Grimoirs of Sterling
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_Abner sits at a desk inside his private chambers of the Spellweaver Keep, enjoying a warm cup of tea. He had never taken to strong drink, for it fogs the mind. He had, upon rare occasion, allowed himself a glass of fine wine, and had even accumulated a decent personal cellar.
Scattered about him are several open tomes, stacks of raw paper, and prepared bindings. He is pouring over his notes and preparing a lengthy series of essays. Jlii, his ever faithful fairy companion, is busy arranging quills and ink vials, and ensuring there is plenty of lamp oil.
The former Headmaster, has recently returned from a decades-long sabbatical abroad, and returning with him are experiences that will eventually fill several shelves in the Keep with volumes of knowledge and gathered lore. As he collects his thoughts, setting the tip of the first pristine quill to the inkwell, his mind reflects back in time to how this odyssey came about…._
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_The morning tide bell marked the darkest hour when the Mor’Dea Salka made its port of call into the ancient slips at Fort Arran, along the edge of Sespech coast. Mythal or not, the Mor’Dea Salka made the voyage across the Sea of Fallen Stars without incident. Abner and her captain spoke briefly about a potential date for which the vessel might return. Mogul’Don Tor had tentatively set to return to these waters some years from the day, though his exact comings and goings were left to remain ever elusive. He simply stated that he would send word if or when he did return.
Abner stepped off, setting foot upon dry land for the first time in over a month. It took him a while before his “sea legs” gave way to the memory of how to walk regular and upright. As he was relearning how to walk again down the dark cobbled streets, the ships quartermaster accompanied the old wizard, himself seeming not to care at all about the swagger of a seaman. Abner had his suspicions if his companions sea leg swagger was indeed permanent, wondering still if the old salt ever set foot upon dry land except to douse himself in tall tankards of strong brew or to purchase supplies for his master.
They traveled together past the Customs officers, after the quartermaster paid the proper duty fees of course, and then swaggered together down the lamp lit warehouse row. Tucked in between a large freight house and a shipwright repairs shop was a small seaport tavern, non-descript and darkly lit, smelling of stale ale and spiced potatoes. The quartermaster sauntered on in for a pint before being about his ships business of re-supply and provision. Abner had no idea where her next port of call would be. Mogul’Don Tor and all his dealings remained a complete mystery, and his passage across the Sea of Fallen Stars was now becoming but a memory.
The old Wizard overheard talk about a troop of soldiers from the garrison moving out to Ormpetarr in a few days time. The Golden Road was well patrolled; being the main route of commerce sandwiched between The Nagawater Lake and the River Arran, and was the shortest trade route by land to connect the Sea of Fallen Stars with the Lake of Steam.
There was only one route possible by ship which a vessel might possibly reach the the Lake of Steam, and that was to chance the mouth of the Lake of the Long Arm, off the Dragon Coast. Then there would be the journey down the Wet River, all the while being towered over by the high peaks of the Orsraun Mountains, only to be spit out of the mouth of the river at the edge of the Deepwing Mountains. Next would be the task of seeking the elusive entrance where the headwaters of the Winter Cloak River joins the Thornwash, which then empties out into the Lake of Steam adjacent the port town of Ankhapur.
The challenging logistics of such a voyage ensured that the easy overland route from Fort Arran along the Golden Road to the port of Innarlith would forever remain the preferred shipping route of goods and persons between the two ocean bodies of the central and southern seas. The journey between Fort Arran and Ormpetar was doable at a days pace if done on horseback, and horses were plentiful and cheap in the garrison fort at Arran.
The day’s final light fell upon the remaining famed brass spires of Ormpetar, reflecting the setting sun like fingers of flame. The large mansion of Tyrangal, the copper dragon (who is also known as Gaulauntyr when she is in her human form), sits surrounded by the remnants of the town’s former glory. A Kelemvor monastery has some activity, as well as the famed Jewel Fest hall. Though neither of these were sought as the old wizards final destination.
The hour grew late, and the long shadows of the evening were just beginning to crawl down the streets of the city when Abner reached the library of the Order of Blue Flame, the headquarters of his order. This was a place he had not seen since the days of his youth and apprenticeship as an aspiring weaver of the arcane some fifty years ago. Had it been so long, he wondered as he took the clasp upon the heavy oak door and knocked._
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Abner, having been awash in the vivid memory of how his sabbatical had all began, takes the quill from the inkwell and begins penning his work…
@1a0cc1eb58:
Grimoir: Plaguewrought Lands, Spellscars and Spellfire
Chapter 1.
To the far South of Narfell, far across the Sea of Fallen Stars lies a large mass of lands left shattered and torn asunder, south of the area known as Chondalwood. These lands are known as the Plaugewrought Lands or Plagueland. Here, one might observe a great many oddities. Of note is how the very ground itself heaves and rolls like waves out on the open ocean during a tempest.
Also, near the “shore” where these “waves” crash, pieces of the terra firma fracture and levitate skyward, drifting off until far out of sight into the sky. These shattered floating remnants are called earthmotes. What a formidable defense an earthmote would provide to anyone skilled enough or powerful enough to capture one and build a keep upon it’s surface!
