisly undead wandering these passages 
  but neglects to mention the real guardians, “loyal 
  sentinels” that guard the treasure caverns, ready to 
  attack all intruders except specific, approved family 
  members. These sentinels are now all newly-made 
  shield guardians (wealth can be useful at times). 
   The most colorful local legend tells of the lost 
  tomb of Calagrath Halirl, somewhere beneath Irl 
  (perhaps deep beneath the front yard of The Bold Ki-
  Rin itself or the main street nearby). The Wizard of 
  the Gems is said to float forever on his back in 
  glowing, enchanted air above a sparkling bed of 
  gems he enspelled before his death to preserve and 
  defend his body for all time. How long “for all time” 
  will last in this case, and just how the gems protect 
  Calagrath, are both unknown, though there are wild 
  tavern tales about Calagrath awakening and hurling 
  his own head at intruders. This grisly missile 
  becomes a howling, flame-eyed skull the moment it 
  is out of the glowing shaft of air above the gems—
  according to legend, of course. Other tales tell of the 
  jewels under the mage emitting rays that wither, 
  disintegrate, or incinerate.  
   Bards and adventurers take note: the underlying 
  tales are true. There are gem-caches a-plenty under 
  Irl, and somewhere Calagrath Halirl does lie 
  entombed in light above a bed of gems. Adventurers 
  haven’t found him and emerged to tell the tale, but 
  as the years pass, they still come looking. 
  Jundarwood (Old Shadow) 
  A stony peninsula, “the Dragonback,” thrusts out into 
  the Shining Sea south of Yallasch and north of the 
  River Scelptar. It’s all that remains of the worn-down 
  Mount Garaunt, but few alive in Faerûn these days 
  know that, because what’s left of the ancient 
  mountain is entirely cloaked in the deep, brooding 
  hot forest known as Jundarwood. Almost every sort 
  of tree not restricted to cold, dry terrain grows 
  thickly in “Old Shadow” (as Jundarwood is also 
  called)—and thickJy. So dense is the growth that no 
  known track crosses Jundarwood, and only the 
  countless streams and three rivers (Caldarth, the 
  River Racing; the River Balaerit; and the River 
  Glarth) that rise in the depths of this wild wood offer 
  any sort of landmarks or navigable “trails” at all. As a 
  result of its nigh-impassability, Jundarwood stands 
  like a vast shield separating the realms of Adaerglast, 
  The Realm of the Mount, and Suldamma. Only the 
  most intrepid hunters venture into its leafy depths, 
  and far more beasts prowl forth from it, to do some 
  hunting of their own. 
   The wood is named for Jundar of Silvanus, a mage-
  tumed-priest who in 1012 DR or so set about finding 
  and breeding threatened beasts (“monsters” who 
  couldn't comfortably dwell alongside advancing 
  civilization) in the heart of the forest. Jundar is 
  assumed to have died somewhere in Jundarwood 
  several centuries ago, but the beasts he gathered 
  flourish, despite ceaseless hunting. 
   Many worshipers of Malar consider all 
  Jundarwood a sacred site, and often ambush or stalk 
  non-believers they find hunting there. The exalted 
  status of Jundarwood in the eyes of Malarites is 
  curious, because something in Jundarwood does not 
  love Malar. Followers of the Beast Lord who venture 
  too far into Jundarwood are always torn apart, and 
  their remains scattered outside the forest as bloody 
  warnings to others (or, perhaps, as trophies). Down 
  the centuries, many folk have reported seeing a stag-
  headed man standing silent and upright among the 
  trees watching intruders. If approached, he vanishes. 
  Who or what this entity is remains a matter of 
  speculation; most non-Malarite Borderers think this 
  apparition is Silvanus or a servitor of the Forest 
  Father. 
   Plants and beasts alike grow very swiftly in Old 
  Shadow, tiny rivulets of running water are 
  everywhere, many “stream-hollow” caves underlie 
  the trees, and Jundar cast many permanent 
  dimension door and plant growth magics scattered 
  across the forest (so some trees grow at fantastic 
  speeds, and that passing between two trees, or over 
  a certain stump, might mean an abrupt “jump” to 
  elsewhere in the forest). 
   The druuth of High Mukshar (fighting bands of 
  doppelgangers led by illithids) are now hunting in 
  Jundarwood, adopting various beast shapes to do so. 
  Jundarwood of Old 
  Once, when woods cloaked all of what is now the 
  Border Kingdoms, Mount Goraunt was the much-
  tunnelled abode of a squalling family of green 
  dragons. They tumbled, hissed, and spat at each 
  other around its heights daily, flapping off into the 
  verdant wood around to feed when hungry. Feuds 
  and kin-slaughterings were frequent, and ultimately 
  
   
  54 
  one dragon used a found magic item on another—
  provoking a brief, awesome struggle as all other 
  wyrms who’d gained and hidden magic items used 
  them on each other. The top of Mount Goraunt was 
  blown to the skies that day, and for hours it rained 
  stones and still-warm dragon blood. Other dragons 
  were swift to arrive and examine this possible 
  territory, but a Calishite mage who’d farseen the 
  battle decided this was a perfect opportunity to try 
  out some dragon taming spells he’d found in an old 
  grimoire. His attempts to ensnare a dragon steed 
  enraged the arriving wyrms—and they descended 
  on him in a swarm too numerous and sudden for his 
  spells to withstand. His ribs were crushed against a 
  tree, and while still staggering in pain, he was 
  snatched up and devoured. His death was in turn 
  farseen by other mages, who feared an attack on 
  their rich Calishite cities by a gathered swarm of 
  dragons. Several of them swiftly hurled various 
  spells at the dragons roaming the Border shore, and 
  when the maddened wyrms flew west, seeking the 
  source of the hostile magics, the rest of the mages, 
  fearful that doom had indeed come, let fly with 
  everything they could muster. When they were done, 
  the Border Kingdoms were dragonless, and the 
  blasted and smoking ruin of Mount Goraunt lay 
  deserted. Treasure-seekers scouted it, but found 
  little beyond hungry beasts who considered them 
  treasure. Forays into the woods around the 
  shattered mountain soon ceased. 
   As the rest of the Borderlands were settled, 
  Jundarwood’s seemingly endless monsters kept it 
  largely untouched. Then, as now, even the most 
  skilled rangers found that game-trails seemed to 
  shift positions from day to day, and trees used as 
  landmarks moved about. 
  Jundarwood Today 
  Reliable landmarks in this everchanging wood are 
  few. Volcanic activity is absent from Jundarwood 
  (though some, with undoubted accuracy, say the 
  volcanic wooded ridge known as “the Mount,” to the 
  east of Old Shadow, was once part of it and should 
  yet be considered part of its essential nature), as are 
  bare crags or other features visible from afar. 
   Treants seem absent from present-day 
  Jundarwood, but the forest may hold them (or 
  similar intelligent, mobile plant creatures) that 
  humans don’t recognize. Or a deeper, darker magic 
  may be at work, something perhaps linked to the 
  Stagman—or not. All that’s certain is that the moving 
  trails, abundant monsters, and other mysteries of 
  the wood preceded Jundar, and that he alone (so far 
  as Borderers know) dwelt in peace in the wood 
  (something not even elves and many forest fey have 
  managed). 
   Various theories have been advanced about 
  Jundarwood, from “It’s a mythal gone mad” (perhaps 
  mere fancy, but not yet proven wrong) to “It’s the 
  home of a colony of beholders or drow or hags or 
  Phaerimm or {state your own fearsome monster} who 
  work all this weirdness to keep folk away.” This view 
  is very popular in the Borders, and many sages 
  across Faerûn have agreed with it and restated it 
  down the centuries—but if it’s true, it’s a wonder 
  indeed that there isn’t a beholder, drow band, or 
  Phaerimm under every stone and bush on Toril. (The 
  truth is yet to be uncovered.) 
  The Rivers of Jundarwood 
  Only on maps do the rivers that rise in Jundarwood 
  seem clear and unconfusing. To those deep in the 
  forest, these waters snake about, plunge 
  underground, and re-emerge in a highly confusing 
  manner. Elsewhere, they may bear other names, but 
  the old names (used in the upland hamlets that cling 
  to the fringes of Jundarwood) are the River Glarth 
  (for the dark, placid and chill river that flows to the 
  sea through Thuntar); Caldarth, the River Racing (for 
  the rapids-studded, fast-rushing river southeast of 
  Yallasch, that runs southeasterly into the sea); and 
  the River Balaerit (for the two-branched, largest 
  Jundar river that forms the westerly boundary of 
  Suldamma). The Glarth’s waters are as dark as tea, 
  and said to make plants that grow in gloom (such as 
  mushrooms) thrive at an astonishing pace, but to 
  give those who drink of it “dark dreams.” The 
  Caldarth was once known as "Stag Race" because 
  daring Calishite sailors caught and killed deer along 
  its banks. Its waters flow with punishing speed over 
  a succession of jagged rock rapids, piling up deadfall 
  forest trees like heaps of straw, forming strange 
  walls of tangled wood that the waters endlessly rush 
  around and through. The Balaerit is named for a 
  famous priestess of Eldath who disappeared up it a 
  century ago, hoping to meet and dwell with the 
  many nymphs reputed to inhabit its headwaters, and 
  who can say if she succeeded or not? That echoes the 
  most frequent Border saying concerning almost 
  anything to do with Jundarwood: “Who can say?” 
  Who Rules in Jundarwood 
  The Stagman holds sway in Old Shadow—perhaps. 
  No settlements exist in Jundarwood, and it’s claimed 
  by no realm, and ruled by no known entity (though 
  in the 1340s DR, the sly trader Sammereza 
  Sulphontis of Waterdeep was wont to sell ambitious 
  merchants the title of “Baron of Jundarwood,” 
  presenting them with an impressive map of the 
  “greatest uncut stand of timber remaining in Faerûn 
  today.” The descendants of fourteen such barons 
  walk Faerûn today, and claim Jundarwood, though 
  none of them have done more than talk of it. (In the 
  
   
  55 
  past, three such Barons briefly visited the vast forest 
  and sought to claim its riches, only to flee.) Even the 
  self-styled Lord High Mages of Adaerglast retreated 
  from plans to conquer Jundarwood after something 
  therein disliked their scrying and caused a 
  succession of scrying items used by the Adaern 
  rulers to scream and explode. One such blast shook 
  the very castle the two mages shared, and they 
  abandoned all thought of holding sway in Old 
  Shadow. “Wise of them” was Elminster’s comment. 
  The Land of  
  Two Princes 
  Realm 
  Nestled between the River Scelptar and the northern 
  edge of the Shaar, this land is home to the grasping, 
  bustling walled town of Gallard, whose merchants 
  are as sharp and as busy making coins as those of 
  Waterdeep or any Sembian city. Pleasant rolling 
  country of orchards, good roads, small but 
  prosperous farms, and ruined keeps (known locally 
  as “strongholds,” though elsewhere they’d likely be 
  called “follies”), The Land of Two Princes is now a 
  fallen realm, a mere name on a map still applied by 
  Borderers to the wilderlands and unruled farms 
  around Gallard. 
   If the realm is seen as a broad shield with the river 
  as its top edge and Gallard at its point, its other two 
  features of note are the castles of the two princes it’s 
  named for: Corthgrolt sits at the western top corner 
  of the shield, and Revelrar rests at the eastern. Both 
  castles stand on bluffs overlooking the river. Both 
  were as tall-spired, ornate and beautiful as any fancy 
  nobles’ castle in or around Waterdeep—but are now 
  burnt-out, monster-haunted ruins.   
   The main road (linking the land with Bedorn to 
  the west, and Blackbarn and Hawkgarth to the east) 
  runs diagonally south to Gallard and then back up to 
  the river again, in a giant 'V,' and the hamlets of the 
  realm all lie along it, almost all of them at crossroads 
  where minor farm lanes link up, after crossing the 
  central gulf of the 'V.' On the western arm of the road, 
  these hamlets (from Corthgrolt at the western 
  border of the realm, going southeast to Gallard) are: 
  Runcerin; Sholbrut’s Gard, Umble, and Dlackbridge. 
  On the eastern arm (from Revelrar at the eastern 
  border, heading southwest to Gallard), these hamlets 
  are Bucklegrim, Starshroud, Appletree, and Ornar’s 
  Belt. 
  The History of the 
  Two Princes 
  The realm was founded by two rival knights of 
  Cormyr (exiled together for rebellion against the 
  ruling House of Obarskyr). They worked together to 
  slay or drive out the petty lordlings who ruled the 
  territory they fancied, assisted each other in building 
  castles at either end of the verdant realm, and then 
  promptly quarreled, unable to agree on which of 
  them should rule or even what the land should be 
  called. Their temporary Hall of Two Thrones, erected 
  at the midpoint of the realm, was abandoned after 
  barely a summer, and has since vanished completely. 
  The two knights were Sir Galdarr Amcorth (who 
  styled himself “Prince Amrath,” taking his middle 
  name, and lording it over the western end of the 
  realm) and Sir Dorvon Meldrist (who took the title 
  “Prince Balard,” after the most popular name in use 
  in his family, and ruled the eastern end of the realm). 
  They issued conflicting decrees, and armsmen loyal 
  to each of them skirmished up and down the realm 
  throughout one long and bloody year, until each of 
  them declared himself sole Prince, and ordered the 
  other butchered. The rivals finally met and slew each 
  other at a crossroads, Appletree, as winter came on; 
  one employing a beast-tamer and his trained 
  monsters, the other a “small-spells” mageling. When 
  both men had been buried, the most capable of the 
  warriors who’d come from Cormyr with them, one 
  Flaerth Beltrusk, attempted to rule—but was 
  murdered at his first council meeting, by the kin of 
  the two dead Princes. 
   At that same cold and sinister council, the rival 
  families of Amcorth and Meldrist agreed to contest 
  rulership of the realm under certain strict conditions 
  (agreed to by both, and enforced by a spell that 
  promised to consume them all “by wildfire of the 
  blood in the veins” if they broke any part of the 
  agreement). Its terms can be summarized as follows: 
  no family member shall draw weapon or cast spell 
  against a member of the rival family; poison and all 
  sorts of bows shall not be used; magic of any sport 
  shall not be wielded against any rival, or either of the 
  two home castles or folk within their walls, by any 
  family member; and the strife between the two 
  houses shall be decided solely by contest between 
  hired warriors, not to exceed three persons per 
  living family member. To win the realm, these hired 
  combatants must control every part of the land save 
  the rival castle and Gallard, and have captive at least 
  two members of the rival family, of either or both of 
  its eldest two living generations. The losers are to 
  have safe conduct to flee the land; the winners gain 
  its rule outright. 
   It is an offense punishable by instant execution to 
  travel or act in the Land of Two Princes as a 
  committed hireling of either side without clearly 
  bearing the badge of the family one is acting for. A 
  large golden lion’s-head, face on and in a golden 
  circle enclosing a brown field, is the symbol for the 
  Amcorths. A purple-antlered, white-skinned stag 
  
   
  56 
  with a silver dagger clenched in its teeth, facing to 
  the viewer’s right, inside a white circle enclosing a 
  field of blue, is the device of the Meldrists. Inevitably 
  the rival forces have become known as “the House of 
  the Lion” and “the House of the Stag.” 
   Generations of Amcorths and Meldrists came and 
  went, as the endless battle raged, becoming a gallant 
  contest of gleaming armored knights on horseback 
  thundering through the trees, and acquiring some 
  unwritten additional rules: crops and property are 
  to be despoiled as little as possible, and no danger is 
  to be offered to those not in the hunt for the crown. 
  In other words, knights hacking at each other will 
  pause to ride around an old farm-woman with a 
  handcart of apples, and then continue with their 
  deadly fray. The farmers of the realm regarded this 
  craziness with a certain cynical fondness. They were 
  used to it, it made their land special, and it 
  confirmed the prevalent local opinion that nobility 
  are all unworthy of their powers and unsound of 
  mind. 
   The Amcorths and Meldrists both maintained 
  investments in Gallard, other Border lands, and 
  elsewhere in Faerûn. They even nodded to each 
  other civilly when they met, but their armsmen 
  raged up and down the realm in an endless game of 
  bloodshed, while the grasping Galardian merchants 
  paid no attention at all, and visiting travelers gaped 
  in bemusement. Some younger members of both 
  families were wont to train themselves in arms and 
  try their hands at devising strategies to win the 
  endless struggle, but most Amcorths and Meldrists 
  were content to sip wine, play at cards or board 
  games, and leave the battles to their hirelings, often 
  watching the “evening fun” of gore and violent 
  striving through various enchanted scrying devices. 
   Young and restless would-be knights, and 
  armsmen wanting to gain experience in frays free 
  from deadly magic, came to the Land of Two Princes 
  from all over Faerûn to hire on with the Lions or the 
  Stags. Bribery (to join the service of a House, to look 
  the other way at crucial moments, or to change 
  sides) became accepted in the struggle. Desertion 
  was quite possible, given the small size of the land. 
  “The Hunt” seemed to have its own alluring magic; 
  many who survived a season or more as hirelings of 
  the Lion or the Stag became deeply loyal to one 
  family or the other, and devoted the balance of their 
  lives to the struggle). Hired-on warriors could win 
  wealth and reputation, gaining the mounts, armor, 
  and weaponry of fallen comrades or foes, or 
  receiving relics of the slain from their employers; 
  and both families handed out knighthoods like 
  weekly sugar-offerings to faithful horses. 
   For centuries, visitors to the Land of Two Princes 
  would often see bands of armed and armored men 
  racing past, and swordplay occurring within the 
  approved follies that dot the realm. 
   The Spellplague made only minor changes to this 
  strife (the few enchanted weapons crumbled, and a 
  spell-augmented castle wall here and there 
  slumped), but the years that followed ended the 
  Hunt and drove the dwindling ranks of the Amcorths 
  and Meldrists into hiding in safer places, elsewhere 
  in Faerûn, as wild surges of magic made the battle-
  dead rise as undead, brought floods of frightened, 
  hungry, and aggressive monsters to the countryside, 
  and doppelgangers started to impersonate Amcorths, 
  Meldrists, and their senior champions—causing the 
  handful of real Amcorths and Meldrists to flee for 
  their lives, and never return. 
   The inns and taverns of the realm saw their 
  business shrink to nothing and themselves besieged 
  by constant monster attacks, and one by one were 
  abandoned, or those running them were devoured; 
  none still operate today. The hamlets all dwindled to 
  a few fortified houses, where hardy folk farm in 
  armed groups, equipped with spears, knives, cudgels, 
  and crossbows that deliver serpent-venom-tipped 
  bolts. Many encounters with doppelgangers have 
  made them wary of everyone; they want nothing to 
  do with strangers, beyond throwing food and drink 
  over their walls in return for coins thrown in (first!). 
   Wherefore no one rules or keeps order in the Land 
  of Two Princes now, outside of Gallard; it is verdant 
  farmland slowly being reclaimed by the wild as 
  monsters roam and hunt, and the folk who still farm 
  do so warily and heavily armed. There are the 
  inevitable rumors of treasure hidden and left behind 
  in the two castles, and in all of the small strongholds, 
  too, and some of these may be true—but anyone 
  seeking such riches now will find themselves under 
  frequent attack by the many hungry monsters who 
  still infest the fallen realm. 
   One unique feature of the land “went wild” during 
  the Spellplague but seems to have regained its 
  former powers. In a dell near the hamlet of 
  Starshroud, the mist has returned: a permanent, all-
  magics-and-weather-withstanding smoky gray mist 
  fills the hollow, reducing visibility to little more than 
  a spear-length (and hiding the stars; hence its name, 
  which also clings to the hamlet). Said by some to 
  have been created by Mystra herself, it causes dying, 
  near-dead, and recently dead creatures brought 
  within it to float in midair, in the spots (and body 
  positions) in which they’re left. They don’t decay, 
  bleed further, or waste away. Diseases, curses, and 
  even magics cast on them are all halted, suspended 
  until they are physically taken out—so the dell is 
  
   
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  used as it’s always been: keep the dying or dead 
  stored until healing or life-restoring magics can be 
  obtained. Lightly-wounded or fit beings who enter 
  the mists can’t fall asleep within them, and will feel 
  restless if they tarry; there are rumors that the 
  magic of the mists saps the minds of all hale 
  creatures, slowly driving them to drooling insanity if 
  they don’t depart. 
   The strongholds of the Realm are all haunted by 
  undead, or roamed by monsters, with perhaps a 
  single hand-count being free of such perils—and 
  those few are brigand lairs. None of which stops 
  local lore from claiming they are all crammed with 
  treasure. These ruined towers crown nigh every 
  height of land all across the realm, and most of them 
  bear several names each. Two landmark strongholds 
  are Ghoound Castle, which looks like a large and 
  impressive castle when viewed from the south 
  (Gallard), but is revealed from all other directions to 
  have been built as little more than an empty shell; 
  and Blackstone Hall, a turret that stands 
  dramatically on a promontory jutting out into 
  Swordpoint Pond just north of Dlackbridge. 
   Perhaps the best “proof” that treasure does exist 
  are persistent efforts by shadowy, well-hidden (and 
  distant, often in Waterdeep or Baldur’s Gate) 
  Amcorths and Meldrists to send hired adventuring 
  bands (with maps and detailed warnings) to glean 
  such riches for them (in return for shares of the loot). 
  Luthbaern  
  (The Sty of Fat Merchants) 
  Small Town 
  Pronounced “LOOTH-bayer-nn”, this high-walled 
  stone town stands on the Westwater Way trade road 
  northeast of the Barony of Blacksaddle. Tall stone 
  buildings with steep slate roofs crowd wall-to-wall 
  along its cobbled streets, with no gardens or public 
  open space to be seen (in the deeply-rooted opinion 
  of other Borderers, that’s because no Luthbaernar 
  would waste space on a blade of grass growing, 
  when that fingertip-sized patch of land could be 
  instead devoted to making money). Walls of adjacent 
  buildings touch, and roof-edges and balconies almost 
  touch. There are many local tales of thieves or 
  conspirators strolling from roof to roof across town. 
  Luthland interiors are dominated by dark and ornate 
  wood paneling adorned by portraits of successful 
  owners, or by tapestries. Almost every Luthlander 
  lives above their business, or in rented rooms above 
  shops and offices. 
   No one wants to contribute a single coin to 
  building new walls to enlarge the town, so any work 
  that requires a lot of space or that doesn’t bring top 
  coin (to afford the ever-rising rents and costs of 
  buying buildings) has been pushed outside the walls, 
  into the verdant farms immediately around the walls, 
  which have become known (rather mockingly) as 
  “Luthland.” 
   Luthland consists of farms that are kept busy 
  feeding the ever-hungry townsfolk, specializing in 
  tuber crops (and other foods), and keeping goats, 
  pigs, and some cattle. A Luthland speciality is a fiery 
  cheese (of blended goat and cow milk) known as 
  “sharpsair.” It’s white, crumbly, and as hot-tasting as 
  “flame mustard” or the hottest radishes; most 
  Luthbaernar love it, and gobble cubes of it doused in 
  mustard to work up drink-thirsts at highsun and of 
  evenings. 
   Within the farms, all around the walls of 
  Luthbaern, is the bustling “Muddy Ring” of 
  stockyards, market stalls, and paddocks for visiting 
  caravans to load, unload, and assemble. 
   Thanks to its high prices and relentless drive to 
  make coin, Borderers don’t consider Luthbaern 
  welcoming, and long ago dubbed the town “the Sty of 
  Fat Merchants.” The name has stuck; elsewhere in 
  Faerûn, folk associate fat, gaudily successful 
  merchants with the land of Sembia; in the Borders, 
  fat merchants are assumed to hail from Luthbaern. 
   Luthbaernar work hard and play hard. They 
  consume kegs of drink and wagons of meat nightly, 
  and so do tend to be fat, large-bellied, florid folk of 
  prodigious appetites and capacity (often plagued by 
  gout and heartstop). 
   Most Luthbaernar merchants are successful and 
  pompous to boot, and go about in finery: fashionable 
  gilded-piping tunics trimmed with lace at cuffs and 
  collars. Many wear Luthland-made rings bearing 
  cantrips that make the rings and specific 
  adornments on the ring-wearer’s garments and 
  person wink, sparkle, or glow to impress the eye. 
   Luthlanders are never far from food or drink if 
  they can manage it, habitually wearing belt flasks 
  and drinking-flagons, on belts or baldrics fitted with 
  pouches of cheese, sausages, and fried bread “ready 
  rolls” (not to mention oiled and leaf-lined “fingerdip” 
  small pouches of olives or oysters). 
   Many Luthbaernar talk swiftly while waving their 
  arms expressively, and when trading gets intense, 
  will try to shout each other down (a visiting 
  Waterdhavian trader once described arguing 
  Luthlander merchants as “roosters strutting up belly 
  to belly and shrieking insults at each other”). 
   Luthbaernar tend to be suspicious of strangers 
  (assuming everyone in Faerûn is after their personal, 
  precious coins), and so take elaborate precautions 
  against thieves and swindlers in their shop 
  procedures and home defenses (false coin safes full 
  of worthless counterfeit coins, traps and snares 
  linked to loud exterior bell-alarms, guard dogs that 
  
   
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  can plunge down on intruders’ heads through 
  overhead trapdoors, and the like). 
   Luthbaernar are justly proud of the goods they 
  produce, often employing the town saying “swift and 
  fine” to refer to the manner in which they make 
  things, and the quality of what they make. In the 
  early 1300s DR the town was known for fine 
  furniture and cabinet-work, and by mid-century 
  Luthbaern was also turning out superb tapestries, 
  rugs, earthenware, and glass-glazed crockery. And 
  the range of what’s made in the Fat Sty is constantly 
  expanding; Luthbaernar seldom travel because 
  they’re too busy working at home, but often hire 
  passing traders to report back to them on new 
  trends, goods, and shortages or demands upon their 
  next stopover in town—and promptly act on those 
  reports, making new wares for export. Custom 
  orders are seen as welcome challenges to be fulfilled, 
  not irksome wastes of time or “extra effort.” 
   Seeing costs, consequences, and ways to do things 
  better seem to be inborn Luthlander traits; Khelben 
  Arunsun and others long ago wrote (repeating a 
  traders’ saying) that Luthbaernar seemed “ordained 
  by the gods to be merchants.” Even the lowliest 
  crafters of the town invest coins in a variety of 
  concerns; collectively, Luthlanders sponsor more 
  new businesses and caravans and shares in caravan-
  wagons across Faerûn than any other citizenery, 
  even Sembians. In part, this was because 
  Luthbaernar didn’t see the need to “keep a little by” 
  for hard times, or worry about defending against 
  brigand raids or attacking armies, nor thieving magic. 
   This was because of the Belted Mage. Before the 
  Spellplague brought about his demise, Luthbaern 
  had a habitually-disguised guardian wizard, a 
  renegade Red Wizard of Thay known locally only as 
  “the Belted Mage” because of the magical belt of 
  spells he always wore (that in part helped him to 
  stay hidden in plain sight, in a variety of magical 
  disguises). 
   After the Spellplague, an unknown someone (or 
  someones) has renewed and maintained the Belted 
  Mage’s legacy: the wards he created to protect 
  Luthbaern. Nowadays, just as it was before the chaos 
  of the Spellplague, fires can ignite in Luthbaern only 
  in specified workshop areas (to allow for cooking, 
  and the use of forges and crucibles in making things; 
  as a result, few Luthbaernar cook at home, and 
  bakeries and cook-shops are outside the town walls), 
  few creatures can fly over the town, most rain and 
  lightning bolts veer to fall “outwall,” and 
  shapeshifting and illusions are short-lived (or fail 
  entirely) within Luthbaern. 
   No one knows (yet) who this mysterious 
  benefactor is, or why he, she, or it wants Luthbaern 
  to remain protected—and few Luthbaernar think 
  much about it. They’re too busy making more coin. 
  Manywaters 
  Small Town 
  The old stone town of Manywaters lies east of the 
  River Rith and just southwest of the Grand Duchy of 
  Shantal, whose battered stone post stands two 
  hundred and forty paces outside its north gates. 
  Inside its low, tumbledown stone walls, Manywaters 
  would be little more than a waystop village were it 
  not for the Riven Healing House (a small temple of 
  IImater), the wagonworks of Prezgulder Eeirin, and 
  the Riven Rock from which flow the famous hot 
  “healing” springs that give Manywaters its name. 
   In 1302 DR, two adventuring bands decided to 
  dwell by the restorative waters they’d heard about 
  (unaware that many Borderers were spreading word 
  of the springs to lure adventurers thence to dispatch 
  the Rock’s ruler). They found Manywaters to be it 
  monster-haunted ruin—under the control of a 
  beholder.  
   A long and bitter battle ensued, ending in death for 
  the eye tyrant, its prowling servitor monsters), and 
  most of the two adventurer bands. One of the sorely-
  wounded survivors collapsed in the pool formed by 
  the walers flowing out of the Rock. In the morning 
  she awakened whole, having not only failed to 
  drown, but having regained a missing arm and the 
  flesh down one side of her body. Her enchanted 
  armor had crumbled away to nothing, apparently 
  dissolving in the waters. Thus Arlia Emmerlil 
  stumbled onto the key to using the magic of 
  Manywaters: it thoroughly heals those who enter the 
  water, banishing insanity, diseases, curses, and 
  parasitic infestations, while restoring lost, withered, 
  or shattered body parts. It only accomplishes this 
  miraculous healing by draining the stored magic of 
  enchanted items worn or attached to a stricken 
  being. More than half a day’s immersion is needed 
  for most injuries, but creatures near death when put 
  in to the pool are kept alive even when their injuries 
  (for example, a slit throat, or an inability to float) 
  would ordinarily bring swift doom. The pool won’t 
  affect more magic than it needs for a healing. 
  Someone immersed in it with several magic items on 
  their person will forever lose a random item—
  dissolved away—to heal anything from a minor cut 
  or cold, up to a severe laceration and broken bones. 
  Additional items will be dissolved to deal with 
  greater damage, but sometimes enchanted items are 
  immersed in the pool and not altered in any way. 
  Oddly, functioning magic items are often dredged up 
  from the muck bottom of the pool. 
   Riven Rock’s powers are of unknown origin. Some 
  say Ilmater causes its healing, but others believe 
  ancient wizardry gave the waters their powers long 
  before the Broken God was heard of in Faerûn. The 
  
