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Lost Leaves From The Inn of The Last Home
Lost Leaves From The Inn of The Last Home
Margaret Weis
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Caramon Majere
Proprietor of the Inn of the Last Home
Adrian Du Chagne:
Palanthas’ Lord of Lies
Excerpts from Palanthas: A Biographical History, by Stefanos, Aesthetic of the Great Library
A drian Du Chagne was a noble-mannered resistance fighter who turned master thief. He was born
in the Market District of Palanthas to unknown parents. Rumors spread about his father, a gruff
looking fellow who ran an inn that was consumed in fire some years ago. No one knew what happened,
but the City Guard discovered the infant Adrian—covered in ashes and hidden under the inn’s front
desk. Locals believed that the gods protected the infant, saving him from the fire.
Adrian grew up in the care of an adoptive family from Solanthus. His father, Ian Du Chagne, was an
important steel merchant from the Hinterlund province of Solamnia who moved to Palanthas in 321
AC. Ever-increasing profit made Du Chagne one of the richest men in the city, his wealth supported
by leases contracted with the Lord-Mayor of the city. The young Adrian lived in that world of double-
dealings in which his father’s enterprise thrived.
At sixteen Adrian’s father died, so the young man picked up where his father left off. The great
Commerce Guild, founded by Ian Du Chagne, took another road to success: that of the underworld
and its black market. Already a full member of the Thieves’ Guild, Adrian offered to help the
Guildmaster hide its activities within his businesses. With the Lord-Mayor preoccupied with the
coming War against the Dragonarmies and the City Guard forming the garrison at the High Clerist’s
Tower, the move went unnoticed.
During the winter of the war of the lance, Adrian called out to the gods to aid him in the next step
of his career: mounting a coup against the Thieves’ Guildmaster himself. His call
was answered. It was then that Adrian took his first vow into the dark worship
of Hiddukel, the Lord of Lies. The evil god told him how to reach his goal
in a vision. He followed the divine instructions precisely, manipulating
events to complete the plan. The Guildmaster succumbed to poison, and
Adrian rose to take his place.
His ascension into the Thieves’ Guild appeared legitimate. Some of
Adrian’s colleagues did not believe their new Guildmaster’s innocence.
Hiddukel warned him in a dream of an assassination attempt by
one of his allies. The following night, the young Guildmaster
waited patiently for his killer. The traitor was found dead by
the City Guard in a back alley with a slit throat.
The Blue Wing of the Dragonarmies swept over Solamnia.
Even before the Lord-Mayor decided to keep his neutral
stance in the War, Adrian chose his side. What he did not
Lost Biographies
expect was the reward he would earn. The Lord uprising against the “ineffective power in place.”
of Lies whispered in Adrian’s dreams, warning Of those accusations, Adrian was only guilty of
of domination of Ansalon by Takhisis. Adrian the second. The others were merely inventions
lead his men into a guerilla war on the plains of of his Thieves’ Guild rival, Amothus Dale.
Solamnia. Although summoned to justice, Adrian planned
Many battles were fought, but the guild’s something else for his rival and left for the High
men did not take part in all of them. More Clerist’s Tower.
important work was ahead of them as messengers, Amothus Dale knew his fate soon after the
assassins—even as squires or spies in the Dark Battle of the High Clerist’s Tower, arrested as
Queen’s army. When the Thieves’ Guild offered a spy for the Blue Dragonarmy. Adrian was
aid, the Solamnic Knights did not know who rewarded for his aid during the conflict against
the Guildmaster was, nor the identity of his Takhisis’ Dragonarmies by the withdrawal of
colleagues. Only a few even knew of these “allies.” all charges against him. He was also granted the
But they got results. Adrian also legally sponsored noble title of Earl. After the War of the Lance,
the war by financing nobles all across Solamnia. Adrian continued his secret worship to the Lord
His enterprise offered resources much needed on of Lies. He remained Guildmaster of the Thieves’
the front lines: food, supplies, and weapons. Guild of Palanthas and owner of one of the most
A week before the Battle of the High Clerist’s powerful enterprises in Ansalon well into his
Tower, Adrian was arrested by the City Guard and declining years.
