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AJA
Senior Scribe
USA
792 Posts |
 Posted - 01 Feb 2025 : 03:07:33
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"Pearl divers on the moon'? I think someone has been breathing too deeply of the halfling's weed!
What will you try to fool me on next, "goodly drow on the North Pole"?
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AJA
YAFRP
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sleyvas
Skilled Spell Strategist
USA
11981 Posts |
Posted - 01 Feb 2025 : 15:07:56
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quote:
Originally posted by AJA
"Pearl divers on the moon'? I think someone has been breathing too deeply of the halfling's weed!
What will you try to fool me on next, "goodly drow on the North Pole"?
Well there be rumors.... along with some rumors of some "jungle drow" as well.... 'twould seem that the lost lands of Katashaka, rumored to have so recently returned, hold many a mystery much as the moon. |
Alavairthae, may your skill prevail
Phillip aka Sleyvas |
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AJA
Senior Scribe
USA
792 Posts |
Posted - 09 Feb 2025 : 01:23:19
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Astralbarre
Netherese lich. Sits in his hidden fastness and sends his agents out into Faerûn with one singular urgent purpose; to seek out any shards or whole pieces of Netherese salt-glazed pottery, as originated in the town of Torlhauk that he ruled over, on the receeding shores of the Narrow Sea, and gained a widespread popularity in the dying days of the Empire there. The secrets of this salt-glazing process have been rediscovered again in the modern Realms, but their craftwork pales in comparison to those of Astralbarre's times (and, even if they didn't, he wouldn't bat an eyeless eye at them anyhow, inferior as they must be). The shelves and displays of his abode groan with white and cream-colored vessels, accented with the barest splashes of color, and in the corners the shard-piles tower into a voluminous majesty only approachable by the coin-hoards of full-grown wyrms but still, he seeks more. There must be more, there needs to be more.
His agents are familiar among the Bedine, who refer to him as The Meaningless Man, the one who trades valuable foodstuffs and materials for worthless scraps of ceramic. His agents are less familiar, but still known, among the Black Network, as they sometimes find themselves scouting or squatting among the same ruins or oases, for very different reasons.
One day Astralbarre will achieve his true goal, to find the ruins of Torlhauk, long lost to the sands and shifting fortunes of the Anauroch, and restore the ancient kilns there, and rebuild the mighty potters' wheels, and sit back and laugh as all Faerûn trembles, brought to their knees by the mighty glory of Netherese salt-glazed pottery!
Larloch knows of Astralbarre but considers him just another one of those decayed and deluded unfortunates, too uselessly insane for his own purposes. He does keep an eye on the enchantments the lich has created, the ones that allow his agents to efficiently sift through large quantities of earth and sand in search for even the tiniest desired items, and also the ones that knit back together an object from even the smallest individual parts, on a level of flawless integration that no other mages' mending spells have ever managed to match.
The Dead-Marchers
("those born into the grave, and those who choose to rise from it") Mercenary company. All members enter into contracts allowing the necromancers of the company to step in and raise their fallen corpses as undead, to continue to serve and fight alongside their living fellows. Some sign on for the guarantee of continued payment to loved ones after their death, some simply have no other place to turn to and regard an extended stay alongside their brothers as an honor worth being retained for. Others only know battle and relish the thought of their mortal remains continuing the fight on Faerûn, while their souls go onwards to raise havoc in the Halls of Tempus.
The Dead-Marchers strictly honor their contracts, and their contracts alone; they take great care to separate their fallen from the battlefield, and never randomly raise the corpses of enemies or unaffiliated dead. It is this strict adherence to their own personal rule of law that ensures their acceptance, however distasteful it may be, even to those potential employers of Lawful or Good alignments.
There are a few other companies of similar make scattered across Faerûn, most notably The Illustrious Bones (based among the city-states of the Tashalar and into Lapaliiya), The Coffin-Crowned (who find ready employment in Chessenta) and The Ones For Whom Myrkul Must Wait (active in Semphar and Murghôm).
Irrym Sulanheer
The former "Master Mage of Mintar". His ambitions were always greater than his self-given title and his mastery of the Art was always far less. Irrym at one point discovered an ancient series of terrible wards under the city called The Seventeen Seals, and leveraged this knowledge to insert himself into the entourage of the ambitious Baneite, Teldorn Darkhope.
On Midwinter's Eve 1362DR, when Teldorn launched his conquest of the city, Irrym's sole duty was to safeguard The Seventeen Seals and ensure their stability through the chaos above, but the rioting mobs and the sudden appearance of an adventuring company called the Knights Errant panicked him, and the Seals, home to such wretched horrors as The Red Threshers, Ninilnurr the Mockery That Dances, The Once-a-Man, and The Knees of The Mountain (that mountain being the titanic Azozuz of the Red Angularities, and the Knees his mighty lieutenants, who knelt before him and swore to serve him in death as in life), were sundered and their inhabitants released into the city above. "The Master Mage of Mintar" quite suddenly recanted his position and his title, and begged succor from the Knights as they concluded their business in the city and made a hasty return to the safer confines of Waterdeep.
Irrym has since weaseled his way into a position at the Castle as the head of their alchemists, where he oversees the crafting of the greenfire (Greek fire) used by the specialized Guard gauntlets known as The Moor Burners. He has also, to his credit, managed to stay clear of either grasping ambitions or self-serving alliances with priests of dark gods. What Teldorn Darkhope (or Ninilnurr the Mockery That Dances or the handful of Knees of The Mountain who survived the seizing of Mintar) think about his new situation (if indeed they do at all), is so far unknown.
Gobold
Brownish-black scales with dark coppery ribs and undersides, and golden markings on his chest and belly, elbows, knees, undertail and shins. Large bright red eyes and olive-green horns, the right of which sticks out just a bit further than the left (it's not that obvious, but once you see it you can't help but keep noticing). The apprentice of the master alchemist Irrym Sulanheer, of Castle Waterdeep.
Gobold is a kobold. Gobold the Kobold. Yes, he has heard all the jokes about his name. But he remains quite confused, because it doesn't rhyme in his native tongue. Also, he regards himself as quite fluent in both the human Common and Tethan, and he is pretty sure its' not supposed to rhyme that way there, either. Maybe its a Northern thing.
He was the apprentice of the Cauldron King, of the Understreets of Irieabor, before the Old Master angered the Night Skulls and was found, bloated and purple-faced, unalive in the muck near to the Thousandeyes Trading Coster. Fortunately for Gobold he had earlier drawn the wise eye of the mage Ambraddon, who strongly recommended him to the service of the Blackstaff of Waterdeep. Lord Khelben saw no need for him at his Tower, but made arrangements instead to apprentice him to the newly-titled "master alchemist" Irrym Sulanheer. But not out of the goodness of his heart.
Gobold is now under strict instruction to keep an eye on his master, and report immediately if the former "Master Mage of Mintar" does any backsliding into allying with tyrants or priests of dark gods (or both, or any other unsavory characters instead). In return for this service he has been promised that he will be strongly considered for admission at the Tower, the next time such a position opens up. Whenever that may be.
Niskanauldra
A cross-planar spell merchant. Wheels and deals in many of the lesser-known designments of arch-mages of note, obscure works such as Bigby's Comfy Handpillow and Otiluke's Frozen Peanut Butter Cookie Dough Sphere, and Elminster's It Was A Balmy Afternoon In April. Accepts payment in unique souls, pigeon holes, certified-rational calculations, and intellectual sheep or goats. Genial, ironic, definite and verifiable – at least, that's what her enchanted call-forth card says (and also, 'all those things that impress and startle, but never falsehoods or wanton exaggerations'). Visited by Elminster and several of the Seven Sisters on numerous occasions, warned repeatedly against abusing the rules on Mystra's otherplanar permissions.
Niskanauldra used to keep a parlor in Sea Ward but now spends most of her time down in the warrens of Skullport, where folk don't find her trade so odd. And there are more unique souls and pigeon holes. And less unannounced visitations from annoying Mystra-spawn.
She has recently become a convert to The Golden Talbo, a risen cult-god worshiped for good fortune in the local number-lotteries and investment roundshields, and all those kinds of general get-rich-quick schemes which even the priests of Waukeen raise their eyebrows at and the clergy of Tymora won't touch with an adventurer's ten-foot pole.
Niska has her own personal Talbo investment tied up in a scheme called Paladinplate, a coin-venture that claims to sell plates of steel each individually stamped and numbered from various suits of armor that the Open Lord and other bold and valiant paladins of Waterdeep have worn and fought in in the past. As everyone knows, gold and silver are brought up in ever-greater quantities from the depths of the Undermountain and from the Far Lands of Maztica, and so their value will only decrease, leaving only the limited and righteous Paladinplate as the new currency to take their place (yes, they have many very-rich merchants and former advisers to the Open Lord himself to vouch for these claims and offer their insider knowledge to fellow investors!).