   
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  waters lose all efficacy the instant they’re removed 
  from the pool, and have been proven to lack all 
  healing properties while rising through the 
  Underdark to the surface; the Rock itself seems to 
  grant the healing powers. (Priests forbid chipping at 
  the Rock, but beings who’ve done so discover its 
  smooth black rock crumbles to dust when 
  fragmented, and that no fragment or dust of it 
  retains the slightest magical aura or powers). At the 
  time of Arlia’s healing, a priest of Ilmater (come to 
  aid any of these latest adventurers who might have 
  escaped the beholder deathtrap of Manywaters) 
  declared the site holy to the Broken God. The weary 
  (but by now, healed) adventurers didn’t argue. 
  Instead, they struck a deal with the Ilmatari: a 
  temple of IImater would be built on the spot, they’d 
  see to its defenses against brigands, beasts, and the 
  would-be tyrants who’d surely arrive once word 
  spread of the true powers of the Rock—and in 
  return, the priests would feed, clothe, house, and 
  nurse the adventurers to their dying days. The deal 
  was faithfully followed and the Riven Healing House 
  founded {and vigorously defended, many times 
  down the years}. 
   Old Wynterlorn of the Serpents and then Arlia, 
  hardiest of the Falcons, finally died in great old age, a 
  tenday apart, in 1345 DR. Of all the adventurers, only 
  one couple had offspring: a boy, Ilgirt Rhaulmallow, 
  who could heal himself—slowly—at will, without 
  the waters of Riven Rock Pool. IIgirt left Manywaters 
  to make his own life in the Realms in the 1320s DR, 
  and his fate is unknown. 
   As the temple’s size and reputation grew, the 
  ruined houses of the old town (its origins and nature 
  forgotten) were rebuilt by devout IImatari and a few 
  farmers (ong, narrow stripfarms still fan out west 
  and south from Manywaters). Today, the Riven 
  Healing House is a high-pillared hall whose clergy 
  heal anyone in return for fees. They use the coin for 
  the betterment of the sick and maimed who dwell in 
  several interconnected buildings behind the 
  temple—grateful folk who will fiercely defend the 
  priests without thought for their own lives. Animals 
  with various hurts lope or stagger around as pets, 
  and the whole religious compound is enclosed in a 
  tree-girt wall that takes in (from front to rear) the 
  temple, the “hurt houses,” the Riven Rock with its 
  pool, a small orchard and overgrown garden, and the 
  abandoned adventurers’ mansion. The priests 
  sometimes rent the mansion by the month or tenday 
  to adventurers or others desiring seclusion. Only 
  guests deemed acceptable are allowed; brigands are 
  unwelcome. 
   Any creature is allowed access to the pool—but 
  those of known evil nature, such as beholders or 
  drow, do so under the leveled menace of six staves of 
  swarming insects, wielded by the most able members 
  of “the Hurt.” The staves were taken from the tower 
  of a mad Calishite mage by Arlia’s band on their last 
  adventuring expedition, and at least two of their 
  Hurt wielders are wizards of middling power who 
  came to enjoy life in the temple, and didn’t want to 
  be healed enough to have to leave (both always 
  carry personal offensive magic items; types 
  unknown). For particularly dangerous users of the 
  waters, the old, shuffling House groundsman will 
  unobtrusively attend, wearing one of the last 
  treasures of the Serpents: a ring that stores four 
  blade barrier spells he can call forth by silent act of 
  will. 
   Riven Rock itself is a scalloped dome of smooth 
  black rock, like an upturned bowl, about the size of a 
  small cottage. Many fissures in its surface radiate 
  outwards like the spokes of a wheel; out of these 
  spring forth the rivulets of enchanted water. There 
  arc twenty-one streams, some about as large around 
  as a burly man’s arm, that recede to as few as 
  seventeen in the hottest days of dry summers. The 
  Rock juts out into a pool that surrounds half of it, is 
  about two hundred paces long on its Rockward 
  shore, and forms a fairly regular semicircle from one 
  corner of that shore to the other (at both corners 
  flights of stone steps descend into the pool, which is 
  four to five feet deep, but eight feet in the center). At 
  its widest, the pool is forty feet across. 
   The waters of Riven Rock Pool resist all natural 
  and magical attempts to part it, boil, drain, or pump 
  it out. Small amounts can be removed in containers, 
  on objects immersed in it, and in cupped hands. 
  Many mages have carried off pool waters in 
  enchanted containers. But these waters never retain 
  their healing powers, no matter what precautions 
  are taken or enchantments are cast on the container. 
   Across the road from the temple gates stands 
  Manywheels, a wagonmakers’ shop (founded by the 
  fondly-remembered Prezgulder Eeirin) where six or 
  more new wagons are always standing ready for 
  purchase, along with about forty spare axles, 
  tonguebars, and quartets of wheels in an array of 
  sizes. Sets of harness are also available; the current 
  owner, Durathna Longaxe (a LN dwarf female of 
  good humor and swift laughter) caters not just to 
  wagon buyers, but to passing travelers who need 
  wagon repairs; she’ll modify parts with speed and 
  expertise, no matter what the hour. The stock and 
  skills available at Manywheels have saved many a 
  trader from having to buy a train of pack animals 
  and abandon a broken wagon somewhere in Ihe 
  Border Kingdoms; prices are high, but most clients 
  are happy to pay. Those who aren’t seldom argue 
  loudly, because sixteen brawny wagonbuilders 
  (human, dwarven, and two halflings) work at 
  Manywheels. Eight are usually on duty at a time, and 
  all keep cocked and loaded crossbows within reach. 
  
   
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   Manywaters also has a farmers’ market, a scribe, 
  carpenter, butcher, blacksmith, and corvisor 
  (shoemaker). A mile down an uphill-and-down lane 
  is a tanner, the taciturn and grizzled Thirldan 
  Lhoamrund; the tannery reeks about as badly as 
  most. 
   Folk desiring to stop over in Manywaters can stay 
  at the local inn and tavern, The Rock In The Water 
  (Good/Cheap), run by the amiable and gossipy 
  Haransra family (plump and bustling Calishite 
  humans of all ages). 
  Middle Mukshar  
  (The Land of Slaughtered Knights) 
  Realm 
  A land of rolling meadows and stony soil, Middle 
  Mukshar is home to many small, family-held steads 
  (marked by field walls of heaped stone rubble), 
  given over to the growing of parsnips, potatoes and 
  other root crops, and to sheep ranching. Many small 
  woodlots and gardens can be found along its 
  winding lanes (which are entirely bereft of 
  signposts), and a visitor will search in vain forany 
  proper settlements, or even an inn. 
   Thanks to the strife that holds sway in the land, 
  Mid-Muksharran (in the main, these folk are sturdy, 
  capable humans and halflings, with a smattering of 
  gnomes and half-elves) avoid building clusters of 
  homes around mills and markets. Instead, they 
  gather wherever lanes meet, and from there go to 
  the “forebarn” of the nearest steading whose 
  inhabitants are willing to let them in, to transact 
  business (or exchange gossip). Most steads make a 
  steady income selling cheese, bread, beer and 
  sleeping-space to passersby—as well as arms, armor, 
  and gear salvaged from fallen adventurers. 
   Each year, hundreds of new adventurers come 
  riding into Middle Mukshar, lured by the tales of the 
  Treasures of Tiirglaros {what treasure, and who? See 
  hereafter}. Their swords and spells aren’t, however, 
  the only peril of the realm—which largely lacks the 
  exposed rockfaces, caverns, and mineral wealth of 
  High Mukshar, but unfortunately doesn’t largely lack 
  the attentions of the druuth (hunting bands of four 
  to six doppelgangers, each led by a mind flayer), at 
  least four of which roam over emptied, shattered 
  High Mulshar, and often raid down into Middle 
  Mukshar, employing disguises so to remain as 
  unidentified as possible. 
  Middle Mukshar’s History 
  “The Middle Realm” is one of three adjacent realms 
  formed out of a shared ancestor kingdom, the 
  farmland realm of Mukshar, founded centuries ago 
  (accounts differ as to just when, but range from the 
  1080s DR through about 1120 DR) by the Tashlutan 
  adventurer Myrammanas Mukshar. At its height, the 
  sage Goldoanas of Anabar described it as “rolling 
  hills of sheep and goats beyond counting, guarded by 
  thunderously-galloping knights grander and better 
  armored than the best Cormyr can boast.” 
   A just and stern man, Myrammanas was beloved 
  by the warriors who’d adventured with him. Many 
  settled in Mukshar and became his “knights,” 
  patrolling its borders ceaselessly to defend its oasis 
  of plenty from rapacious adventurers and 
  marauding predators. Borderers called the realm 
  “the Favored Hills” in those days, and looked to its 
  cheeses, meat, and vegetables to feed them, and its 
  wool to keep them warm. 
   This bright state of affairs ended when King 
  Myrammanas the Mighty died, leaving behind a 
  decree that divided Mukshar into three lands, one 
  for each of his sons. Only High Mukshar was ever 
  ruled by one of them (the sly coward Rhalovar 
  Mukshar, who was mysteriously stabbed to death at 
  a party in Suldolphor during one of his debauched 
  “trading trips” to Calishite lands; Rhalovar reigned 
  for seven years, truly ruled for perhaps forty days of 
  that time, and died childless). The other two 
  fledgling realms, Middle Mukshar and Nether 
  Mukshar, were conquered by adventuring bands 
  within a month of their birth—and those usurpers 
  were as promptly exterminated by the next would-
  be tyrant. All three Mukshars saw a bewildering 
  succession of rulers thereafter; Middle Mukshar was 
  the first to know an empty throne and long years of 
  utter lawlessness. Only from the 1320s through the 
  1360s DR did it feel anything like a strong ruling 
  hand, when the hardy, battle-shrewd adventurer 
  Clevdoarran lharlmiir (a Waterdhavian commoner 
  and former warehouse guardsman turned 
  adventurer-warrior) toured the Border Kingdoms 
  after winning a modest fortune with his wits and 
  sword. He chose to make Middle Mukshar his home, 
  defending its farmers as their Lord Protector, at the 
  head of an ever-growing band of warriors and “low-
  spells” mages. Clevdoarran disposed of countless 
  monsters, several rival rulers, and a score of raiding 
  adventuring bands, and in time the farmers he 
  defended came to regard him as their rightful ruler. 
  His badge was the Black Falcon In Flight, and dark-
  hued raptors are still seen as tokens of good luck in 
  the land. Farmers in the Lord Protector’s day kept 
  bonfires ready to light, to signal they needed his 
  aid—and still do, though who might come when they 
  saw such flames these days is a grim question (most 
  likely druuth raiding out of High Mukshar). 
   The Lord Protector was slain at the height of the 
  Spellplague when Middle Mukshar’s mad resident 
  mage, the wizard Baldrimar, turned on him (and 
  perished for that treachery), and the orcs and wolves 
  
   
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  overwhelmed what was left of his battered following. 
  This gave rise to a ballad that’s made Middle 
  Mukshar infamous as “the Land of Slaughtered 
  Knights.” Most folk across Faerûn have heard that 
  haunting song, but think it mere legend or bardic 
  fancy, or a tale of a place swept away long ago. 
  Borders and Perils 
  Middle Mukshar is separated from druuth-haunted 
  High Mukshar by the Tumblestone River, and from 
  Nether Muluhar by the Vigilant, a dozen border-
  patrolling ghosts that are normally invisible save for 
  the scavenged helms and gauntlets they wear (which 
  appear to float in midair). They battle large 
  predators and challenge all armed bands, turning 
  back groups of more than a dozen, and individuals 
  they’ve recently observed as members of such 
  groups. In life, the Vigilant were loyal knights of 
  Myrammanas. They were poisoned by the elven 
  trader Ilrylym Isprathas within days of the 
  “Sundering Into Three,” along with the infant 
  Gaeraland Mukshar, Lord of Middle Mukshar, whom 
  they were guarding. 
   Adventurers who battle the druuth or rival 
  adventurers in Middle Mukshar soon discover 
  another important feature of the realm: Middle 
  Mukshar is studded with many small, invisible, 
  stationary wild magic areas (possibly the origin of 
  the widespread belief that the Border Kingdoms are 
  rife with wild magic born of a struggle between the 
  gods Azuth and Savras). These areas have ‘sharp’ 
  borders; a single step can take a mage from chaos 
  into normal spellcasting. Their presence has led both 
  temple-building clergy and wizards seeking places to 
  live to shun Middle Mukshar; any clerics and wizards 
  encountered in the land tend to be adventurers. 
  The Treasures of Tiirglaros 
  Through ballads like “The Last Ride of Roelvelar 
  Windgauntlet” and the rollicking favorite “Helms 
  Full of Blood,” folk of Faerûn know Middle Mukshar 
  as a pastrol battlefield where hundreds of 
  adventuring bands come to seize the fabled 
  Treasures of Tiirglaros (flying gems a-glow with 
  mighty magic, that hover above a vast sea of gold 
  coins), fight each other to the death—and are feasted 
  on by the guardians of the treasure: scores of will-o’-
  wisps. The truth is less grand than many bards paint 
  it. 
   Tiirglaros was a sly half-elven mercenary leader 
  who enjoyed success in Calishite employ some 
  centuries back. Left to guard too much wealth of a 
  gold-rich satrap, Tiirglaros succumbed to the 
  temptation to vanish with it. He perished as a 
  twisted, transformed victim of the satrap’s spells, 
  turned from afar into a grotesque beast of 
  mismatched limbs, hooves, and jaws. His treasure 
  (really nothing more than thousands upon 
  thousands of gold coins) lies strewn along the 
  ground in the refuge he reached before he died: a 
  narrow cleft amid the highest hills of Middle 
  Mukshar. Wind often moans eerily in Tiirglarod 
  Vale—but the sixteen will o’ wisps who dwell 
  there—how Elminster knows their number is 
  another of the many mysteries that cling to him like 
  an ever-lengthening cloak—don’t seem to mind. 
  The Middle Realm Today 
  Adventurers still come to Middle Mukshar in droves, 
  even if they don’t believe in the flying-gem fortune of 
  Tiirglaros, because they’re drawn by smaller and 
  usually true stories: a lot of adventurers’ treasure is 
  hidden in Middle Mukshar (usually buried in 
  cooking-pots or the like), within one wild magic area 
  or another. Those who leave it tend to think such 
  areas prevent others from using magic to find and 
  steal hidden wealth, but cynical folk (such as 
  Elminster) have been heard to observe that such 
  precautions matter little when treasure-buriers so 
  seldom survive more than a season or so at most; 
  dead men spend few coins. The steadings of Middle 
  Mukshar, of course, hide many smaller amounts of 
  coinage gleaned from fallen adventurers—but also 
  hold a surprising range of deadly weaponry (often 
  stored in nasty waiting traps). 
   Middle Mukshar today is bereft of any inns or 
  taverns, but many steads rent out rooms, and feed 
  guests (small beer can often be had, too, but it tends 
  to be weak or strong-and-sleeping-herbs-laced, to 
  keep the farmers from having to deal with 
  belligerent drunken guests. 
   The realm lacks any formal ruler, or blazon 
  (beyond the black falcon badge of the long-fallen 
  Lord Protector). However, all Mid-Muksharran will 
  firmly insist that they dwell in a “kingdom,” and if 
  pressed, will say that the “land awaits its king.” No 
  armsmen keep law; the steaders cling to the old 
  rules of the Lord Protector, and go armed (and know 
  how to use their weapons) and maintain traps 
  because they see a daily need for armed vigilance, 
  with no lawkeepers, lord, not soldiery. Adventurers 
  be warned: every summer, new adventuring bands 
  arrive, claim the lordship, and try to keep order—
  and the druuth or rival adventurers or the will o’ 
  wisps or lurking monsters kill them well before 
  winter. 
  Myrinjar (The Seat of Might) 
  Small City 
  Clean and well-ordered, the Seat of Might is a city of 
  fear, thanks to its undead ruling mages {see 
  Adaerglast}. It stands at the heart of the pastoral 
  
   
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  Land of Mages, surrounded by farms that are among 
  the most prosperous and productive in all Faerûn. 
  Visitors will find Myrinjar to be a collection of 
  narrow four-story timbered houses set shoulder to 
  shoulder along cobbled streets that are always a-
  groan with moving wagons of provender, day and 
  night.  
   The city looks fortified from a distance, but its 
  roughly oval outer wall lacks crenelations or a wall-
  walk or buttresses; it’s really just the joined back 
  walls of hundreds of granaries, and so upon close 
  examination can be seen to be a patchwork of joined, 
  differing styles of stone-laying. It’s pierced by four 
  gates, the north and south carrying the main 
  overland trade-road into and out of Myrinjar, and 
  the east and west serving drovers bringing beasts to 
  market, and mounted patrols sent out by the Hands 
  (the Mailed Hands of the Lords, officious but 
  thankfully few—in part due to ‘accidents’ that keep 
  befalling them, thanks to the hatred of the 
  populace—soldiers of the Lord High Mages; the 
  Hands seem to be everywhere in Myrinjar, spying 
  and firmly keeping the peace in a city already 
  fervently and carefully law-abiding).  
   Myrinjar never sleeps. Its shops make sausages, 
  pickled vegetables, and relishes of all sorts; sell fresh 
  produce; and bottle fruit in wines and sherries (most 
  famous being cherries in Myrin sherry—a local spirit 
  flavored with both raspberries and cranberries from 
  the bogs east of the city). Stinking tanneries in the 
  western reaches of the city once produced 
  thousands of cured hides each month, but the Lord 
  High Mages, their noses offended by the reek, 
  relocated these establishments south, forcibly 
  scattering them along the road to Yallasch. 
   Food-work shares Myrinjar with only one other 
  important, long-established local industry: the 
  making of jars and bottles. Thanks to large quantities 
  of fine sand (dug where the city now stands; in the 
  confused labyrinth of storage cellars that underlie 
  Myrinjar, shiftings and collapses are still all too 
  common, despite many forcebindinq spells applied 
  by the Lord High Mages), glassblowers have always 
  worked in Mvrinjar.  
   They fashion a wide variety of flaring-mouthed 
  jars (often re-used elsewhere in Faerûn as cheap, 
  sturdy drinking flagons) and tall, slender wine 
  bottles. A Myrin bottle can readily be recognized by 
  the marks on its bottom. One will be a glass flagon 
  (representing the city) enclosing a simplified badge 
  of Adaerglast: a ‘pinwheel ring’ of outward-stabbing 
  zigzag lightning bolts encircling a basket of three 
  rounded fruits; the other will be a maker’s mark, of 
  which the most popular are the arching dolphin of 
  the Peldran family, and the tusked, facing-to-the-
  viwer’s-right boar-head of the Bright Hands 
  collective.  
   The local bottling industry supports two rival 
  purveyors of tinted and scented waxes (for use in 
  sealing), and imports wagonloads of cork (for bottle-
  plugs) from the Tashalar. The “Wax Houses,” named 
  for their owning families, are Olamandar and the 
  smaller Joloradim. The largest cork importer (among 
  a crowded field of small-cart competitors, whose 
  conveyances are often searched by the Hands due to 
  their tendency to smuggle spices and other goods 
  banned by the Lord High Mages for their known 
  usefulness as spell components) is the firm known 
  as the Wheels of Teldarusk, founded by a retired 
  shipcaptain of that name, but now owned and run by 
  descendants of his factors (trade agents), a gnome 
  family hight Harbordrift, and a half-elf clan, the 
  Tsandarmars.  
   Buyers from other Border realms, Calimshan, the 
  Tashalar, Tharsult, and even the lands about the Sea 
  of Fallen Stars come to Myrinjar’s three open 
  marketplaces: Manymelons (small stalls selling 
  fruits and vegetables) in northeastern Myrinjar; 
  Sharngult’s in the southeastern part of the city 
  (livestock and derivative goods, such as tallow 
  candles and hoof glue); and Eldynklarn in the 
  southwest (largest, newest, and most wide-ranging 
  in wares, offering fresh produce, grain and milled 
  flours, bottles and bottled goods, eggs, poultry, 
  harness, and farming tools and wagons). 
   Wizards and magically protected beings aren’t 
  welcome in the city (upon discovery, they’ll be 
  attacked with head-exploding spells, or if need be by 
  a charging patrol of Hands), nor are citizens or 
  visitors allowed to possess scrolls or other magic 
  items, to try to work their own magics, or even to 
  own substances used in the casting of popular spells 
  or in the making of spell inks. Inks and parchment 
  are hard to find in Myrinjar, and few native Myrin 
  (as opposed to citizens who’ve settled here from 
  other lands) are literate. 
   The many hungry mouths of Calimshan ensure 
  that a steady stream of buyers comes to Myrinjar in 
  all save the coldest winter months—and the 
  efficiency and fertility of the bustling farms of 
  Adaerglast keep greedy Calishite satraps busy trying 
  to seize control of the realm or covertly take over 
  Myrin businesses through a variety of swindles, 
  agents, and hireling adventurers (including, in at 
  least one instance, doppelgangers hired to slay and 
  impersonate). 
   Most buyers visiting Myrinjar stay in one of the 
  inns just inside each city gate, or in rooming houses 
  located between the markets in the central city 
  district known as Keepshadow (because it stands “in 
  the shadow of” the Castle). Keepshadow is the 
  approved area for outlanders, and simply bristles 
  with watchers who report back to the Castle; 
  
   
  64 
  seasoned visitors say it’s safest to assume every 
  servant or resident in Keepshadow is a spy. 
   Even casual visitors to Myrinjar can’t help but 
  notice the abode of the Lord High Mages. The 
  frowning castle at the center of the city is officially 
  known as the Seat of Might (a term also applied to 
  the city around it, but never used without sarcasm 
  by outlanders or Myrin who believe they’re out of 
  earshot of authority), but is better known as “The 
  Castle of Dark Dreams” because the Lord High Mages 
  first announced their right to rule Adaerglast by 
  sending forth dream-visions to all Adaern folk from 
  within its walls. 
   The Castle of Dark Dreams is guarded by scores of 
  animated armors, shield guardians, helmed horrors 
  and mightier constructs. The Hands and other 
  humans who serve the Two are seldom permitted to 
  enter its gloomy halls. Many Myrin believe the 
  tyrants (who are only seen rarely in public these 
  days, and then usually as projected images) spend 
  long hours lying helpless on couches as they weave 
  dream-vision spells or scry events across the realm 
  and even farther afield. It’s a rueful Myrin joke to 
  urge others, even in the most private moments 
  oflovemaking or personal hygiene, to remember to 
  “smile for the audience” (that is, the spying tyrants). 
   
   
   
   
  Castle 
  Guardians 
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   The Castle is said to be full of seized spellbooks 
  and enchanted items, many linked by enchantments 
  that cause one magic to erupt against anyone 
  disturbing another, and this was true before the 
  Spellplague. Now, the gloomy fortress is plagued by 
  drifting wild magic areas, and full of the decaying, 
  fitfully-active riven shards of twisted-awry magic 
  items. Lord Iraun and lord Srivven are always 
  surrounded by helmed horror bodyguards, and 
  suspect treachery from everyone—so no living being 
  is allowed to approach them too closely). The 
  decrees of the Two are absolute; folk who defy them 
  are torn apart by their magic. The property of 
  traitors is forfeit to the Castle; their kin and servants 
  are often sold into slavery. Some adventurers, 
  however, are transformed into beasts by the Two, to 
  serve as prowling guardian monsters whose 
  behavior is secured with the (false) promise that 
  they’ll be freed someday (if their performance and 
  obedience pleases). Elminster believes the Wizard-
  Kings came from a mage-school in easternmost 
  Murghôm, seized much magic from tombs and 
  mages all over Faerûn, have crafted many new 
  magics (such as the dream-vision enchantments), 
  and in particular have so mastered spell-webs (the 
  linkage of one spell to another, so triggering one 
  causes multiple reactions), that they’re extremely 
  dangerous within Myrinjar. 
   The Two endlessly thirst after more magic, and 
  strive ever to force their subjects to farm more 
  profitably (taxes are levied on all sales in Myrinjar, 
  and farmers may sell elsewhere only if they 
  purchase very expensive licenses; these can only be 
  obtained in Myrinjar, and the Two are known to 
  mind-scry persons applying for them). 
   Rebuffed in earlier attempts to openly seize power 
  in Yallasch, no Myrin doubts that the Lord High 
  Mages are still plotting to win control of that city. 
  They have many agents in Yallasch, orders are sent 
  there almost daily via caravans, and past events 
  make it clear that the Two often farscry streets and 
  private rooms in Yallasch. Not for nothing has it 
  become known in recent seasons as “the City Where 
  One feels Watched,” or more simply, “The Watched 
  City.” 
  The Neth Stand 
  The high and rocky northwesternmost corner of the 
  Border Kingdoms has always been filled with a vast, 
  dense, untamed wild forest standing like a wall 
  preventing Calimshan from expanding east across 
  the Suldolph Strait to swallow the Border Realms. 
  The beasts of this dark wood have taken an 
  impressive toll of Calishite hunters and prospectors 
  down the passing centuries. Much of the forest 
  consists of tall duskwood and shadowtop trees 
  
   
  65 
  growing close together, their enmeshed foliage 
  creating a constant gloom, and the rest is scrub 
  woodlands cloaking a crescent of limestone crags, 
  the Neth Peaks, that form a north-south “spine of the 
  forest.” The few trails are short, none penetrating far 
  into the forest depths, and most folk stay well away. 
  Neth Lore 
  Most Borderers believe the forest is named for the 
  widespread local belief that folk fleeing shattered 
  Netheril in ancient days came to its tree-cloaked 
  peaks and there “took a stand.” (On the other hand, 
  most sages believe the “stand” part of the name 
  refers to a “stand of trees,” and came into use 
  because the wood consists of clumps or stands of the 
  same sort of tree growing close together.) Borderer 
  lore says the Netherese refused to run farther from 
  the chaos Netheril had descended into, and settled in 
  the Neth Peaks, raising fortresses on the most stable 
  of the rock pinnacles. For years, sages across Faerûn 
  dismissed such tales as mere bardic fancy, but 
  recently, ruins have been spotted crowning some of 
  the wyvern- and peryton-infested (scores of the 
  creatures; so many that dragons have been known to 
  fly long distances to feast on them) peaks: shattered 
  stone towers that were once slender, beautiful 
  tapering stone needles soaring into the sky. 
   Reaching the ruins isn’t just a matter of braving 
  wyvern and peryton attacks. The nameless Neth 
  Peaks are soft, unstable, crumbling stone; entire rock 
  faces often break free and slide down into rubble far 
  below, in avalanches that carry trees, creatures, and 
  all with them. Moreover, both wild magic and dead 
  magic areas overlie certain peaks, making reliance 
  on magic chancy. The sage Amonthalas of Tashluta 
  wrote in the 1340s DR of amassing “no less than 
  twenty” adventurers’ accounts that all suggested at 
  least one of the dead magic zones drifts up and down 
  the line of peaks like some sort of invisible tethered 
  cloud following a route or circuit. 
   The Red Wizards of Thay led or sponsored so 
  many expeditions into the peaks in the decades 
  before the Spellplague put an end to such strivings 
  that it seems inevitable that someone of no lesser 
  rank than a zulkir or tharchion believed desirable 
  mighty magic was somewhere in the ruins for the 
  taking. However, so far as is known, all the Thayvian 
  searchers ever found were their own deaths. 
  Venturing into the Forest 
  Woodcutters, adventurers seeking treasure or a 
  place to hide or lair, or hunters seeking stags, boars, 
  and orest cats have found the Stand to be dangerous 
  indeed. Around the limestone peaks, the rest of the 
  forest consists of gently rolling hills entirely cloaked 
  in soaring straight trees, their trunks growing so 
  close together that the wayfarer must almost hack a 
  way forward. The everpresent gloom is so deep that 
  phosphorescent fungi occur in profusion, some 
  ambulatory and perhaps sentient—and there are 
  reports of myconids normally encountered only in 
  the Underdark. 
   No reliable maps exist of the handful of forest 
  trails; hunters who’ve tried to use the same routes 
  season after season report that the tracks seem to 
  move about, and often unexpectedly fade away 
  where once they offered a clear way on. 
   The fringes of the Neth Stand are dominated by 
  thornbush thickets, carnivorous plants, and several 
  sorts of small monsters (such as meenlocks, 
  quicklings, and redcaps), some of whom use 
  extensive burrow networks to stealthily surround 
  intruder, strike at them from all sides, then vanish 
  again before the travelers can strike back. 
   Deeper into the forest is an extensive region 
  dominated by spiders—all sorts of spiders, in 
  seemingly unnatural profusion, some of them 
  webspinners, some of them venomous hunters with 
  barbs and stingers, and some that resemble 
  branches or fungi enough to fool the eye.   
   Beyond the spiderhaunted reaches of the Stand, 
  near the rising rocky roots of the Neth Peaks where 
  narrow ravines, clefts, and caverns are plentiful, the 
  intruder finds a strange variety of beasts, in 
  seemingly inexhaustible profusion. Many speculative 
  explanations for this “riot of monsters” have been 
  advanced, from mad mages (or hermit-priests of 
  Malar, or renegade Thayvian wizards, or exiled 
  mages from Halruaa, or sorcerers from “other than 
  Toril,” or a hobgoblin or oni clan, or a beholder hive 
  or illithid colony, or a coven of hags) dwelling at the 
  heart of the Stand who are breeding, constructing, or 
  magically multiplying the myriad monsters, to the 
  presence of the fabled endless-monster-disgorging 
  “deepspawn” monsters, or the presence of magical 
  portals through which many hungry monsters are 
  streaming from elsewhere. 
   At least one abandoned village is known to lie, 
  overgrown and monster-infested, within the Stand: 
  Yurbrithee, northwest of Themasulter. Settled by 
  half-orcs fleeing an orc war in the Shieldmaidens, the 
  village flourished for more than seventy years, until 
  it was suddenly abandoned. The Yurbrithan loggers 
  cut many trees, making the village a reliable source 
  of mast spars for ships in the Lake of Steam and The 
  Shining Sea alike, and somehow got these timbers 
  out of the forest while fighting off the forest 
  monsters. Why they suddenly fled, and what they 
  may have left behind, remain mysteries. 
  The Neth Rivers 
  Two rivers rise in the Stand. The cold, fast-rushing 
  Sarradra is born in a spectacular waterfall down the 
  flank of a sheer cliff in the Neth Peaks, and empties 
  