charged on three counts. First, he was accused Earl Adrian Du Chagne’s portrait now hangs
of being the ringleader of an assassination in a side corridor of the Lord’s Palace in Old City,
conspiracy against the Lord Mayor. Second, the depicting a tall, thin man in his mid-twenties
Palanthian authorities accused him of giving aid who wears a distinguished black robe with gold
to the Solamnics outside of Palanthas—a felony lining. Written descriptions of him at the time
because it had the potential to trigger a war spent as Guildmaster suggest that he rarely, if
that the citizens of Palanthas were desperate to ever, wore these robes of office, preferring a black
avoid. The last accusation was being the author woolen cloak with a hood.
of a traitorous lampoon distributed in the inns
and taverns across the city, proposing a citywide
Lost Biographies
Nagash,
Lightning Draconian
N agash, like many noble draconians, spent the waning years of the War of the Lance in martial training and slavery. After he freed himself from
the Dragonarmies, he had a long and successful career fighting the forces of Darkness across Ansalon.
It was after he won his freedom that he began occasionally writing his memories, thoughts, and musings in a journal. Reportedly laconic in person,
Nagash had a tendency to ramble in writing; his journal is not a daily diary, but rather a collection of essays on subjects he was pondering at the time
he put pen to paper. This article contains a few selections of interest to those studying the plight of noble draconians during the War of the Lance and
its immediate aftermath. The unabridged volume is available to scholars at the Library of Palanthas.
–Kiro Dorova, Tower of High Sorcery at Wayreth
Lost Biographies
“You must, dear sister. I do not forget my own.” The We composed oratory, choosing words which sounded
majesty of the second voice seared my heart, burning away pleasing together even if the matter of the words was
the residue left by the foul ritual of my creation. unpleasant (I later learned that this was called “poetry”).
The voices faded. We promised each other to keep journals of our trials and
Time passed; again, I know not how long. Perhaps it was triumphs once we were delivered from slavery, so that
mere seconds, perhaps centuries. Finally, I opened my eyes, our stories would live on. We poured the despair and the
and the black-robed figures and terrible creature were there. lamentations of our captivity and the Dark Queen’s Curse
My heart sank in despair, crying out for the noble presence into our compositions, rather than allow it to fester in our
that had claimed me a moment—a lifetime—ago. hearts. We begged Paladine for deliverance in our words so
It answered, silently, in my mind. “Do not fear, though that our souls could be patient, for we trusted that someday
you rest among the enemy,” the beautiful voice assured me. He would fulfill the promise He made us upon our creation
“I do not forget my own. and make us instruments of His will…
“You are mine,” Paladine said to me.
…Only a month or two after we arrived at the mine,
humans mounted a raid on the facility. Tarrin, together
with Sorin and Urra and a few others, were in a position
Excerpts from the entry to use the commotion to escape. I could not—I had
“Of Tarrin, my Brother been confined in chains since the previous evening as
punishment for some minor transgression—but I urged
and Friend.” him to go without me. He was reluctant, but I promised
I was among the first few created, along with my brother him that we would meet again someday, even if it were at
Tarrin. Lord Ariakas referred to Tarrin when he coined the Paladine’s feet at the end of days. That is the last I have
name of our race—“Strong and noble, these draconians,” he seen of Tarrin. Later I heard that he traveled briefly with
said. We called ourselves noble thereafter. Gilthanas the Elflord; I do hope that was truth rather than
Tarrin and I grew close as we grew together. He was rumor, for none of us could have hoped to find a more noble
a good friend; he was the cleverest of the pair of us, and and worthy mentor.
knew the day would come when our masters discovered
that we belonged to Paladine, not the Dark Queen. He told
us to be ready for that day, to do whatever we needed to do Excerpts from the entry
to survive, and that Paladine would remember us and not
abandon us…
“Of my Captivity.”