Listen, its just like her card says, never falsehoods or wanton exaggerations. Why would it say that if it weren't true. And she has crossed to other planes, people! She has seen a world where this sort of thing works, trust her.
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AJA
YAFRP
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sleyvas
Skilled Spell Strategist
USA
11981 Posts |
Posted - 10 Feb 2025 : 12:51:58
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quote:
Originally posted by AJA
Astralbarre
Netherese lich. Sits in his hidden fastness and sends his agents out into Faerûn with one singular urgent purpose; to seek out any shards or whole pieces of Netherese salt-glazed pottery, as originated in the town of Torlhauk that he ruled over, on the receeding shores of the Narrow Sea, and gained a widespread popularity in the dying days of the Empire there. The secrets of this salt-glazing process have been rediscovered again in the modern Realms, but their craftwork pales in comparison to those of Astralbarre's times (and, even if they didn't, he wouldn't bat an eyeless eye at them anyhow, inferior as they must be). The shelves and displays of his abode groan with white and cream-colored vessels, accented with the barest splashes of color, and in the corners the shard-piles tower into a voluminous majesty only approachable by the coin-hoards of full-grown wyrms but still, he seeks more. There must be more, there needs to be more.
His agents are familiar among the Bedine, who refer to him as The Meaningless Man, the one who trades valuable foodstuffs and materials for worthless scraps of ceramic. His agents are less familiar, but still known, among the Black Network, as they sometimes find themselves scouting or squatting among the same ruins or oases, for very different reasons.
One day Astralbarre will achieve his true goal, to find the ruins of Torlhauk, long lost to the sands and shifting fortunes of the Anauroch, and restore the ancient kilns there, and rebuild the mighty potters' wheels, and sit back and laugh as all Faerûn trembles, brought to their knees by the mighty glory of Netherese salt-glazed pottery!
Larloch knows of Astralbarre but considers him just another one of those decayed and deluded unfortunates, too uselessly insane for his own purposes. He does keep an eye on the enchantments the lich has created, the ones that allow his agents to efficiently sift through large quantities of earth and sand in search for even the tiniest desired items, and also the ones that knit back together an object from even the smallest individual parts, on a level of flawless integration that no other mages' mending spells have ever managed to match.
Of course, none truly understand WHY Astralbarre truly seeks what he seeks..... for in truth, his original phylactery is believed to be held in an urn of salt glazed pottery of seemingly nondescript manufacture in the town of Torlhauk. He had once been a simple mortal netherese arcanist of modest power. Then came the day when he was assaulted by a rival, forced to become a lich using one of his own urns. This rival then stole his phylactery and placed spells upon it to hide it even AND ESPECIALLY FROM the lich whose soul was entrapped within it. His rival then hid this nondescript phylactery, which he had protected against destruction with numerous magics which would last centuries, but which would obviously be failed by this time. and cast his rival into a form of astral prison which allowed him to be questioned, tortured, and even forced to perform magics. Sadly, he never knew WHO his rival was, nor why he had been enslaved as a lich servitor to him. Then came the day when the wards on his magic prison fell apart, decades after the netherese enclaves fell from the sky and when the mythallar empowering his prison finally failed due to the actions of looters. Why Larloch never reseized control over his once prisoner is little known, for in truth Astralbarre (who had been made to forget his own name and many facts of his own life, whilst maintaining all of his mastery of magic) simply took the name by which he had been called "Astral Bar", after the name of the specific spell which Larloch had created to entrap the lich. |
Alavairthae, may your skill prevail
Phillip aka Sleyvas |
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sleyvas
Skilled Spell Strategist
USA
11981 Posts |
Posted - 10 Feb 2025 : 13:25:33
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quote:
Originally posted by AJA
Irrym Sulanheer
The former "Master Mage of Mintar". His ambitions were always greater than his self-given title and his mastery of the Art was always far less. Irrym at one point discovered an ancient series of terrible wards under the city called The Seventeen Seals, and leveraged this knowledge to insert himself into the entourage of the ambitious Baneite, Teldorn Darkhope.
On Midwinter's Eve 1362DR, when Teldorn launched his conquest of the city, Irrym's sole duty was to safeguard The Seventeen Seals and ensure their stability through the chaos above, but the rioting mobs and the sudden appearance of an adventuring company called the Knights Errant panicked him, and the Seals, home to such wretched horrors as The Red Threshers, Ninilnurr the Mockery That Dances, The Once-a-Man, and The Knees of The Mountain (that mountain being the titanic Azozuz of the Red Angularities, and the Knees his mighty lieutenants, who knelt before him and swore to serve him in death as in life), were sundered and their inhabitants released into the city above. "The Master Mage of Mintar" quite suddenly recanted his position and his title, and begged succor from the Knights as they concluded their business in the city and made a hasty return to the safer confines of Waterdeep.
Irrym has since weaseled his way into a position at the Castle as the head of their alchemists, where he oversees the crafting of the greenfire (Greek fire) used by the specialized Guard gauntlets known as The Moor Burners. He has also, to his credit, managed to stay clear of either grasping ambitions or self-serving alliances with priests of dark gods. What Teldorn Darkhope (or Ninilnurr the Mockery That Dances or the handful of Knees of The Mountain who survived the seizing of Mintar) think about his new situation (if indeed they do at all), is so far unknown.
Of course, few know that The Seventeen Seals were some of the first blueflame magic items which held the spirits of blueflame ghosts within them. They used a special form of salt glazed pottery, containing the essence of salt mummies which were created and destroyed for this purpose (whom some mistakenly referred to as "salt liches") from the salt mines relatively near the Desertsmouth Mountains. These pieces of pottery were sealed with elaborate seals combining intricate metal seals mined from astral metals, enwrapped in salt glazed pottery, and sealed with bloodwax mixed with demonic blood. Of The Seventeen Seals, all but seemingly two had been destroyed, primarily because they were not all in one place (though there were rumors that at least three were taken away). The remaining two were believed to hold the spirits of Azozuz of the Red Angularities (also known as "The Mountain", a red horned tiefling minotaur believed to be of the blood of Baphomet himself and once said to be a mighty mercenary general in the armies of Narfell, under the command of the ruler of the enclave of Jiksidur. These last two seals were said to be deep in the ruins of Mintar, and some believe that they guarded a portal that opened into the Illythiiri ruins deep in the heart of Dun-Tharos beneath the Rawlinswood. |
Alavairthae, may your skill prevail
Phillip aka Sleyvas |
Edited by - sleyvas on 10 Feb 2025 14:01:09 |
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sleyvas
Skilled Spell Strategist
USA
11981 Posts |
Posted - 10 Feb 2025 : 14:15:13
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quote:
Originally posted by AJA
Gobold
Brownish-black scales with dark coppery ribs and undersides, and golden markings on his chest and belly, elbows, knees, undertail and shins. Large bright red eyes and olive-green horns, the right of which sticks out just a bit further than the left (it's not that obvious, but once you see it you can't help but keep noticing). The apprentice of the master alchemist Irrym Sulanheer, of Castle Waterdeep.
Gobold is a kobold. Gobold the Kobold. Yes, he has heard all the jokes about his name. But he remains quite confused, because it doesn't rhyme in his native tongue. Also, he regards himself as quite fluent in both the human Common and Tethan, and he is pretty sure its' not supposed to rhyme that way there, either. Maybe its a Northern thing.
He was the apprentice of the Cauldron King, of the Understreets of Irieabor, before the Old Master angered the Night Skulls and was found, bloated and purple-faced, unalive in the muck near to the Thousandeyes Trading Coster. Fortunately for Gobold he had earlier drawn the wise eye of the mage Ambraddon, who strongly recommended him to the service of the Blackstaff of Waterdeep. Lord Khelben saw no need for him at his Tower, but made arrangements instead to apprentice him to the newly-titled "master alchemist" Irrym Sulanheer. But not out of the goodness of his heart.
Gobold is now under strict instruction to keep an eye on his master, and report immediately if the former "Master Mage of Mintar" does any backsliding into allying with tyrants or priests of dark gods (or both, or any other unsavory characters instead). In return for this service he has been promised that he will be strongly considered for admission at the Tower, the next time such a position opens up. Whenever that may be.
Rumors are that Gobold has been seen carrying a strange white urn which stands almost as tall as himself, with an elaborate red wax stopper on it. He seems exceptionally engrossed with this item, even whispering to it as though carrying on a conversation with someone or something that isn't there. It is said that in one situation, a group of orcs who had previously bullied him and taken his coins which were meant to buy groceries, were found brutally torn into many pieces after Gobold was seen carrying the urn outside of the tavern in which the orcs had chosen to spend Gobold's coin.