   
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  to the west, into the Suldolph Strait north of 
  Theymarsh. Ranrath’s Run is the longer, wider, and 
  deeper river, and has two sources deep in the Stand, 
  that join and run northeast through the forest ere 
  hooking into the Lake of Steam north of Themasulter. 
   The Sarradra is named for a long-ago lady pirate 
  who used to moor her slender raiding caravel in its 
  mouth, and glide forth by night to raid shore camps 
  and anchored vessels within reach. Her legendary 
  treasure has never been found, and is commonly 
  thought to lie buried somewhere in the forest within 
  sight of the river, near landmarks of Sarradra’s time, 
  that may no longer exist, or stand out among later 
  growth. 
   The mouth of the Sarradra is a haunt of abundant 
  giant turtles, and plentiful wild rice, but anyone who 
  tries to harvest either should beware scrags, who 
  rise from underwater to drag down living creatures 
  who come within reach. 
   Ranrath’s Run is named after an adventurer who 
  fled up it, never to be seen again, in the 1200s DR, 
  when cornered by agents of a Tethyrian king (or 
  duke; the tales differ) he’d stolen a crown and much 
  gold from (like Ranrath, these treasures have never 
  been found). 
   “The Run” is a river in which many fish spawn; it 
  has been successfully fished with long spears from 
  the banks, and with purse nets by those strong 
  enough to stand in its fast and chilling flow. 
   The Princess Amriliira of High Mukshar, who ruled 
  that realm for four golden years of good governance 
  and relative peace in the midst of its long line of 
  male human warrior rulers, died in the run when her 
  warcaptain, Irbrand Thullusk (seeing himself better 
  suited to the throne) turned traitor. He lashed the 
  ruling princess to her favorite traveling throne and 
  cast her into one of the deep pools in the midst of the 
  Run. Presumably she’s down there still, her bones 
  slumped over a stone seat that was studded with 
  emeralds and sapphires in more profusion than good 
  taste—and that had some sort of magic stored under 
  its seat that could be triggered by the Princess to 
  lash out at persons standing before the throne . . . a 
  magic that somehow failed to protect her against the 
  traitor. 
   King Thullusk is remembered as ‘the Tentacled’ 
  because of the spell that slew him: a curse that made 
  greenish, many-suckered tentacles burst forth all 
  over his body, sapping his blood and vitality until he 
  became a weak, wrinkled thing able only to crawl 
  and slither. The wizard who cast this curse had no 
  desire to rule, and history has forgotten his name, 
  but he brought doom to Thullusk—who died when 
  his revolted courtiers used halberds to thrust the 
  crawling king into his own kitchen hearthfire—only 
  months after the Princess drowned. 
  The Fall 
  A terrified woodcutter recently arrived in 
  Theymarsh babbling of “the forest dropping away, 
  trees and all!” somewhere along the eastern edge of 
  the Stand. Apparently he’d been scouting the fringes 
  of the wood for good-looking timber that could be 
  cut without venturing into the tree-gloom at all, 
  when suddenly a stretch of the woods “as large as 
  the biggest sheep ranch I’ve ever beheld” gave way 
  with a nigh-deafening rumbling groan, descending 
  out of sight amid clouds of hurled-up leaves and dust. 
   It seems a large area of forest collapsed into 
  caverns below. The woodcutter saw “many beasts 
  fleeing and swarming through the trees,” but himself 
  fled before the dust cleared and he could see what—
  if anything—had been revealed. There’s much 
  interest in the Theymart taverns; caverns that 
  extensive hint at more caverns, perhaps 
  subterranean watercourses . . . offering access to 
  lodes of ore? Gems? Who knows? A fortune could lie 
  waiting, for the taking . . . 
   Needless to say, the Neth Stand has never had a 
  ruler, a blazon, an inn or tavern, or any human 
  settlements at all. Nor does it seem likely that any of 
  those lacks will be addressed any time soon. 
  Nether Mukshar 
  Realm 
  Traditionally the most prosperous of the three 
  Mukshar realms, Nether Mukshar is a small, shield-
  shaped land of rolling hills. In the 1100s and 1200s 
  DR, it was logged over completely twice, but by the 
  time of the Spellplague was a land of small farms, 
  many woodlots, and a few sprawling “high meadow” 
  wilderlands. 
   Nether Mukshar has known many decades-long 
  times of lawlessness, broken only by a few strong 
  rulers, notably High Duke Davert Flameblood, a 
  Tethyrian warrior who built a competent army that 
  ended up fighting among itself for the dukedom after 
  Flameblood’s death, and who built a small but 
  impressive fortress in the northwestern tip of the 
  realm, Dalonstal Keep, and expanded and refortified 
  the duchal castle, Castle Torn, that stands at the 
  northeastern corner of the land. 
   Nether Mukshar has the shape of a flat-topped 
  shield (its northern border), with edges that curve 
  down to a southern top, Hareph’s Tor, crowned by 
  Edgestone House, a ruined and abandoned fortress-
  monastery to Gond. 
   In the High Duke’s time, the soaring towers of 
  brand-new Dalonstal Keep (atop a crag surrounded 
  on three sides by a marsh), commanded a view—and 
  a field of fire for its turret-top ballistae and 
  catapults—far across Middle Mukshar. Castle Torn 
  
   
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  was a vast fortress of many linked keeps and 
  enclosed courtyards that housed a village; it climbed 
  a ridge like a gigantic stony dragon, and was a 
  prosperous and growing place known for its duchal-
  sponsored community of skilled healers. 
   Today, both castles are as deserted as Edgestone 
  House, and are monster-infested lures for many an 
  adventuring band seeking the wealth of dead or fled 
  Netherans. Castle Torn is a vast warren of riven 
  buildings and tunnels linking storage cellars that 
  have been largely unexplored since the chaos of the 
  Spellplague—and may hold almost anything, but 
  certainly hold monsters that prowl forth often 
  enough to keep most folk away. 
   At the center of the shield of land that is Nether 
  Mukshar stands the village of Clovarren, where a few 
  hardy farmers have fortified their homes and still 
  cling to a living around the mill, the Duke’s Fall 
  tavern, and the Nine Horses inn (the name 
  commemorates a vanished horse-breeding and -
  training business that was flourishing and famous 
  across the Borders in its day). They pay a semi-
  retired adventuring band, Roval Dree’s Ready 
  Swords (formerly of Beregost) to defend them 
  against prowling monsters and to keep order when 
  drunken or aggressive visitors come to town. One of 
  the horse-ponds in Clovarren is reputedly the home 
  of some sort of water-monster that emerges only at 
  night to drag down, drown, and devour folk and 
  small beasts, but various Netheran rulers have 
  scoured all of the ponds in search of it, down the 
  centuries, and it’s never been found. Folk and beasts 
  still disappear from time to time—but these days, in 
  the increasingly wild land, such disappearances 
  happen everywhere, and all too often. 
   In short, Nether Mukshar is now a verdant but 
  fallen land, where the orchards and gone-to-wild 
  farms are still verdant and provide much ready food 
  for foragers—but monsters prowl, emboldened by 
  the preoccupation of the few surviving Netherans 
  with the druuth who from time to time raid down 
  out of High Mukshar. Though these dangerous 
  reavers will rob and slay anyone who gets in their 
  way, they seem most interested in exploring the 
  fallen temple of Gond. 
   It’s likely they’re seeking wealth and ingenious 
  devices—for there are many Netheran tales of 
  wealth and fantastic “devices and mechanisms” that 
  the temple housed in gleaming plenty before it was 
  shattered by explosions caused by the coming of the 
  Spellplague, and much of its roof fell in on the clergy 
  of Gond laboring below. 
   Many crafters and inventors dwelt in Nether 
  Mukshar before that dark day, but they died or fled; 
  their influence, and that of the ruined temple, is 
  evident by the many small, practical innovations the 
  surviving Netherans use and repair and value, from 
  treadle-pumps and hat-lanterns to cattle-gates and 
  grain chutes that dispense measured amounts from 
  hoppers. There are even wheeled “reapers” that cut 
  crops when towed by oxen or horses, and horse-
  powered threshers. The surviving farmers have 
  more of these than they can use, and although they 
  like to keep the best for their own use (and some 
  extras, for spare parts), they will sell these devices to 
  interested traders, from time to time. 
   A good road—three-wagons-wide, flat, and 
  cobbled, with deep drainage ditches on both sides—
  still runs from Castle Torn to Clovarren, and from 
  Clovarren through the now-deserted hamlets of 
  Barnhallow and Phendree to Edgestone House, but 
  wayfarers are warned that hungry beasts watch the 
  road, and attack anything on it by night. From time 
  to time, brigands also lurk in Nether Mukshar, and 
  may well be bold enough to attack travelers by day. 
   Nether Mukshar is a well-watered land, with many 
  former farm ponds, rills, and one narrow river (the 
  Tumblestone River, which rises in the hills north of 
  the village of Arnglar and flows northeast through 
  the realms of Middle Mukshar and Nether Mukshar 
  on its way to the Lake of Steam). 
  Oeble 
  Large Town 
  Straddling the River Scelptar at the Great Ford, not 
  far west of the Qurth Forest and nigh the center of 
  the Border Kingdoms (where its three more-or-less-
  ruined bridges cross the flow and are repaired every 
  summer only to be swept away in every spring 
  flood), Oeble-town has been a trading center for 
  centuries. 
   Home to all manner of rogues, outlaws, and folk 
  unwelcome elsewhere, Oeble is a maze of walled 
  courtyards, rambling alleys, and lodgings stacked 
  three or four stories high above street-level 
  businesses that change with bewildering rapidity. 
  From its leaning towers and the loftiest of its many 
  balconies one can see the lands of Talduth Vale, 
  Owlhold, the Barony of Great Oak, and the more 
  distant Grand Duchy of Shantal and the Swordpoint 
  Streams. 
   “All rogues meet in Oeble,” asserts an old saying. 
  Oeble is home to kidnappers, smugglers, fences, 
  dealers in illicit goods, outlaws and bounty hunters 
  seeking them, and folk unwelcome elsewhere 
  because of who they are.  
   Although the town today boasts a ruler and laws 
  of sorts, and enough policing to keep open street 
  warfare to a minimum by day, it’s still not a place for 
  the faint of heart, the innocent, or the unwary. Knife 
  throwing is a local sport, and so is creeping about on 
  rooftops, leaping from one high place to another, 
  skulking, and spying. Citizens are found dead of 
  
   
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  violence most mornings; most days corpses are 
  burning in the garbage-middens southeast of town. 
   Three wagon-bridges and countless catwalks and 
  rope bridges cross the Scelptar in Oeble, which has 
  grown over the centuries until about eighty or so 
  buildings stand on each side of the river, with 
  caravan and livestock-sales paddocks beyond. 
  The Underways 
  Even more of Oeble lies unseen beneath the ground 
  in the notorious Underways, passages damp with 
  river seepage that underlie the town. These stone-
  lined, mold-thick tunnels link cellars and wells in a 
  labyrinth that boasts at least one inn and two 
  taverns the sun never sees. Most obvious “monsters” 
  among Oeblar (such as the resident yuan-ti) keep to 
  this underground neighborhood. Many cellars 
  connect with the Underways, but few surface 
  buildings have publicly known links to the “Lawless 
  Below” (in daily Oeblan parlance, simply “below,” 
  whereas one’s own cellars are “downstairs”). Access 
  to the ever-growing (and unmapped) network of 
  passages under Oeble is gained down narrow 
  unmarked stairs at the ends of many alleys. Spilled 
  blood and refuse often make these slippery, and the 
  authorities and various spies keep watch over them; 
  no one enters or departs the Underways unnoticed, 
  and no large armed force can converge there 
  without raising an alarm. 
   Down below, a visitor will find few lights and no 
  signs. It’s a tunnel-maze neighborhood that never 
  sleeps but seems half-deserted, a surprisingly quiet 
  corner of lawlessness where important and 
  upstanding folk are sometimes seen in the company 
  of outlaws or out-and-out monsters. 
   The Underways are home to one inn of note: 
  Melder’s Door, a dank and gloomy stone pile where 
  screams in the halls aren’t unknown. It has at least 
  one minotaur guard, and is either owned or run by 
  neogi. The Lawless Below also offers two taverns: 
  The Talondance, a wild place named for the claws 
  sported by many patrons (slip-on clawed weapons 
  used in several games), and The Hungry Haunting, a 
  drab eatery of plain, sturdy, but rather battered 
  furnishings that features hot stews of mysterious 
  origins alongside spicy cheese. All three 
  establishments are favored meeting-places for those 
  desiring to conduct illicit business, or hire others to 
  do shady, dangerous, or merely unsavory things for 
  them. 
  The Rainspans 
  Folk who find the Underways or the streets not to 
  their liking can move about between a few Oeblaun 
  buildings along the “Rainspans,” a network of 
  crumbling bridges that leap from rooftops to 
  balconies and even right into the upper floors of 
  such structures as Griffingate House, the large, 
  ornate old inn that stands in the center of Oeble. 
  (Expensive and luxuriously-furnished, “the Old 
  House” boasts many secret passages and spyholes, a 
  staff of discreet servants who missing noticing 
  nothing, and a house guard expert in hurling knives 
  and clubs to hit precise targets.) 
   It’s illegal to leap or cause another being to fall 
  from the Rainspans, or to drop or throw any object 
  from them—but that doesn’t stop darts, rocks, and 
  (of course) knives from being hurled down from the 
  heights with deadly accuracy. 
  Oeble’s Place in the 
  Border Kingdoms 
  A haven for fugitives, brigands, and smugglers, Oeble 
  remains a thorn in the side of many Border rulers, 
  and is an ever-present “doorstop danger” to the 
  realms around it. However, many find it useful as a 
  hiring center or a neutral ground meeting place 
  where one can expect to unearth outlaws on the run, 
  misfits, monsters, and a market for rare and unusual 
  items. 
   “Too useful to destroy,” the deceased High Duke of 
  Nether Mukshar once described Oeble, and his 
  words remain true today. That’s not to say some 
  outside force desiring a seat of power in the Borders 
  won’t try to scour out Oeble from within and touch 
  off a local war that destroys the town or reduces it to 
  a mere shell. Yet this peril has hung over the town 
  for a century or more, and hasn’t befallen the town 
  yet. 
   Oeble has long survived balanced at the heart of 
  an uneasy ring of all-too-ready weapons. A Border 
  prophecy insists Oeble-town is the site where a 
  dragon shall in time to come reveal the whereabouts 
  of a truly mighty treasure of the Forgotten Realms. 
  Though some folk dismiss this prophecy as mere 
  invention devised to slow greedy Border rulers from 
  giving orders to mount, ride, and burn out “the 
  lawless river-straddling pestilence” once and for all, 
  the ballad in which the prophecy is preserved is very 
  old. So Oeble survives as a dangerous but very 
  interesting place to visit and shop, fitting the image 
  many outlanders have the Border Kingdoms—and 
  minding its reputation not a whit. 
   Oeble is known to be home to humans, half-elves, 
  half-orcs, orcs, goblins, drow, handfuls of halflings, 
  gnomes, kenku, dwarves—and all manner of 
  malformed outcasts. 
  Law and Order 
  “Everyone knows” Oeble is ruled by the Faceless 
  Master, a fat, short, raspy-voiced, always-masked 
  man whose hands bristle with rings said to harbor 
  fell magic. The Master is assisted by an advisory 
  
   
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  Council of Nine Merchants (a bickering, money-
  grubbing bunch whom the Faceless Master always 
  politely listens to and then largely ignores) and a 
  force of thirty-plus Gray Blades, a human and half-
  elven police force. Most Blades are outlaws from 
  elsewhere who enjoy the good pay, chances to 
  swagger, and the fringe benefits of good food, wine, 
  and ardent companionship laid on by their Master. 
  Like law enforcement in other corrupt cities, the 
  majority of Oeblar cordially dislikes the Blades. 
  Their employer may indulge the Gray Blades, but 
  they are very good at their jobs, including spying at 
  lofty windows, doing acrobatics, firing and catching 
  hostile crossbow bolts as if with magic-aided 
  deftness, and anticipating trouble before it actually 
  erupts. 
   The count of passing years makes it obvious to 
  anyone that the Faceless Master is either dead or has 
  become a title held by a succession of individuals. 
  The truth—known to very few—is that the Master 
  always seems to be a fat and rather short man with a 
  raspy voice, but only the original unsavory Master 
  really was; his four successors since have all been 
  women impersonating him. The first was the 
  Master’s chamber slave, a skillful ruler who chose 
  and trained her own successor from among the 
  young female street thieves of Oeble—a woman wise 
  enough to do the same thing when advancing age 
  enfeebled her. Most of the Master’s rings are now 
  fakes, not valuable, or have lost their magic—but not 
  all of them. 
   The current and fifth Master is Jhorunla Nalavurn 
  (CN Illuskan hf, a mastermind rogue), who is 
  devoted to Oeble, and maintaining its independence 
  and lawless “crossroads for all” nature; like all of her 
  predecessors, she is always on watch for plots by 
  other Border realms to raid or conquer the town. 
  She spends a lot of time and energy manipulating 
  mercenary bands and competent adventures to be 
  nearby and ready to defend Oeble—without actually 
  being paid to do so until they’re truly needed. The 
  Master accomplishes this by endless rumors, offers 
  of “little deals” that can be made only in Oeble, and 
  so on. She’s very good at this sort of intrigue, and 
  always has dozens of “plays” (by which she means 
  little gambits of intrigue, not stage performances) 
  going on at once. Previous Masters were forced to 
  play one Border realm against another to prevent 
  intended conquests of Oeble, but this threat has 
  faded in recent years, as nearby realms weakened or 
  turned their attention to more pressing concerns. 
  Nalavurn’s hobby is learning all she can about all, 
  powerful Oeblar—just in case the knowledge might 
  come in useful someday. She often gives adventurers 
  small spying missions to confirm or uncover just one 
  thing, but report back on all they see and overhear. 
   Nalavurn inherited a means of profit from her 
  predecessors: The Paeraddyn, a “safe” inn on the 
  southern edge of Oeble that sports a stable, bathing 
  house, gardens, minstrels’ bower, and a heavily-
  policed market all within its own walled compound. 
  Bodyguards can be hired from the management by 
  the hour, day, or night, and come in an impressive 
  array of deadly looking, over-equipped brutes, most 
  of them nigh eight feet tall and all of them bristling 
  with weapons. Some folks stay at “the Paer” out of 
  fear, some just to say they’ve been to Oeble, and 
  some (the best fences for any stolen jewels the good 
  citizens of Oeble just might have grown tired of, for 
  instance) for the extra measure of security it 
  provides. It’s also the handiest accommodations and 
  drinking-spot for livestock buyers and sellers and 
  caravan-masters making use of the largest, newest 
  paddocks. All profits from the Paer go into the 
  Faceless Master’s purse. 
  The Yuan-ti of Oeble 
  In the Underways of Oeble dwell a handful of yuan-ti 
  (serpentfolk) of a ssrath or lesser tribe of House 
  Eselemas. Over the last century their numbers have 
  dwindled thanks to the violence of rival serpentfolk, 
  and some unwise conflicts with other Oeblar who 
  proved more resourceful than the yuan-ti thought 
  they were. 
   The surviving serpentfolk have learned to keep 
  very low profiles, operating through human, half-orc, 
  and other intermediaries as much as they can. They 
  still traffic in slaves, shipping such “walking meat” 
  south to the Eselemas tribal lands in the southern 
  Black Jungles via Lushpool. They also deal in 
  mordayn powder, shipping it to agents across 
  Faerûn to further the schemes of House Eselemas. 
   The yuan-ti have been in Oeble for a century and a 
  half because of a two-way magical portal linking a 
  cul-de-sac of the Underways near the Talondance 
  (that they guard constantly) with the catacombs 
  under Adderposts, an infamous junk and pawnshop 
  in the town of Essembra in northern Battledale, that 
  stands just a few hundred feet south of the central 
  Battle Court (marshaling ground). Adderposts is 
  named for its odd and unmistakable spiral-
  serpentine-carved door pillars. This vast, dimly-lit 
  establishment is crammed with secondhand goods, 
  many of them stolen property, and is a regular stop 
  for peddlers and traders from northern Sembia 
  looking for unusual goods (or to unload “hot” 
  property), and to buy mordayn powder with which 
  to make the drug known as dreammist. 
   Long before the founding of Essembra, Adderposts 
  was the site of a minor sarrukh temple of 
  Sss’thasine’ss, and the catacombs beneath it still 
  hold several relics of that dark deity. After the fall of 
  Myth Drannor, a chance discovery of the long-buried 
  
   
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  sarrukh ruins led to the open establishment of a 
  surface temple of Sss’thasine’ss, in which the long-
  forgotten deity was venerated as a totem of 
  venomous creatures, including scorpions, snakes, 
  spiders, and the like. (Talona, the Lady of Poison, 
  secretly granted spells and guidance to this cult.) 
  The temple’s motto, “The Serpent Never Sleeps,” is 
  still uttered in Battledale, though its meaning has 
  been lost; it’s now understood to mean “the forces of 
  evil never rest.” The cult of Sss’thasine’ss faded away 
  within a few decades of its establishment, but the 
  temple, which had acquired its name of Adderposts, 
  was used for a succession of businesses (lumber 
  storage, trading in “forest beast” pelts and meats, 
  and a wagon-works) until it became the shady 
  manygoods shop it is been for more than a century 
  now. 
   The yuan-ti of Oeble are led by five elders who 
  hide behind the collective name of “the Cold Eyes.” 
  They agree on most things but carry on friendly 
  rivalries. One of the matters they agree upon is that 
  any adventurers co-opted by the Faceless Master 
  should be manipulated into thwarting what the 
  Master wants, and enriching the yuan-ti. 
  The Dead Cart 
  This massive, battered old conveyance carries 
  corpses, dung, and daily household rotting refuse out 
  of town for dumping in downwind middens. It’s been 
  owned and run by a succession of dirty and usually 
  ugly “gnarlbones” men, who have inherited the 
  “Treasure of Hulm.” Hulm Draeridge, founder of the 
  first, much smaller, and long-gone Dead Cart, was 
  wont to keep a finger, toe, or ear of each corpse he 
  “carted to the vultures: (or sold, no questions asked, 
  to necromancers, cultists, hags, or the truly hungry), 
  mummifying them in a cellar in case passing wizards 
  or priests wanted to buy such trophies. Whenever 
  Hulm knew what person a remnant belonged to, he 
  labeled it accordingly. Such purchases have been few, 
  and Hulm’s successors have continued the practice, 
  so the collection has grown. The current Gnarlbone  
   
   
  HALARGH 
  ORLUM 
   
  is a hulking, misshapen, extremely strong half-orc 
  named Halargh Orlum, who keeps thieves away from 
  his cellar by spreading grisly (but entirely fanciful—
  or are they?) tales of the Thumb Golem that guards it, 
  and can turn the thumbs of the living against their 
  owners, usually making them gouge out their own 
  eyes! Halargh can keep severed limbs from decaying 
  through a secret magical process he mastered from 
  old grimoires, and will attach them to himself as 
  replacements whenever he loses a limb. (Stored in 
  oil, they are animated, and behave like crawling 
  claws if disturbed; if he’s near, he can command 
  them as deftly as if they were attached to him.) 
   He long ago, as a precaution, plucked out one of 
  his own eyes (replacing it with a working but 
  mismatched eye from a man he murdered) and set it 
  into the head of a preserved-in-a-vat-of-oil human 
  body, to keep some of his life-force hidden away so 
  he’ll live on if ever slain—and this has happened 
  twice now, and worked each time: his sentience 
  awakens the body, he goes and retrieves whatever’s 
  left of himself, and anything intact enough to retain, 
  he grafts onto the preserved body so as to salvage as 
  much of Halargh Orlum as he can . . . and then he sets 
  about strangling someone so as to get a new “backup 
  body” for his oil vat. 
   In this manner, Halargh Orlum has become a 
  persistent fixture around Oeble, and a quiet, behind-
  the-scenes foe to anyone he feels has wronged him. 
  He makes steady coin hiding valuables (gems, deeds 
  and contracts, magic, and the like) in return for 
  rental fees, in among his animated spare limbs. 
  Ondeeme 
  Realm 
  Once a coastal land of small homesteads carved 
  laboriously out of a lush forest, Ondeeme was 
  transformed forever when the mage whose name it 
  bears founded his own kingdom there. Ondeeme was 
  a successful but restless wool-merchant (and secret 
  wizard) of Schamedar who in 1360 DR descended 
  without warning on Phaeradur (as the land was then 
  called), and viciously blasted everyone to ashes. 
  Everyone. 
   When there was no one left alive, he departed to 
  recruit his own servants as well as younglings in 
  Calimshan who desired magic and power of their 
  own, returning to found his new kingdom of 
  Ondeeme. 
   Under his iron rule (and the everpresent threat of 
  his magic), the forest was cleared with astonishing 
  speed and many sheep-farms established. As would-
  be mages and malcontents from all over Calimshan 
  began to arrive, Ondeeme lost no time in adopting 
  Calishite airs and fashions so his realm would lure 
  
   
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  the restless, lawless, and unwanted of Calimshan and 
  the Shining Sea coasts. 
   He succeeded in this all too well, finding his busy 
  hands full of an endless succession of deceitful 
  mages, doppelgangers, cruel slavers, smugglers, and 
  thieves looking to establish new thieving-guild 
  chapters in his “Echo of Calimshan.” Vicious street-
  battles and covert murders occurred daily, chaos 
  reigned—and Ondeeme went into hiding to modify 
  an ancient spell he had found (that he had planned 
  to work on leisurely for years). It became his 
  bloodmage charm spell, enabling the caster to 
  mentally control any creature whose blood could be 
  procured for the casting: a spell that could be 
  combined with multiple castings of itself to form a 
  large web of control over a dozen or more beings, if 
  the caster could withstand the mental strain. 
  Ondeeme successfully used the spell to control 
  eleven human mages. Treated well and ruled lightly, 
  they became his nobility and war-officers, as he 
  moved ruthlessly (late in 1362 DR) to reestablish his 
  rule over the battleground of thugs Ondeeme had 
  become. 
   Ondeeme’s controlled Calishite wizards were 
  called “the Slee” by Ondeemans (derived from a 
  merchant’s bitter observation that they were “the 
  darkness in Ondeeme’s sleeves”). In descending rank, 
  they included three Samphanars (masters of castles 
  or towns); four Oedellars (roving “spell-captains”), 
  and four Nictars (expendable servitor mages, 
  crawlingly ambitious and endlessly energetic; many 
  of these were killed and replaced in the struggle to 
  control Ondeeme). 
   Under the Slee-reinforced rule of Ondeeme the 
  Mage-King, open lawlessness came to a swift end. 
  Stability brought trade and increased prosperity. As 
  the influence of the young, haughty realm of 
  Ondeeme spread, distant eyes and ears turned its 
  way, and agents of sinister cabals hungry for power 
  began to appear in the streets of Blackalblade, its 
  capitol {see Blackalblade entry}. This interest caught 
  fire in 1368 DR when the Mage-King announced the 
  creation of his own school of wizardry, Tethtannar, 
  atop the craggy hill of that name north of 
  BlackalbIade. 
   Someone or something of great magical power 
  attacked in the winter of early 1369 DR, destroying 
  Tethtannar in nightlong spellbattle that set the sky 
  afire. The blazing beams of the shattered school had 
  barely tumbled to earth before rumors swept the 
  realm that the Mage-King was dead, and all his 
  students with him. Some said the Slee had also 
  perished, but others insisted they had rebelled 
  against their master, subverted by Red Wizards of 
  Thay or other, unknown powers—or acting on their 
  own behalf for the first time after breaking 
  Ondeeme’s spell-thrall. The “Night of Doom” has 
  been blamed on something dark and mysterious 
  known as the Night Parade, on various powerful 
  Calishite wizards, and even on various offended gods. 
   All that’s certain is that Tethtannar remains in 
  ruins, King Ondeeme has not been seen since, and all 
  of the Slee vanished that night and stayed unseen for 
  months. During the “Months Without Magic,” 
  emboldened merchants of Blackalblade hired 
  mercenaries to keep order, and managed to cow the 
  surviving Swords into obedience. Power struggles 
  began, but the realm remained surprisingly calm. 
  Courted by the ruling merchants, other wizards 
  began to settle in Ondeeme. Two of these were 
  Jarorthlan of Sheirtalar and Ondalus of Calimport, 
  both of whom took houses in Blackalblade provided 
  by the merchants’ council and were named Lords of 
  the Empty Throne. Much to their discomfort, the Slee 
  reappeared before the year was half over, simply 
  striding into Ondeemans’ and the other Swords’ 
  holds of the realm one morning as if they had never 
  been away. 
   The realm was abuzz. Were these truly the Slee . . . 
  or disguised Red Wizards or Zhentarim (or . . .?) 
  who’d taken the shapes of the Slee? If so, why? 
   And what of the Mage-King? Was he dead? Who 
  ruled the Slee? Or had Tethtannar been a ploy to lure 
  wizards so Ondeeme could easily destroy them, and 
  the Months Without Magic a way to get prominent 
  Ondeemans to step forward so they could be easily 
  identified and slain or magically controlled? 
   The Slee killed any who dared to ask them about 
  the Mage-King or Tethtannar or their absence, the 
  Lords of the Empty Throne didn’t dare emerge from 
  their palatial homes, and Ondeeme held its collective 
  breath, watching and waiting for magical doom—
  and worse. 
   The Slee seemed stronger in their magic, as if 
  changed. They sent swords racing around the land as 
  if invasions were imminent, and seemed driven by a 
  dark and onrushing fate only they could see, as at the 
  heart of it all, Blackalblade sat in a tense calm, 
  mirroring the decadent fashions of Calimshan. 
  Adventuring bands began to sidle into Blackalblade, 
  and rumors flew like storm-driven dragons. Then 
  came news of the discovery of an extensive ancient 
  underground tomb a-crawl with magically animated 
  guardians on a southern Ondeeman sheep farm; had 
  the Mage-King founded his realm here because of 
  this great buried power—and possibly more magic 
  Ondeemans knew nothing of? Fear could almost be 
  smelled in Ondeeme as everyone awaited answers. 
   That never came. One morning the Slee simply 
  vanished again, and so did the Lords of the Empty 
  Throne, no one seeing them depart. They left the 
  sheep farm tomb unexplored and the realm 
  ungoverned. 
  