Early in our lives it came to pass that the priests of
…He advised us all, and me especially, to pay lip service Takhisis entered our chamber, with the hobgoblin and base
to the religion we were being indoctrinated with. Kowtow draconian guards, and placed several of us in irons: Tarrin,
to the idols and icons of Queen Takhisis, he said. Pray to Sorin, Urra, me, and several more besides. Until this time
her with our lips, and to Paladine with our hearts. His we had been undergoing training as warriors, to fight in the
advice kept us alive… great war that Queen Takhisis was waging upon the world,
and we were only confined in chains when we had done
…Tarrin was a gifted warrior. In our combat training, something to displease our masters. Having satisfied our
only Tarrin was stronger than I. Even at a young age, he masters in our most recent lessons, we were confused as we
could lift the largest of the great blades, and he used his were led away.
size and the momentum of the weapon to best any of us, Months later I learned that, soon after we were taken
and he even began to outfight the combat instructors. We from the temple, they slaughtered many of those remaining.
all became skilled with our blades, but Tarrin was by far the Only a few handfuls of each of the noble races survived…
most gifted, blessed by Paladine…
…Physical discipline had been part of our training
…During the time of our slavery, Tarrin and I passed previously, but they had stopped short of causing serious
many hours together in conversation. At the time, we injury; this time they did not. Our legs and hands bound
mostly spoke to each other in Nerakese, as was enforced by in chains, and our mouths muzzled, they beat us savagely
our masters, but he encouraged me to continue practicing with cruel weapons under the watchful eyes of some of the
Draconic, which we both instinctively understood from the priests. One baaz draconian viciously stabbed me in the
time of our creation. He said it was a gift from our dragon midsection with a hooked spear. I doubled over, bleeding
parents, one of the few worthy gifts they gave to us. profusely. I knew I would die without assistance, and it
seemed I was unlikely to receive it. Involuntarily placing
Lost Biographies
my shackled hands over the wound, I prayed to Paladine to Since Tarrin, Urra, and Sorin had escaped over a year
help me, somehow, in some way—and the wound closed. previously, they forbade the slaves to speak to one other
Paladine healed me. This enraged the priests who were (to prevent conspiratorial planning, presumably) and I
nearby, who shouted “Blasphemy!” and ordered the guards was frightfully lonely. One day I had simply had enough,
to take care that I did not do that again… and Paladine granted me the courage to act. When my
irons were removed as I was changing tasks, I assaulted my
…They would not tell us where we were, although I taskmaster and freed myself.
could tell it was a mine. Our taskmasters were no longer Given the opportunity to escape quickly and quietly, I
draconians, but hobgoblins and humans. I believe it was was sorely tempted; freedom beckoned, only steps away.
Neraka, given their manner of speech. As we were now But I realized that I had the opportunity that Tarrin did
known to be servants of Paladine, we were unfit to fight not have; I had time to free the others. If I simply slunk
for the Dark Queen’s army; however, we could be forced away into the shadows, I would be living up to the name
to labor for it. We were made to draw iron out of the my taskmaster had given me. I steeled myself, certain that
ground and smelt it for the war effort. No longer soldiers Paladine claimed me for a greater purpose than that.
in training, we were slaves, for our strong backs and tough I will spare this journal the details, which were terrible
hides would allow us to work deeper and longer than the and bloody. I slew many evil men and hobgoblins that day,
more delicate humans could. but freed dozens of my fellows. We left the mine burning. I
A foolish youth, I was uncooperative, combative, and armed myself with the weapons of my former captors, and
made a general nuisance of myself. My taskmaster gave me embarked on the next chapter of my life.