There are rumors that Gobold has recently been contacted by Niskanauldra, a cross planar spell merchant, though what the trader is interested in none are sure. Several ghosts seemingly encased in blueflames also seem to be interested in finding Gobold alive, and some believe these individuals to be the former "Knees of the Mountain". |
Alavairthae, may your skill prevail
Phillip aka Sleyvas |
Edited by - sleyvas on 10 Feb 2025 14:19:31 |
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AJA
Senior Scribe
USA
792 Posts |
Posted - 16 Feb 2025 : 07:17:29
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quote:
Originally posted by sleyvas
Several ghosts seemingly encased in blueflames also seem to be interested in finding Gobold alive, and some believe these individuals to be the former "Knees of the Mountain".
The Knees of The Mountain are Blueflame ghosts. There are twelve Knees of the Mountain and there are twelve Mountains of The Moon. Coincidence? I think not!
quote:
Originally posted by sleyvas
Much like Ilsabra, he is obsessed with oysters and clams, for he was raised on the shores of the Northern Sea of Selune's Toril facing side. His family were avid pearl divers from the giant clams near their home
Savrel Clamseeder's family practiced a method of dying pearls during their development by "feeding" their giant clams with special dyes. The Death Moon Orb created by Larloch was a sphere of black and violet, shifting and shimmering like oil on water. Like a pearl that been specially dyed with colors. Coincidence? I think not!
Savrel enlisted Ilsabra to travel to the Plane of Radiance from a Celestial Staircase somewhere in the region of the twelve Mountains of The Moon. He was in the company of a lillend name Neyleirea. Lillends are celestial servitors of Selûne. Did you know that both Selûne and Mystra share the magic book of all the rainbow hues and lights and darks that visit Faerûn – including upon the singular surface of the pearl? Even a Death Moon pearl? Coincidence? I think not!!
Mystra refused her clergy to interfere with Larloch and his Blueflame schemes. Selûne was under no such restrictions. Mystra was murdered in Tarsakh of The Year of Blue Flame and the Death Moon Orb detonated in exactly the same instance of her death. Coincidence??
I think not. The Year of Blue Flame was an inside job. Cyricism was just a red herring. Dweomerheart exploded back and to the left. What did Selûne know and when did she know it. Wake up, rothéeple!
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AJA
YAFRP
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sleyvas
Skilled Spell Strategist
USA
11981 Posts |
Posted - 17 Feb 2025 : 23:29:10
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quote:
Originally posted by AJA
quote:
Originally posted by sleyvas
Several ghosts seemingly encased in blueflames also seem to be interested in finding Gobold alive, and some believe these individuals to be the former "Knees of the Mountain".
The Knees of The Mountain are Blueflame ghosts. There are twelve Knees of the Mountain and there are twelve Mountains of The Moon. Coincidence? I think not!
quote:
Originally posted by sleyvas
Much like Ilsabra, he is obsessed with oysters and clams, for he was raised on the shores of the Northern Sea of Selune's Toril facing side. His family were avid pearl divers from the giant clams near their home
Savrel Clamseeder's family practiced a method of dying pearls during their development by "feeding" their giant clams with special dyes. The Death Moon Orb created by Larloch was a sphere of black and violet, shifting and shimmering like oil on water. Like a pearl that been specially dyed with colors. Coincidence? I think not!
Savrel enlisted Ilsabra to travel to the Plane of Radiance from a Celestial Staircase somewhere in the region of the twelve Mountains of The Moon. He was in the company of a lillend name Neyleirea. Lillends are celestial servitors of Selûne. Did you know that both Selûne and Mystra share the magic book of all the rainbow hues and lights and darks that visit Faerûn – including upon the singular surface of the pearl? Even a Death Moon pearl? Coincidence? I think not!!
Mystra refused her clergy to interfere with Larloch and his Blueflame schemes. Selûne was under no such restrictions. Mystra was murdered in Tarsakh of The Year of Blue Flame and the Death Moon Orb detonated in exactly the same instance of her death. Coincidence??
I think not. The Year of Blue Flame was an inside job. Cyricism was just a red herring. Dweomerheart exploded back and to the left. What did Selûne know and when did she know it. Wake up, rothéeple!
NIIIIICCCCEEEEEEE! I love that linkage of the death moon orb to a giant pearl from the seas of the moon... and the linkage of blueflame items, Larloch, and the noting that it exploded in the spellplague. Also, those rothéeple that think that dweomerheart actually exploded just didn't know that it was detached from Toril and went to Abeir. So, was all of this a way to strip the shadow weave from her sister goddess, Shar?
Was it a way to drive Szass Tam to leave his former ways and turn darkly evil, via the curse of the death moon orb... make him jealous of his rival that became not Zulkir of Necromancy, but GOD of Necromancy.... a way to get him infected by a book (Tome of Fastring the Delver) full of lies about how to become a god and remake the world (a book that some believe was Leira).... that would ultimately lead to a immortal monk betraying Tam, enacting the ritual, and releasing a large amount of magical energy.... that did something noone expected. |
Alavairthae, may your skill prevail
Phillip aka Sleyvas |
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AJA
Senior Scribe
USA
792 Posts |
Posted - 02 Mar 2025 : 01:35:08
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The Festival of the Blue Goat
Celebrated most of the length of Snail Street, especially in the Hincellars and Sharp-Horn neighborhoods.
No one these days really remembers what the Blue Goat was all about; most sages suspect it was an ancient beast-cult or a fertility ritual from the earliest days of human settlement here. During the Festival a small herd of goats are drenched in blue paint and run through the crowds on Snail Street, sprinkled with holy fluids of Chauntea and Malar and then finally corralled for slaughtering and feasting once nightfall approaches. Sometimes one is spared by the calling of a god or goddess who deems them holy; once a mighty wizard even stepped forth to claim one as his chosen apprentice. The church of Mystra was quick to step in then and claim credit for the festival and proclaim that The Blue Goat was obviously a sign of their goddess all along, but they quieted down soon enough as all the locals began to cast fun at their goaty goddess and the strange fetishes of her mages.
It is also commonly whispered that such a goat was once even made a Masked Lord! – but that only well out of the hearing of any black-robes, of course.
Locals dress in vestments of blue and carry aloft torches and horned drinking instruments, while bards roam about strumming tunes and jesters dressed in goatskins (caps, cloaks and leggings) gambol and are chased about by local children. The adherents of the god Finder have recently begun to take this opportunity to break into storefronts or local merchant homes and deface their paintings and statuettes, or rearrange their displays or rugs or silverware in a most disturbing manner. What purpose this serves is known only to them.
The Kings of Day (The Awakened of The Sun God)
Both mercenary company and religious zealotry of Lathander (Amaunator). The Sun is All, The Day is All. Formed – and fashioned – out of fanatics, those who have willingly knelt, eyes open, and gazed long into the blazing, inviolate, purifying sand-fields of the scarred and tortured Anauroch wastes. The Kings (The Awakened) will throw themselves – without question and without hesitation – against any enemy before them, so long as it advances the cause of Law (for whatever calculus their leader deems that to be). The Awakened do not wantonly slaughter downed or surrendered foes on the battlefield, seeking instead to keep them for later trial (after which they are, of course, found guilty and sentenced accordingly), and one of their most Holy Missives is to succor any and all children from areas of combat and surrounding homesteads. This is seen as Righteous and Lawful, and such children taken in are then adopted into the band and forcibly indoctrinated into the faith.
When not in active employment they often send bands to scour the ruins of Anauroch for relics of Burning Lathander. They are also commonly employed on specific side missions by the church of Tyr, who find them useful, if disturbing, crusaders for Law and justice.
Ammelthorn 'Flamebeard'
Commander and Divine Light of The Kings of Day mercenary company. 'He Who Would Never Lose The Light'. A very serious, wide-eyed, true believer of the tenets of Law and endless, cleansing Justice. He claims – and truly believes himself – to be a divine Servitor of the Sun, a reincarnated Great Hero of the Faith, or perhaps even a celestial Solar, surely, brought to Faerûn specifically to drive divine justice but he is, in truth, just a genasi (with, admittedly, a very impressive flaming beard) raised by religious heretics, indoctrinated in nothing but bloodshed and zealotry and released, upon adulthood, to advance The Awakened heresy upon Faerûn.
Ammelthorn has the innate wild talent of fire paralysis (keeps a single target immobilized for a length of time, unable to move but fully conscious and tormented with the continuing sensations of being burned alive. Both immobility and pain end when his concentration does), which he again regards as further proof of his divine righteousness. Where this ability originates from, and whether it is truly innate or divine, is, again, an unanswered question.
Laughing Low
[ 'low' rhyming with 'cow' or 'brow' ] Halfling folk legend. Laughing Low stole a fairy-book from the Grey-Mother Meerscar while she was busy tending to her garden of princesses in their silken sheafs, and he used that faerie magic to travel in the sunlight that shifts through the trees, to any and all the lands that lie beneath the sun (to Griefstones, home of the tear-spotted orcs; Lerella, where the crimson peaches grow; Tastaar, Land of the Loppy Hats; Loropid, of the Loropids; and so on and so on – these are all tales in their own right). Eventually Laughing Low came to the coast that had no end, and fell in love with a sea-maid of Settle-Bottom, and from there she took him out far and far from shore ('where there were no trees or sunlight, and he never was seen no more').