   
  72 
   And so it has remained, avoided by many mages 
  down the years since for fear they’ll be set upon by 
  angry Ondeemans, or by the Slee coming suddenly 
  out of hiding again—or by whatever destroyed the 
  Slee and the Lords of the Empty Throne. 
   And if any Ondeeman knows what that 
  mageslaying force or being is, they’re not saying. 
  Oparl 
  Small Town 
  Oparl was once a town in the heart of Bedorn 
  consisting of sixty large walled Calishite mansions 
  with private stables and gardens, all clustered atop 
  four high hills, and so commanding good views of the 
  rest of Bedorn—and anyone approaching Oparl. It 
  was the private country retreat of the Mighty High of 
  Oparl, wealthy Calishites with private armies of 
  guards, who kept to themselves and wanted no 
  visitors. 
   Nowaways, Oparl is far more ramshackle. The 
  mansions were always of dubious construction, 
  sagging or shedding stone adornments or even 
  collapsing in places, but the strife following the 
  tumult of the coming of the Spellplague drove many 
  of their owners to relocate, taking their bodyguards 
  with them, and lawlessness came to Oparl. 
   Many of the departing Mighty High saw taking 
  their charmed or trained guardian monsters with 
  them as far too much trouble, and simply loosed the 
  beasts to prowl for food, creating local mayhem. 
   Most of the remaining Oparlans were carpenters, 
  waterjacks (plumbers), roofers, and gardeners 
  who’d been kept busy expanding and rebuilding the 
  mansions, both to effect necessary repairs and into 
  make the structures ever grander and gaudier. When 
  the exodus of wealthy mansion owners gathered 
  speed, some of these remaining inhabitants seized 
  the abandoned private palaces and turned them into 
  rooming houses, with themselves as landlords. 
  Disputes led to some houses being torn down, and 
  the materials reused to make far more modest 
  “cottars” (cottages or shacks) downslope (that is, on 
  the lower ground between the hills). 
   There are the inevitable local tales of treasure left 
  behind by the departing wealthy, but these seem 
  more wishful thinking than likely reality—though 
  there are mansion cellars still held by monsters and 
  thus unexplored, and some of the outcasts and 
  fugitives from elsewhere who’ve come to Oparl to 
  rent accommodations may well have brought 
  treasures, and hidden them near where they now 
  dwell. 
   Oparl never had a lord, a Watch, nor an inn, tavern, 
  eatery or shop. Now it has one sprawling 
  establishment that does all of those things: a half-
  ruined mansion (with many roofless, abandoned 
  wings, but a front core of repaired and inhabited 
  rooms) known as Flandarr’s Fair Prospect; Flandarr 
  has dubbed himself “Lord of Oparl” as a sort of joke, 
  because he runs the Prospect as an inn, eatery with 
  ale and a smattering of wines available, makes the 
  rules, and has outfitted three men with weapons and 
  armor to keep the peace; they mainly police the 
  Prospect, its stables, and the yard around, but they 
  are all the law there is in Oparl. 
   Although nature is reclaiming many of the gardens, 
  meadows, and abandoned mansions, everything in 
  the old, grand Oparl of a century ago was reshaped 
  from nature; no matter how “ruined” a feature may 
  have appeared back then, it had been built that way, 
  with many “wild” shrubberies concealing 
  pumphouses or privies; almost every tall tree back 
  then was planted, moved, or left where it had grown 
  so as to frame, rather than block, a pleasing window-
  view. There were service tunnels to link mansions 
  with trash-storage cellars or pits, to spare the Mighty 
  High from seeing servants carrying refuse; some of 
  these cellars likely still contain marred or broken 
  once-fine furnishings. There was also a common 
  sewer network (streams were pumped to fountains 
  and bathing-pools in each house, before being used 
  to flush garderobes away); in its dark, wet reek are 
  still a few functioning float alarms (string-tethered 
  bladders suspended below the water surface, in 
  patterns intruders can’t help but disturb, causing 
  alarm-gongs to chime that sound off eerily from time 
  to time. 
   Many mansions had guardian monsters, and it’s 
  been said at MageFairs that Oparl in the 1350s DR 
  probably contained more animated guardians and 
  magic items than any other settlement in all of 
  Faerûn. Some mansions had private chapels with 
  resident clergy, and some were adorned with 
  gargoyles of the monstrous sort, that she sent flying 
  to tear apart unwanted intruders. Powerful spells 
  inhibited fires in many mansions, and the outer 
  fringes of most mansion grounds were liberally 
  furnished with alarms, traps, or both. A few mansion 
  owners collected dangerous beasts and thought it 
  sporting to let them prowl the grounds, devouring 
  intruders. At least one Oparlan mansion had a spell-
  confined vampire roaming its gardens, who liked to 
  seduce handsome intruders before she slew them, 
  and over time built herself a small legion of vampire 
  spawn who do her bidding. The grounds of another 
  house contain unmarked, one-way portals to various 
  unsavory “elsewheres,” awaiting the unwary who 
  lack protective finger-rings that prevent the portals 
  from functioning. Many of these features may yet 
  survive. 
   To avoid prowling monsters, some wayfarers have 
  taken to camping not in Oparl, but in the first hollow 
  
   
  73 
  along the lane north out of town, where there’s a 
  stream of drinkable water. 
   Persistent Border rumors concern this or that 
  fugitive from justice, kidnapped individual, or 
  someone pursued by foes fleeing to Oparl and hiding 
  out in its ruined and abandoned mansions. If all 
  these tales were true, Oparl would be a sizeable city, 
  not a dwindling town, but then, all those monsters 
  have to eat something. 
  Owlhold 
  Realm 
  Since the loss of Bloutar to the neighboring Barony 
  of Blacksaddle, there’s been nothing approaching 
  even a hamlet in the little-known land of Owlhold. 
  Almost as thickly wooded as the Qurth Forest it was 
  once part of, Owlhold is a rolling, many-ridged land 
  of hedges, vines, hanging moss, and ever-present 
  shade. The air is damp, and nameless lanes twist and 
  turn, leading the traveler astray. Tales are told of 
  caravans swallowed and lost forever in the green, 
  tangled heart of Owlhold—and at least two such 
  tales are true; bogs and brigands are the real perils 
  of Owlhold. 
  The Owlen 
  The Owlen are quiet folk who live with the land 
  rather than endlessly striving to conquer it. They are 
  adept at melting away from needless trouble. Many 
  an aggressive band of outlanders has entered an 
  Owlen home in search of food, shelter, or 
  directions—only to find it deserted, snuffed candles 
  still smoldering and back door standing open. The 
  homesteaders haven’t gone far; anyone foolish 
  enough to pillage, vandalize, or set fires will taste 
  swift, plentiful, and deadly arrows from the trees. 
   Elves, half-elves, and outlaws are plentiful in 
  Owlhold—as are owls, who hunt small scurrying 
  creatures that are locally very plentiful because 
  Owlen don’t kill them to protect farm crops. 
  “Farming” to Owlen is gathering medicinal mosses 
  and herbs, and berries for the making of throat-
  scorching wines, and selling the results to the few 
  traders who venture into Owlhold. 
  Owlen History 
  Thousands of years ago, Owlhold was the heart of 
  Oelerhode, a gnome kingdom that grew proud and 
  foolish. Domed stone houses were built and rebuilt, 
  rising aver higher above conical stone waymarkers 
  and walled gardens. The Oeler gnomes pushed back 
  the forest with almost as much vigor as they 
  tunneled the earth after plentiful gems. Then orcs 
  came, roaring south in an endless flood of blood-
  drenched blades and roaring cruelty. They swept 
  over Oelerhode and left it a shattered, plundered 
  open grave, abandoned to vultures and carrion-
  beasts. The forest swiftly reclaimed it, burying 
  shattered domes and fallen waycones as it cloaked 
  everything in green growing things, obliterating 
  proud gnome-work (and hiding cellars full of Oeler 
  riches—some of which are known to Owlen as safe 
  hiding or storage places, or see use as playgrounds 
  for their children) with seeming eagerness. 
  Powerful Inhabitants 
  Brigand and adventurer intrusions stir Owlen to call 
  on the mightiest among them: outlawed 
  adventurers; a handful of renegade wizards who 
  dwell here in seclusion to study and experiment 
  (often using roofless gnome granary-caverns as 
  spell-hurling chambers), and undead (such as 
  Ongolym Nlerreth, a disintegrating archlich driven 
  mad by the Spellplague who commands unique and 
  mighty spells, flying golems, and a four-person 
  Netherese airship; and Baeremyl Clathaderra, a 
  watchghost who owns nine magic swords forged for 
  the heroes of long-fallen Helbrester (a city that once 
  flourished, rich and proud, before the Nelanther was 
  pirate-infested, and now lies beneath the waves of 
  the Sea of Swords) she likes to see used in battle 
  from time to time. She’ll lend them to adventurers 
  for use in a specific combat, but can animate any of 
  the blades to fly by itself, and threaten anyone who 
  fails to return a blade she has lent. Magic rings and 
  rods float inside her ghostly body, flickering and 
  pulsing when awakened to fill her with swirling 
  sparks, and by some eldritch magic she can cause 
  their powers to flow to her fingertips and mouth, to 
  burst forth at her command. 
  For the Wayfarer 
  Maps of the Border Kingdoms show the major roads 
  crossing Owlhold, but these are wildly inaccurate, 
  often omitting the twists and even crossing-
  themselves loops the real routes make. Owlhold is 
  unknown territory; even most lifelong Owlen know 
  only a small area intimately, and the courses of a few 
  streams and rivers (which are the trails one can’t get 
  lost on) well. 
   The road between Oeble and Bloutar (known 
  locally as the Green Road) skirts Owlhold proper, 
  and it is readily and openly traveled. The perilous 
  winding way on which travelers can too easily get 
  lost is the Bowshot, linking the midpoint of the 
  Green Road with Longcrag Ride, the route between 
  Talduth Vale and Beldargan. Proper inns stand at 
  both ends of the Bowshot, where it meets the other 
  roads. 
   At its north end is The Four Stags 
  (Good/Expensive), a bustling place (with sizzling, 
  spits-of-meat-crowded hearths at either end of a 
  
   
  74 
  long and usually crowded common room, and sheds 
  where secure “long stalls” can be rented for an intact 
  team and eagon to be driven into, settled for the 
  night, then driven out the other end of, come 
  morning) where Owlen come to trade goods with 
  passing merchants, hire companionship, and see all 
  they desire of the wider world. 
   Owlen seeking to meet not outlanders but each 
  other seek The Griffon Aflame at the south end of the 
  Bowshot (for details of it and locales along the 
  Bowshot, see the Bowshot entry}. 
   Owlhold today lacks a ruler, a blazon, formal laws, 
  or anyone to keep law and order; Owlen look after 
  themselves, and tend to simply melt away into the 
  forest when faced with armed aggression. As one 
  adventurer once put it, “There’s nothing to invade 
  there, let alone conquer or stay for—except 
  seclusion and privacy.” 
  Qurth Forest 
  The second largest wood in the Border Kingdoms 
  (after the Duskwood), Qurth Forest is known to be a 
  place where more than a few adventurers and avid 
  stag-hunters have ventured into . . . and never come 
  out of. The gloomy, unmapped depths of its 
  duskwoods, oaks, and shadowtops guard secrets—
  and dangers—whispered of throughout the Borders. 
   Outlanders who try to find their own ways though 
  Qurth often become lost; the use of local guides is 
  essential. A few paths wander from Bloutar {see the 
  entry for Bloutar} into the heart of Qurth Forest 
  through reaches roamed by korred and intelligent 
  fungi; it’s said these trails end at ruined, overgrown 
  cities. Bloutarran guides do a brisk trade 
  accompanying wise adventurers, hunters, and 
  gleaners of rare woods into “Old Gloom.” Borderers 
  have long suspected Bloutarrans put traps on the 
  trails and allow certain monsters to flourish—
  perhaps including the fabled deepspawn, disgorging 
  an endless flood of stags so every Bloutarran stag-
  hunt can be a success. Bloutarran foresters do a 
  brisk trade in Qurth pelts, antlers, hide, and smoked 
  “forest beast meats” year-round. 
   Qurth is old and thickly grown, its deep stands 
  cloaking hills and deep gullies in an endless damp 
  shade where fungi glow and flicker, unseen things 
  watch and slither, and owlbears, furtive myconids, 
  and aggressive wild boar lurk. Its outer verges are 
  choked with trap-webs spun by many spiders, some 
  led by ettercaps. In its seldom-seen depths, giant 
  slugs roam at least one overgrown, abandoned keep 
  and two lost cities. One of the ruined cities must be 
  the once-proud and wealthy Hawklyn (once a city of 
  arms, armorers, and mercenaries, where the King of 
  Battles, Aramaun Klelder, once held court; now, 
  monsters—including nagas—are said to roam its 
  deep cellars and crumbling halls). The keep might be 
  Starth Keep, where many gems cut by the fabled 
  Starth family may lie strewn and long-forgotten 
  under tree-roots. 
   The Spellplague brought with it a prolonged 
  drought, and parts of the forest dried out, died, and 
  burned in lightning-caused fires, until they became 
  near-desert, but after several decades, the 
  customary wet weather returned, bolstering the two 
  rivers (the Scelptar and the Starth) that rise in the 
  depths of the Qurth. These days, much of Qurth 
  Forest is again so thick as to be nigh impassable. 
   It’s said around the Borders that a Calishite 
  sorcerer long ago cursed a ruler in the Qurth that 
  monsters would overrun his realm, which is why 
  dangerous beasts are so plentiful as to make hunting 
  dangerous, and woodcutting so perilous that no one 
  dares to hew new farms out of the edges of this wild 
  woodland. 
  Raundawn Hills 
  An unmapped area of low, grass-covered hills 
  northwest of Blackalblade, “the Raundawn” are the 
  source of much of that city’s prosperity. The hills are 
  of soft and varied rocks overlaid by thick topsoil, and 
  are now tunneled with old mine-workings and pits 
  due to the many veins of gem-bearing rock that run 
  from near the surface down into the deeper 
  Underdark, most of them curving from northerly 
  runs around to northeasternly as they descend.  
   The hills are home to some stubborn prospectors 
  (who’ve had to become hardened fighters who make 
  daily use of concealed dwellings and traps, and in 
  most cases become brigands preying on anyone 
  happening by or coming to seek the fabled gems) 
  just to survive. Over the years, leucrotta and other 
  opportunistic monsters have come to the hills, and 
  still do from time to time, and the meager ranks of 
  the prospectors have been infiltrated by 
  doppelgangers who try to slay and impersonate 
  visiting gem-seekers. 
   The hills themselves have been dug over so often 
  that the soil is unstable, much given to landslips 
  (only in a rare handful of spots are the slopes steep 
  and high enough for landslides to take place) and 
  rapid, easy digging. The easily-gleaned surface 
  gemstones are all gone, but much remains that is 
  deeper, often accessed by extending the labyrinth of 
  unstable (much given to cave-ins) old mining 
  tunnels downwards. Monsters lurk in the tunnels, 
  and are increasingly roaming up from the deeper 
  Underdark below, in search of food (in the form of 
  miners). Most of the gems gleaned from the 
  Raundawn Hills these days are amethysts, agates, 
  malachite, turquoises, and (deeper, exclusively) 
  emeralds. 
  
   
  75 
  The Realm  
  of the Mount  
  Realm 
  The wooded ridges and uplands east of Jundarwood 
  are dominated by an actively volcanic wooded ridge 
  known as “the Mount,” tightly-patrolled highlands 
  that have for centuries been one of the most 
  secretive Border Kingdoms. 
   Though the highlands seem almost deserted 
  wilderness—the only signs of habitation are a few 
  muddy trails, small paddocks of sheep and goats 
  amid the trees, and the occasional log cabin elevated 
  on timber cribs—intruders will be challenged by 
  patrols who savagely attack everyone except Tomb 
  Holders (landowners of the realm); traveling 
  merchants who keep to certain camping-places, 
  markets, and trails; or dwarves seeking to rent 
  forging time. Intruders bearing magic items will be 
  attacked with particular fury; those trying to parley 
  for admittance will be surrounded by a ring of at 
  least three patrols (the Realm can muster more than 
  twenty) while an Overduke is summoned to decide 
  their fate. 
   A Mount patrol consists of three dragonborn: a 
  Hawklar (leader) and two Sturklars. These officers 
  magically command six gargoyles and two 
  “deathwings” (undead winged owlbears animated by 
  the Dread King), and are accompanied by one to four 
  flying snakes as “eyes” (spies) to watch patrol 
  encounters from afar, fleeing to summon other 
  patrols if need be. Hawklars often carry additional 
  flying snakes in back-pouches, for unleashing in 
  tough fights. If all dragonborn in a patrol perish, 
  surviving gargoyles and deathwings are freed to 
  attack all creatures nearby. 
  Mount History 
  Thanks to its volcanism, the Realm of the Mount was 
  in elder days nameless, monster-roamed wilderland, 
  shunned by elves (whose arrows kept away 
  interested dwarves and gnomes). The wizard 
  Xavander Relurvor of Ravens Bluff found it by 
  chance in 1319 DR, when his kin were determined to 
  retain the sizable portion of the Bluff’s treasury that 
  Xavander’s older brother, Ormalin, had managed to 
  embezzle. 
   Xavander saw that the Mount’s hot rifts could 
  swiftly melt easily traced trade-bars and coins into 
  lumps of silver and gold from which he could mint 
  replica coins of Amn and Calimshari to secure the 
  family fortunes and pay for his own arcane schooling. 
  So the Relurvors “died” in a house fire and due to 
  various diseases, in reality slipping away south, one 
  by one, to their new realm. Ormalin and Xavander 
  argued furiously over what this bright new land 
  should be like—until Ormalin somehow fell into a 
  lava rift, his desires of castles, bustling cities, pomp, 
  and worldwide importance dying with him. 
   Xavander the Great ruthlessly established the 
  realm as it is today: a seeming wilderness lacking 
  towers, good roads, or even much cleared farmland, 
  where secrets reign and everyone is part of a 
  hierarchy. For fees, the Relurvors quietly sold 
  suitable Ravenaar territory in “a hidden land,” to 
  serve as a refuge. As troubled tunes beset Ravens 
  Bluff, word spread of “The Land of Tombs” where 
  loved ones could be laid to rest in pastoral beauty 
  (the Relurvor cover story), and many Ravenaar 
  settled in the Realm. One was a wizard more 
  powerful than Xavander, who slew “the King of the 
  Mount” when Xavander tried to swindle him. 
   Xavander’s son became Tholander the Mighty, 
  First Lord-Emperor of the Mount. Tholander was a 
  magnificent blustering giant of a man with great 
  charisma, a mellifluous voice, and just enough wits 
  to know he was hopeless at running anything or 
  matching wits with anyone. He hired some of the 
  nastiest Ravenaar and gave them wealth and titles 
  (such as “Grand Duke Most Awesome Belborst of the 
  Gilded Banners”), in return for ruling the Mount 
  from behind the scenes and preparing Helemvo, his 
  most promising son, for rule. They did—and that 
  keen-witted, cruel lad rewarded them by poisoning 
  them and most of his siblings when Tholander took 
  to his deathbed. Upon his ascension, Helemvo the 
  Peerless coldly and calmly set about improving the 
  security of his kingdom. 
   First, the “Dread King” murdered several wealthy 
  Tomb Holders. With their wealth he bought minor 
  items of magic, and with these lured dragonborn to 
  his service, using powerful spells to bind and 
  empower them to command gargoyles and undead 
  owlbears of his making. He set patrols of these 
  minions to guarding the Mount, and made a handful 
  of weak but shrewd underlings into “Overdukes of 
  the Mount.” There are usually seven Overdukes; 
  Helemvo elevates replacements whenever treachery 
  or incompetence force him to slaughter one. The 
  Overdukes are served by Harcounts, who do any real 
  work (fetching, delivering messages, signing 
  documents, retrieving and keeping records) in 
  addition to keeping watch over each Overduke for 
  the Dread King. Most Overdukes and Harcounts 
  cordially hate each other; and the Dread King often 
  shuffles them into different pairings to prevent 
  friendships from developing. The King usually has 
  nine or so Harcounts and two Bannerlords (his 
  personal messengers, who outrank Harcounts and 
  Hawklars, but not Overdukes). 
   Helemvo’s kingdom is a storage cache for 
  Ravenaar wealth (especially things its Tomb Holders 
  
   
  76 
  don’t want publicly seen, such as stolen goods, 
  kidnapped rivals, or family members hiding from 
  justice or foes). Tomb Holders pay six thousand gold 
  pieces annually per “tomb” (storage cairn) they 
  possess, toward the common guardianship of the 
  realm. Mount cairns are usually covered with 
  overgrowth to escape notice from afar. Their 
  concealed tunnel entrances lead to a few rough 
  living or storage rooms, and sometimes an 
  emergency crawl-tunnel “back way” entrance. Every 
  Holder is free to furnish and use their cairn however 
  they see fit, establishing their own traps, staff, and 
  guardians (golems, crawling claws, dread warriors, 
  and monster skeletons are popular). 
   Local volcanism hasn’t included any recent 
  eruptions, though “grumble-thunder” earth tremors 
  are common. Visitors will notice that homes are 
  elevated (caves and cellars are almost unknown), the 
  air often stinks of sulfur, and in many hollows hot 
  springs bubble or steaming vapors rise from fissures. 
  (Locations of rifts suitable for melting or forging are 
  kept secret.) 
  The Way of 
  Screaming Swords 
  The Dread King maintains firm personal control over 
  “the Way of Screaming Swords,” the one-user-at-a-
  time portal link between the Realm of the Mount and 
  Ravens Bluff. The Mount end is at Hool, in the 
  Founder’s (Xavander’s) ruined mansion, and 
  functions automatically, transporting any creature 
  stepping on a particular stone. The ruin is crowded 
  with stone golems and other constructs that obey 
  the Dread King; unless activated, they look like 
  broken stone pillars or heaps of stone. Five large, 
  floating disembodied eyes (human-seeming, but as 
  large as wagons) fly about the ruins, gazing and 
  moving wherever Helemvo directs and transmitting 
  what they see to him. They can emit spells he casts 
  into them from afar. In Ravens Bluff, the Way opens 
  into a back alley behind a disused, rotting rooming 
  house in Bitterstone in the Harbor District. Its 
  precise location is the second (when moving north) 
  diamond-shaped flagstone amid the weeds and 
  rubble, in the lee of an old coaching shed; it functions 
  only for beings standing on this stone while saying 
  “All Praise Xavander.” 
   Magic cast on either portal terminus will cause it 
  to emit the Screaming Swords, four sword-shaped 
  “flying needles” of magical force (and this will also 
  occur ig any being whom Helemvo has previously 
  touched and designated a “foe” approathes within 
  120 feet of either portal). These flying needles give 
  off a pale white glow, swoop with great alacrity 
  (speed fly 80 ft. with deft maneuverability), strike 
  once per round: ranged weapon +12 to hit, reach 5 
  ft., one target, hit: melee touch, 2d4 force damage); 
  they “fade away” the moment they have struck the 
  same target twice, or when there’s no longer a foe 
  within 120 feet of the portal that spawned them. 
  Anyone “successfully” grappling or trying to grasp a 
  screaming sword takes damage as if successfully 
  attacked by the blade, as it passes “through” them 
  and retains its freedom. 
   These flying blades are known as “screaming 
  swords” for the high-pitched wailing sound they 
  generate. Their attacks affect only flesh and life force, 
  not clothing, armor, or items. Any foe ducking 
  through the portal to escape them will suffer damage 
  from the portal itself equal to two full-damage 
  screaming sword attacks in the instant of traversing 
  the Way. (The Way will successfully detect 
  designated foes even if shapechanged or disguised.) 
  The Dread King 
  In life, Helemvo Relurvor was a NE male Damaran 
  human wizard, a small, balding, dour and paranoid 
  man with glittering black eyes. The Spellplague 
  transformed him horribly into a sort of “living spell” 
  undead; he persists as a gray, smokelike mist that 
  can only solidify into hovering human-like form to 
  speak and cast spells for 4d4 minutes a day (and 
  only 2d4 minutes at a time), though he can shape his 
  mist-form sufficiently to form limbs and gesture, all 
  the time. 
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
  DREAD 
  KING 
  HELEMVO 
  
   
  77 
   Helemvo now trusts no living creature, and has 
  contact with as few of them as he can manage. He 
  spends most of his time in hiding near his lofty 
  personal throne room where his Bannerlords hasten 
  to find him. He often magically spies on, or into the 
  mind of, anyone in his realm; his chief fears are of 
  illithids or powerful wizards destroying 
  overthrowing him, and he’ll move swiftly to use 
  contact poisons, “accidents,” and massed patrol 
  attacks to eliminate all such threats. He never forgets 
  anyone who’s crossed him, but nowadays never 
  reaches out beyond the borders of his realm to do 
  anything to foes. 
   The Dread King dislikes face-to-face combat or 
  even confrontation, preferring to work obliquely or 
  through underlings whenever possible. He’s adept at 
  vanishing when foes seek him, and if hunted, will 
  magically transform innocent humans into false 
  duplicates of himself, to die in his place. Helemvo is 
  currently seeking magic items that will allow him to 
  scry wider Faerûn often. He spends much of his time 
  scheming to acquire ever more magic and riches, in 
  ways that won’t attract too much attention to his 
  realm’s existence. 
   Quurlanxlam {see The Night Arrow, at the end of 
  this file} keeps watch over the Dread King, but he is 
  thus far unaware of its existence—both thanks to 
  spells it’s devised that subvert the minds of flying 
  snakes to its command whenever they get too close. 
  Particulars of the Realm 
  The Realm of the Mount has never had any inns or 
  taverns, and welcomes no visitors. Merchants and 
  dwarves seeking access to forging vents are 
  tolerated, and given the temporary use of market 
  stalls and camping-caverns; it’s understood they will 
  be spied upon at all times, and they are sternly told 
  to keep to the trails and “not to wander” upon pain 
  of death. 
   The Realm wants fresh foods, small sundries 
  (tools, crockery, clothing, and other everyday items), 
  and pays for them with the coins merchants and 
  dwarves pay their rents with; it exports nothing in 
  reliable quantities. It can muster an army of some 
  ninety armed and trained dragonborn, has a resident 
  population of several hundred farmers (who are 
  employed on a casual-task basis for servant-work to 
  Tomb holders, and on road and bridge maintenance), 
  and rarely uses its blazon, which is the badge of the 
  Relurvor family: a black diamond, navette or 
  marquise-cut and displayed with long points 
  horizontal, above a tied sheaf of golden wheat, stalks 
  to the viewer’s left and heads facing to the viewer’s 
  right. 
  Realm of the 
  Ready Sword 
  Realm 
  Lying like a long, meandering swordbelt along the 
  southern edge of the dense forest of Duskwood, this 
  land is one of the most lawless and chaotic 
  territories anywhere in Faerûn. Long kingless, this 
  realm is home to brigands, misfits, and monsters of 
  all sorts. 
   Caravans still use the Realm of the Ready Sword as 
  a preferred fast route between the Shining Sea and 
  the Golden Road thanks to the Crown Blades, whose 
  parents were once the armored knights of the last 
  king, Harlakh Doroaver, The King of Swords. Now, 
  they hire themselves out as mounted escorts to any 
  caravan-master prudent enough to engage them, 
  riding in full plate from their bases, the “castles” 
  (small, defensible stone fortresses) of The Keep of 
  the Crows in the west, Aldersund in the east, and 
  Graaltower near the midpoint of the trade-road. 
   The Realm of the Ready Sword is a long, pleasant 
  valley between the cliffs that form the edge of the 
  high plateau of the Shaar on the south and 
  Duskwood to the north. It has always been enriched 
  by caravans traversing the region—and has always 
  suffered fierce raids from the nomads of the Shaar. 
  This strife gave the realm its name and winnowed its 
  folk to the hardy few willing and able to defend 
  themselves, such as semi-retired mercenaries and 
  outlaws, particularly orcs, half-orcs, ettins, 
  hobgoblins, gnolls, flind, and others not welcome 
  elsewhere. Ready Sworders are always ready for 
  war. 
   The realm holds no cities or towns, but has many 
  small streams and ponds, a few caves and simple 
  stone cottages (most are abandoned, and were built 
  with sod roofs and dug into hillsides for 
  concealment; now overgrown, they can be difficult 
  to spot) and many small, fortified keeps. These 
  fortress homes lack low windows or doors (ladders 
  are often required for access, with portcullis-gates 
  guarding wagon- or horse-entrances). Most have 
  turrets, and all have stone walls enclosing a garden 
  or orchard, a stone smokehouse or barn, and a stable 
  (often with guest rooms above the stalls). All of 
  these little fortresses are built over wells, most are 
  home to several families, and a few also function as 
  inns. 
   “Upland” from (north of) the trade-road are 
  secretive dells outlanders seldom see, winding trails 
  leading to quarried, woodcutting groves, and 
  granary-caverns, where the fiery drink called 
  “smokewine” is made and boar herds are 
  slaughtered and smoked. Travelers are warned that 
  
   
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  many deadly traps surround the boar fields because 
  traditionally raids from the Shaar headed straight 
  for them. 
   The closest thing this realm has to an army is the 
  Crown Blades, who dispense justice as they see fit 
  and largely ignore anything not occurring on or near 
  the trade-road. It has no written laws, and Ready 
  Sworders understand they must fend for 
  themselves; since the death of the King of Swords, 
  who watched over his populace as if they were all 
  his own cherished children, there’s been no one to 
  rule—but thankfully, no rivals have fought each 
  other or despiled the kingdom vying to be king, 
  either. 
   Roadside taverns are wagons that move about 
  often, sometimes accompanying caravans on the 
  move, inns are few and far between and most 
  travelers camp out through necessity, and the only 
  amenities are camping clearings with latrines, and 
  covered-with-sheds wells, maintained at regular 
  intervals along the trade-road. 
   The blazon of the realm is a vertical drawn silver-
  gray longsword, point uppermost, bisecting a brown 
  side-on, eight-spoke wagon wheel (depicted so no 
  spokes are vertical and thus hidden behind the 
  sword). 
  Shandolphyn’s Reach  
  Realm 
  Once a well-policed, verdant farmland realm of 
  winding lanes, many ponds, and small freehold 
  farms separated by stump and boulder hedges, “the 
  Reach” (despite tales to the contrary) was founded 
  by the adventurer Raedrarra Shandolphyn, and its 
  name referred to the reach of her justice, policed by 
  the remnants of her adventuring band, who became 
  the Riders of the Reach, or police of the realm. 
   That was a little less than two centuries ago, and 
  for the last sixty years there have been no Riders, or 
  any ruler at all. The Reach was one of the lands 
  devastated in the Sundering; all sorts of hungry, 
  frightened, aggressive monsters roamed the land in 
  great numbers, and all farmers who couldn’t or 
  wouldn’t flee in time perished. 
   Yet so lush were the crops of the Reach, even 
  untended, that when the Sundering was over folk 
  came looking to see if anything could be salvaged 
  from the orchards, and found the overgrown farms 
  so choked with edibles (and small edible creatures 
  feasting on them) that they resettled farm after farm, 
  fought the beasts, and refounded the Reach. Today, 
  this is a land awash in food and exporting 
  wagonloads of it to the hungry mouths of Derlusk. 
  Granaries and pickling cellars have been dug into 
  hillsides and kept full, nigh every farm is prosperous, 
  and the only wants are for new tools and wagons to 
  replace those that wear away through overuse. 
   An informal council of a dozen of the wealthiest 
  farmers hires adventuring bands in Derlusk 
  whenever defenders are needed, always in pairs: 
  one band to be the muscle, and a second band to 
  make sure the first band doesn’t decide to stay in the 
  Reach and try to establish themselves as rulers. The 
  farmers want no overlords. 
   Over the years, they’ve developed friendships and 
  a measure of trust in some of the bands they’ve hired, 
  whose members buy shares in the farms of the 
  Reach and sometimes retire there; these “friendly” 
  bands include the Six Sisters In Steel (not blood-
  sisters, but all human women in full plate armor); 
  Bruckshaw’s Blades; and the all-halfling Brendigo’s 
  Sharp-Bladed Tricks. 
   The long-dead Raedrarra Shandolphyn never used 
  a title or had a throne room or castle, but the Reach 
  (rarely; usually on way-markers) still uses her 
  personal badge: a falcon perched on a bared human 
  forefinger, bird facing, and finger pointing to, the 
  viewer’s right. 
  Realm of the 
  Smoking Star 
  Realm 
  Crossed by a good, broad coastal wagon-road, this 
  bucolic forest kingdom is a-crawl with wild magic, 
  which keeps wizards away and has probably kept 
  the Star Throne from serious challenges down the 
  years. (Large and numerous invisible “clouds” of 
  wild magic seem to drift restlessly back and forth 
  through the coastal farms of the realm. No one 
  knows where they came from, or why they persist; 
  within them, magic always goes wildly awry.) 
   Named for a “star that fell out of the skies” (a 
  meteor) in the early 1100s DR, trailing smoke across 
  the daytime sky ere it crashed to earth, tore a huge 
  furrow, and ignited a forest fire, the Realm of the 
  Smoking Star consists of lightly-wooded coastal 
  farms and ranches. It has no major settlements, but 
  plentiful steadings and wayside inns and taverns; 
  the only named place is the small town of Estelker 
  {see the Estelker entry}), which probably became a 
  market center because of the wild rock crabs that 
  were once so plentiful that they could easily be 
  gathered for a meal. Now the crabs are all gone, and 
  only the rocklhar (crayfish) remain. 
   Starrans are easygoing, hospitable farming folk 
  who grow herbs and vegetables to feed themselves 
  and keep goats and sheep. Oddly (given the drifting 
  wild magic areas) or perhaps because of them, they 
  all seem to have the Gift of wielding magic, or at least 
  some sensitivity to it (they can sense its use, or the 
  