a new name: “Worthless,” or Nagash in Nerakese. Many
others received similarly derogatory names. They were Editor’s Postscript:
trying to break our psyches, but we would not let them. I Nagash vanished in the Desolation soon after the War of
embraced my new name, resolving to turn it into a cruel Souls; it is presumed he fell in battle. Prior to his disappearance,
joke at their expense someday, and I have carried it since… Nagash entrusted his unfinished journal to a young resident of the
ruins of Kenderhome, who later generously donated the volume to
…We could tell that the war progressed poorly for our the Library. It is filled with dozens upon dozens of journal entries,
masters. The grumbling guards complained that they which offer unique and deep insight into the noble draconian
knew not where they would get the warm bodies to wield mind and experience.
the weapons and armor that our iron made. They treated
us cruelly, demanding more and more; I believe that they
feared that if they seemed inefficient in their administration
of the mine, they would be reassigned to the front.
10 Lost Biographies
Crucible in the
War of the Lance
From the Memoirs of Kammerin Half-Elven, Harbormaster, Port of Sanction
H
e told me he had not taken the Oath.
I did not realize the significance of the statement at the time since a man delirious with pain and exhaustion
delivered it to me. It was not until days later that I understood the full import of his words.
The man was dragged by soldiers of the Red Dragonarmy into the slave quarters one night and dumped, more dead
that alive, near my scrap of fetid floor. He lay silent and unmoving for some time while other slaves stumbled over him,
cursed him, or ignored him. In the foul prison we slaves called home, few had the strength left to pay attention to the
suffering of another.
Yet there was something about the new arrival that intrigued me. He was not well dressed. In fact his, plain travel
clothes looked worn and filthy and hinted of Khurish origin. Yet he didn’t resemble the men of Khur. Even slumped
on the floor as he was, I could see he was tall and his face appeared young—not as young as mine, for I was only a boy at
the time, but certainly he was barely into his manhood. Golden hair lay matted under a lump on his head, and his face
was bruised under a layer of dirt and blood. He was slender, well built, and lithe as a fencer. Could he be like me? I
wondered. Could he be a half-elf?
I reflect back on those days now and marvel at my misery. I was young and alone, the bastard half-breed
of an elven mother who died of shame and a mercenary who captured her and never let her go. I grew
up working on merchant galleons until the day pirates captured our ship and sold the crew into
slavery on the dark, crowded docks of Sanction.
Sanction. It is my home now. However, in that tumultuous summer, it was
a terrible place of foul fumes, lava flows, overcrowded streets, gloom, and the
constant taint of evil. Emperor Ariakas had gathered his Dragonarmies
in Sanction and the Dark Queen’s Temple of Luerkhisis sat like
a boil on the slope of Mount Thunderhorn. Oh, the buildings
were new and the harbor had been dredged and its docks
enlarged to accommodate the armies, but the city was dirty,
smoke-ridden, and built with the blood of slaves.
I was not thinking about the city that long
ago night, only my small space on the floor by
the tiny barred window and the wounded
man that might have something in common
with me. I finally screwed up my courage and
dragged him over to my place by the wall. I
used a little of my precious water and a scrap
from my ragged shirt to clean his battered head, and
I gave him the rest of the water to drink.
He revived enough to open the most compelling pair of
golden eyes I had ever seen, swallow the water, and say softly, “I
did not take the Oath,” before he fell unconscious again.
I shrugged and went to sleep. Either he lived or died. I couldn’t
change things either way.
To my surprise, the man was awake in the morning. He rose to the
shouts and abuse of our guards and silently followed me outside. In
the weak sunlight the man looked down at me and nodded. “My
name is Hogan.”