Local mystics and soothsayers tell tale of a great betrayal between the diety Mystra and the diety Shar. It is said that Mystra was attacked by Cyric at the behest of Shar, and that the damage suffered unto Mystra created a cosmic distress which rippled throughout the realmspace and alltime, ripping apart the Weave and inflicting such arcane havoc that the event was forever known as “The Spellplague”; the effects of which splintered down throughout the whole of Fearun, disrupting all forms of magic. This destructive force left many practitioners of the art in ruin, unable to control the weave or conjure their magics with any reliability. Some mages went mad, some were laid to waste being unable to defend themselves, and some prospered by other means. The years after the Spellplague would forever live on as the “Wailing Years”.
The Weave has since recovered, though the lands hardest hit by this catastrophy still bear the spellscars.Abner pauses from his writing, contemplating that last word: Spellscar. His mind again drifts back to that voyage across the Sea of Fallen Stars…..
_The trader ship Mor’Dea Salka, captained by Mogul’ Don Tor was not infamous. It was not the stuff of legend or esteem. It should have been, and more, but that was as intended. The methods by which the merchant fleets navigate the far north reaches are as mysterious as they are profitable. Any sailor worth his salt could attest to that fact. Protecting the obfuscation methods used for safe passage through savage waters is heavily veiled in secret confidence. Abner was not held in such high confidence. To Mogul’Don, he was just another soul aboard who paid well.
Abner had his suspicions that Mogul’Don Tor was a well connected man. This was probably an understatement. Through direct observation as a passenger aboard, Abner suspected that somehow the Mor’Dea Salka was recipient of a powerful elven Mythal, though this suspicion was never fully confirmed. Abner was reasonably well acquainted with the legends of Elven high arts and the practice of high magic’s used to grant extraordinary enchantment. This practice of weavecraft by large and powerful elven conclaves was rumored to produce permanent wards or enhancements to an area or object, however to do so usually cost the life of the leader of the casting circle or additional circle casters lives as well. The very first attempt of such high art resulted in the death of the circle leader, Mythal, and thus the practice now bears his name.Abner pulled the quill tip back from the page. Dipping it into the inkwell he pondered: Did Mogul’Don Tor have such clout as to be able to ward his ship with an enhancement to allow it to pass through the lands completely unseen?
He paused from his writing and took a few sips of his tea while considering this thought…._
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_Thus, Abner began to consider sabbatical. Upon returning to near full health, he made his first trip outside the protected walls of Spellweaver Keep and ventured off to the familiar library in Oscura. Once there, he went about the secret business of securing passage aboard a merchant vessel that frequented the Oscuran waters on rare occasions. The elven master of the craft, Mogul’Don Tor, was a familiar associate, having needed Abner's services twice previously in acquiring rare items found scattered about the Nars or horded in the possession of denizens from the darker and more dangerous hidden depths beneath. Their former business dealings had proven mutually beneficial and lucrative. The two agreed upon a future date when the merchant would return and would have suitable quarters aboard for Abner.
Having secured his travel arrangements, Abner set his full attention upon preparation for this long journey. He returned his Keep items to Keep Master and friend Genzir since the uncertainty of ever returning alive loomed before him. As with all long journeys, tis best to plan in excruciating detail for the expected, yet remain contingent and ever mindful of the unknown. Abner planned to travel light, and so to accommodate himself, much of his acquired wealth he transferred into silver and platinum bullion and secured inside his chest, inside his room, which he had no intention of giving up to anyone else. He also transferred coin into precious stones, which were more transportable due to being lighter than gold as well as smaller and easier to conceal in a myriad of discrete locations on his person or hidden in ordinary looking items that would-be thieves might consider unworthy of their effort to steal. He also changed his style of dress, having been more accustomed to his notorious blue silk and velvet ensembles seamed with golden thread, instead taking on the appearance of a wayward vagabond pilgrim. Simple disception can be a powerful ally.
He left specific instruction that if he had not returned by a prescribed date, to consider him either dead or worse, and to then release his room and donate all his worldly wealth and possessions to the good of the initiates of the Spellweaver. He left the sealed will set upon his desk, looked one last time over the neatly arranged room, closed and locked the door, strode down the hall, out of the tower and out into the night.
The dark merchant returned precisely on time as promised, and once his business was concluded in Oscura, his vessel slipped out into the gathering darkness with one additional passenger._
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_While recuperating from wounds received in defense of Jiyyd some years ago, Abner spent a considerable portion of that time in seclusion inside the Keep. A wizards mind can become an enemy within if ever one is laid up for years at a time in recovery. To stave off the inevitable depression and other effects of a long recovery, a wizard must remain committed to continued study. To escape his bed, Abner would send his servant Jlii out, while he would sink into the deep trance of second-sight and experience the world outside again through the eyes and ears of his trusted pixie companion.
The sands of time poured slowly through the delicate hour-glass at his desk, and with those long passing months, his body slowly healed, though he would never be made physically whole as before. Once able to walk, Abner would labor just to make it to the hall and back to bed. Eventually, he would find the strength to make it to and from the library, and then outside the tower, though not allowing himself to venture beyond the inner courtyard. It had taken four years just to make it outside. It would take another two years before he was physically able to stand for short periods of time without the constant support from his staff and bend over and enjoy the aromatic pleasures of the Keep rose garden in the spring.
He had discovered that the excursion to the fugual realm beyond the mortal realm had decimated his abilities to harness and channel the mysteries of the weave. Above all else, the years spent supine upon his back or the wreck upon his once more youthful form, Abner found this loss of control to be the most difficult burden to bear. His was a life spent in constant pursuit of perfection in his chosen art. He viewed the years spent in recovery as years wasted… years he might be able to somehow extend through the alchemical arts, still this consideration visited little solace upon his troubled mind._