   
  79 
  presence of powerful enchantments, or have limited 
  personal immunities to certain sorts of magic). Many 
  Starrans are sorcerers, spontaneously developing 
  ways of making magic on their own, but most of 
  them are placid, unambitious folk who use magic to 
  soothe farm animals or do other farm tasks, not for 
  battle or dominance. 
   “Rural contentment” seems to be the rule in this 
  land, not any struggle for coin or power or pride. 
  Many Starrans travel to Derlusk to buy books for 
  pleasure reading once a year, if they crave adventure, 
  or peruse the wagons of passing merchants for 
  books to buy if they don’t. 
   Folk dress simply and live simply, with few fads, 
  fashions, or worldly wants, and the realm lacks an 
  army. It does have a mounted Watch of sturdy 
  police; older farmers of all genders hand the daily 
  farm-work to their children and resident farm-
  partners (fellow farmers they share their farm with, 
  but aren’t related to) and take turns “riding Watch” 
  up and down the realm. 
   Justice is dispensed by the reigning Star King or 
  Queen, who reigns for life or until abdication (or the 
  Watch deems them senile); many have retired 
  gracefully, for abdication isn’t seen as any shame. 
  Currently, the Star Throne (located in a tiny roadside 
  stone former chapel of Chauntea in the “middle of 
  nowhere” just south off the coastal road about 
  midway between Ythtym and Alamontyr) is held by 
  a Star Queen, Imdarra Harauntan, a LG Illuskan hm 
  sorceress of soft voice, nondescript looks, incredible 
  calm, and the short stature and fine bones of a young 
  girl, though she’s actually seen more than forty 
  summers. She rules on all matters, wearing the 
  enchanted Star crown (a plain circlet with a single 
  central forehead upspike that has magical powers 
  that are known to include those of a ring of mind 
  shielding, and to confer immunity to all suggestion 
  spells). 
   Harpers believe the first Star King received throne, 
  crown, and title from one of their senior members in 
  the early 1200s DR, while other tales credit a 
  wandering Halruaan as the bestower—on a 
  surprised but willing local farmer who spent more 
  time rearing sheep than being king. There has 
  always been a Star King or Queen, but it’s the 
  monarchs of the realm have all enjoyed an unpaid, 
  less than grand office. (Some sort of secret pact 
  exists between senior members of the Harpers, the 
  Lords’ Alliance, the Order of the Gauntlet, and the 
  Emerald Enclave regarding the Realm of the 
  Smoking Star; whenever it’s invaded, or adventurers 
  or anyone else tries to seize power there, various 
  members of these factions show up and despose or 
  destroy the would-be usurper, then depart to leave 
  the Starrans to their own governance again.) 
   The Realm of the Smoking Star rarely uses its 
  blazon, which is a black four-pointed star (vertical 
  rays twice the length of the horiztonal ones) upon a 
  puffy cloud of white smoke, with an open human eye 
  (black pupil and iris, long black lashes, usually 
  depicted as calmly regarding rather than sternly 
  staring) at the center of the star. It appears on the 
  tall back of the Star Throne, on the front door of the 
  Royal House (the former chapel), and on stone 
  boundary-posts flanking the road on either side at 
  the borders of the realm. Elsewhere, the badge of 
  Estelker is seen more often in daily use. 
  Rymdyl 
  Thorp 
  Today, Rymdyl consists of an inn, The Gryphon’s 
  Head (Good/Moderate), flanked by a spring-fed 
  pond useful for watering mounts and draft beasts, all 
  surrounded by a few sheep steadings and radish and 
  turnip farms. On a knoll north of the inn stand the 
  haunted and overgrown ruins of a burnt-out stone 
  keep that never had a moat or surrounding wall, 
  only a dry ditch and earthen rampart. Rymdyl Keep 
  was built in the 1320s DR as the seat of the self-
  styled Lord of Rymdyl, a warrior who died of winter 
  fever in the 1340s. Later, it was a brigand hold, but 
  they were all slain by monsters in the 1390s. The 
  beasts may or may not still lair in the place; 
  Rymdans shun it because they’ve seen “skeletons 
  that walk, and wraiths that glide” there by day, and 
  eerie moving lights by night. 
   
   
  RYMDAN 
  WRAITH 
  
   
  80 
   The community’s name comes from its founder, an 
  adventurer, the half-elf female wizard Elaztara 
  Rymdyl, who died in a spell-duel circa 1296 DR in 
  her keep, which stood about where the inn does 
  now—and that collapsed at the height of the magical 
  fight. She was said to have a small fortune in coins 
  and gems, and a spellbook, that have never been 
  found; most Rymdar think they’re still hidden 
  somewhere in the cellars of her keep—which are 
  either buried, or are part of the inn cellars now. 
  Selpt 
  Hamlet 
  This is now the only settlement left in the fallen 
  realm of Suldamma; the rest were razed and 
  abandoned during the years of fierce fighting. Selpt 
  serves wayfarers and the surrounding farms of the 
  former Suldamma, offering an inn, Tattercloaks 
  (Good/Cheap); a tavern, The Bucket And Basilisk 
  (Fair/Cheap); a busy wagonmakers and wagon 
  repair shop (Trauneth’s Conveyances); a blacksmith 
  of crude skills but much energy, low prices, and 
  jovial enthusiasm (Maurdren Brulhelm); and a 
  manygoods trader (Delvar Yuncharr, a stout, 
  talkative and tall-tale teller who keeps a cluttered, 
  labyrinthine shop of both new and used goods 
  crammed together, Yuncharr’s Usefuls). Much 
  shrunken from its past days as a small town, 
  “Scelptar,” between by two castles (both now 
  toppled ruins robbed of almost all their building 
  stones). Scelptans firmly (and correctly) believe the 
  dungeons and cellars of these castles are monster-
  infested, extensive, and open into natural caverns 
  and fissures of the Underdark. There are local 
  legends of successive High Dukes of Scelptar fleeing 
  with their riches down into these underways, never 
  to be seen again, when would-be assassins among 
  their household staff, or invading usurpers, sought to 
  murder them. So presumably, unless the High Dukes 
  survived the Underdark to emerge elsewhere with 
  their wealth, their treasures still lie somewhere 
  beneath Selpt. 
  The Shieldmaidens 
  This wall of small hills at the western end of the 
  Firesteap Mountains, just east of The Duskwood, got 
  their names for their border position and the fact 
  that, when viewed from afar from the west, they look 
  uncannily like a group of people standing with only 
  their long-haired heads showing above their shields. 
   Rocky and rather desolate, they were thoroughly 
  dug over in the 1100s and 1200s DR by humans 
  seeking their once-plentiful surface deposits of 
  copper. These miners often fought with orcs that 
  lived in the hills, until the orcs were finally wiped 
  out, around 1276 DR or so, but the easily-found 
  copper was all gone twenty years later (dwarves 
  arrived and tunneled until they found no more ore, 
  and the hills were honeycombed by their delvings; 
  unstable, prone-to-collapse tunnels and 
  underground chambers used as lairs by lurking 
  monsters these days). 
   Outlaws and merchants caught traveling by early 
  winter storms sometimes take refuge in some of 
  these delvings, and there are many tales of treasure 
  hastily hidden in them, that was never reclaimed by 
  folk who perished before they could return—but 
  then, such tales cling to many places across Faerûn, 
  and are often overblown fancies. 
   During the Sundering, “the Shieldmaidens shook” 
  according to many local tales, and some of them now 
  insist that the delvings collapsed down into the 
  Underdark in several places—and that the monsters 
  that dwell in the Realms Below are now slowly 
  exploring up into the Shieldmaidens, soon to grow 
  bolder and fare forth. 
  Sorndorn 
  Village 
  A prosperous and growing village that serves a score 
  of “breadbasket” farms to the west and northwest 
  that grow produce enough to feed many Borderers, 
  Sorndorn has never been part of any realm, and isn’t 
  adorned with ruins or tales of hauntings. Over the 
  past century, many outlaws, exiled nobles, and 
  fallen-into-disfavor wealthy individuals fled here 
  from elsewhere in Faerun, and formed a community 
  interested in politics, culture, and investments afar. 
   Sorndorn has an inn, Sarkyn’s Silk Banners 
  (Excellent/Expensive), named for its haughty 
  founder and his sense of décor (the place is 
  festooned with tapestries, making it dusty in 
  summer but warm in winter, and is now run by 
  Sarkyn’s adult grandchildren); a tavern, The 
  Bonesetter’s Arms (Good/Moderate), named for a 
  long ago “physic” (healer), that rents out a few 
  spartan upstairs rooms as a cheaper alternative to 
  the inn; a festhall, The Knight On A Dolphin 
  (Good/Moderate) that puts on nightly plays and at 
  least six daily performances by minstrels, choral 
  groups, or jesters as well as offering massages, 
  scented baths with attendants, and the expected 
  “ladies and saers of pleasure”; a carpenter/roofer 
  (Havarask Varenneth, a terse no-nonsense but 
  competent worker who keeps three well-trained 
  crews busy under his watchful eye), a wheelwright 
  (Onstul Ulbrook, a calm, quiet man whose expert 
  crew “makes wheels round, that go around, and 
  axles that stay true”), a blacksmith (Tarth Dundrake, 
  an amiable blond giant who specializes in making 
  fishhooks and other hooks of all sizes, thanks to his 
  
   
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  past training in Saerloon), and a manygoods shop 
  (Telcandle’s Treasures, where the bustling, huffing, 
  pot-bellied Rold Telcandle sells new and used wares 
  from “all over Faerûn, and worlds beyond!”). 
   There are some rumors among Sorn of 
  shapeshifters in their midst. (These tales are true: 
  there are a few doppelgangers who keep their 
  natures well-hidden, and are content to dwell here 
  in relative safety and prosperity. They will kill 
  without hesitation to keep their identities secret.) 
   Sorndorn is known among Borderers as a place 
  where backers (investors) and “safe storage” (that is, 
  folk who will hide valuable, dangerous, or distinctive 
  things for them, in return for fees) can readily be 
  found. 
  Splondar 
  Village 
  This small place of many trees and gardens stands in 
  the heart of a cluster of goat and sheep farms. It is 
  easily recognized by an earthmote floating about 
  forty feet off the ground amid a tangled stand of 
  trees just west of the village. 
   The mote is honeycombed with rooms and 
  passages, and crowned with the ruins of a small 
  stone keep. It’s currently the lair of a growing family 
  of often-hungry perytons, but still contains, in 
  certain inner rooms (the chambers not crushed to 
  rubble by the fall of the keep’s main tower), the 
  decaying furnishings and wealth of previous human 
  occupants. Ropes and nailed-on rungs on some of 
  the trees suggest that humanoids have sought to 
  access the mote in recent decades. Splondarren 
  believe the mote came from elsewhere, over a 
  century ago, and the ruins atop it are what’s left of 
  “some mad wizard’s tower.” They’re right; the mote 
  came from Halruaa, and by the time it reached 
  Splondar, the wizards in it had been driven raving 
  mad by the Spellplague—and soon died, after casting 
  a wild flurry of spells that shattered the keep’s main 
  tower) leaving the keep for successive adventurers 
  to seize and inhabit until a hungry wyvern decided 
  to pounce on the handy meals and make its lair there. 
  It perished some years later in a severe winter, and 
  was eaten by scavengers; since then the keep has 
  fallen into ruin, the broken tower toppling in a fierce 
  storm, and seen a long succession of monstrous 
  occupants. 
   Splondar offers an inn, The Dragondown 
  (Good/Cheap), named for local tales—entirely 
  fanciful—that the earthmote was brought low by the 
  death of a dragon crashing into it high aloft, and 
  bearing it nigh the ground with its dead weight; a 
  tavern, The Wizards’ Weird (Fair/Cheap), a dim and 
  well-worn “rustic wood” drinking-hole where the 
  grayhairs of the village sit all day gossiping and 
  telling tales of their old and better days; a 
  ramshackle brewery, manygoods shop, and repair-
  all works called Brundra’s Chance (run by the 
  cheerful, endlessly-energetic, and strong-as-an-ox 
  Brundra Immerhond, who lacks the bulging muscles 
  her strength might lead an observer to expect); and 
  not much else.  
  Suldamma 
  Realm 
  Now little more than a name on maps, the fallen 
  realm of Suldamma formerly stretched from the 
  River Balaerit on the west to a height of land 
  southwest of Burntbridges on the east, and from the 
  lowlands below and south of the Realm of the Mount 
  to the north, and the broadening River Scelptar to 
  the south. 
   Today, the hamlet of Selpt {see Selpt entry} is the 
  only surviving settlement of Suldamma, and the land 
  is a patchwork of farms, ranches, a mill or two, and 
  abandoned and overgrown steadings being 
  reclaimed by the forest. It’s good game hunting 
  country, but increasingly dangerous, especially in 
  the north, as monsters and brigands grow bolder. 
  Smugglers and pirates have both begun using the 
  coves east of the Balaerit-mouth to land cargoes 
  (and, some say, bury them in prearranged spots in 
  the backbeach sands, to hide them until buyers or 
  agents can come along and dig them up). 
  Suldamma’s History 
  Of old, Suldamma was “Suldammar,” named for its 
  founder, Suldammar the Savage, a corsair who 
  raided many coastal cities around the Shining Sea 
  and Lake of Steam, slaughtering without hesitation 
  when any resisted his seizures of cargo from ships, 
  wharves, and warehouses. Suldammar fled to the 
  Border Kingdoms when he lost a naval battle against 
  Calishites, and they were foolish enough to come 
  after him—and perish to a man as Suldammar and 
  his reavers retreated into deep cover and picked 
  them off, one by one, in traps and with arrows out of 
  the trees and in night ambushes. Suldammar seized 
  their ships (which had been left with skeleton 
  crews) and resumed his freebooting, but sailed 
  around Chult to do it, preying on shipping in the 
  Great Sea and the Golden Water and sailing home to 
  Suldammar before every storm season. 
   Until, of course, the year he waited too long, and 
  his fleet disappeared in a fierce gale near the Beacon 
  Rocks. The small settlements he’d established (of 
  retired crew, their families and wider kin, and some 
  camp followers) hung on as subsistence farmers, 
  seeing more and more traffic as roads improved and 
  other nearby Border lands grew more populous. 
  
   
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  More settlers came, including adventurers who built 
  keeps and dubbed themselves “lords” and fought 
  each other until rival Lords of Suldamma arose, 
  fought a vicious war—and laid waste to Suldamma 
  but ended with just one surviving Lord, who 
  crowned himself King (King Haldar the First), and 
  set about establishing Watch riders (patrolling 
  police) and Dukes to command those riders and 
  build their own keeps. Haldar started taxing but 
  built roads and bridges and established a royal work 
  gang that raised barns and homes for those who lost 
  all in fires, and the grudging citizens were won over. 
  Haldar was a strict father, and his daughter Brindra 
  succeeded him as ruling Queen, took a consort, and 
  had three sons, Haldar, Rogaer, and Thaelon. Sickly 
  Thaelon soon died, but Haldar became King Haldar 
  the Just, and Prince Rogaer became Warlord of the 
  realm and set about establishing a disciplined army, 
  a militia, good patrols and better roads to patrol on, 
  and a system of everyone watching everyone else to 
  prevent corruption and bullying, and Suldamma 
  grew great. 
   Unfortunately, as is the way of so many lands, later 
  kings were lazier, lesser kings, and Suldamma was 
  too wealthy a prize to go unseized. Adventurers 
  sponsored by greedy Calishite satraps invaded 
  repeatedly, and one band of them prevailed, 
  butchering the royal family and burning the royal 
  palace. Only to be slaughtered by opportunistic 
  pirates, who were in turn slain by adventurers 
  coming down the Scelptar from other Border lands. 
  Suldamma dissolved in bloodshed as would-be 
  usurper after would-be usurper invaded, sworded 
  each other and everyone else within reach—and the 
  surviving farmers fled, leaving the last survivors 
  ruling an emptied and ruined land. A harsh winter 
  and hungry wolves put paid to them, and the next 
  spring Suldamma was an empty, broken land. 
   It has remained that way, more or less, ever since, 
  the good conditions making for successful farming 
  but folk mistrusting armies and rulers, and every 
  time any self-styled “lord” sought to grow in reach 
  and wealth, the next pirates or smugglers coming 
  ashore would break him. For more than a century 
  Suldamma has been lordless, farms and ranches 
  owned by steaders who defend themselves and see 
  to the roads and trust nor pay taxes to no king. There 
  are a few fortified farms that offer beds and meals 
  for the night, or sell meals to travelers camped 
  nearby, and there are overgrown ruins here and 
  there. The blazon of Suldamma was a side-on gold 
  three-pointed crown above three topsail-ketch-
  rigged ships (Suldammar’s lost fleet) sailing to the 
  viewer’s left (and overlapping each other, the largest 
  and right-most in front), but it’s not been displayed 
  on anything but moss-covered rocks in old ruins for 
  several generations now. 
   There are tales of rich treasure lying unfound 
  somewhere in Suldamma: the lost regalia of the last 
  king, Baerhlon. When he was slain, only the finery on 
  his body and in the throne room were seized—
  which means someone hid away his best crown, his 
  magical armor, many gem-festooned gowns and 
  scepters, and the royal treasury (said to be many, 
  many gold bars and coins). As no one escaped the 
  palace fire and the swords of the reavers rising 
  everyone down after, that treasure must still lie 
  somewhere near or beneath the site of the palace 
  (never rebuilt, and today mere blackened stones in 
  the forest). Adventurers have searched, but found 
  nothing—though attacks on them, over the years, 
  suggests someone keeps watch over all treasure-
  seekers, hoping to snatch what others find. 
  The Sward 
  Realm 
  A name that survives today because it so aptly 
  describes the great expanse of lush meadows that 
  was once most of it, the Sward is now the land of 
  High Emmerock {see High Emmerock entry}. It seems 
  this area has always been open grassland, 
  supporting many grazing beasts, and has always 
  been verdant; for centuries there have been rumors 
  that this is due to magic, perhaps ancient draconic 
  spells. 
  The History of the Sward 
  After the dragons that ruled it in ancient times 
  perished battling each other, the lesser beasts they 
  fed upon flourished. Giants moved in to rule and 
  defend this gigantic “food pen” against goblins, orcs, 
  and other predators. Under their husbandry, the 
  edible grazing animals grew even more numerous. 
  Some three centuries ago, Calishite adventurers 
  came exploring. Finding wild horses of superb 
  quality in the high meadows, the humans set about 
  exterminating the giants.  
   They succeeded, and from that time on, the Sward 
  (as those explorers called the meadows) has served 
  certain Calishite horse-dealers as a secret breeding 
  ground. Both to camouflage their best stock and to 
  use every inch of grazing land, the breeders hunted 
  down as many predators as they could and put in 
  their place horned cattle, sheep, and goats. These 
  swiftly multiplied, and their increasing numbers led 
  to a proliferation of rustlers, monsters—and 
  mercenary guards hired by the distant Calishite 
  stock-owners to deal with both sorts of raiders. 
   The loyalty of such hirelings in turn became a 
  problem. After several minor defiances, there came 
  outright rebellion; the leader of the Unsleeping Eye 
  Guardians, the warrior Ithkyl Halgart, decided to 
  
   
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  declare the Sward his own kingdom. So began the 
  Tyrant Rule. Halgart was an experienced and well-
  prepared warrior who employed pitfall traps (and, 
  some say, mysterious magical aid) to advantage, won 
  a series of bitter battles with forces sent by Calishite 
  satraps every summer who disagreed with the 
  notion of paying for beasts that they considered 
  their own. The armies came in earnest for three 
  seasons and were followed by sporadic expeditions 
  of hired mages and renowned adventuring bands in 
  the decade that followed, but Halgart prevailed, 
  retreating into the nearby woods and using the 
  cover to enable his numerically inferior forces to 
  whittle away the strength and resolve of pursuers. 
   His end came after seventeen summers of ruling 
  his realm from a cave stronghold (today a monster-
  haunted labyrinth of chambers and natural caverns 
  known as “the Ghostways”). A rapacious blue dragon 
  descended on the realm, dining at will on the 
  Sward’s best horseflesh. The Lord of the Sward rode 
  out to do battle with it and was torn limb from limb 
  for his troubles. The wyrm died under repeated 
  volleys of fire arrows at the hands of Halgart’s men 
  and was cooked and eaten at the Lord’s funeral feast.  
   After the Lord’s death, the watching Calishites 
  expected the fledgling realm to fall apart in the 
  inevitable struggle for the throne among Halgart’s 
  underlings. But a warrior named Maeradyn swiftly 
  and ruthlessly took power, and the Sward survived.  
   So the Calishites watched and waited for the new 
  Lord’s rule to fail. When instead it persisted, and the 
  land flourished, they sent more hired armies to 
  smash Maeradyn’s troops. The fast-riding Swardar 
  met them with deadly arrow-volleys, striking swiftly 
  and racing on before the larger, better-equipped 
  Calishite forces could strike camp and respond. 
  Whenever the Swardar were brought to bay, giants 
  appeared out of thin air, as if by magic (that 
  mysterious aid again), to pounce on the Calishite 
  forces. Soon the satraps grew tired of throwing away 
  money on armed hosts whose few survivors brought 
  back only news of futility. They abandoned their 
  efforts to reconquer the Sward.  
   Over the years that followed, a succession of 
  fiercely independent local rulers kept the realm 
  strong. They used the money gained from the sale of 
  their famous horses and lesser livestock to carefully 
  build, equip, and train an elite force of mounted 
  crossbowmen and lancers to guard the herds and 
  horse-meadows. Which was a good thing, because 
  the strength of nearby goblin tribes was rising, too. 
   And then came Emmerock the Goblinbane {see 
  High Emmerock}. 
  The Drifting Portal 
  Of old, a gate to elsewhere in the Realms was located 
  in the front door of Glethsheven Rimmisk, a warrior 
  Lord of the Sward. Crafted for Rimmisk to weed out 
  
   
  84 
  evil beings seeking to enter his abode, it was known 
  as “the Drifting Portal” because it sent those passing 
  through it to eight different destinations. However, it 
  malfunctioned from the outset, and when Rimmisk’s 
  fortified home was destroyed in the 1380s during a 
  battle between rival replacement Lords (some 
  months after Rimmisk’s mysterious disappearance), 
  the Drifting Portal went wilder. Now it drifts in the 
  open, moving about at seeming random in the open 
  grassland along the north edge of the Sward. 
   Visible as a flickering upright two-tall-man-height 
  oval of fitful light mauve radiance shot through with 
  winking green sparks, that waxes and wanes in 
  brightness, this gate might transport someone 
  passing through it to just about anywhere on Toril—
  or it might instead transform them magically, as if 
  just about any spell has been cast on them, with 
  effects that might last days, tendays, or even months. 
  Lurking Magic 
  Many Borderers believe someone or something 
  magical, or having mighty magical powers, still 
  watches over the grasslands, and works magic from 
  time to time, seemingly upon whims. Travelers in 
  the Sward have spoken of awakening when 
  encamped as transformative magic washed over 
  them in the night, “seemingly out of nowhere.” Magic 
  sometimes erupts unlooked for during skirmishes in 
  the meadows, or plays about at the heights of storms. 
  Yet no one knows who or what the source of this 
  magic is, though it does seem guided by sentience, 
  rather than truly random or “leaking mindlessly 
  from something,” in the words of one long-dead sage 
  of Derlusk. 
  The Swordpoint  
  Streams  
  Realm 
  Named for the many streams that rise seemingly 
  everwhere in the gently rolling farms and woodlots 
  of this land, to flow via ponds down to the Scelptar 
  and power many mills in the doing, the Swordpoint 
  Streams has always been a land of independents, a 
  rival to neighboring Talduth Vale inhabited by those 
  who want light rule, with few laws and low taxes. 
  The other part of its name arose out of the frequent 
  violence here, as adventuring bands vied to rule or 
  fought off invasions (usually from Talduth Vale). 
   As a result of these seemingly-endless skirmishes, 
  the Swordpoint Streams has had more Lords, ruling 
  Barons (sometimes councils of four or five equal 
  Barons), Dukes and High Dukes, and at least four 
  Kings. The chaos of the Sundering brought 
  earthquakes and floods of monsters to the land, 
  opening rifts and toppling keeps, and in the process 
  swept away the rule of the last monarch, along with 
  almost all of his nobles. In the seasons since, 
  Swordpointers have resisted anyone seeking to 
  crown themselves or tax them heavily, but have 
  tolerated the rise of Lords and Ladies (usually the 
  heads of adventuring bands who come to the realm 
  to “retire”) who patrol the roads in an area with 
  armed riders, fight off brigands and monsters and 
  raids from Talduth Vale, and enforce a “common 
  sense” justice that involves exiling troublemakers 
  and those who seek to promote feuds rather than 
  quelling them. 
   Right now, there are five Ladies (most of them 
  wise, many-scarred older women, veterans of 
  adventuring) and two Lords, each of them 
  maintaining a small keep and watching over small 
  territories. They work together—which is why the 
  realm works—seeing Talduth Vale as a threat, good 
  lives for all as a goal, subsistence farming, and the 
  strategic funding of crafters to produce what’s most 
  needed in the Borders, and in Ormpur and Sheirtalar, 
  as the key to stability and prosperity. (Just now, that 
  seems to be wire, chain, cord and rope, waxed thread, 
  needles and buttons and fasteners, and 
  waterproofing “goo” of various secret recipes for 
  brushing into fabric.) Textiles, leather, dyes, and 
  horses are the most needed imports, and the 
  Streams earns a lot of coin from surrounding 
  Borderers who bring their grain to its mills for 
  grinding. 
   Thanks to the presence of the seven Lords and 
  Ladies, anyone who steals, seizes by force, or 
  marauds in the Streams can expect a swift and 
  ungentle response from the armed and armored 
  Riders of the nearest Lord (and these petty rulers 
  often lead their riders, and work with each other, 
  never disputing borders or authority and having 
  firm standing orders in place to keep their Riders 
  from doing so). Every one of the seven petty rulers 
  can field around thirty Riders, and another two 
  dozen or so guards and warriors who lack good 
  mounts or the ability to fight from horseback, but 
  can guard doors, stand sentinel, and swing a sword 
  just fine. 
  The Lords and Ladies 
  of the Realm 
  The seven are: 
   Lady Ildarra Chalcent (LN Damaran hf ranger, a 
  fiery-eyed and -tempered, fearless and wrinkled 
  old hardy hunter, a woman of wild white hair and 
  worn old leather armor, whose keep is Oaktower, 
  and who was head of the Blazing Buckler 
  adventuring band (who flourished as caravan 
  escorts in the Heartlands, and now form the heart 
  