Without another word or complaint, he went with us to the
work site and labored until the sun set and the guards drove us
back to our prison. With the passing of days his injuries healed
Lost Biographies 11
and his strength returned. I was amazed at how quickly he Hogan’s entire stance changed from flight to an intense,
regained his vigor in spite of the beatings and starvation we wary investigation of the woman. I might have understood
all faced. in different circumstances. She was incredibly beautiful,
Although I burned with questions, I did not pry into his young and slim, with red hair the color of flame-touched
life until he offered to talk in the dark hours of the night. chestnuts. Her elegant dress was red, too, and fitted to a
He told me he was searching for a friend, his mentor and figure that would catch any man’s eye. But this was not the
guardian, a man named Claric. Claric had last been seen time, I thought, and I did not see the reason for his sudden,
in the Khalkist Mountains. Hogan had been searching in consuming interest. The girl was annoyed with her officer,
the mountains east of Sanction when a group of Red Wing that was certain, and her voice lifted above the noise of the
dragonriders surprised him. In the ambush he had been work gang.
knocked unconscious and brought to Sanction to join Then her eyes shifted slightly and caught sight of Hogan
the hordes of slaves that built and labored to support the staring at her. Her anger abruptly dissolved into curiosity
Dragonarmies. and several other emotions that played across her lovely face
As I listened to him, I got the strong impression he in swift succession. Her companion caught the look, turned
was only biding his time before he escaped to continue his to see at whom she was staring, and frowned.
search. I made up my mind then that, if the opportunity “Time to go,” murmured my friend. He yanked my
came, I would escape as well too. I asked if I could go with arm and darted into a dark gap in the tall pile of masonry,
him, but then he did a strange thing. Lying flat on the stone pulling me after him. Shouts rose behind us. We jumped and
floor of the prison, he pressed his ear flat to the floor and slid down a collapsed wall into a dark chamber in the floor
closed his eyes. I thought he had fallen asleep, until after a below. Another crevice yawned before us, and he led me into
while he lifted his head and winked at me. the depths of the old ruin. The light faded behind us. I lost
The next morning, the wind shifted from the south to all sense of sight, but Hogan’s vision in the dark was keen,
the southeast and blew a pall of smoke and ash from the and he led me on through the shattered floors.
Lords of Doom over the city. Going underground was not the path I had imagined
Hogan gave me an enigmatic smile as we trudged for us. Where was there to go? The rubble or the foundation
after the guards to our latest site, an old stone temple to would trap us eventually. And yet it did not.
the gods that had fallen into ruin. We were collecting the Cracks or gaps appeared before us while we twisted and
stone for other construction projects and tearing down the climbed our way down into the lower levels of the temple.
temple. The gods had abandoned Sanction to Takhisis, who Soon we groped our way into a small chamber partially
tolerated no other temples than Her own. The work was blocked with fallen stone and earth. There was no sound
brutal and dangerous; the overseers gave us few tools and of pursuit, so Hogan murmured a soft word and formed
cared little if we survived. There were plenty of slaves to be a pale sphere of light between his hands. I stared at him
had in Sanction. in surprise. So, he was a wizard. That explained some, I
My friend seemed distracted during the day, peering thought. But not enough.
constantly into dark crevices and studying the ground with “How did you know?” I asked. “Where are we going?”
his golden eyes. Twilight came early that day, for late in the “Underground,” was all he would tell me.
afternoon Mount Thunderhorn suddenly spewed forth a Before us yawned a steep staircase that plunged down
new column of smoke and more lava glowed on its summit, into total darkness. He handed me the wizard’s light, and
brighter than the sunset. to my astonishment, he pulled a large chunk of fallen stone
The guards looked up the mountain as smoke darkened and masonry over to the stair’s entrance, blocking it from
the sky, and Hogan said softly, “Let’s go.” view. He took the light and led the way down the stairs.