But the fairy-book is still out there, still waiting to travel to all the lands that lie beneath the sun. And any time a young hin lad or lass suddenly ups-and-offs from their village out into the wider Realms it is said that they had found Laughing Low's book, right there where the sunlight shifts through the trees.
Teldrûvae
Half-elven songstress, incurable romantic, and stage-hand at Mother Mallodril's Good-Stage, Trades Ward (she helps with set dressing and sometimes joins in on the chorus, if needed). Teldrûvae found herself in possession of The Dreaming Cabinet of Leira this past Kythorn, acquired from a rather spindly and sallow Chondathan elf upon a chance afternoon stroll in the Market. She remembers the elf quite clearly, and even some of the words that were exchanged, but how she got that great wooden thing home through the crowded streets and up to her fifth-floor rooms is not even the haziest blur in her memory.
Nevertheless, she has since made great use of the Cabinet, dreaming deeply and often, availing herself of trade investments and romantic interludes and even, perhaps foolishly, the chance to reconsider just the right barb to a social rival – and once to drag herself, bloody and disembowled, back within its doors to find that other ending that was not on the spear of a rampaging sahuagin invader.
But despite all of her sudden successes she feels herself drawing increasingly thin, as if sometimes the reach of her arms exceeds her grasp, and her eyes sometimes see people and things where they shouldn't otherwise be. And there are now always whispers and murmers that sound so familiar, but those who would have made them are always just beyond the turning of her head. Always, always, whispers and murmers.
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The Dreaming Cabinet of Leira
Carved of Sune-wood in a confusing variety of motifs of the old Calishite style; of wave and cloud; delicate flowers and bubbling fountains; peopled by naiads with long tresses and dryads on wooded branch and nereids among the surf. And inlaid everywhere with patterned geometric mosaics of dazzling lapis and serene jade and the blazing yellow citrine of the sun, and the white enameled longitudes and latitudes of the moon in her phases.
Within the Cabinet there is a low bench piled with cushions of grey and white and rose cross-hatch, all stuffed with such a heavenly down. The interior surrounding the bench is ill-defined and hard to describe. Confining, endless; plain, swirled, smoky. Echoing, whispering. It makes ones' stomach drop as if from a sudden fall. Best to just lie down among the cushions and have a rest. Really, the longer you lie there, the clearer things become. So many things become clear.
Of The Dreaming Cabinet of Leira
There are many realities that stretch forth before us all, like invisible strings of endless pearls. Those pearls on their strings are fixed in time and locked down by the absolute Law of Mystra's temporal bans. But, just as with a physical string of pearls, there falls between each of them a gap; in this case the metaphorical gaps of possibility, the boundary between Is and Is-Not, eager voids open to be occupied by realities of what could be. These then are the domains of Leira, the Lady of The Mists. The Dreaming Cabinet is pregnant with such possibilities, and one enclosed within it might have their dreams entwined with the consciousness of the goddess herself and, in the manufacture of their own dream-spaces, may choose to step forward through one such gap and emerge instead in what was once The Could-Be, but now is just, forevermore, The Is.
But The Is does not come without a price. There is no Is without the Is-Not. Every mortal who has lived their life can attest to that. The Mistress of Illusion can guide you through the ways between Is and Is-Not, but not even she can predict what cost those ways will incur. Nor would she ever even care to.
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AJA
YAFRP
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sleyvas
Skilled Spell Strategist
USA
11981 Posts |
Posted - 02 Mar 2025 : 16:43:09
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quote:
Originally posted by AJA
The Festival of the Blue Goat
Celebrated most of the length of Snail Street, especially in the Hincellars and Sharp-Horn neighborhoods.
No one these days really remembers what the Blue Goat was all about; most sages suspect it was an ancient beast-cult or a fertility ritual from the earliest days of human settlement here. During the Festival a small herd of goats are drenched in blue paint and run through the crowds on Snail Street, sprinkled with holy fluids of Chauntea and Malar and then finally corralled for slaughtering and feasting once nightfall approaches. Sometimes one is spared by the calling of a god or goddess who deems them holy; once a mighty wizard even stepped forth to claim one as his chosen apprentice. The church of Mystra was quick to step in then and claim credit for the festival and proclaim that The Blue Goat was obviously a sign of their goddess all along, but they quieted down soon enough as all the locals began to cast fun at their goaty goddess and the strange fetishes of her mages.
It is also commonly whispered that such a goat was once even made a Masked Lord! – but that only well out of the hearing of any black-robes, of course.
Locals dress in vestments of blue and carry aloft torches and horned drinking instruments, while bards roam about strumming tunes and jesters dressed in goatskins (caps, cloaks and leggings) gambol and are chased about by local children. The adherents of the god Finder have recently begun to take this opportunity to break into storefronts or local merchant homes and deface their paintings and statuettes, or rearrange their displays or rugs or silverware in a most disturbing manner. What purpose this serves is known only to them.
The little known Uthgardt tribe of the blue goat can trace themselves back to a wychlaran who managed to reopen the portal that the Rus came through centuries ago. Unfortunately she did not understand what she did, and therefore found herself unable to return home. She wandered the north for some time before settling in the area that would eventually become Nimoar's Hold. Along the way, she gathered a collection of similar wandering souls seeking to explore the wider world, including the Korred, Shirakir Stoneblossom, and her husband, Eyontar the Satyr priest of Skerrit, and the centaur ranger, Ragtam Thunderchaser. She eventually found a small patch of land in which lived a treant and a trio of dryads, and she and her compatriots embarked upon a grand plan. They would enact a ritual of their own design that would link this land to "the spiritwilds". Its said that during this ritual, the avatars of Shiallia, Skerrit the Forester, Lurue, and Selune all appeared to bless the land. The ritual was powerful enough that they were able to sanctify a small patch of the land in such a manner that it became "spirit world adjacent", and she uncovered the ability to summon animal spirits (or telthors) to this section of land.
When a ragtab tribe of the Uthgardt was in retreat from a marauding force of orcs, they came upon the wychlaran and her friends. During the fight, the Wychlaran cast a spell to summon a small herd of giant goat telthors, and she and her friends led them into battle slaughtering orcs with abandon. But the orc horde was numerous, and her friends few. They were all slain in the onslaught, but their sacrifice turned the tide in the favor of the Uthgardt barbarians.
The Uthgardt took this as a sign from their god, and they took to calling themselves "the Blue Goat Tribe", and they took up residence upon the land. But they did not know the required rituals and sacrifices that were needed in order to keep the land sacredly bound to the "spiritwilds", and eventually the land reverted back to its normal status. These Uthgardt continued to live here for several generations, but its said that at some point they uncovered a portal and disappeared through it. Still, on certain nights, when the moon is "right", its said that the streets are filled with giant blue, ethereal goats, and some whisper that occasionally a ghostly figure appears amongst them (some say this figure is a masked woman, some a korred, some a satyr, and some even a centaur). These spirits are not seen in battle though, but rather enacting a strange dance of wild abandon. |
Alavairthae, may your skill prevail
Phillip aka Sleyvas |
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sleyvas
Skilled Spell Strategist
USA
11981 Posts |
Posted - 02 Mar 2025 : 19:19:57
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Butterleafcrimsonpetal
The true name of this treant is unknown, for the name by which he is remembered comes from ancient Uthgardt legends. This ancient treant is said to have possessed bark with an oddly golden hue, and he was said to sprout flowers of a brilliant red hue that could be boiled into a tea which produced an extremely euphoric and sometime hallucinatory state. But more importantly, this treant was a powerful priest of, oddly enough, a goddess of beauty, and some said that his grove was inhabited by dryads of his own fathering. Its rumored that he helped enact a ritual long ago which blessed a section of land, and in doing so, he drew upon the golden waters of the pool of Evergold shared by Sune and Hanali Celanil. In so doing, he created a small brook leaking from the realm of Brightwater to feed his home, and increased the number of fey beings that lived in the surrounding lands. It was a wonderful blessing, and it filled him with the greatest of joy. But, soon after blessing the land, or at least soon in the life of a treant, those who had worked with him to enact the ritual, died by the hands of a horde of orcs. These orcs also slew the dryads of his grove, awakening an anger in this treant that mirrored in the rage of the barbarians who also turned and slaughtered the savage orcs for killing their own kin. After this, the treant tried to teach the wild barbarians how to properly revere the land and its beauty, but the barbarians were too savage, and worse, they were despoiling his home. However, he did not want to kill them, so the treant brewed a tea of its own flowers, opened a door to another realm, and encouraged the barbarians to travel through it.