   
  85 
  of her Riders). Her badge is a white eaglehead 
  facing to the viewer’s right, beak closed and eyes 
  golden. 
   Lady Lauril Drantar (CG Illuskan hf fighter, a 
  graceful and merry but quite plain, thin woman of 
  mature years, a tough “hard rider” and horsetamer 
  (trainer), whose keep is Threestreams Gard, and 
  who’s the senior surviving member of the Lash of 
  Gorgons adventuring band (who served as 
  merchant bodyguards in the Great Dale and 
  Impiltur, and went adventuring in Ashanath and 
  Narfell, and now lead her Riders). Her badge is 
  three crimson teardrops of blood (center lower 
  than the flanking drops) on a round white buckler 
  shield with a gray rim. 
   Lady Mezmra Irondrake (NG Chondathan hf rogue, 
  a skilled actress and swift-smart calculating 
  strategist who is dark, petite, and makes much use 
  of cosmetics and clothing and mannerisms to 
  make herself alluring, so as to better manipulate 
  men, whose keep is The Drakefang, and who co-
  led Whardren’s Windnaga adventuring band, who 
  adventured in Sespech and Chondath, dabbling in 
  the intrigue of cities and mercantile shipping in 
  the Vilhon, and now form the heart of her Riders, 
  though her onetime consort Whardren perished 
  while adventuring years ago). Her badge is a 
  copper-hued ring seen side-on (a thick circle) that 
  has three fangs depending from its upper inner arc 
  halfway down its interior, that interior being 
  flame-orange, and also surrounding the ring with 
  jagged tongues of flame-orange fire. 
   Lord Tarlon Jarlglaeth (LN Illuskan hm wizard, an 
  aging but once strikingly handsome tall, thin man 
  of few words who’s increasingly wary and 
  paranoid, and so has plans ready to deal with 
  many imagined calamities, whose keep is 
  Wyvernwatch Tower, and who’s the only 
  surviving founding member of the Reth’s Dagger 
  adventuring band, who adventured in coastal 
  Chult, the Tashalar, and Calimshan, were briefly 
  freebooters, and fought pirates on behalf of 
  various shipcaptains, as “onboard surprise” ship 
  defenders; the junior members now lead his 
  Riders). His badge is a bright purple four-pointed 
  star, its rays in the positions of the four cardinal 
  compass points, those rays ending in forefinger-
  pointing human hands 
   Lady Dazmra Phelflask (NG Damaran hf cleric of 
  Helm, a burly, hook-nosed, large-emerald-eyed, 
  hard-drinking, lusty, always-alert woman of long, 
  thick auburn hair, whose keep is Forlorn Gard, and 
  who was head of the Forlorn Gauntlet adventuring 
  band (who adventured up and down the Sword 
  Coast North, and now form the heart of her 
  Riders). Her badge is a silver diamond, long axis 
  vertical, on a deep purple “classic-shape” shield. 
   Lord Immurt Sabrastar (CG Chondathan hm 
  ranger, a moustachioed, raven-haired but now 
  going white at his temples, handsome man of 
  aquiline features and butter-hued eyes and a 
  grand, deep, resonant voice, whose keep is 
  Starturrets, and who was a senior member of the 
  Amber Salamander adventuring band (who 
  flourished as caravan escorts and “settlers of 
  scores for hire” by disgruntled merchants all over 
  the Shining South; its surviving junior members 
  now form the heart of his Riders). His badge is a 
  horizontal row of three amber-orange flames 
  (diamonds with wavy tongues-of-flame tops) 
  ranged across (“fess wise”) a royal blue classic-
  shape shield. 
   Lady Vantavice Durouth (LN Damaran hf sorcerer, 
  a vivacious, curvaceous, short-of-stature blonde 
  with very large, dark eyes and an impish 
  smile/leer, who’s an accomplished mimic and 
  superb “smoky alto” singer and lutemaker, whose 
  keep is High Rivergates, and who headed the 
  Saltro’s Spurndragon adventuring band (who 
  served as caravan escorts in the Heartlands, then 
  guards-for-hire in Sembia, and now form the heart 
  of her Riders). Her badge is a vertical point-down, 
  side-on silver dagger with large quillons and a 
  short grip (so it looks very like a capital “T”) on an 
  oval scarlet field that has three teardrops 
  (representing blood) dangling from its lower edge. 
  Just above this lower edge (filling the bottom of 
  the oval across what heraldry calls “the middle 
  base” when it’s a shield) is a curved-to-fit-the-
  oval-bottomed, horizontal-straight-topped patch 
  of green scales, that the point of the dagger is 
  buried in, representing a dragon. 
  Heraldry 
  The overall blazon of the Swordpoint Streams is 
  seen painted on roadside boundary stones and at 
  roadside signposts (pointing directions and 
  distances where ways meet), not on Riders, who 
  bear the badges of “their” Lord or Lady. The arms of 
  the realm are an upright oval of gold with three 
  wavy blue lines diverging from a single point at the 
  inside center of the oval, and running down to the 
  inside center bottom, the inside “eight o’clock” mark, 
  and the inside “four o’clock” mark. 
  Amenities 
  Every keep of a Lord or Lady has an inn and tavern 
  standing beside it or across from it, all of them 
  Good/Moderate, and they are: 
   Oaktower: The Dragon with Two Tails (inn), 
  Alaskar’s Boot (tavern) 
   Threestreams Gard: The Ghost Ship Inn (inn), 
  The Tipsy Tressym (tavern) 
  
   
  86 
   The Drakefang: The Black Dagger (inn), The 
  Headless Hippocampus (tavern) 
   Wyvernwatch Tower: The Mighty Mandragon 
  (inn), The Sack of Swords (tavern) 
   Forlorn Gard: The Burnished Blade (inn), The 
  Laughing Ghost (tavern) 
   Starturrets: The Sleepers’ Vaults (inn), The 
  Dancing Witch (tavern) 
   High Rivergates: The Seven Silver Swords (inn), 
  The Moon And Mythal (tavern) 
  Of Interest to Adventurers 
  There are more tales of adventuring bands hiding 
  their treasure in the Swordpoint Streams than in any 
  other Border land—and that’s saying something. 
  Hundreds of such caches were established, and 
  although most of them were later moved, called 
  upon and spent, or stolen, at least a score—and 
  probably more than twice that number—were never 
  found after those who hid them perished. Moreover, 
  the tavern names “the Sack of Swords,” “the 
  Laughing Ghost,” “The Dancing Witch,” and “The 
  Moon And Mythal” all refer to stories about treasure 
  guardians (the laughing ghost, that lures intruders 
  into traps), the enchanted places treasure was 
  hidden in around the realm (a moon-activated 
  mythal), or the treasures themselves (the sack full of 
  magical blades). Several tales speak of strings of 
  underground caverns carved out by streams, that 
  they flow through and eventually out of, and only 
  someone who has means of breathing water or large 
  lungs and a precise knowledge of where to swim 
  underwater can reach the unflooded corners of, 
  where treasure lies hidden. From time to time, the 
  drowned bodies of adventurers float down some of 
  the streams, attesting to someone’s dialed attempt to 
  reach a hoard. Sometimes, only pieces of half-eaten 
  or hacked-apart bodies ride the streamflows. 
   The Laughing Ghost and The Dancing Witch are 
  both said to be wraith-like undead who flit about the 
  land spying by night, who can aid as well as harm, 
  and who act to protect the realm from invaders and 
  traitors. They confer dream-visions, appear as 
  silently-gesturing phantoms to draw attention to 
  cryptic written warnings or advice, and sometimes 
  act as guides—though they lead some to safety, and 
  others to disaster. 
  Syrnt 
  Small Town 
  A strategically-located “crossroads” settlement that 
  has seen much fighting in its past. Syrnt today has no 
  lord nor keeps, though the foundations (all the rest 
  has been salvaged for other buildings) of no less 
  than four castles can be seen locally. There are the 
  inevitable local legends of monster-haunted, 
  treasure-filled dungeons beneath the keeps, but only 
  one entrance to such underways is known to most 
  Syrar today. (Governance is by a council of the local 
  business owners, who also pay and equip a militia, 
  and two “constables” to—rather loosely—keep 
  order.) 
   Syrnt has an inn, The Three Goats 
  (Excellent/Moderate), a sprawling, many-winged 
  converted mansion with many nice private hedged 
  “bower” gardens between the wings, and superior 
  food and a superb cellar, which is named for three 
  long-dead brothers who rebuilt it, whose surname 
  was Goatlar (today, the innkeeper is the pleasant 
  and smart halfling matron Marue Harbuck); a tavern, 
  Klarvor’s Bench (Good/Moderate), named for its 
  long-dead founder, and known to brew very good 
  sour ale; a blacksmith/farrier (Elvur Ironhorn, a 
  gentle bearded young giant of a man with 
  monstrously large shoulders and arms, whose parlor 
  trick is to pick up horses and oxen; in battles, he’s 
  been known to grab and hurl galloping horses 
  ridden by brigands, spilling their riders in the 
  process); and a glassblower/glassmaker (“Lady 
  Glass” Chantathra Uildur, skilled at making oval 
  windows and exquisite small glass ornaments and 
  vials), who makes use of local sandpits northeast of 
  town, which yield “fine” sand. 
   Of old, Syrnt had a weapons shop, now abandoned 
  (and said by Syrar to house hidden treasure) but 
  guarded by flying swords that attack anyone 
  entering the place. 
   Syrnt hosts a once-a-tenday farmers’ market, 
  except in the coldest months. One end of town reeks 
  because a tanner (Bleys Haunskoan, a retired 
  adventurer who can hurl axes and swords accurately 
  enough to bring down doves and even raptors on the 
  wing) dwells there, turning hides into leather and 
  curing fur pelts; his family makes and sells crude 
  cloaks, coats, and caps. 
  Taermbold 
  Thorp 
  Once a larger place, but raided so often in the past by 
  goblins emerging from a local mine that only a few 
  hardy folk still live here, amid many empty, 
  abandoned (and stripped by scavengers) houses. 
  The mine yielded much iron in the past, but is 
  worked out—and some forty summers ago, the 
  raiding goblins abruptly stopped coming; Taermar 
  (correctly) believe that some dire monster “down 
  below” slaughtered and ate them all, and now makes 
  its lair in the mine. They’re correct: Maurigla, a night 
  hag (who is served by hobgoblins and a handful of 
  imps, and has somehow mastered magic that 
  confines or goads a gibbering mouther to serve her 
  
   
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  as a guardian or “attack beast”), now dwells in the 
  Taerm mines. The Taermar miners long ago dug 
  down into the Underdark, into a cluster of caverns 
  rich in gems, that the hag now controls. She releases 
  uncut gems to certain unscrupulous human traders 
  when they stop by, in return for goods she wants 
  and message-running. Maurigla is seeking to build a 
  network of traders working for her, so she can 
  increase her reach across Faerun. Her initial reaction 
  to adventurers will be to seek to recruit them to 
  work with her, not fight them, but she’ll slay 
  ruthlessly if she must, and if they do agree to work 
  with her, the hag will set an imp to spy on them to 
  learn all she can about them, to eventually establish 
  a hold over them (so she can blackmail them to 
  compel their continued obedience). She has no 
  interest in terrorizing the locals or anyone nearby, 
  but rather in “living low” but extending her reach far 
  across Faerûn. 
   Taermbold offers a wayside inn, Tuller’s Rest 
  (Fair/Cheap) that’s still run by the Tuller family, 
  who believe in simple fare and furnishings, but have 
  a clearwater spring in the basement, make small 
  beer of passable quality, and provide ample 
  firewood on cold nights. 
   There’s also an abandoned, roofless temple to 
  Chauntea (still used as a shrine for worship by 
  Taermar, and slowly turning itself into a walled wild 
  tangle-garden). Local blacksmith (Larl Hantrith, a 
  taciturn, scarred man of simple skills, but a good 
  farrier) has a foundry right beside the wheelwright 
  (Borlyn Farsharr, who keeps a ready stock of 
  matched quintets of sturdy wagon wheels of all sizes, 
  and has several times made “big coin” when a 
  passing caravan wanted to buy them all). 
   All around Taermbold’s paltry cluster of inhabited 
  buildings and the larger array of overgrown and 
  abandoned “dark houses” are small local farms 
  dominated by stump hedges and a labyrinth of 
  narrow, muddy lanes. 
  Talduth Vale 
  Realm 
  To most Borderers, Talduth Vale is where aggressive 
  “folk who love war, and will raid and pillage without 
  hesitation” dwell—and they’re right. The Vale is 
  warlike, and is a longtime rival of the neighboring 
  land of the Swordpoint Streams {see The Swordpoint 
  Streams entry}. Taldans have often raided the 
  Streams, and frequently attempted (unsuccessful) 
  conquests of the Streams, though in recent years the 
  hunger for tangling with their detested rival seems 
  to have abated in the face of Taldan cabals and 
  families sponsoring or mounting their own military 
  expeditions and business ventures all over Faerûn 
  (particularly in the Shining South). 
   One of the reasons they have the time and coin to 
  pursue such interests is that the town of Emrys {see 
  Emrys entry} dominates Talduth Vale and patrols it 
  (policing it), though it isn’t officially part of Talduth 
  Vale. With that said, it is in daily working truth the 
  capitol of the Vale, providing Taldans with justice 
  and keeping order and protection against invaders—
  but not taxing them directly, and Taldans will tell 
  any outlander that they need protection from no 
  one; they can handle any matter of arms themselves 
  just fine, thanks. Most Taldans are proficient archers 
  or slingers, hunt for the family kitchen pot, and 
  practice with—or use in earnest—melee weapons 
  daily. They tend to collect shields, helms, and armor 
  lifelong, hire themselves out as mercenaries all over 
  Faerûn whenever they or their families need coin, 
  and keep abreast of news about brewing conflicts, 
  wars, and who’s hiring swords or may soon be. 
   As a result, the Vale is home to busy, wealthy folk, 
  and although the bulk of any family’s or individual’s 
  wealth will be invested in various ventures and 
  properties all over Faerûn, every Taldan caches 
  “spending coin” and “sword day coin” (emergency 
  funds) wherever they deem best. Thieves hoping to 
  find such coin are warned that the Vale is full of 
  watchful, suspicious, armed people who will 
  challenge anyone unfamiliar or anyone who seems 
  to be searching for something—in a hurry. 
   Some of the oldest Taldan families brought back 
  riches from their adventuring and raiding centuries 
  ago that can’t be easily spent (magic items, crowns 
  and gilded thrones and coaches), and some of these 
  are displayed in their homes as trophies, while 
  others are buried or hidden away in deep cellars, 
  awaiting future inspiration on how best to exploit 
  them. 
   Talduth Vale has no blazon (every family and cabal 
  preferring their own), but when Taldans assemble a 
  military expedition to invade somewhere else and 
  need to know who’s on their side in a fray, they use 
  sashes, armbands, shield-wrappings (hide covers, 
  buckled over and around their shields) and banners 
  of gold with a black border, with a single charge on 
  that gold field of a red diamond (all four sides equal) 
  bordered in black. 
   Taldans settle trade disputes by negotations 
  between delegations, with the heads of families or 
  business cabals have final approval/vetoes. Legal 
  disputes they settle by duels, but anything that looks 
  to others (neighbors and business partners) to be 
  turning into a feud gets reported to the Imperial 
  Overduke of Emrys, who calls the Grand Merchant 
  Dukes of Emrys together to rule on the matter; they 
  back up their judgments with heavy fines and 
  threats of confiscations should said fines not be paid 
  (and have the Eagles to enact such seizures). Taldans 
  are so afraid of their land erupting into head-for-a-
  
   
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  head strife that they’ve forcibly exiled fellow Taldans 
  who defied the rulings of the Dukes. Taldan families, 
  down the years, have often dealt with troublesome 
  family members by drugging their food or wine and 
  bundling them out of the realm into the hands of 
  slavers while they’re still asleep, and this has 
  become accepted local custom, though slavers are 
  fewer and farther between in recent years, and some 
  Taldans end up handed to pirates who simply make 
  the lowliest members of the crew—so there have 
  been a few instances of Taldans coming back for 
  revenge on their kin, decades after being 
  “disappeared from the Vale.” 
   Talduth Vale has an endless appetite for weapons, 
  armor, trained warhorses, arrows and croosbow 
  bolts, and maps. Outlanders who can give (militarily) 
  good descriptions of faraway places will be paid for 
  what they can tell; most Taldan families and 
  business cabals have scribes who can take rapid 
  dictation, and Taldans are by longstanding custom 
  very precise in wordings, never rephrasing what 
  someone says. 
   The Vale is self-sufficient in food production, every 
  family growing vegetables and fruits and keeping 
  chickens and hoats or hogs, with many small farms 
  and ranches run as businesses. Taldans often hire 
  themselves out elsewhere as guards, weapons 
  trainers, and mercenaries, and because they invest 
  coins all over Faerûn in ventures and property, are 
  in the habit of keeping exacting records. 
   The Vale has good wagon-roads and bridges, but 
  no signposts; Taldans know where they’re going, and 
  don’t want strangers to know where they are 
  without asking. The Vale isn’t all that hospitable, so 
  inns are few, and taverns are by firm tradition places 
  where weary folk eat and drink, not brawl (loud or 
  belligerent drunkards are removed to outlying sheds 
  and shelters to drink where they won’t bother 
  others). Many Taldans gave guestrooms they’ll rent 
  out to travelers they like the look of, but large or 
  aggressive armed parties had better get used to 
  camping out, and being watched suspiciously. 
   The best inns in the Vale double as taverns, are all 
  (Good/Expensive), and are Wyvernfyres 
  (“Warmfires” to locals; it stands in the western Vale, 
  near Hawkgarth); The Crowns In Flame (in the north, 
  nearest Oeble; the name commemorates invasions, 
  usurpations, and occupations of foreign realms that 
  Taldan mercenaries had a hand in); The Three 
  Goblins (in the east, nigh Owlhold; the name recalls 
  three local goblin scamps who met grisly ends at 
  Taldan hands, long ago); and The House of Hammers 
  (in the center of the Vale; “Hammers” was a long-ago 
  infamously successful Taldan mercenary, given to 
  indulging in atrocities). 
   There are about a dozen more local lane-side 
  taverns scattered across the Vale; of these, the 
  traveler is most likely to find (thanks to where 
  they’re located) The Fox’s Finger, Harker’s Cleaver, 
  The Hanged Huntsman, and The Flying Fish. 
   There is one known treasure of great value hidden 
  somewhere in (or likely under) the Vale, but no one 
  knows where it is. In 1377 DR, a life-sized (that is, 18 
  feet tall) and very realistic statue of a handsome 
  stone giant made of solid gold disappeared from the 
  courtyard of a wealthy Taldan just before someone 
  he owed a large debt to arrived to seize it. The 
  owner had no access to magic, was elderly and had 
  already lost their oxen and horses to other creditors, 
  and had no time to transport the statue out of the 
  Vale—so they must have hidden it on their own land 
  (probably buried.) It’s never been found, though 
  many have searched, and that Taldan debtor died 
  shortly after the statue went missing, so folk in the 
  Vale firmly believe it’s somewhere near. 
  Telcharn 
  Small Town 
  This unwalled place of modest shake-roofed stone 
  and timber buildings has wide though winding 
  streets thanks to all the livestock. 
   Telcharn is home to Hundrar Thornspur, a noted 
  cobbler and corviser who makes fine sturdy boots 
  that are much in demand throughout the Borders 
  and abroad (so much so that he’s now opened a 
  “boot barn” where a score of trained Telchar turn 
  out an ever-increasing supply of strong, everyday, 
  unstylish boots for export), and Ildarra Riverwood, a 
  “healer” and trainer for horses and oxen, who nurses 
  sick beasts, breeds beasts, and sells trained and 
  ready mounts and draft beasts. Thanks to her 
  increasing fame, Telcharn hosts a monthly “horse 
  fair” in which all manner of livestock are bought, 
  sold, and traded. Caravan outfitters often come here 
  to replenish their beasts, and peddlers buy a few 
  animals to sell here and there as they travel the 
  Border Kingdoms. 
   Telchar no longer think of themselves as a 
  beleaguered armed encampment defending 
  themselves and all the Border Kingdoms “behind” 
  them against monsters raiding out of the Shaar, but 
  they still have weapons-sellers (rivals Narl 
  Redurund and Lesklun Traunch), a rather unskilled 
  armorer (Belmur Grandaxe; armor fastenings are his 
  weak point, and more than a few of his suits of 
  armor have clangingly shed plates without warning 
  in the midst of a fray), and an outfitter (the 
  flamboyant braggart and liar Abrant Zunderscales) 
  who from a sprawling compound of three joined 
  houses sells harness, pots and pans, tents, 
  strongchests and carry-nets, water kegs, rope, 
  coffers, braziers and lanterns, and all manner of 
  “wares for the wayfarer.” 
  
   
  89 
   Telcharn also has a fortified stone inn that looks 
  like just what it is: an old, half-finished keep (The 
  Weary Warrior; Good/Moderate), a rambling, 
  outside galleries (running porches, with exterior 
  stairs) all-timber boarding-house with a board roof 
  and many firequenching spells cast on it, so cooking 
  has to be done in a cookhouse across the yard 
  (Laskalor’s Haven; Fair/Cheap), two taverns (a 
  “family” place serving full meals at all hours, The 
  Queen’s Boots (Good/Moderate), and a dive known 
  for brawls and shady transactions and cheap ale 
  quaffed in dim surroundings, The Skull And Scythe 
  (Poor/Cheap), a stockyards, and a surprisingly well 
  stocked manygoods shop that sells beds and other 
  furniture and an array of lamps and oils, not to 
  mention much rope and chain. There’s also a good 
  chandlery (making candles, soap, and selling blocks 
  of wax as axle lubricant, sealant, and for use in 
  molds), and a muddy horsepond that reeks from all 
  the refuse that’s been tossed into it over the years. 
  Local tales claim it’s full of lost treasure, too, but 
  most Telchar don’t believe them. 
   Of old, Telcharn was home to a small temple of 
  Tempus the Wargod, whose priests “did something 
  magical” to the small stone-and-slate structure to 
  somehow make it vanish, when mages of the Cult of 
  the Dragon, the Red Wizards, and the Zhentarim 
  started hurling spells at each other in a wild spell-
  duel that devastated the southern end of town. That 
  was over a century ago, and neither the temple nor 
  its clergy have ever been seen again, but Telchar 
  believe it “can be brought back” by someone who 
  “does the right magic.” They believe the temple 
  clergy haven’t brought it back themselves because 
  some “lurking monster or other” already hiding in 
  the temple when they “took it away” has devoured 
  them all. Who knows? They may be right. 
   The badge of Telcharn is a tall, simple sturdy 
  (large toed and hobnailed) boot, depicted upright 
  and side-on with the toe pointing to the viewer’s left, 
  surrounded by a circle of nine horseshoes (all curve 
  uppermost and “open side” downwards). If painted, 
  all of these elements will be in brown, on a circular 
  white field. 
  Themasulter 
  Village 
  This dwindling-numbers settlement was once a busy 
  fishing-port, but its cove has silted up over the last 
  century and is now a quicksand and tidal-flat “soup” 
  that swallows the living, is festooned with the 
  protruding masts of sunken ships, and can only 
  safely be crossed on a rickety boardwalk of rafts 
  supported on timber pilings that Themmar have to 
  keep augmenting to stop the rafts from slipping 
  under the mud. Increasingly, they don’t bother. 
   What Themasulter has become is “the end of the 
  road,” a backwater where the misshapen, desperate 
  fugitives from justice, and others wanting near-
  solitude can come and live unseen or forgotten by 
  most of Faerûn. Lycanthropes and lepers live in 
  Themasulter, as do a handful of doppelgangers, who 
  work with a few kidnappers (the kidnapped are 
  brought here and live in manacles inside some of the 
  older and sturdier houses, while the doppelgangers 
  take their places out in society). At least one of the 
  walled compounds west of the village is occupied by 
  slavers, the Mulukhor gang. Themasulter has always 
  
   
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  been home to skilled counterfeiters (of coins of all 
  sorts), fake-gem-making jewelers, and makers of 
  lockpicks and skeleton keys; some of the current 
  Themmar masters of these trades include Borl 
  Shantyn and Gither Tarlock. 
   Themasulter looks like a poor, rundown fishing 
  village clinging to the steep slopes of the hills 
  descending to the harbor, and is a windy, overgrown 
  place. Most of its homes are better built than their 
  ramshackle exteriors suggest, and are fitted with 
  traps (trapdoors over spiked pits, boxes of rocks that 
  plummet down on chains from overhead, and the 
  like) to blunt the effectiveness of unwanted 
  intruders. Themasulter lacks a ruler (here, it’s 
  “might makes right,” which in practice means 
  whenever there are disputes, or something must be 
  done, the Mulukhor gang decides what happens 
  unless the Potion Hag disagrees). 
   The Potion Hag, Tesma Suljark, is an always-veiled 
  old woman who sells potions, medicines, wines, 
  poisons, and chests and coffers with false bottoms 
  (and sometimes, hiding-places or venomed daggers 
  in the handles). She’s really a night hag whose home 
  has many hidden doors, and everyday doors that 
  open into closets where she keeps hungry chokers 
  imprisoned who’ll pounce on anyone opening their 
  door. She makes a lot of coin by guarding valuables 
  certain clients want kept hidden but safe, for 
  monthly fees. 
   Themasulter is named for a long-ago local 
  adventurer-hero; he died young and his kin died out 
  almost a century ago. The village has never been part 
  of a realm, nor had a blazon. It exports only slaves 
  and fish, these days, and not many of either, and 
  imports only household goods (such as needles, 
  thread, hand-mirrors, pots and pans, and the like) 
  that peddlers bring. 
   Of old, Themasulter offered a small but snug 
  harbor, much used by smugglers because it was 
  close to the Lake of Steam ports and its harbormouth 
  could be so easily seen from afar at sea (thanks to 
  shoreline pillars of white rock that still survive, 
  despite the harbor being ruined). A handful of 
  Themmar fishing boats are anchored precariously 
  offshore. 
   Two centuries ago, smugglers made use of several 
  chains of shore-caves as warehouses. One chain 
  collapsed many years ago, though someone digging 
  down in the right place might be able to penetrate 
  some of the innermost caverns, but the other 
  survives, just east of the village, now monster-
  haunted and shunned. There are, of course, many 
  tales of treasure hidden therein by smugglers and 
  pirates, and never reclaimed—and some of them 
  may even be true. 
   Themasulter offers no inns nor taverns, but 
  garrulous, one-eyed old Grusk Delstaunt, the local 
  netmaker, rents out rooms in his dimly-lit, rambling, 
  none-too-clean cottage to wayfarers and cooks them 
  odd-tasting (but safe) stews and plies them with 
  horrible ale and his own fiery-strong version of zzar 
  as he gossips, delighting in telling old tales of the 
  Borders. The cottage swarms with rats, but 
  Delstaunt regards them as pets. 
  Theymarsh 
  Thorp 
  This tiny fishing settlement is a mere shadow of its 
  former self, because more than half of it has fallen 
  into the sea in a series of landslides before and 
  during the Sundering. Nowadays, it’s a smugglers’ 
  haven and a place where Lake of Steam cities dump 
  their insane, diseased, and political undesirables 
  (whose limbs they’ve broken or hands and feet 
  they’ve chopped off, on the trip). The inhabitants 
  tend to be surly loners, bitter and not eager to have 
  anything to do with strangers—because strangers so 
  often mean “trouble.” 
   Lacking a ruler, lawkeepers, a blazon, any sort of 
  accommodations (except abandoned cottages a 
  wayfarer can camp in) or amenities except a good 
  well and two rivulets of drinkable water, Theymarsh 
  isn’t even worth the bother of traveling to it for most 
  peddlers, or any other sort of merchant. The only 
  people who do visit often are smugglers wanting to 
  store goods or hide things they need kept secret—
  and Theymarsh does store many secrets, both lore 
  and items. Including magic, and treasures of great 
  wealth. The trick is finding them, and defeating the 
  guardians (deadly spiders and swarms of crawling 
  claws shut up inside treasure storage chests are said 
  to be local favorites). 
  Thort 
  Hamlet 
  Little more than a name on a map, Thort serves a 
  scattered handful of farms and ranches in 
  overgrown wilderlands that were once a string of 
  small grand duchies (so long ago that all trace of 
  them, even the names, are utterly gone—except 
  Thort itself, which is all that survives of 
  “Amantarthortarl,” a half-elven tree village that once 
  stood where Thorl is today, and a haunted hill; see 
  hereafter). Thorl consists of six homes (small 
  cottages with gardens and tethered goats) and a 
  lonely wayside inn, The Sevenstrung Harp 
  (Good/Cheap), which is run by Ansharla Imurstrand 
  (a gentle, aging CG hf sorcerer who’s assisted by 
  elderly semi-retired bards and rangers. As its name 
  suggests, the inn is a haven for Harpers, and also 
  doubles as the local tavern. A surly old drunkard 
  
   
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  who downs ales there every night, Gelth Marbanner, 
  is a smith of sorts who’s actually a Zhentarim spy, a 
  rogue with deadly knife-throwing skills, and not 
  nearly ever as drunk or half-asleep as he acts. 
   Confused and contradictory Border legends refer 
  to a “treasure of great magic” buried somewhere 
  near Thort, and Elminster of Shadowdale believes 
  this refers to an artifact of some sort that lies in a 
  cavern under Thort, and was hidden there by the 
  half-elves of Amantarthortarl—but just what it is, 
  and even if it still survives, he has no idea; the Weave 
  in Thort’s vicinity is an “echoing tangle” that causes 
  pain and confusion even to Weave-masters. 
   The “haunted hill” comes from one of those 
  vanished duchies, in a time when “Amantarthortarl” 
  had been corrupted into “Orthortalar,” and what is 
  now Thort was larger, and dominated by the now-
  vanished castle of a self-styled Prince of Orthortalar, 
  a wealthy retired adventurer who wore splendid 
  shining coat-of-plate armor and rode a pegasus or a 
  gorgon into battle, depending on his mood or the 
  nature of the foe. The Prince and his beasts are long 
  gone, and the site of his castle, the crown of a hill 
  above the mill (a spring rises out of the hill, to 
  tumble down it, power the mill, form a pond, and run 
  on and away to vanish down a nearby sinkhole), is 
  said by Thortar to be haunted by “those who dance” 
  (eerie flying creatures, not human), and eerie lights 
  (will o’ wisps?) can be seen there on many nights. 
  Locals shun the hilltop, as anyone who approaches it 
  has a feeling of being watched by someone or 
  something unseen but hostile. There are local tales 
  of the hill being “hollow,” containing both the castle 
  dungeons and natural grottoes where “something 
  sinister lairs,” but the tales disagree wildly on what. 
  Thuntar 
  Realm 
  This realm has moved thrice because its notoriously 
  greedy and belligerent folk (a characterization of 
  Thuntarrans held all across the Borders that of 
  course fails when applied to individuals, but the 
  elders who make decisions for the land are grasping 
  and aggressive in their deals with each other and 
  moreso with outlanders) were driven out by magic-
  using neighbors they couldn’t stop raiding or trying 
  to conquer. Of old, the land that is now Thuntar was 
  goblin territory {see High Emmerock entry}, but it’s 
  now one of the few places in the Borders that’s 
  almost entirely human; Thuntarrans are xenophobes 
  who detest elves, dwarves, halflings, gnomes, and 
  “monsters” (by which they mean not just tentacled 
  things, but all half-breeds, including half-elves) and 
  don’t want them even to visit Thuntar briefly. 
   Most Thuntarrans will be coldly precise, and 
  unhelpful (volunteering nothing, and wanting 
  payment for all services offered, like giving 
  directions) when dealing with elves, half-elves, 
  dwarves, halflings, and gnomes, though if in an 
  obviously mixed band, a human speaks for the group, 
  they’ll treat the human more cordially. Younger 
  Thuntarrans, eager to see the wider world and “live 
  life,” will be far less rude and intolerant. 
   Thuntar is named for the long-dead Baradur 
  Thuntar, an adventurer from the Tashalar who stood 
  “half again as tall as most men,” and called himself 
  the King of Adventurers. He had few descendants, 
  and his line died out by the 1330s DR. 
   A small but populous land of cottages with walled 
  gardens and workshop sheds (barns), that uses the 
  placid River Glarth running through it for barge 
  transport and to power mills, Thuntar is prosperous, 
  flourishing, and full of as much ambition as ever. 
   Every decade or so Thuntarrans muster military 
  expeditions, bolster them with hired mercenaries, 
  and invade someone else to the east or northeast 
  (usually Dunbridges, Irl, or the Grand Duchy of 
  Shantal) to once more attempt to expand into the 
  “Thunt Empire” Thuntarrans have long dreamed of. 
  They lack the numbers, wealth, magic, and military 
  discipline to achieve much, so these expeditions 
  have been a series of failures—but nothing seems to 
  stop them trying. 
   In business dealings and everything else, 
  Thuntarrans are “pushy,” and when they’re not 
  contemplating conquests, they’re seeking ways of 
  making coin here, there, and everywhere across 
  Faerûn, trying to insert themselves as “middlemen” 
  in chains of shipping, and subverting local tax 
  collectors and civic officials everywhere with bribery 
  and blackmail, to get preferential prices or treatment 
  or both. 
   Elminster of Shadowdale and some others have in 
  the past described Thuntarrans as “unsubtle echoes 
  of Zhentarim or Thayans in their trade dealings and 
  business habits,” and this has been noticed by others, 
  notably the Zhentarim, who often manipulate 
  traders of Thuntar to do dirty or abrasive work for 
  them, or to serve as scapegoats for what the Zhents 
  do. 
  What Meets the Eye 
  in Thuntar 
  The blazon of Thuntar is on “stone needle” roadside 
  boundary-posts, and on the doors and high on the 
  walls of all Thuntarran citadels (the usually modest 
  fortified stone buildings that serve as barracks for 
  Thuntar’s soldiery, the Sentinels of Thuntar, as jails, 
  and as banks; moneykeeping and changing is run by 
  Thuntar’s civic officials, the Hands of the Council, 
  and done exclusively out of citadels so the Sentinels 
  can provide on-the-spot security). That blazon is a 
  black eagle “displayed” (open beak pointing to the 
  