He tensed, his knees bent, his legs poised to run, when Underground we went, deeper than I ever imagined we
his attention was diverted by voices suddenly raised close to could go under a city like Sanction until to my wondering
our work party. A party of soldiers and their officer passing eyes appeared a lengthy tunnel and signs of some sort of
by the temple had stopped to examine the slaves. I had habitation.
heard that Dragonarmy officers occasionally took slaves Hogan said something in a language I did not
from the work gangs for their own purposes, but I had not understand, and then added, “Shadowpeople.”
seen it happen until that night. The soldiers had already I was stunned. Shadowpeople were creatures of
pulled out one young man, and I realized with a jolt of terror legend. Shy, elusive, and territorial, they lived in clans in
that they were talking among themselves and pointing to subterranean communities and avoided humans whenever
me. Beside them, a lady had joined the group and struck possible. “I don’t think there are many left. They have been
up an argument with the officer, a tall, muscular man in hunted and abused. I smell death and abandonment.”
dragonriding leathers.
12 Lost Biographies
“Really,” I retorted. “What does that smell like?” I know Hogan turned with her, keeping her in his vision, his
I was being rude to the man who had just saved my life. face the grimmest I had seen yet in our brief friendship.
All I can say is I was tired, frightened, confused, and very “Kam,” he said to me. “Back away.”
tired of mysteries. Hogan chuckled. Perhaps he would have Back away where? I remember thinking. Except for the
answered my questions then and there, if we hadn’t walked two lights that burned like glowing eyes in the darkness, I
through an open arched doorway into a cavern of towering could not see a thing. I didn’t want to move blindly into that
proportions. Bones lay scattered on the floor, and scorch unknown cavern.
marks marred the stone. Something moved overhead. I heard what sounded like
“A shadowhall,” he said. the scratch of claws on stone, and then something large
“Yes. You made excellent time finding the place,” a voice and hairy swooped down from the roof of the cavern and
echoed out of the ebony darkness. grabbed my arms. Something leathery beat downward. My
Hogan did not flinch, but I nearly leaped out of my stomach dropped to my knees as the creature yanked me off
skin. I whirled to see another light form across the cavern. my feet and carried me into the unseen depths of the cave. I
Its bright light gleamed on red hair and a slim form in heard Hogan shout my name, but I was too stunned to reply.
a crimson dress. Cool and unafraid, the girl from above A shout of frustration echoed through the cave, and a
walked toward us. Ignoring me, she circled Hogan, her brilliant burst of red light flared behind me me. I looked
delicate nostrils flared and her full mouth pursed in back in terror into the opening jaws of a red dragon. As I
concentration. had feared, it was Firestorm, the red dragon who lived in a
“Who are you?” she demanded. lair on the slopes of Mt. Thunderhorn. Her spiny head lifted
“I know you,” he said calmly. “I had hoped to avoid this toward me, her wings partially unfurled, making her look
meeting. I am only looking for Claric.” larger in the great cavern. Dragonfear hit me in a ferocious
She must have recognized the name for she laughed. wave, and I screamed in terror.
“Clarion? That busybody? Sticking his bronze nose in Then another light flared and scintillated on the pale
everyone’s business.” She sighed and waved a slim hand. stone of the cave. I had one brief glimpse of another shining
“He was here. Stars above, this place has been like the skies dragon before I was carried out of the cavern and into a
over the Dragon Isles lately.” maze of high tunnels, caves, and passageways.
Her reference startled me. The Dragon Isles? What did I quickly realized my captors were very adept at
that mysterious place have anything to . . . do . . . with . . . traveling through the subterranean tunnels. Leaping and
A thought formed in my head that sent a cold wash of fear gliding with ease, two of them carried me in a dizzying
through my limbs. journey away from the shadowhall and toward the source
“So I heard,” Hogan was saying. “The Oath has been of the rumbling noises. I tried to struggle, but the creatures
broken.” were incredibly strong and, I quickly learned, very
A spasm of anger marred her face. “I am not surprised. intelligent.
It was a heinous thing to do. I am glad the silver dragon Be still, young one. We will not hurt you. The words formed
found the truth.” in my head without passing through my ears. I stopped
“What oath?” I asked. fighting out of sheer surprise.
Hogan ignored me. “You objected?” “Who said that?”