Unfortunately, the method by which Butterleafcrimsonpetal opened this doorway caught the attention of a powerful conclave of illusionists with a strange belief that "time magic", or Chronomancy as they referred to it, was just another advanced illusion. Soon after the great treant was captured and taken from its home, for these illusionists believed he held secrets of chronomancy that they must uncover. The illusionists, however, could not break the great tree, and in the end, he found a way to use his magic to end his own life. Not to let anything go to waste, its said that the illusionists then carved up its body into planks and used the remains to make paper with which to make powerful books and other magic items related to fey magic, including some say, the dreaming cabinet of Leira and a "fairy book" said to have been stolen by a theiving halfling known as Laughing Low. |
Alavairthae, may your skill prevail
Phillip aka Sleyvas |
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AJA
Senior Scribe
USA
792 Posts |
Posted - 16 Mar 2025 : 00:52:07
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Derrembar "The Sparrow on The Window-Sill"
The Sill-Sparrow is a truth-delver (Ed, via THO, QfEd2011 MAR 22: private, for-hire investigators engaged to solve crimes and murders. Includes those who have no spellcasting skills – beyond, in some cases, some minor sorcerous "wild talents" or psionics). Cramped combined office and living quarters on Shoor Street, Trades Ward. There is the silhouette of a sparrow painted on a small signboard next to the street-level entryway, as well as one next to the door of his second-story chambers – but none on the window-sill outside his single tiny street-facing window.
Brown-eyed, clean-shaved, square-jawed. Has a perfectly-petite button nose that looks totally out of place on his angular, worn face. Truth is he paid a great deal to the Temple of Beauty to replace his old, gnarled, oft-broken ruin of a proboscis. Those who knew him before needle and mock him mercilessly for this. Those just meeting him for the first time can't help but continue to stare at how out of place it looks. Well, at least he can breathe through this one at night (besides, it looks good, he doesn't care what anyone else says).
He knows the ways of the old witchery; how the cow's tongue tells of infidelity, or where lost things fall between the moonlight, or when the sorrelwing or kitchencobbin trill in the presence of spiteful vexes. He learned of these from Slefedrae, The Old Mother of South Ward, who took him in as a lost child and raised him as her own. She is gone now, but he still keeps contact with her twine-sister Anheldra, the Moss-Matron of the Quiet Place (the temple of Silvanus and Mielikki in Sea Ward, where they still acknowledge Eldath as wife and mother).
Derrembar is sharp with his wits and solid with his fists. His childhood before The Old Mother took him in was not at all pleasant, but it did make him quite used to taking a physical beating, so physical violence and forged weapons mean little to him. Once he sets himself to investigating something he cannot be shaken off. Infidelities are his favorite cases, simply because they are always so simple to solve. Missing children are often just as easy, though he doesn't enjoy finding out the result of most of those. He is wary of looking into anything involving nobles or the affairs of The Serpent (for obvious reasons), and if a potential customer invokes the name of one of the more well-known wizards of the city, he politely declines their request and advises them to just try and move on with their lives, for their own sake.
Emmroarae
A vendor of rare textiles. She belongs to no guild and keeps a limited inventory, which is why she frequents the Market at random days and sells out of her wares as soon as word swirls among her clientele, and also why she vanishes just as soon thereafter. Specializes in the coveted Calishite fabric ilhenbar (known as dawn lazul across the Western Heartlands) a shade of deep violet which appears as a swirling translucent blue under specific lighting (either the early-morning rays of the newly-risen sun or those specially-designed magelights favored in exclusive highcoin-only dusk-till-dawn revels). In Waterdeep it is always a favorite among those idle nobles and swash-cloaks who wish to make their exit from the night's Moon Sphere dancings extra-dramatic, just as it fades from existence upon the dawn.
The Flying Tortles Leeni
A travelling high-wire acrobatic team of the tortle brothers Gusk, Gorlap, Gunder, and Yurd, of the clutch Leeni of the Blue Whelkin. Gorlap and Gunder are actually sisters, but humans can't tell the difference and seem to like the idea of an all-brother band better, so, whatever works. 'From the seaweed to the shore' is their motto, as their most common death-defying acts take place over the added danger of open waters – in Waterdeep, that means the open depths of Waterdeep Harbor, especially during the unpredictable conditions around Fleetswake. The Tortles Leeni are also quite happy to perform the local Dance of The Dread Tide, 'the seamen there tossed and torn apart', for any noble willing to pony up the coin required to populate a saltwater pool full of ravenous sharks on short notice.
The Scarlet Flowers
('The scarlet flowers of sleep. Deep down they grow, red as death') Assassin's guild of Scornubel. Accept payment in cut rubies, scatter petals of the blood-red chalice (the poppy flower) at the scene of their deed. Nobody knows why cut rubies are their currency in trade, but the strongest whisper is that they pile their ill-gotten red gems around the pulpit stone of their infernal altar and, when they have piled high enough, the summoning for their demon-lord will be complete, and scarlet will flow across the countryside. Red as death.
Their Grandmaster is the Tashlutan native Jolûntha (Jo-LOON-Taah). She prefers her clothes ruffled and lacey, dyed in the currently-fashionable hues of "forest-tender green" and "Delimbyr rose", with matching adornments of dangling dew-drops and flame-angled gold.
Thalralam of The Black Instructions
A High Imperceptor of Bane, whose seminal work There Are A Hundred Ways to Kneel informed many of the core teachings of the faith. ("What does it all mean, you ask? Freedom. It means you've found freedom. Only after giving up all of yourself to this single cause will others find you. And those others will think and act and desire just as you. It is exactly this power, and mastering the use of it, that guarantees that you will be free.")
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AJA
YAFRP
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AJA
Senior Scribe
USA
792 Posts |
Posted - 16 Mar 2025 : 00:54:13
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THINGS SAGES SAY
'the temple of Silvanus and Mielikki in Sea Ward, where they still acknowledge Eldath as wife and mother'
In The Time Before Time, when Faerûn was The Forest and The Forest was Faerûn, The Oakfather and The Green Mother walked hand-in-hand and all of the creatures there bowed before them. Their child then was Mielikki, and she was very much her father's child. But Eldath loved her just as well, and so she asked of her boon companion Lurue the Silver if she would pass on her bond with the unicorn of the forest to her daughter instead. And this wish Lurue granted.
In time The Oakfather chose to wander from The Green Mother, to walk hand-in-hand with The Wildmother instead, and so Eldath returned to her pools and and kept her own peace. And while the fertility and abandon of The Wildmother was indeed a good match for The Oakfather, the loss of the wisdoms of Eldath in the face of The Rise of Man was a tragedy instead, one that led to The Oakfather rashly empowering the greatest of his forest champions with the ability to speak and to change shape, and it is through this that the deceitful rise of Malar the Betrayer and the spread of the curse of lycanthropy to Man and beast was then ensured.
And then, as those Elder Days faded and the call of the Younger Races came ever more clear, The Wildmother chose in turn to leave The Oakfather and quit The Forest, to cast down her blanket upon the furrows and plantings of Man instead, and so she then became Chauntea of the Fields. In this some say she was aided and encouraged by The Great Mother Yondalla of the Halflings, who also greatly desired such things for her own children as well.
And now Silvanus walks alone, old and bowed, and the Forest is no longer all of Faerûn, and if you ask the Eldathyn they will tell you that he has no one but himself to blame for this.
'of the clutch Leeni of the Blue Whelkin'
Tortle society organizes themselves foremost around clans (such as the aforementioned Blue Whelkin). Once per year the local clans in a given area intermingle and mate, and then all retreat back to their own spaces to give birth to a "clutch", or a grouping of eggs hatched under a certain birth legend. Clutches are assigned on a repeating eighteen-year cycle corresponding to the nine celestial groupings the tortles recognize in the heavens above, and their nine heroic figures and legendary myths who lived on Faerûn below.
In the case of the tortles "Leeni" they were born into the legend of Leeni, the Defier of Fortunes ('for Fortune with a constant ebb and rise Casts down and raises high and low alike'). A strong but auspicious sign for those of boldness and derring-do, to be sure (not to be confused with the celestial sign of Deskla, the goddess Fortune herself, She who embodies and decides that constant ebb and rise – She whose shell is the great and shining Desklûne, presented both wax and wroth in the heavens overhead).