   
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  viewer’s left, wings displayed and elevated, 
  symmetrical tail straight below it), with its legs 
  outstretched and clutching a horizontal 
  drawn/naked, scabbardless long sword (point to the 
  viewer’s left, hilt to the viewer’s right), on a gold 
  keystone (wedge, wider at top)-shaped field. The 
  eagle has a red pupil, and its eye is always depicted 
  as staring straight out at the viewer. This is also used 
  as a badge on the breasts and backs of Sentinel 
  surcoats, and is drawn on all posted proclamations 
  (usually prohibitions against doing something at the 
  posted site, like “leave no wagons standing here”). 
   Roads throughout Thuntar are good, often cobbled, 
  and always wide enough for two wagons to pass 
  comfortably, with crowns and drainage ditches. They 
  are neither lit nor signposted (except for oil-lanterns 
  high on poles, and raised and lowered for refilling by 
  means of chains and pulleys, outside the front doors 
  of every citadel), and the roadside ditches are often 
  full of rotting refuse and broken items because that’s 
  the cheapest, handiest disposal, and “Thuntarrans 
  pinch coins until they yelp.” However, Thuntarran 
  homes and businesses are generally neat, clean, and 
  efficient; Thuntarrans are industrious, energetic 
  workers—they just see no point in spending time or 
  coin on anything they consider “someone else’s 
  problem” (so if a ditch becomes so choked that it 
  can’t drain, and rainwater or floodwater inundates 
  the road, they’ll clear the blockage or loudly demand 
  the Hands pay someone less busy to do so). 
   There are no named or built-up settlements in 
  Thuntar; instead, the whole country is a patchwork 
  of family homes with their walled gardens 
  (vegetables; flowers are a waste of coin), their barns 
  or workshop sheds, and larger farm fields. Woodlots 
  are unknown, but field boundaries are often long but 
  narrow “wild” lines of trees, weeds, and brush. Inns 
  are unknown, but taverns (always standing across 
  the road from a citadel, facing them directly) rent 
  upstairs rooms to travelers (and report all such 
  rentals to the Sentinels). Currently-flourishing 
  Thuntarran taverns are all Good/Expensive, and 
  include The Twelve Dukes (referring to “decadent” 
  dukes of other Border realms slain long ago in 
  separate duels with Thuntarrans); The Sun Smiles 
  on Thuntar; and The Triumph (of Thuntar). 
  Governance in Thuntar 
  Policy decisions are made by a voting Council of 
  twenty-three heads of certain senior (the oldest 
  wealthy) Thuntarran families, who meet in private 
  because most decisions involve cold-blooded 
  scratch-my-back-I’ll-scratch-yours horsetrading that 
  they don’t want other Thuntarrans hearing. These 
  family patriarchs and matriarchs are all selfish, busy 
  people, and meet only once a month if they can get 
  away with it, so in daily life, countless smaller 
  decisions are made by the Hands. Hands dispense 
  justice in court hearings, Hands apply Council 
  decrees, set the agenda of decisions for the Council 
  to make (“hear”), collect taxes and fees, and contract 
  out all civic work (often to kin, though shoddy work 
  is tolerated from no one). A few Council members 
  are interfering busybodies who watch over the 
  Hands and try to instruct them, but most don’t care, 
  so long as their own business interests and daily 
  lives aren’t harmed by decisions, Hands doings, and 
  unfolding events. (Typical Council decisions are 
  reached by majority vote after modifications have 
  been made to gain the votes of whichever 
  Councillors think they can get something—
  sometimes a direct but small personal payment—in 
  return for their support.) 
   The Sentinels of Thuntar were formerly so much 
  the tools of individual Council members that public 
  outcry (involving several Councillors being killed in 
  the streets, and many others “bloodied”) eventually 
  forced them to adopt a “we mever speak with the 
  Council, except as suspects or witnesses” policy and 
  a diligent attention to legal details. They are vigilant 
  and suspicious by training, but tolerant of small 
  offenses, even by outlanders (first transgressions of 
  minor things will result in a “but if I catch you again 
  doing . . .” warning), and have worked with the 
  Hands who dispense justice to simplify and 
  minimize laws, so aside from theft and property 
  damage, only crimes of violence tend to be 
  prosecuted, everything else resulting in small pay-
  now-and-it’s-forgotten fines. The head of any 
  Thuntarran family can demand justice from the 
  Council if they dislike a Hand’s ruling, but this really 
  applies only to wealthy, powerful families, because 
  anyone else coming before Council will be verbally 
  spanked by the Councillors and told to obey the 
  Hand’s decision or a worse one will be “enacted 
  upon their head.” 
  Wealth in Thuntar 
  Thuntar is one of the most prosperous lands in the 
  Borders, or anywhere, though it’s far from 
  ostentatious. Thuntarrans tend to always have coin 
  on them, and to have even more hidden away on 
  their own property for emergencies, but the majority 
  of their wealth is in banks or invested all over 
  Faerûn. Any tales of lost or stolen wealth are 
  investigated by greedily hopeful Thuntarrans 
  without hesitation, so Thuntar has no “treasure 
  tales” of note. With that said, citizens are always 
  trying to slide out of paying taxes by doing under-
  the-table deals and understating or outright hiding 
  income, so caches of trade-bars, coin, and gems in 
  small safekeeping-coffers may be found anywhere. 
  (Wealthy Councillors like to purchase golems or 
  other magically animated objects to serve as 
  
   
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  guardians, and stash their caches in or on these 
  guards.) 
   As busy traders, Thuntarrans import and export 
  just about everything in small daily quantities, and 
  do much “combining several objects together to 
  make something that can be sold at a profit” work in 
  their workshops, but aside from firewood in winter, 
  their large-bulk imports of any one good are few. 
   Thuntarrans are always interested in news and 
  rumors, so as to keep abreast of current and future 
  business opportunities. They will watch and listen to 
  outlanders not just out of suspicion, but because 
  travelers are “bringers of opportunities.” 
  Thur 
  City 
  After Derlusk, Thur is the busiest Border Kingdoms 
  port, serving as a gateway to the western Border 
  realms and funneling a steady flow of goods to and 
  from prosperous Blackalblade, inland to the 
  southeast {see Blackalblade entry}. Long ago, when 
  the Sward was a realm, Thur was briefly under its 
  way, but it has been independent for centuries. For 
  much of that time, thanks to its very red soil that 
  tells any wise eye there’s much iron to be had locally, 
  dwarves and gnomes have dwelt in Thur, and now 
  are the eldest Thurar families, and firmly hold onto 
  their titles as “Lords of Thur.” 
   The dwarves and gnomes came to mine and work 
  the iron (and the copper found in abundance, too), 
  making alloys, fashioning armor for sale, and 
  perfecting molds so they could cast pipes and 
  pulleys and hinges and wagon-axle-sockets and all 
  manner of small, useful monger. Their forges and 
  foundries belch out smoke and enrich Thur to this 
  day, even though the surface iron deposits were 
  worked out long ago, and the dwarves now hire 
  human adventurers to guard them against monsters 
  as they delve deeper and deeper into the wild 
  Underdark, by means of tunnels beneath their 
  foundries that descend into the linked caverns and 
  fissures and even underground lakes of the vast 
  Realms Below. 
   Prominent local dwarven families include the 
  Arkarkurs, the Firefists, and the Kalglonts, and 
  gnome families of local importance are the Dleezrin, 
  the Minstrelwishes, the Nolnur, and the Sarrack. The 
  visitor should be aware that the ancestors of many 
  Thurar dwarves were outcasts or “Clanless,” and 
  these families consider themselves independent of 
  dwarf clans elsewhere in Faerûn—fiercely so. 
   Over time, humans looking to make coin came to 
  Thur in numbers, and have long dominated Thur in 
  sheer headcount, though the resident dwarves and 
  gnomes have been careful to cling to political power, 
  by keeping a majority of the lordships. So many of 
  them have come to Thur to take part in its bustling 
  prosperity that Thur has recently grown from large 
  town to city, and shows no sign of this growth 
  slowing. 
  The Lords of Thur 
  The city is governed by nine Lords, who meet 
  together on a circle of thrones (identical plain, 
  highbacked stone seats) to make laws and hammer 
  out decrees and decide military policy. They are not 
  supposed to directly meet otherwise (to cut down on 
  “back room deals”). Individual Lords sit as judges 
  (daily) to hear citizen pleas, complaints and 
  suggestions, and to settle criminal matters and civil 
  disputes (but their judgments can be appealed to a 
  trio of Lords sitting as “high court,” who very rarely 
  reverse judgments of a lone Lord, but often expand 
  or refine them, often lessening them if a miscreant 
  agrees to do Thur a service such as investing in this 
  or stepping back from participation in that or going 
  adventuring on yon specific mission). 
   Two Lords may be human, three are dwarves, and 
  four are gnomes. Until a family lineage dies out 
  (none has, as yet), the dwarf and gnome seats 
  remain in the hands of particular houses (the 
  aforementioned prominent families). The sitting 
  Lords vote among themselves to fill any throne 
  vacancies, or to dismiss individual Lords, though the 
  dwarf and gnome families who hold the dwarf and 
  gnome seats retain the right to fill them with another 
  of their family if one is dismissed; in practice, the 
  “may be human” seats are held for a few years at a 
  time, but the rest of the lordships are held by the 
  same individuals until they grow too ill or aged to 
  continue, and resign. 
   Right now, one of the two “may be human” seats is 
  held by a fifth gnome, and this is a source of some 
  friction, because the dwarf Lord of the strongest 
  ambitions and character, Teland Arkarkur, is a less 
   
   
   
   
   
   
  TELAND 
  ARKARKUR 
  
   
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  than-friendly rival of this fifth gnome Lord, Sabryn 
  Launtaun, who’s of similar character (“two stubborn 
  but very loud stones,” one Thurran merchant 
  described them)—though neither would ever 
  knowingly harm or betray Thur to “do” the other. 
  They merely clash often as to the best way forward 
  for Thur, and on how best to achieve aims they agree 
  upon. 
   The Lords are primarily concerned with 
  safeguarding the independence of Thur (by 
  eliminating resident doppelgangers and any other 
  known shapeshifters, by firmly curbing the influence 
  of anyone who tries to buy Thurran property or 
  become a creditor of Thurran merchants to the 
  extent that they can dictate or nudge those traders 
  into certain actions—the Zhentarim, the Red 
  Wizards of Thay, and various Calishite satraps are 
  known to have repeatedly tried such “slidings in” to 
  Thurran politics—and militarily). 
   The sole current human Lord, Onstul Gaeraudren, 
  is a LN Chondathan hm fighter who formerly headed 
  his own mercenary company; he was named Lord to 
  improve the city’s soldiery, in training, equipage, and 
  numbers, and is busily doing so; the soldiers also 
  serve as police, are known as the Shields of Thur, 
  and are currently almost three hundred strong. 
   Thur has the largest and most numerous docks of 
  any port on the Lake of Steam, and straddles the 
  coastal trade-road west of the realm of Ondeeme; 
  the Lords keep an open area dockside for wagons to 
  turn, assemble teams, and easily load and unload, 
  and ring this open area with warehouses, so (as 
  opposed to, say, Derlusk) trade goods can quickly 
  flow in and out. There are tolls on Thur’s gates (it 
  has a low stone wall, thrice rebuilt as the city has 
  expanded) of a copper piece a wagon or laden pack-
  beast), and the amount is kept this low to encourage 
  everyone to use Thur. Aside from caravan paddocks, 
  for camping, the Lord prohibit erecting buildings 
  outside the walls, within a ten-minute ride of the city 
  gates (aside from a few farmhouses that predated 
  this decree). 
   Adult citizens are charged a 5 gp tax annually if 
  they don’t own property, and a 10 gp tax if they do, 
  and there’s little grumbling or tax evasion because 
  what the coins are spent on is made very clear by the 
  Lords, and because Thur has the best plumbing 
  (piped clean water in, wastes out), paving (cobbles 
  with tiled spillways, and smart drainage 
  everywhere), building standards, street lighting 
  (hooded oil lamps up on tall poles by means of 
  chains and pulleys), and civic planning (tiny parks, 
  with public benches!) of anywhere in the Borders—
  and better than most cities anywhere in Faerûn. 
  Recent Troubles 
  That’s not to say life in Thur is unbroken brightness 
  and gaiety. The years of mining have brought about 
  many recent collapses; sinkholes have been opening 
  up here and there in the city without warning, 
  plummeting buildings down into unexplored 
  subterranean depths—and in at least one instance, 
  rousing monsters from the Realms Below to swarm 
  up into the city, attacking all citizens within reach. 
  More than a score of such precipitous subsidences 
  have befallen over the last year, and the frequency of 
  these collapses seems to be increasing, not falling off. 
  Amenities 
  Thur is one of the few Border settlements to have a 
  full range of temples—but the Lords have firmly 
  decreed that these must all be of the same size and 
  very similar external architecture; this has been 
  adhered to (not without several demolitions in the 
  past, to make their determination clear) so that the 
  holy houses differ only in the holy symbols above 
  their front doors (deity statues must be inside, never 
  outside). There are even painted signboards inside 
  the four city gates (Shoremeads, east onto the 
  coastal headlands; Easting, carrying the coastal 
  trade-road into Ondeeme and beyond; Southwind, 
  opening due south into the farmland that serves 
  Thur; and Westing, carrying the coastal trade-road 
  west to Waernd and beyond) showing visitors, by 
  means of a simplified “main streets only” map, 
  where all the holy houses are. 
   Healing for coin is an important and expected local 
  temple service, as is delivering (to temples in distant 
  locales) or holding for safekeeping messages and 
  documents. 
   Inns and rooming-houses are abundant in Thur; 
  there are at least two inns just inside each city gate, 
  the Shoremeads pair serving as portside 
  accommodations for sailors on shore leave. All are 
  Good/Expensive, and they are: Shoremeads: The 
  Merfolks’ Tails and Ilkur’s Stormhaven; Easting: 
  Sonder’s Warm Welcome and Forgefires High; 
  Southwind: The Hearth of Vuraxrus and The 
  Wyvernstar; and Westing: Basurk’s Rest and 
  Delmuth’s Doors. The Lords send Shields regularly 
  to inspect all inns, to make sure they adhere to strict 
  standards regarding cleanliness, services (full dining, 
  at all hours; hot baths, at all hours), and 
  overcrowding (none unless a fire or collapse causes 
  the Shields to order additional guests be sheltered). 
   The taverns of Thur vary from nigh-hushed “clubs” 
  to raucous, but are clean, well-lit, and have watchful 
  Shields keeping order in quartets at all times, 
  relieving each other in shifts and having the ability 
  to summon reinforcements from the street patrols 
  by blowing distinctive “two-note” (two tones at 
  
   
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  once) belt horns. So the taverns in Thur tend to be 
  safe and to be free of brawling (though arguments 
  and cursing may erupt; the Shields don’t mind 
  manners, just violence). There’s never a tavern far 
  away, anywhere in Thur, but the traveler should be 
  aware that by tradition (not Lords’ decree) the 
  Axehaven (in the center of Thur) is dwarves only, 
  and Brelder’s (by the docks) is gnome-only (anyone 
  can drink or meet there, and will be served with 
  careful respect, but non-dwarves or non-gnomes will 
  be ignored by other patrons unless asking the way to 
  another tavern, and will likely feel very 
  uncomfortable). 
   There’s a tavern handy to every city gate, too, and 
  over the years these have grown to become the 
  largest and most popular. They are (Shoremeads) 
  The Old Man’s Fist; (Easting) The Slaked Sword; 
  (Southwind) The Dun Dragon; and (Westing) 
  Trontur’s Tankard. 
   Another tavern is notorious for flirtation, 
  debauchery, and saucy entertainment (bards telling 
  lewd jokes and singing off-color songs, as well as 
  scantily-clothed dancers and actors doing short 
  scenes). It’s Bellara’s, on Shondle Street, near the 
  center of the city. The Shields turn a blind eye to 
  behavior in Bellara’s that they’d quell elsewhere. 
  (Bellara’s has an upstairs where adventurers and 
  others are hired for missions their patrons don’t 
  want talked about publicly, and where merchants 
  meet to transact deals they don’t want competitors 
  to be forewarned of. The Shields do make sure the 
  upstairs isn’t used for anything else.) 
  Businesses 
  Thur offers everything a city can be expected to hold, 
  from gambling clubs and organizations devoted to 
  sports and hobbies to the full range of what can 
  possibly be bought. Notable Thurran establishments 
  include: 
   Rondalakur’s Fine Mongery, where bulk 
  purchases can be made of nails, hooks, hinges, 
  pipes (and turnwheel valves, and pipe elbows), 
  cauldrons, stoves, shields, porthole frames, iron 
  wheels, lanterns, pots, and just about any sort of 
  metal toll, implement, weapon, fastening, or piece 
  of armor one can think of. In its window are 
  beautiful articulated gowns made of overlapping 
  sliding plates that fetchingly cover shapely 
  wooden mannekins, and while these can be 
  purchased, few have need of such garments, so 
  they persist from year to year as eye-catching 
  displays. 
   Tuttar’s Trophies, where the preserved and 
  mounted heads, paws, tails, wings, and scales of 
  fearsome monsters can be purchased for the 
  finishing touch to discerning décor. Dragon heads 
  (small ones), beholder eyestalks, and gorgon 
  horns are among the larger and more expensive 
  offerings; many purchasers pick up smaller 
  doorknockers and conversation pieces. 
   Urthuk’s Golemworks, where the aging dwarf 
  artisan Olum Urthuk and his associates (clerics 
  and wizards) will produce a golem to order, if one 
  of the in-stock iron, stone, or clay golems won’t 
  suffice. The prices for the store stock models are 
  ruinous enough; as Elminster put it, “custom 
  orders are for the stupidly wealthy only.” (Will 
  ship all over Faerûn; with armed adventurer 
  escorts, to boot.) 
   Xarander’s Transportations, a house where the 
  handsome half-elf Raes Xarander (who has the 
  misfortune to look as if he has partial drow 
  heritage; he well may) offers transport for 
  individuals, packages, written messages, or verbal 
  messages “by trusted courier” on the next flying 
  ship that will dock at his roof-mast. His fees are 
  very high, and only one ship a tenday or so arrives, 
  but he also offers “safe house” accommodations 
  for patrons waiting for a docking to whisk them 
  away. Personal goods carried for extra fees, but 
  not large and heavy cargoes (if a patron and 
  Xarander between them can carry bags aboard in 
  one trip, that’s “personal goods;” dead bodies in 
  bags cost another full passage fee, as if they were a 
  living passenger). Xarander won’t deal in slavery. 
  He says. 
   Zaratha’s Beautiful Guises, a luxuriously-
  appointed mansion where all manner of 
  beautification treatments can be had, and (at even 
  higher prices!) “any disguise short of magical” can 
  be applied upstairs behind closed doors, swiftly 
  and discreetly, including garments, dirt, false 
  documents, and appropriate gear and smells. 
  Zaratha prefers to specialize in beautifying with 
  cosmetics, but her staff is skilled in making 
  patrons seem uglier, older, of a different race, and 
  (with the use of dyes, lenses, and prosthetics) of a 
  gender, eye and hair hues they didn’t come in the 
  doors with. 
   Zuulantha’s Wisdom, a nondescript house where 
  an aging, wrinkled woman rumored (correctly, 
  Elminster says) to have yuan-ti blood sells local 
  lore to wayfarers, such as the names of fences for 
  stolen goods in distant cities and trade-way towns, 
  the locations of the sellers of poisons, or 
  professionals who can quickly and silently make a 
  dead body disappear for you in a city; how to 
  safely contact certain cults or secret societies or 
  thieves’ guilds . . . and so on. Elminster deems her 
  information “almost always accurate, and fairly up 
  to date,” and she won’t deceive; if she doesn’t 
  know, she doesn’t invent answers just to collect 
  coin. 
  
   
  96 
  Thurran Heraldry 
  The blazon of Thur can be seen on pennants on its 
  catapult- and beacon-equipped harborwatch towers, 
  the city gates, and on the shields borne by, and the 
  backs and breasts of the plate armor worn by, the 
  Shields, as well as on the front doors of the simple 
  stone keep that serves as a city hall (and Shields 
  headquarters): the Seventower (long ago there were 
  only seven Lords, and despite the expansion in 
  numbers, the older name stuck; there are, however, 
  nine thrones inside). That blazon is an gray anvil, 
  seen side-on with its tongue to the viewer’s left, on a 
  copper-hued shield-shaped (“classic” or “heater” 
  shape) field. Floating above the center of the anvil, 
  vertical with clenched fist uppermost, fingers and 
  thumb towards the viewer, is a gray right-handed 
  gauntlet. 
  Urspreth 
  Thorp 
  A farm-market community on the road between 
  Thort and Thuntar, in the “middle of nowhere” (in a 
  dell in the heart of hilly wilderlands broken by a few 
  ranches and farms), Ursrpeth has an inn (that 
  doubles as the local tavern), a wagonworks and 
  carpentry shop, a smith, an oxen-powered grist mill, 
  and a bakery. The owners of these businesses 
  collectively sponsor four retired adventurers to 
  serve as local keep-order Constables, who spend 
  most of their time seeking strayed sheep and goats 
  and hunting down wolves and other “vermin.” 
   Named for the long-dead woman, Ilmra Urspreth, 
  who built and ran the mill (she was a respected and 
  successful dyer and weaver who shipped many 
  blankets and hooded weathercloaks all over the 
  Borders, and beyond), Urspreth today is a sparsely-
  inhabited, sleepy place. The baker recently started 
  buying and selling horses as remounts for travelers, 
  but business has been less than brisk. 
   The inn is The Green Falcon (Good/Moderate), 
  and its proprietors, Lhaera and Imbrar Narwood (CG 
  human rogues retired from a short adventuring 
  career and longer drudgery as painters and coopers) 
  are secretly Emerald Enclave members and will 
  assist Enclave members by letting them use the inn 
  or the back rooms of their own home as a “safe 
  house” (the two buildings are linked underground 
  by a low-ceilinged, stone-lined root cellar crowded 
  with turnips, apples, and kegs of beer). 
   The wagonworks and carpentry shop is the large, 
  busy, and cluttered with lumber and half-finished 
  projects Martur’s Wagons, proprietor the stout, 
  wheezing, always sarcastically calm grizzled old 
  Helmur Martur (NG Chondathan hm), who 
  commands a large staff of willing and capable 
  apprentices (only used wagons for sale, but a large 
  selection of new wheels and axles always on offer), 
  the smith is the not-finework-skilled but a capable 
  ferrier Hanstalan Narbroodur (CG Damaran hm), the 
  mill is run by the jovial but utterly nondescript 
  Urhanz Zurth (LN Chondathan hm), and the baker is 
  the merry, ruddy-faced, large and aging Avorna 
  Tarthglass (CG Illuskan hf; the bakery is her home, 
  and signless, but is readily found by the smells and 
  the locals trudging to and from it for daily bread). 
   The most intriguing treasure tale Urspreth offers 
  is that an entire caravan, of six laden wagons 
  crammed with both wares and coin, vanished 
  entirely on a misty morning in 1477 DR, somewhere 
  on the road just east of the “last house east” in 
  Urspreth—without a sound or trace. People, horses, 
  wagons; nothing has ever been found. 
   So they may have been magically or by dragon-
  snatch carried off, or may have ended up hidden 
  locally, and dispersed from hiding. Or just might still 
  be hidden, somewhere near . . . (There are caves “a 
  good way” north of Urspreth, where the land starts 
  to rise to the Neth Stand, that serve bears, owlbears, 
  and wolves as lairs, and so are avoided by locals, but 
  they’ve long since been searched for wagons or 
  anything else of value, fruitlessly.) 
   Of old (most Ursp believe—correctly—that in this 
  instance, “old” means the 1330s DR), their 
  picturesque wooded dell was home to the self-styled 
  “Witches of Urspreth,” an all-female human and half-
  elven adventuring band of wizards and sorcerers 
  who fiercely defended their home against all would-
  be conquerors, when they weren’t off adventuring. 
  However, they departed on expeditions often 
  enough that they had to several times retake 
  Urspreth by force from someone who’d seized it 
  during their absence. Until the day came when they 
  never returned, having met with fatal misfortune 
  somewhere far away in Faerûn. 
   The cluster of homes belonging to their retainers, 
  extended families, and a few friends remained, as a 
  self-sufficient hunting, fishing, and farming (edible 
  forest fungi, mainly) community isolated in the then-
  deep forest (farm clearances have since left the lands 
  around more lightly wooded). Urspreth has survived 
  to this day, though increasingly as a farming center 
  and less a “forest hold.” Ursp tell many inevitable 
  tales of the riches the Witches died and never 
  returned to reclaim—and it is certainly true that the 
  adventuring band was wealthy and successful, and 
  did vanish on an adventuring foray upon which they 
  apparently set out with no more than the usual 
  weaponry, provisions, and traveling gear. So perhaps 
  the dell does still hold their wealth. Some of the tales 
  say the Witches brought back a “weird monster” as 
  an ally or pet or captive, and it still guards their 
  treasure, well over a century and a half later. 
  
   
  97 
  Waernd 
  Hamlet 
  A wayside farming community on the coast trade-
  road between the Mukshars and Ondeeme, Waernd 
  is a place few Borderers have heard of, or recall if 
  they’ve been through it, unless they particularly 
  liked their meals. Two trade-roads meet in Waernd, 
  so it has a large and good inn (in the southeastern 
  corner where the roads meet) and tavern (facing it 
  across the road, from the northern or Lake of Steam 
  side), as well as a cavernous farmers’ market (an old 
  warehouse) where wagons can be taken in for a 
  night out of the cold and wet for modest fees. There’s 
  also a waystables, that offers stabling, horse-
  doctoring, and buys and sells horses and oxen. 
   The two-floor, rambling inn is The Welcoming 
  Wizard (Good/Moderate), and has a carved life-sized 
  wooden wizard statue out front that gets vandalized 
  or has indignities (feminine garments over its head, 
  dumped head-first in horsetroughs, has rotting 
  roadkill put in his outstretched hand, and so on) 
  heaped upon him often. The name and statue 
  commemorate a wizard who befriended someone 
  who stopped by his campfire here in the early 1100s 
  DR; his name and the circumstances have been 
  forgotten down the passing years, and it’s something 
  of a local sport to invent new colorful tales about 
  who the wizard really was, and what he was up to in 
  Waernd. The Wizard serves good, filling food in its 
  dining room at all hours, and is run by three large 
  families of motherly women and girls (gnomes of the 
  surname Ormsaw, halflings of the Ingleheart clan, 
  and humans hight Rocklamb; the efficient, no-
  nonsense, and brisk “Mother” Mornra Rocklamb is 
  the real leader of it all, whenever she’s awake), who 
  employ several retired adventurers (dwarven and 
  human males) as bouncers, porters, and handymen. 
  The Wizard is a friendly place where folk of the 
  hamlet gather of evenings to play at cards, dice, and 
  board games, trade gossip with wayfarers, and to 
  hire folk for small “odd jobs.” 
   The tavern, The Rolling Wheel (Fair/Cheap), is a 
  darker place where the gamblers and drinkers 
  assemble to play high-stakes games, talk plainly, 
  make shady deals, and do “serious business” with 
  travelers and each other. Old retired men come here 
  to sit and nurse their tankards, not to the noisier 
  Wizard, where children can be seen and heard. 
   The waystables is Horstal’s Fine Beasts, though 
  Horstal died sixty summers ago, and the strong-
  smelling but well-run establishment is now in the 
  capable hands of Elornra Behaernard (NG Illuskan hf 
  fighter), who is good at tending sick or injured 
  horses, mules, and oxen. 
   Three centuries ago, this part of the Borders was 
  home to many tiny realms, most ruled by self-styled 
  High Dukes or Dread Barons, and although they 
  destroyed each other in wars and were long ago 
  forgotten, they’ve left a few traces behind. Their 
  easily-dismantled castles were long ago robbed of 
  every last building stone, leaving behind only the 
  deep pits of their onetime dungeons, but on rock 
  crags southeast of Waernd stand the crumbling 
  shells of two keeps too difficult to reach with carts; 
  no roads lead to them. Betimes the haunt of brigands, 
  they have fallen into ruin, and are the lairs of 
  monsters, so Waerndar shun them. But they say both 
  of these surviving keeps—Shalla’s Fang farther 
  south and west, and Irongates more east and north 
  (and long lacking gates) stand atop tunnels that 
  descend deep, through the crags they crown and 
  down into the Underdark beneath. And down there, 
  among more fearsome monsters than have ever 
  emerged to prowl Waernd, lie the riches left behind 
  when these dukes and barons fell in battle, and came 
  not back to claim their own. There’s a suit of armor 
  that flies, and a helm that talks, and more gems and 
  gold coins than one man can count in a long summer. 
  Or so the tales say. 
   As recently as the 1320s DR, Waernd was home to 
  a self-styled “Lord Waerndrivarr” who lacked a 
  castle, and was in truth a brigand who busily raided 
  surrounding places until someone grew tired of this 
  and slew him and his band of ruffians, and burned 
  their palisaded log home to stop any successor 
  robber baron from getting established. 
   Waer tell tales of Lord Waerndrivarr’s never-
  found treasure, and the ghosts of him and his men 
  haunting the vicinity, but although many sightings 
  down the years suggest there are lurking undead, no 
  trace of any treasure has ever been found. Many folk 
  searched after the demise of the Lord, as it was 
  commonly believed that he was amassing coin, gems, 
  and trade-bars to pay for the construction of a stone 
  keep when he died. 
   Something about Waernd—no human knows just 
  what—makes the place attractive to wyverns, who 
  often appear out of the skies to circle and roost here 
  until other wyverns snow up, whereupon they mate 
  noisily, and then depart again. In the summer of 
  1462 DR, a local earned the name “Wyvernslayer” 
  when he managed to kill a wyvern, but he was 
  hunted and down and torn apart for his pains by 
  wyverns who arrived later. And were aided by 
  humans wearing wyvern masks, though who those 
  folk were, where they came from, and if they live yet 
  are all mysteries. 
   