“Of course. How could any of our kind condone such a We did. We are taking you away from the red dragon. We
perversion?” hope the bronze will follow us.
“Our kind? What oath?” I stammered. I stared at the strange faces with their upturned noses
“Many have,” Hogan said, his voice cold. “If you are so and huge eyes. Recognition finally came. These were
horrified, why did you do nothing to stop it?” shadowpeople, the denizens of the lightless caverns. My
“I did not know until my rider boasted of it and those head swam with confusion. “What? What bronze?” I cried.
warped creatures began to crawl out of the temple. I told The creatures slowed and came to a stop in a cave that I
Lord Ariakas such an act would prove disastrous. He did saw must be near the volcano. They let me down to the cave
not agree.” floor but kept their powerful hands on my arms. Unending
I admit I was terrified. I knew then who the beautiful tremors shook the floor under my feet and the distant
redhead was, but at that moment, I began to doubt Hogan. rumble had changed to a deep roar. Heat assailed me, and
Somewhere in the distance, the volcano rumbled, and the the smell of molten rock filled the cave. You are his friend. He
ground trembled under my feet. will follow. Then we can ask him for help.
The girl suddenly smiled and to my horror, I saw flames “Who are you talking about?”
leap in the depths of her eyes. “So you know who I am, but I
do not know you. Nor, it seems, does your little friend.” She
laughed again and slowly circled around us.
Lost Biographies 13
The words formed slowly in my head as if the I wasn’t going to say no, so I followed him silently
shadowpeople were talking to a very slow child. The man through the tunnels to a crevice that led out onto the
with you is a bronze dragon named Crucible. We have seen him mountain’s flank. He found a broad ledge and the entrance
before. He is very adept at changing shape. to Firestorm’s lair and went inside. He sealed the opening to
My mouth fell open. No wizard. Just a metallic dragon. her treasure cave. Hogan came out, chuckling and looking
Dear gods. Word had trickled down, even into the slave pits satisfied.
of Sanction, that the good dragons were returning from their “If she gets herself out of that cave-in, she will have
long exile. I had never thought to see one. “Why would he a difficult time opening that cave. Perhaps . . .” his voice
follow just for me?” I asked, thoroughly confused and out of trailed off.
my depth. “Besides, Firestorm will not let him go.” I swayed with weariness, but I had to ask. “Perhaps
Two, dark hairy heads looked at each other and nodded. what?”
Bronzes are loyal to their friends. If he can, he will come. He glanced down the mountain at the lights of the city
“So go help him! Then maybe he will feel like helping below. “Perhaps in time I will come back and claim it. It
you!” should go to some good use.”
We cannot. We have a tentative truce with the red one that we I nodded. “Why did you come back for me? You could
cannot break. And so I sat in the stifling darkness between have just left.”
two manlike creatures out of tales and waited for another He turned his golden eyes on me and said, “You shared
creature out of legends to fight an evil dragon and come your water with me. Not many people would have. That is a
rescue me. I honestly did not believe he would come. The virtue that should not be allowed to disappear.”
red dragon was a fearsome foe, and Hogan had to fight this At the time, I didn’t know why I said the next sentence,
one in the confines of stone and darkness. He told me later, and yet I meant it with all my being. “If you come back, I
that in spite of Firestorm’s familiarity with the tunnels and will follow.”
caves, the earth around him proved to be to his advantage, He smiled and led me back to freedom.
not hers. The big bronze dragon was a geomancer who Crucible did eventually return to Sanction. It took time.
understood the ways of stone and the forces and powers of After we escaped from the mountains, Crucible continued
the earth. After exchanging several bouts of dragon breath, his search for Clarion and eventually caught up with the old
Hogan lured the red into a tunnel and used his magic to bronze. Neither of them had taken the Oath that bound the
bring the stone crashing down around her. Blocked off metallic dragons to stay out of the Dark Queen’s war, and
from her prey, she bellowed her fury, bringing down more they had waged a dangerous, clandestine fight of their own
stone on top of her. She was still cursing him when he left against the armies of Takhisis. They continued their efforts
her to follow the scent of the shadowpeople and one very to thwart the Dragonarmies and to aid the forces of the good
frightened half-elf boy. dragons through the long and difficult years that followed.