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AJA
YAFRP
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Edited by - AJA on 20 Mar 2025 07:26:50 |
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sleyvas
Skilled Spell Strategist
USA
11981 Posts |
Posted - 16 Mar 2025 : 14:43:18
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quote:
Originally posted by AJA
The Flying Tortles Leeni
A travelling high-wire acrobatic team of the tortle brothers Gusk, Gorlap, Gunder, and Yurd, of the clutch Leeni of the Blue Whelkin. Gorlap and Gunder are actually sisters, but humans can't tell the difference and seem to like the idea of an all-brother band better, so, whatever works. 'From the seaweed to the shore' is their motto, as their most common death-defying acts take place over the added danger of open waters – in Waterdeep, that means the open depths of Waterdeep Harbor, especially during the unpredictable conditions around Fleetswake. The Tortles Leeni are also quite happy to perform the local Dance of The Dread Tide, 'the seamen there tossed and torn apart', for any noble willing to pony up the coin required to populate a saltwater pool full of ravenous sharks on short notice.
While the "brothers" are a very popular entertainment for all who visit dock ward, and they do well with their tips, perhaps the greater draw is the chef which they have come into partnership with. The man is a master at making small, green colored "turtle shell shaped pasta" filled with varied ingredients such as cheese, spinach, sausage, chicken, pork, pigeon, roast ankheg, giant rat, giant frog, mushrooms, tomato, garlic, onion, peppers, etc... and fried in butter, onions, and celery. Calling these turtle shell pasta .... "Tortle Leeni Pasta Punchers"... he sells them from booths scattered across the docks where he has different teams of underchefs specifically making new recipes based upon the materials available in the local markets.
Surprisingly though, it is the containers that he arranged to use for his servings of pasta that have become even more famous. Making bread pan molds resembling turtle shells, with turtle shell insets to make "bread bowls" with smaller bread pastries that pull out of them, he distributes these to whatever local bakeries agree to make his bowls for the event. The smaller pull out "bowl" pieces are then decorated with green colored sticky, sweet glaze and bits of fruit. The turtle shell bread bowls themselves have become popular, even amongst those who cannot afford the pasta, for after one child decided to wear his bowl as a hat the trend took off.
These treats are as popular with the bystanders as the show itself is, especially amongst small children who love to watch while sitting on their father's shoulders and using the father's heads to rest their pasta filled bread bowls upon, while wearing another bread bowl upon their head and yelling "Notably Tortular" every time the "Brothers Leeni" perform some death defying act or other.
But food is not the only thing marketed by the "Brothers Leeni", for they are known to have made friendships with the many powers of legal authority in the city. Several griffonriders of the cities aerial cavalry have been seen to join in with the show, swooping in to gladhand and swing about the acrobatic tortles in an extravagant daredevil show. The tortles are also noted to wear long flowing red sashes around their waists, and similar child sized red sashes can be bought to accompany their bread bowl purchases. Similarly festooned adults of fighting age are also noted to walk amongst the dockside crowd, and those pickpockets, drunkards looking for trouble, and similar ne'er do wells find their attitudes corrected quickly by them before they can become problem. |
Alavairthae, may your skill prevail
Phillip aka Sleyvas |
Edited by - sleyvas on 16 Mar 2025 17:25:03 |
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sleyvas
Skilled Spell Strategist
USA
11981 Posts |
Posted - 16 Mar 2025 : 14:51:31
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quote:
Originally posted by AJA
THINGS SAGES SAY
'the temple of Silvanus and Mielikki in Sea Ward, where they still acknowledge Eldath as wife and mother'
In The Time Before Time, when Faerûn was The Forest and The Forest was Faerûn, The Oakfather and The Green Mother walked hand-in-hand and all of the creatures there bowed before them. Their child then was Mielikki, and she was very much her father's child. But Eldath loved her just as well, and so she asked of her boon companion Lurue the Silver if she would pass on her bond with the unicorn of the forest to her daughter as well. And this wish Lurue granted.
In time The Oakfather chose to wander from The Green Mother, to walk hand-in-hand with The Wildmother instead, and so Eldath returned to her pools and and kept her own peace. And while the fertility and abandon of The Wildmother was indeed a good match for The Oakfather, the loss of the wisdoms of Eldath in the face of The Rise of Man was a tragedy instead, one that led to The Oakfather rashly empowering the greatest of his forest champions with the ability to speak and to change shape, and it is through this that the deceitful rise of Malar the Betrayer and the spread of the curse of lycanthropy was then ensured.
And then as those Elder Days faded and the call of the Younger Races came ever more clear, The Wildmother chose in turn to leave Silvanus and quit The Forest, to cast down her blanket upon the furrows and plantings of Man instead, and so she became Chauntea of the Fields. In this some say she was aided and encouraged by The Great Mother Yondalla of the Halflings, who also greatly desired such things for her own children as well.
And now The Oakfather walks alone, old and bowed, and the Forest is no longer all of Faerûn, and if you ask the Eldathyn they will tell you that he has no one but himself to blame for this.
Love the myth revolving around the nature gods/goddesses. The piece on the tortles clutches was good too, though not sure what to make of the myth with it as yet. |
Alavairthae, may your skill prevail
Phillip aka Sleyvas |
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AJA
Senior Scribe
USA
792 Posts |
Posted - 17 Mar 2025 : 22:53:36
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quote:
Originally posted by sleyvas
Love the myth revolving around the nature gods/goddesses.
It's a continuation of things I've wrote of here before. Including one response inspired by you, on the subject of halfling porridge wrestling.
(they are reprinted below in part; halfling porridge wrestling not included in excerpt. Apologies  )
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quote:
Originally posted on 22 OCT 2019
Common Silvanite religious myth speaks of elder times when Faerûn was young and there was only the Forest, and the animals and all others were in harmony and balance, gathered under the wise hand of Silvanus.
Then, at the first Dawn the sylvan elves came forth out of the golden morning mist, and they were in peace with their surroundings. Some unknown time after that the first gnomes poked their ruddy heads up above root and turf, and they too knew of the language and the ways of the Forest, and for untold ages they lived there in agreement under Silvanus as well.
But then to the wooded verge came the creature known as Man. And Man was unlike anything yet seen in the Forest, ignorant of the law and the language, and he was relentless, armed with fire and axe and bloodlust.
Man could not or would not learn to converse with the Forest, so as Man hewed down the trees and slaughtered the animals Silvanus called together the greatest and wisest of his champions and gave them the power to walk and talk like the humans, that they might travel forth and parlay with the invaders, and work to guide them in the ways of the Forest.
But as those chosen intermingled with Man one among their number fell in with the ways of the intruders, and he was corrupted by bloodlust and learned to revel in deceit and vice and barbarism. This evil being named Malar, later known as The Savage, The Black-Blooded, The Beast in the Rough Grass, took the gift of skin-changing given to him by Silvanus and taught it to men in return for obedience. And then he returned to the Forest and gathered animals loyal to him, and held court in secret, and did even worse, teaching them not only the ability to change their shape, but of the evil ways of Man as well.
When news of these dark deeds reached the ear of the Oakfather he was wroth and sought to punish Malar, but Malar fled from him and hid in darkness and underbrush, and so did the beasts that followed him and so ever-after their descendants. And through this base treachery Malar became a god, and the curse of beast-changing (lycanthropy) spread far and away throughout Faerûn (the goddess Selûne, ever overwatching, later battled with Malar and attempted to wrest control of his followers from him, which is how were-folk came to be partially bound by the moon, and why some even follow her willingly, but that is a tale for another time).
quote:
Originally posted on 31 DEC 2023
"Do not misunderstand what Eldath is. The humans too often make this mistake. Eldath is a presence of the Forests of Old – the Forests of Faerie, before the Intrusions and the Invasions of Man. She walked proud alongside Silvanus in the time before The Oakfather chose to turn from her, to walk with The Wildmother instead. And those were the Younger Days, indeed, before The Wildmother then betrayed herself and set her mind to leave the Forest, to become the content and disgraced Chauntea of the Fields.
Eldath is of peace, yes. But peace in human terms and peace in the Forest are very, very different things. The pools of the Forest, the pools of Eldath, are sacred and, as such, sometimes require sacrifice."
Arvendhal Black-Browed, Uoryyndhal of the High Forest,
in lecture to his apprentice, the Ostleress Ilnmarlûné
Year of the Flying Serpent, 833DR
quote:
Originally posted on 06 JAN 2021
Originally posted by Halfling Nonsense: Their Songs, Folk-Lore, and Other Divers Merriments (Agathorn of Elversult, 1011DR)
Long ago, in The Before Times, when Silvanus Oak-Father and Chauntea Wild-Mother were All of Faerûn, and Sister Shar and Sister Selûne fought endlessly and noisily in the Heavens Above and the sparks from the clashes of their blades came hurtling down to Faerûn Below in the form of great mountains of rubble and fiery balls of molten ore and magical chaos beyond compare, the Great Mother Yondalla roused herself from her far-away roaring hearth that Men now foolishly call The Red Star or The Red Hole In The Heavens, and she took up with her left hand the young hinling master Arvoreen and with her right she gathered to her the young hinling mistress Cyrrollalee, and she made the long trek to the wild lands of Faerûn with an intent to bring order and peace to those tumultuous lands below. And so the Great Mother Yondalla sat the quarreling sisters Shar and Selûne down at her table and chartered an orderly division of the heavens where Light and Dark would both coexist, and so the Great Mother spoke the truths of Farm and Field to the Wild-Mother who already yearned for them, and took her by the hand and led her out of the Wilds of Silvanus, and urged her to cast her blanket down upon the fields and furrows of civilization instead.