  
   
  98 
  Yallasch 
  Small City 
  A stone-walled port that clings to the seacliffs and 
  descends them on steep, winding cobbled streets 
  often slick with sea-mists to a tiny but cliff-sheltered 
  harbor, Yallasch is an old city, built in the early 
  1100s DR by exiled Calishites and those unwelcome 
  in Ormpur, Sheirtalar, and around the Tashalar. 
  Many of them were wealthy, or became so through 
  smuggling or the transfers of the treasuries of fearful 
  Calishite families to their isolated abode. The rocky 
  terrain and the thick living green wall of Jundarwood 
  has always isolated Yallasch from the wars and 
  tumult of the Borders, and its very steep, rocky 
  locale made it difficult indeed to storm from the 
  sea—for almost before its first buildings went up, 
  the Yallaschans built huge counterweight trebuchets 
  that could hurl boulders large enough to sink even 
  large ships with ease—which they did whenever 
  pirates or unfriendly Calishite naval vessels 
  approached. The harbor-mouth was narrow enough 
  to block with chains, and these days is defended by 
  several successive curtains of chains, so behind 
  these defenses Yallasch survived and grew. 
   Over time, its wealth and isolation attracted sages, 
  exiled nobles and royalty, and malcontents from 
  dozens of countries and independent cities all over 
  Faerûn, and it became a place of learning and 
  innovation, new ideas and sponsorship of new 
  ventures. As its tall and narrow slate-roofed stone 
  houses went up, the builders also tunneled down, 
  hollowing out cellars that by means of tunnels dug 
  so as to run inland had a lot of room to expand. Over 
  time these landward tunnels in the bedrock were 
  enlarged into ideal vaults in which to store riches. 
   And Yallasch stores riches enough to make many 
  kings envious, to this day. 
   The Lord High Mages of Adaerglast, from their 
  fortress abode in Myrinjar {see Adaerglast and 
  Myrinjar entries} have long coveted Yallasch. These 
  days, the Two magically spy on the city, watching 
  even private moments in the inner rooms of 
  Yallaschan houses—and peddlers and traders have 
  informed Yallaschans of this, creating an 
  everpresent tension in the city and a local hatred of 
  the rulers of Adaerglast. Citizens as well as other 
  Borderers refer to Yallasch as “the City Where One 
  Feels Watched,” or just “The Watched City.” 
   Yallasch has never been a busy port, but it has long 
  been, despite the lack of space, a busy shipbuilding 
  center—for small fishing sloops and coastal boats 
  only, because the hulls to be small enough to be built 
  inside cantilevered-out from the bedrock-on-
  massive-pilings sheds (“the shipworks”) halfway up 
  the cliff, then lowered vertically through the floors of 
  the shipworks in chain-cradles, down into the inner 
  berths of the harbor for finishing (decks, masts, and 
  rigging). Three master shipbuilders share work 
  crews, hoists, and rope- and sail-makers: Terth 
  Tannorthyn, a grizzled, one-eyed retired pirate (CN 
  Illuskan hm rogue); Zharra Larathtal (CG Illuskan hf 
  sorcerer; she hails from Ulgarth and does a brisk 
  business in selling detailed nautical charts); and 
  Bowryn “Broadaxe” (LN dm fighter; a bald, profane 
  dwarf who considers himself clanless, and curtly 
  refuses to say why or name his clan). 
   Yallasch offers all the wares and services found in 
  most cities. Aside from the “shipworks,” notable city 
  businesses are moneychanging and coin storage 
  (Ildrath Norbold on Windfalcon Street and Breth 
  Damchar on Luthtail Lane are the largest, and bitter 
  rivals), jewelry, and finesmithing (which includes 
  counterfeiting, especially of coins; the finest work is 
  arguably that of Suldur Arhabur on Stormcandle 
  Street, but the best forger is generally agreed to be 
  Ulst “Red” Reddaryn, of Smokesails Lane). 
   Yallasch has for years been governed by a one-
  seat-one-vote Council that elects a Speaker from 
  among its number. The Speaker makes public 
  pronouncements and chairs Council meetings 
  (calling votes and setting forth motions), but is 
  prohibited from voting on the budgets of, or giving 
  any direct commands to, the Watch of Yallasch, who 
  are gray-tabard-wearing city police, armed with 
  maces, belt knives, and “buffet-poles” (bucklers 
  welded on the end of spears, in place of the usual 
  blades), or the city militia (all property owners in 
  the city must participate, either personally or by 
  sending a family member or employee) in arms 
  training and defense drills, operating in dozens as 
  “patrols” under the command of a Shieldsar 
  (captain) and First Blade (sergeant), so a patrol 
  consists of fourteen citizens. Horns sounded from 
  the city wall watchtowers call out the militia when 
  needed. Currently there are over four thousand 
  militia “trusties,” and two hundred and twenty-six 
  sworn Watch. 
   There are forty-three seats on Council, thirty held 
  by the heads (or in a few cases their designated 
  representatives, usually a younger and more 
  vigorous family member) of senior wealthy 
  Yallaschan families, and thirteen filled annually by 
  other nominated and populace-elected citizens who 
  may not be members of the families of other seat 
  holders, nor ever serve consecutive terms. 
   The Speaker can serve an unlimited number of 
  consecutive terms, and retains his or her Council 
  seat while doing so (no one else fills it for them 
  while they’re being Speaker). The current Speaker is 
  the wise, grave, and prudent Tasharra Velsoond (LN 
  Illuskan hf wizard), who devotes herself to 
  thoroughly understanding all issues and planning for 
  
   
  99 
  the future, involving as many Council members as 
  she can in her researches and debates in an effort to 
  maximize consensus before votes are called. She is 
  so respected and relied upon that she’s served four 
  consecutive terms already, and may go on serving 
  until she dies. Seeking to prepare replacements, 
  Velsoond often lets other Council members lead 
  debates. (It’s widely rumored in the city that if the 
  mages who rule Adaerglast didn’t know she was a 
  wizard, they’d have invaded long ago—and this may 
  be true. Velshoond keeps secret her apprentices, if 
  any, and her own level of mastery of the Art.) 
  Although Yallasch views Adaerglast as an enemy for 
  obvious reasons, Velsoond has been careful to 
  maintain a civic policy of friendly neutrality to all 
  others. The city remains largely isolated from the 
  rest of the Borders, but most Calishites no longer 
  view it as a “pirate hold” but merely another 
  independent trading-port, albeit one with not much 
  to offer, so from the Yallaschan viewpoint, this policy 
  has been a success. 
   The blazon of Yallasch is seen only on its landward 
  wall gates and wall-top banners (the city walls are of 
  massive talus construction, sloping steeply up to 
  their vertical rise, except on the seaward side, where 
  they rise vertically from the sheer shore cliffs). It is a 
  black hammer diagonally overlapping a black needle 
  of the same size as the hammer, to form a cross, the 
  eye-end of the needle at viewer’s upper left and the 
  head of the hammer to the viewer’s upper right, all 
  on an upright oval field of blue, the bottom half being 
  royal blue (waves), and the upper half being 
  turquoise (the sky). It’s displayed as a badge on the 
  breast and back of Watch tabards, and on militia 
  bicep-bands. 
   Notable inns in Yallasch include the luxurious and 
  friendly Harvandrur’s Bell on Strantur Street 
  (Excellent/Expensive); the large, busy, and often 
  noisy Phelmur’s Feast (Good/Moderate) on 
  Downdolphin Street; the correctly-reputed-to-be-
  haunted, and so, often nigh-empty Antravel’s Roof 
  (Good/Moderate) on Tholurr Lane; and the often-
  stinking-of-fish due to being almost at water level 
  The Ship Asail (Good/Cheap) on Arnsarth Lane. 
   Yallasch doesn’t have many taverns, and all they’re 
  quieter, more orderly drinking-places than found in 
  most other places, given to talk and board game 
  playing rather than brawling; The Bronze Door on 
  Mauravur Street (Excellent/Moderate) caters to 
  adventurers (and the Watch!); The Unfurled Map 
  (Good/Moderate) on Sashrent Lane is popular with 
  merchants and folk seeking sponsorships; and The 
  Black Ship (Poor/Cheap) on Spitadder Lane is where 
  sailors go to drink, wench, grumble, and sometimes 
  snore. 
   Notable businesses in Yallasch include Ils Yondur, 
  Fine Ropemaker, on Arnsarth Lane; Duthchanther’s 
  (oddments shop, including magical ingredients, 
  curios, and rarities from all over Faerûn) on 
  Longdagger Lane; and The Rung Shield (arms and 
  armor shop, offering a huge array of weapons and 
  armor, including horse barding, exotic shields; the 
  works) on Downdolphin Street. 
   Yallasch is a damp place; when it’s not actually 
  raining (or sleeting or snowing), sea-mists often 
  cling to the city like a drenching-wet fog, cutting 
  visibility to as little as a dozen paces away. Sounds 
  carry oddly in wet air, over or near water, and when 
  echoing off lots of hard stone surfaces, so 
  Yallaschans have learned to murmur quietly unless 
  they want to be overheard. Wayfarers often learn 
  this the hard way. 
  Ythtym 
  Village 
  In recent years, this former waystop (as recently as 
  1471 DR, it was little more than an inn, a horsepond, 
  and a few farmhouses) has been bustling and 
  growing as folk came to the Borders from the Vilhon 
  in increasing numbers to settle in this good coastal 
  farming country, clearing what had been a monster-
  infested forest. 
   In the 1200s DR, the area was thickly forested, and 
  several human Barons with grand self-bestowed 
  titles inhabited small keeps or palisaded timber halls 
  in its depths, feuding and skirmishing with each 
  other as they lorded it over a few families of farmers 
  and woodcutters, but over the next two decades they 
  fell, one by one, to the sword of one baron, who in 
  1249 DR, when he’d bloodily become the last baron 
  left, styled himself “Duke of Ythtar” and started 
  building a grand stone castle. It was vast and 
  rambling but incomplete when he died of winter 
  fever, and his infant son became the second Duke—
  and was murderered by a visiting merchant who 
  wanted the dukedom for himself. That touched off a 
  dark time of slayings until only a handful of folk 
  were left, and they fled to safer places, leaving the 
  unfinished castle empty. In the 1270s, adventurers 
  scoured out the monsters who’d come to lair there, 
  but found nothing of value and departed again, and 
  so began a century of monsters dwelling in the castle 
  until adventurers cleaned them out, then left and 
  new beasts came, whereupon adventurers arrived 
  and fought those monsters—and so on. 
   That went on until the Sundering ravaged this area, 
  but in its wake the coastal road was improved, and 
  the castle was rediscovered and inhabited by several 
  farming families. After they built their own 
  farmhouses in the 1460s DR, they rented out the 
  castle to immigrant after immigrant, room by room. 
  Today, Ythtym Hall, as it’s now known, is the shared 
  
   
  100 
  abode of over seventy folk, families taking individual 
  rooms and unrelated folk sharing others. 
   Ythtymmur have their tales of hauntings, mainly 
  about sinister silent wraiths that follow folk in the 
  woods and make anyone who tries to sleep in the 
  forest disappear, but there are also stories of 
  apparitions in the castle—gliding, gesturing 
  phantoms that beckon the living to follow them, and 
  then always head down into the castle cellars, only 
  to vanish through the solid stone walls. The doors 
  from the cellars in use down into the deeper 
  dungeons were bricked up a decade ago, but the 
  castle is said to have secret doors and passages 
  aplenty, and to connect to the Underdark beneath—
  though why the Duke of Ythtar would have wanted 
  to imperil his home with such a connection is 
  anyone’s guess. The Duke was paying many workers 
  when he fell ill, and those riches must lie somewhere 
  in the castle or near at hand (in a secret room?). 
  There are other tales of treasure, too: the rival 
  barons defeated by the Duke all had their own 
  treasuries, large or small, and these were never 
  recovered when they were slain. Some coins may 
  have been carried off by fleeing servants, but most 
  stories agree that “chests of coins and gems” were 
  buried in the woods, and presumably still lie beneath 
  the roots and soil, to be found. 
   Ythtym’s inn, The Soaring Dragon 
  (Excellent/Moderate), is a large, bustling, 
  prosperous place, thanks to its large dining room 
  that’s crowded at all hours with local families eating 
  and gossiping. Travelers desiring peace and quiet 
  are directed to the Old Wing, running out back, 
  where the local children aren’t allowed and a 
  succession of three heavy doors walls away all the 
  hubbub. The food is good (if simple; soups, stews, 
  and roast fowl on skewers predominate) and the 
  staff friendly, swift, and efficient. It’s run by an old 
  woman, Chaereth Traegeth (NG Chondathan hf 
  fighter), and her female staff (unruly guests are 
  warned that the cook, hostler, and chatelaine are all 
  retired veteran fighters). 
   Ythtym is governed by an elected Castellan, who 
  serves as judge (along with a rotating trio of local 
  elders), and who leads the five village Constables 
  (leather-clad, lightly-armed lantern-bearing 
  lawkeepers). The administration is lenient, keeping 
  order and no more; the current Castellan is the terse, 
  scarred and moustachioed Vorm Nanthar (LN 
  Damaran hm wizard). 
   
   
  
   
  101 
  1490S DR BORDER KINGDOMS PLOTS 
   
  ONSPIRACIES AND PLOTS ABOUND WITHIN 
  the Border Kingdoms. What follows is just a 
  smattering of the schemes in play at any given 
  time. 
  Hunt for the Mighty 
  During the Sundering, one of the reasons High Prince 
  Telamont Tanthul of Thultanthar wanted Myth 
  Drannor conquered was to seize the power of its 
  manyfold mythals, or failing that destroy them and 
  take possession of the magic items he was certain 
  were anchoring them. 
   In ancient times, several cultures (including those 
  of Jhaamdath, Mir, and Imaskar) separately 
  developed a habit of investing enchanted items with 
  power upon power, and eventually magically linking 
  such “mighty” items to lesser enchanted items or 
  ongoing magical effects (such as “fields” or “wards”) 
  and using them as what we real-world moderns 
  might refer to as both a “control switch” and a 
  “battery” for the entire network. 
   A few such items, notably from the Jhaamdathan 
  city of Corrant, have long lain scattered and hidden 
  across what is now the Border Kingdoms. 
   In the 1330s DR, the Wearers of the Purple (Cult of 
  the Dragon) became aware of this through perusal of 
  crumbling diaries from mages’ tombs they 
  plundered, and started hunting these items. All of 
  the searchers perished before finding much of 
  anything, but some of their records fell into the 
  hands of certain mages, and thence by misadventure 
  into the grasp of some renegade Zhentarim—and 
  now, the hunt is on anew, by certain agents of the 
  Zhentarim, the Lords’ Alliance, and the Order of the 
  Gauntlet, who are scouring the Border Kingdom for 
  hints of the whereabouts and natures of these 
  mighty items, but keeping what they’re doing secret 
  even from many fellows in their factions. Both the 
  Harpers and the Emerald Enclave know something is 
  afoot, and are trying to capture and interrogate, or 
  better yet overhear unguarded converse of, various 
  hunters, so as to find out what’s going on. 
   The precise form, means of wielding, and powers 
  of these “mighty” items—which may well be 
  damaged or failing, after so much time and 
  mistreatment, and the ravages of the Spellplague—
  are unknown, but popular forms Jhaamdathan 
  enchanted items took included bracers and what 
  later observers sometimes called “stars” (that is, 
  floating metal items that had projecting-in-many-
  directions spikes). Old and confused legends yield 
  these names for mighty items: the Targe of Eidolons, 
  the Oroandar, and the Vorlstar. 
   Whatever item hidden in (or under) the Grand 
  Duchy of Shantal, that powers its gone-wild wards, 
  might well be one of these “Mighty.” Or, something 
  else entirely… 
  Usurpers in the Making 
  Azoun IV of Cormyr was notorious in his younger 
  days for fathering many bastards, and more than a 
  few of them found their ways to new lives in 
  obscurity all over Faerûn, including in the Border 
  Kingdoms. Where a handful of their descendants 
  have now been traced by the offspring of disgraced 
  and exiled Cormyrean nobles, notably Alaskar 
  Goldsword and Arphoind “Swordscar” Bleth and his 
  sister Anamarra Bleth, who are preparing these 
  “rightful Obarskyr claimants” for various bids to 
  seize the Dragon Throne, covertly seeking support 
  among disaffected nobles resident in Cormyr as they 
  locate and judge suitable mercenary troops, and 
  amass coin enough to engage them. 
   All of the five major factions are aware of some of 
  these schemes; the Zhentarim want them to succeed 
  (their thinking being: it doesn’t matter who prevails, 
  so long as Cormyr is shattered in the strife), and the 
  other factions want them to fail for a variety of 
  reasons, so nipping such bids in the bud right now, 
  in the Border Kingdoms, is something being 
  ferociously but covertly pursued. 
   Right now, Alaskar Goldsword is backing two 
  claimants (without telling either about the existence 
  of the other), Arphoind is readying one claimant 
  with the knowledge and assistance of his sister, and 
  Anamarra has three more claimants up her sleeve 
  but hasn’t enlightened her brother or any of the 
  claimants about her schemes. 
   Alaskar has—by means of trusted go-betweens 
  (veteran traveling merchants who know very well 
  which side of their loaves are buttered)—contacted 
  Sedmond Scoril, Vhondyn Braerwinter, and Balontar 
  Calantar, the patriarchs of their houses, to see if 
  they’ll support Dazark Malanchar, a great-grandson 
  of Azoun IV, in a bid for the throne. It is understood 
  that the three patriarchs would personally gain 
  dukedoms, with much land and coin to go with them, 
  become the privy council advising (controlling) the 
  installed King Dazark, and that various Scorils, 
  Braerwinters, and Calantars would gain offices (paid 
  positions of authority) at Court. 
   Arphoind is offering very much the same sort of 
  arrangement to Flondar Tavernant and Houl Illance 
  C 
  
   
  102 
  on behalf of his claimant, Trest Sandrannar (a 
  grandson of Azoun IV and a man of advanced years 
  whom Arphoind is promising would marry one of 
  the Tavernant daughters and make her his queen). It 
  is understood that the Bleths would be restored to 
  their lands, properties, and good standing, their exile 
  rescinded, and that Arphoind would become Lord of 
  the Treasury. Houl Illance would be named Lord 
  High Marshal of the Realm, and given control of the 
  Purple Dragons and all Obarskyr-owned ships to use 
  for his own trading-enrichment. The new king, 
  marshal, and treasury lord would work together to 
  swiftly and ruthlessly execute all War Wizards not 
  willing to swear personal loyalty to all three. 
  However, Tavernant and IIllance are wary of 
  Westgate (still ruled by the patriarch of the Bleth 
  family, Jaundamicar), and of the Fire Knives thieves’ 
  guild whom the First Lord of Westgate controls, 
  gaining influence in Cormyr, and are proceeding 
  with Arphoind’s scheme very slowly. 
   Anamarra has made common cause with two 
  great-granddaughters of Azoun, Ilandra Maraster 
  and Lalyra Prendrar, and one great-great-grandson, 
  Brace Farandar, without proceeding beyond the “I’m 
  gathering support for you, but you must keep very 
  quiet, as Cormyr has sent out assassins to find and 
  dispose of possible threats to the Crown” stage. 
   All of these claimants are living in the Border 
  Kingdoms under various assumed names, under the 
  protection (and watchful scrutiny) of Alaskar, 
  Arphoind, and Anamarra respectively; they have 
  been moved about, are guarded, and can be whisked 
  hurriedly away to other strongholds and hideholds if 
  need be.  
  The Night Arrow 
  Thus far unbeknownst to the Border Kingdoms and 
  other realms of Faerûn, a Halruaan skyship of 
  maverick design sits hidden in the Realm of the 
  Mount; it resembles a weather-mottled stone keep 
  tower and stands within the crumbling stone walls 
  of Launshar, a onetime baronial castle and later 
  wizard’s stronghold whose central buildings were so 
  magically altered that they exploded during the 
  onset of the Spellplague—so to most scrutiny, today, 
  the skyship is simply part of a long-abandoned castle. 
   In the air, The Night Arrow looks like a cylinder of 
  stone torn up from its foundations—jagged lower 
  end and all—and given the magical power of silent 
  flight (which can be horizontal, vertical, inclined in a 
  diagonal manner, end-first, side-first, rolling, 
  tumbling, or hovering in place, as its helm desires). 
  The long-dead Halruaan eccentric who designed and 
  crafted this flying home for himself fashioned it to 
  look like a tower; despite its dilapidated appearance, 
  its enchantments remain strong. 
   Inside, the ship has been hollowed out by its 
  current owner, a death tyrant known as 
  Quurlanxlam (“Koo-url-ANGS-lam”), to be its lair. 
  There, surrounded by four devoted mindwitnesses 
  (altered beholders mind-linked to their undead 
  beholder “lord”) and served by a handful of flind and 
  living gnolls and a small army of gnoll witherlings, it 
  plots world domination, intending to fly and conquer 
  fortresses and towns around the Sea of Fallen Stars. 
  To accomplish this, Quurlanxlam sees the need for 
  armed hosts to fight on its behalf, and intends to get 
  them by offering goblins of the Underdark, who have 
  been cautiously exploring up through the dungeons 
  of Launshar to raid the surface world, with an eye to 
  eventually plundering the Bright Realms Above in 
  earnest, transport to raid and then conquer target 
  after coastal target; a few villages and keeps at first, 
  and then perhaps the city of Westgate. 
   Quurlanxlam has heard (false) rumors that 
  Westgate is home to some beholder cults (of the 
  urban sort: secret societies that each worship a lone 
  beholder hidden somewhere in or under a city; there 
  are such beholder cults in certain Chessentan and 
  Sembian cities, and a distorted description of the 
  Xanathar in Waterdeep might lead a hearer to think 
  it was the center of yet another beholder cult, but to 
  Quurlanxlam, “the Xanathar” is a title once held by a 
  beholder it knows was killed, long ago). So the lord 
  and helm of The Night Arrow wants Westgate 
  conquered and the beholder there found and 
  destroyed; thereafter, it intends to hire the best 
  human adventurers it can to hunt down all other 
  beholders they may hear of, so the armies of 
  Quurlanxlam can rend them, too. 
   Quurlanxlam is as paranoid as any other beholder; 
  the mere existence of beholder rivals make it 
  restless, and it aches for them all to be found and 
  destroyed. It has a whimsical sense of humor (hence 
  the name it bestowed on its skyship home) and a 
  particular brilliance for devising magical rituals by 
  observation, deduction, and experimentation—
  which is how it managed to acquire its mindwitness 
  servitors and create so many gnoll witherlings. 
   Right now, Quurlanxlam needs human 
  adventurers to act as go-betweens, contacting the 
  goblins and bringing them to it for negotiations (it 
  will promise both the adventurers and the goblins 
  just about anything to get their cooperation, as it has 
  no intention of ultimately being bound to any 
  bargains it makes), and also as scouts to glean 
  intelligence about how best to assault its targets 
  around the Inner Sea. (Quurlanxlam sees wealth as 
  merely a tool to move lesser creatures to do its 
  bidding, and will be quite content to pay or bribe 
  anyone handsomely to carry out missions for it, or 
  refrain from doing certain things. And where offers 
  
   
  103 
  of payment fail, perhaps fear or blackmail will 
  succeed.) 
   So any adventurers exploring The Night Arrow will 
  be lured by “fleeing” gnoll witherlings into the 
  presence of the death tyrant, surrounded by a 
  protective ring of mindwitnesses (who float above 
  plenty of melted-together, wagon- to warchest-sized 
  “big spiky balls” of melted-together metal javelins, 
  spears, swords, axes, and spikes they can telekinese 
  at or to drop atop intruders), for a parley. As 
  adventurers approach the open heart of the ship, 
  where Quurlanxlam floats, the death tyrant will helm 
  the skyship to gently rise up out of the castle ruins to 
  hover 200 feet or so in the air (so fleeing PCs will 
  face a long, long drop). If negotiations go well, the 
  ship will gently return whence it came; adventurers 
  may never even know it moved at all. 
   Adventurers who learn too much of what the 
  death tyrant wants of them and then refuse to work 
  with it must be destroyed before they can warn 
  anyone, or spread damaging rumors (that rival 
  beholders may hear). Adventurers who play along 
  may earn handsome pay for scouting or envoy 
  missions—but may well learn the hard way that 
  Quurlanxlam, like all beholders, believes in setting 
  layers of spies to watch over its underlings. 
  Rise of the Sword King 
  Right now, all Jureth Malantar has is a cave home in 
  the wild southern fringes of Qurth Forest, a small 
  fortune that he’s spending fast, and grand dreams. 
   Specifically, he dreams of conquering many 
  realms—the Border Kingdoms first (yes, all of them), 
  and then as much as he can of the lands around 
  (starting with the cities of Ormpur and Sheirtalar). 
  However, he’s not as crazed as most “everything 
  shall be mine!” folk. Rather, he’s sly and shrewd. 
  Knowing full well he hasn’t coin enough to assemble, 
  feed and house a large enough mercenary army, 
  without forewarning all Borderers with the 
  mustering, he’s hit upon the notion of hiring bands 
  of adventurers to conquer hamlet, thorp, village, city, 
  and land after Border land by stealth and storm, 
  using the resources of what’s been taken against the 
  next target. He’s assembled four adventuring bands 
  already, but is looking to recruit more, as they begin 
  with a covert sidle-and-murder-by-night assault on 
  Syrnt. His strategy is to “take” weak places all over 
  the Borders, not conquer one and then assault the 
  place next door in a predictable manner. And his 
  takeovers are going to be quiet, with conquering 
  adventurers setting themselves up as replacement 
  “barons” of each place, not announcing a new 
  kingdom or their allegiance to it. With Malantar 
  having holds over them with fictitious poisons and 
  antidotes (as in, “I’ve already poisoned you; you’re 
  doomed if you don’t obey me, because I’ll stop giving 
  you tiny doses of antidote”), and equally fictitious 
  (for new) spying mages. 
  The Emerald Hand 
  One of the secrets of the Emerald Enclave faction is 
  that they’ve come to view the Border Kingdoms as a 
  vital battleground where the infiltration and 
  increasing influences of other factions must be 
  thwarted (a “line in the sand” they will defend). In 
  particular, attempts by agents of the Zhentarim, the 
  Lords’ Alliance, and even the Order of the Gauntlet to 
  improve roads, lawkeeping and surveillance, and 
  settlement, at the expense of the wilderness and 
  wild beasts (“monsters”), must be thwarted. 
   The clearing and taming of Border Kingdoms lands 
  must be slowed, by keeping local Border rulers 
  feuding and opposed to each other if need be—and, 
  as the Harpers have traditionally sought to do, to 
  keep rulers weak and small in reach rather than 
  allowing large kingdoms or empires to arise, which 
  the Zhentarim can more easily corrupt, and the 
  Lords’ Alliance co-opt. 
   Agents of the Enclave are numerous and energetic 
  in the Borders, working constantly (often in small, 
  subtle ways) to slow power gains among local rulers, 
  to “balance out” skirmishes and prevent clear victors 
  and especially one land conquering another. In the 
  Border Kingdoms, Enclave agents will ruthlessly 
  eliminate known agents of other factions if it seems 
  best to their goals. In the Borders, aid from another 
  Enclave agent is never far away—and deeply-
  undercover Enclave spies watch everyone, including 
  fellow Enclave agents, for signs of treachery or 
  imminent failure, so they can send in unlooked-for 
  assistance and “save the day” for the Emerald 
  Enclave. 
   The Harpers are collectively aware of these efforts, 
  but the other factions have been slow to realize it; 
  the Zhentarim, the Lords’ Alliance, and the Order of 
  the Gauntlet are still at the “individual members 
  starting to realize something’s going on, without yet 
  quite grasping what it is” stage. 
   
  
   
  104 
   
  ART CREDITS 
  Farm landscape: A Farm in the Sunlight, by 
  Meindert Hobbema (1668), public domain from 
  Wikimedia Commons 
  Doppelganger image: Stock Art: Blackmon 
  Doppelganger, from Rogue Genius Games on 
  RPGnow.com by Jacob E. Blackmon 
  Ghost lancer image: DMs Guild Creator Resource - 
  Undead Art, by Wizards of the Coast on 
  dmsguild.com 
  Durlusk market image: Environment Stock Art Pack, 
  from Arcana Games on dmsguild.com by David 
  Revoy 
  Emrystarl’s ghost image: DMs Guild Creator 
  Resource - Undead Art, by Wizards of the Coast on 
  dmsguild.com 
  City image: Environment Stock Art Pack, from 
  Arcana Games on dmsguild.com by David Revoy 
  Cask of Old Oakey image: public domain from 
  openclipart.org 
  Four Stags image: Environment Stock Art Pack, from 
  Arcana Games on dmsguild.com by David Revoy 
  Meadow landscape: Old Orchard at Newport, by 
  William Trost Richards (1875), public domain from 
  Wikimedia Commons 
  Paersraede Mythlyn image: ART008 Female 
  Human Wizard Stock Art, by Matthew Richmond on 
  dmsguild.com 
  Irlian friendship ring image: public domain from 
  openclipart.org 
  Ruined towers image: Fantasy Art Pack, from 
  Arcana Games on dmsguild.com by Ekaterinya 
  Vladinakova 
  Castle guardians image: DMs Guild Creator 
  Resource - Construct Art, by Wizards of the Coast on 
  dmsguild.com 
  Halargh Orlum image: Stock Art: Half-Orc/Half-
  Ogre, from Purple Duck Games on RPGnow.com by 
  Michael Scotta 
  Dread King Helemvo image: DMs Guild Creator 
  Resource - Undead Art, by Wizards of the Coast on 
  dmsguild.com 
  Rymdan wraith image: DMs Guild Creator Resource 
  - Undead Art, by Wizards of the Coast on 
  dmsguild.com 
  Horse in pasture landscape: Gray horse in pasture, 
  by Jacques-Laurent Agasse (1806), public domain 
  from Wikimedia Commons 
  Fishing village landscape: Fishing Village on the 
  Exe, by Robert Gallon, public domain from 
  Wikimedia Commons 
  Teland Arkarkur image: Classic Stock Art Pack, 
  from Arcana Games on dmsguild.com by Mariana 
  Ruiz Villarreal 
  Border Kingdoms map: Wizards of the Coast, used 
  with permission 
   
   
   
   
   
   
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SOURCE: textdata/thevault/Dungeons & Dragons [multi]/5th Edition (5e)/3rd Party/The Border Kingdoms - A Forgotten Realms Campaign Supplement.pdf