And thus Faerûn was brought to order, and the farms and the fields were opened for those of the Hin race, and the Great Mother Yondalla made ready to return to her neglected far-away hearth.
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AJA
YAFRP
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sleyvas
Skilled Spell Strategist
USA
11981 Posts |
Posted - 19 Mar 2025 : 12:28:18
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I won't say I recalled them, because in truth I didn't, EXCEPT the halfling nonsense one. I was thinking about that one when I read this one honestly, though I couldn't remember exactly what had been said. But my googlefu just found it because I went and searched with Peryroyal in the name and now I see the whole thread again. I now recall that Sheela Peryroyl won her godhood by porridge wrestling poor Arvoreen in a three falls bout.
Searching said page again, we should learn more of some Hin Tall Tales. For instance, I quite forget.... was the story of the Golden Bed of Peryroyl a story involving marigolds or sunflowers or some other golden leafed/petaled plant (somewhere I could have sworn someone said Sunewood trees even), and did it involve Lathander? I must admit, my Hin tall-tales knowledge is quite not up to snuff.
Also, Taloc Sailson, was he the one seen chasing a spectral blue goat along Snail Street near the Hincellars?
Rosewise Mallowgarn
A midwife and herb-healer of South Ward. Cheerful, good-natured. Loves to tell Hin tall-tales like The Golden Bed of Peryroyl, Tom-Pip and the Potato Patch, The Twice-Bewitched Cattle of Old Moss, and Marradan and the Basket of Ginger-Cakes. Also quite learned and fearless in the presence of ghosts and other malign spirits. Adherent of the lesser aspect, Helm of the Five Eyes. Often keeps company with Taloc Sailson, the "Ghost-Seeker" of Waterdeep.
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Alavairthae, may your skill prevail
Phillip aka Sleyvas |
Edited by - sleyvas on 19 Mar 2025 12:33:53 |
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AJA
Senior Scribe
USA
792 Posts |
Posted - 20 Mar 2025 : 07:26:04
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Well, speaking of things not recalled, I admit I have not thought of Rosewise in quite some time. Not only when she originally was posted here, but even a decade or so before that.
What I can add since is that she has grown quite close with Bail the Stout (posted in this thread at some point: Beiljabahr el Vallh, the Calishite orsar assigned to the growing hin community centered around Snail Street). They first met on his rounds in the pipeweed-and-sundries shop of Golden Gallowleaf (see also: Jondorf "Jondo" Gallowleaf), and bonded there over their shared love of the Black Basilisk chew weed. They do get quite competitive over their spit-targets (Bail is definitely more accurate and direct, though Rose does have that particular halfling talent of bending her sputum in the most unexpected ways).
No chance of children, Rosewise is past time for such things (even if Bail isn't), though they are both in agreement that 'many feet make many merriments' (your halfling proverb of the day), and both would be in favor of adoption(s) if the time was right. It should also be noted that her name, Rosewise, is reference to another well-known Hin fable, Rosewise and The Red-Wine Faerys ('Rosewise, once upon a time, looked out her little hin-hole, and saw such wonderful faerys, dancing and laughing upon the vine').
Her told-tales in the post you quoted are definitely the kind of thing I throw out without much (any) further thought, though in this case you are right in that the 'bed' was a bed of flowers and growing things, and gateway to a number of adventures, and not a physical construct built instead for your sleeping chambers. And Tom-Pip was a standard Brer Rabbit expy ('oh no, Saer Direwolf! Please don't throw me back into yon potato patch'). The others are indeed names only.
"Taloc Sailson" was the framing device for Steven Schend's Realms By Night articles on the old Wizards site (top three with Eric's Mintipur's Chapbooks and Ed's Waterdeeps News columns, if you ask me). So as far as chasing any goats, spectral or otherwise, as Ed always says, "well, that would be Steven's story to tell".
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Edited by - AJA on 20 Mar 2025 07:37:03 |
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sleyvas
Skilled Spell Strategist
USA
11981 Posts |
Posted - 20 Mar 2025 : 13:11:49
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Why you sneaky one you.... I see how you hid those hints in there.... let me see if this old mind can put three and four together and come up with lucky seven. I seem to recall some of the story of The Golden Bed of Peryroyl
It went something along the lines of some poor Hin hunters and wildwood farmers (those who take to "farming" within the wild woods instead of pastures) lived in a forested dell in the Purple Hills of Tethyr, with an exceedingly deep but slow moving creek flowing through it. They were one with nature, growing apples, pecans, muscadine and scuppernong grapes, wild white flowered tobacco, and obviously a great variety of mushrooms, many of which they fed to their wild boar mounts. The pride of their village was a great apple tree which produced wonderful sweetmeat apples of a wondrous golden hue. This tree was tall, its leaves of a yellow green hue that seemed to sparkle in the light of Lathander, and some said that if one watched carefully on festival days, one might see the goddess Sheela Peryroyl peering to smile upon you from amidst its branches. Some said this tree had been planted and grown from a similar tree held by some goddess in the outer planes, and that those who periodically ate of its fruit seemed to suffer the effects of aging much more mildly. Others said that drinking hard cider made from its fruit was an effective cure all for many minor sicknesses for both the young and old.
But, one day while the men of the tribe were hunting a rogue werewolf who had bloodily slain a small household on the village outskirts, the females of the tribe were taken by a tribe of orcs. The filthy orcs decided to "marinate" these women and children by tying them at their feet and hanging them upside down from the great apple tree until the blood rushing to their heads eventually killed them. To add insult to injury, these orcs also decided to "sweeten the meat" by shoving apples into every conceivable orifice of that poor hanging halflings. Finally, a witchdoctor amongst them set the tree afire with wicked green flames of sorcery so that they might slow roast and smoke their future repast. So, it was that the great orc host set about to camp and have a great feast, make merry with the pain and suffering of the poor halflings.
But a quartet of children and a young mother and babe, who had been playing at skiprock along the creek had managed to escape, and they found their fathers, uncles, and elder brothers who had successfully fought and killed the rogue werewolf. The children reported of the vast orc host, who easily outnumbered the hunters twenty to one, and they pled with them to flee. But the menfolk would have none of that. Unfortunately a trio of them had also been bitten as well and knew that they may have to be purged of the foul curse. But, when they saw the smoke rising above the treeline, those who had been bitten fell to their knees and prayed with all of their might to their wild goddess, "Give me the curse Sheela, that I may avenge this wickedness", and so it was that they changed into feral wolves and charged headlong ahead of their brethren into the orc host. Their bloodlust was savage and without remorse, and they took dozens with them as they themselves fell, but even they could not kill all the orcs. But even as they gave their lives to water the ground with orc blood, the remaining halfling brethren charged in on their warpigs, spearing the orcs and pinioning them upon the burning apple tree.
By the end of the battle, only a pair of young halfling rangers had survived, along with the young mother and the children who had come to warn them. The young mother adopted the children and married one of the rangers, and soon after one of the rangers married the eldest child, who had finally grown to be of marrying age. They continued to live in the village, and where once a great tree had grown, it was said that one night a pair of females, one male and one female, appeared where the tree had been. All were sure that they looked upon Urogalan and Sheela Peryroyl, and it was said that the male did touch the remains of the wicked gallows from which the poor women and children had hung, and that tears did fall from his eyes to water the earth and the tree turned to ash. Sheela did writhe and strain and pummel the earth with her fury, and her mad howls would have shamed even the most brazen wolf, until exhausted, she collapsed to the earth and her body simply disappeared and a wave of golden light did wash over the area. Within minutes, golden wildflowers in the form of marigolds and sunflowers did sprout from the earth. But there was also a strange form of tobacco plant, which would become known as "Golden Gallowleaf" which also grew amongst the wildflowers. It was from this plant that the village would come to take its name "Gallowleaf Glen", a halfling village said to be protected by ghostly wolves, and so ends the tale of The Golden Bed of Peryroyl |
Alavairthae, may your skill prevail
Phillip aka Sleyvas |
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AJA
Senior Scribe
USA
792 Posts |
Posted - 29 Mar 2025 : 22:26:22
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Graela Briarthorn
A gnome artificer and archanic of promising but unfocused talents. Graela designed and built the signature apparatus used for Two Fat Wizards, a failed potents-and-potables (alcoholic and alchemical drinks) establishment on Robin's Way, South Ward (now the site of Orn's Interesting Ensorcellments*), and when the shop closed she dismantled it all and re-installed it in her second-floor chambers on Ilzantil Street, North Ward, across the hallway from the parlor of Maskemmur, a highly-regarded Master of Furnishings.
It is there now that her massive thumping and steaming experimental glass- and brass-work distilleries (Graela is an excellent concocter – and avid consumer – of a variety of mixed beverages of a particularly intoxicating nature; delicate blends of juniper and herbs being her favorite) thumps and steams away. These noises and hissings continually annoy her neighbor across the hall, but her repeated gifts of bottles of masterful delights always seems to mollify the worst of his tirades.
Honestly, she doesn't quite know what else to do with it – so she just keeps making drinks, and fine-tuning the inner works, and making more drinks. The local taverns are quite keen to continue purchasing her wares, and thereby funding her expenses. But her indecision is not shared among all others. Eventually someone will learn the truth of her device, and come to the swift conclusion that the making of strong spirits is foolish compared to making strong spirits of war (just imagine a deadlier and easier-crafted Greenfire than that brewed by the Castle alchemists, to be spread and spewed then upon assemblies of humans rather than trolls), and then she will find herself under the unfortunate eye of a number of power groups for whom 'no' is not even a consideration.
Graela grew up as an orphan in South Ward (her parents slain during the battle with Myrkul's Minions) and was then adopted by her two 'mothers', the gnomish sisters Elrisk and Endrevva*. She is a glitter-kissed (wild-talent, of the sort that Garl personally blesses) gnome. In her case, she can sense most everything that is intended, in close range, for weal or woe, around her – and so recieves a bonus to any insights, surprise attacks, or saves v. illusion.
* for discussion on Orn's Interesting Ensorcellments (and the gnomish sisters Elrisk and Endrevva) see the previous entry for Reskanther Orn, posted on 10 JUN 2024
Maskemmur
A highly-regarded Master of Furnishings (a Grand Esthetical in Calimshan and the southern Realms); or, the Faerûnian equivalent of an interior decorator ('A Master of Brightening Effects and Exceptional Creativities, and Cheerful Looks of All Other Manner', as his coin-card and his well-appointed parlor-jack not so subtly announce). He specializes in bright and airy fashions, designed to counter the grim and interminable Northern winters and save the sanities of those wealthy enough to afford him – but not those wealthy enough to flee the city for warmer southern surroundings, who obviously have no use for his services. He frequently consults with the priesthoods of The Freshening Breeze Akadi, and Rose-And-Gold Lathander, and Green-Mossed Eldath, and he also borrows inspirations quite liberally from the designments of the Hin-wives, who have long bright-warded their sunken hin-holes with an endless variety of merry and airy encouragements.
Maskemmur's origins are unknown, although most believe him to be from Amn or Tethyr. He rose to prominence in the city some few years ago after he collaborated with the socialite Dashtana of the Delights (26 NOV 2018) on the furnishing of her ostentatious Sea Ward villa, Dashturrets (The Scented Steps). He has since busied himself with work for the retired adventurer-turned-wine-merchant Emmerlund "Brighthands" (09 FEB 2020) in his abode "The Mouths on Melshar's Street" (Castle Ward), and in the Castle Ward demense of Ilvir Blackdravvan (26 JUL 2019), the newly-appointed envoy (ambassador) of the Confederacy of the Silver Marches.
He keeps his own parlor (walls and furnishings of bright white or sky-blue, accented everywhere with silvered star-patterns and tasselled pillows and variegated pottings striped in vibrant greens and oranges) on Ilzantil Street, North Ward, above the ground-floor Lliiran tutelage of Under The Lingval Tree (a reference to the tale of Lliira of the Youthful Fancies, who sat under the spreading branches of the mighty Lingval, an arboreal daughter of The World Before the World*, and taught all of the world's children and grand-children of the joys of merriment and dance, and good-natured alignments).
* for discussion on The World Before The World, see the previous entry for The Company of The Bold and The Delicious, posted on 06 JUL 2021
Maeslaur Wolfspell
Brother of the local strongarm (hiresword) Jostryn Wolfspell (13 Sep 2020). Thick shock of black hair, black beard. Dark-inked tattoos down the entirety of both well-muscled arms (the hands-cupped dice below the pursed lips of Tymora, the antlered black cat of Beshaba, and the twin-mirrored crescents of Selûne Many-Shapes are most prominent, along with the Gambler's Scale weighted down to the dexter by a heavy coinpouch – 'any fool can win money, but it taks a wiser man to keep it', the Gambler's Scale again, weighted down to the sinister by a grinning skull – 'fool or fortunate, death comes for us all'; and The Magister's Hood, a black cowl whose opening is styilized as an upside-down hangman's noose; the rare emblem, unique to Waterdeep, of those who survived a sentencing down into the depths of The Undermountain).
Unlike his brother, Maeslaur inherited the intermittant skin-changing trait of the Wolfspell family (outcast, but not forgotten or forgiven from the Uthgardt Grey Wolf tribe). He now finds employment bodyguarding important personages down through the Undermountain into the Xanathar's lair, and has even risen high enough in the ranks to have been chosen as a personal guard, to accompany the beholder lord themself in important parlays with the local drow of the depths, and even with the overwatching Skulls of Skullport.
In his free time Maeslaur makes every attempt to attend the special services at The House of The Moon, those dedicated to helping those lycanthropes who wish to manage and control their bloodlust – but still, sometimes his urges overwhelm him and so he seeks to flee the city, to rampage among the animals of the outside fields and forests instead. More often than not, he even succeeds.
Millasill Merrybucks
"Merry Mill". The bustling and hustling Hin proprietor of Millasill's Morning-Counter. Serves up tarts and pastries, both savory (various meat pies and fish rolls) and sweet – including honey-glazed eggbread buns, and bacon-fried apple fritters ('sweet-fries'; thick slices of apple coated in batter and fried in bacon fat, and then drizzled with honey), and a variety of hot to-go drinks (the current fads of hot chocolate and hot fruit-pulp drinks, and Northern teas, as well as the traditional Calishite kaeth).
Those latter chocolates and teas and kaeth are what they eagerly brand here at the Morning-Counter as Maple-Merries (hot chocolate with sugary foam and drizzle of syrup), Merry-Whites (kaeth with milk), Merry-Strong (the same, but flavored with goat or rothé milk instead), Shilarn's Special (rose-scented black tea), and Morgûld's Gain-Strong (a hot birch-bark tea spiked with a shot of clear alcohol).
This branding is of the utmost importance to Millasill as it helps to drive interest and sales, both of which translate to coin, which are at a premium to the halfling due to the arrangement she has made with the elven moneylender, Elaith Craulnober – who not only provided her with store location (at an inflated cost) but also supplies her with the kaeth bean and chocolate seed needed to operate (and, while both can be found from merchants elsewhere, not at the quantity or reliability the elf can offer – but yes, also for a steep premium, just another one of a number of ways the crimelord has to filter his dark imports and his coins through the city without catching the eye of the Lords).
The Morning-Counter is located on Tchozal's Race, Castle Ward, just a few store-fronts east of The Street of Swords. It boasts a busy serving-window for the Race-front pass-through traffic outside and a cramped, screen-partitioned interior divided into comfortable two-person (or tight four-person) booths for those who wish to linger and read the latest broadsheet, or talk semi-privately with fellow conspirators or choco-afficionadoes.
Mulgraeth "Mother Oven"
South Ward baker and midwife. An ancient orc of grey-green wrinkles and folds. Squat, generous of bosom and belly, large thighs and calves. Keen blue-black eyes under heavy brows. Coarse grey-brown hair swept back and shot through with three thick yellow braids (a long-time personal affectation which she still takes great care to maintain). She is commonly called "Mother Oven" by the inhabitants of her neighborhood, a word-play on both her talents at cookery and childbirth, she whose culinary masteries have 'given birth' to as many healthy and hearty delights as any boy- or girl-child delivered forth into her capable hands.
She is also known to discreetly, and without question, stitch up any young street toughs or roustabouts who come to her after involvement with rival gangs or the armed attentions of the city Watch. She may also be convinced to do the same for an adventuring party as well, if they are lucky enough to be referred by a local she knows and trusts. Such a service comes highly recommend, as does the complimentary tray of fresh whelk-seed muffins that she offers alongside it.
Mulgraeth keeps a silver-handled longknife slung on her right thigh which she hones sharp every morning, and a whip (concealed as the ornate leather bindings that hold back her hair) which she can disentangle with a single pull, and with which she remains quite proficient. She was known as 'The Slender Sting' in another, younger life, when her thighs and calves were still just as powerful but her bosom and belly were quite smaller and, along with her arms, quite hard and muscular – and her eyes, while just as keen, flashed then with murder and laughed amid danger and slaughter).
There are still some in the city who remember her that way; you can generally tell because they are the few who would dare to call her by her small-name, Mulla. Mirt the Moneylender is one such.
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The Five NPCs You Meet In Waterdeep