As the shadowpeople hoped, Hogan followed and came Crucible fought in Nordmaar and Kern, and in the Chaos
upon us in the thundering cave under the cone of Mt. War he carried a rider into battle. He was badly wounded
Thunderhorn. Seeing I was still alive and unharmed, he just before the climactic battle in the Abyss, and his rider
approached carefully and bowed his horned head low. The was killed—an event that probably saved Crucible’s life.
two creatures replied in kind. When the throes of the Second Cataclysm finally settled in
“Thank you for saving my young friend,” he said, and I the dust, he returned to the cave above Sanction and found
startled, for I had not thought of their act in that light. the red dragon’s treasure still sealed in the cave. He assumed
Crucible, we know your powers can be used to control a the name of Hogan Bight and turned his skills to repairing a
volcano, I ‘heard’ the strange folk tell Hogan. We need your town almost lost to evil and destruction.
help. This mountain is threatening our remaining clanhold. I, too, returned. Fully grown, older, and wiser, I found
He bowed again, and while I stared in awe at the elegant, him one day in the docks of the old waterfront and said,
shining bronze dragon, he gathered the tremendous powers “These docks are a disaster. What do you intend to do about
of the earth and stone and diverted the magma to a new path it?” He made me the Harbor Master that day.
that flowed around the last hall of the shadowpeople and
into a harmless channel. When he was done, he shifted back
into human form and bowed again to the shadowpeople.
They thanked him quietly, and told him where to find
Firestorm’s lair and a tunnel that led south under the
mountains. With a flip of their wings, they were gone as
quickly and silently as they had appeared.
Hogan grinned at me. “You look as exhausted as I feel.
Are you up for one more walk?”
14 Lost Biographies
Crimson Skies
A history of Count Albrecht Ravenmantle, master dragon rider of the Red Dragonarmy.
As told by Sir Corben Brayard, Warden of the Sword.
First Blood
The dragon shot forth from the clouds like a missile. His blood-
red scales glistened in the sun, a beacon of fiery death. His great maw
opened, revealing teeth and fire. To my right, I saw a silver dragon blasted
by the wave of flames, with Sir Hamel holding on for dear life. The red turned
as he passed, positioning himself so that his rider, a mountain of a man, had the
opportunity to strike. The rider swung his barbed flail, driving into the underbelly of
the silver as it turned. The cinch on the saddle, damaged by the strike, gave way.
Sir Hamel fell to his death. I have often wondered when exactly he died, whether
instantly from the fear of falling, or if he was awake the whole way down. All these years
later, I shudder at the thought.
We closed ranks as dragons and riders searched for the red. There was no sign. Our
dragons grew restless, and it took everything we had to keep them in formation. We were so busy, we didn’t look
in the one place we should have—directly beneath us. The red dragon took advantage of our formation, using his
claws in a deadly
strafing run, twisting as he passed underneath to rake at the underbellies of our mounts. Our formation scattered as the red came
back around for another attack.
I saw the rider again, tall and confident in his saddle. He moved with the dragon, guiding, directing. At that point I knew that
while he was the one giving the orders, it was a co-operative relationship. The two worked in concert like nothing I had ever seen.
It was at this singular moment that I knew that we could no longer think like cavalrymen. We had to think like dragons.
It was too little, too late. The red banked again, biting a copper where the neck met the body. As the copper was distracted,
the rider swung his flail, tearing a hole through the membrane of the copper’s wing. By this point, some of our knights and their
dragons had regained their senses. They closed in on the rider. The red shot upward, pushing off the falling body of the copper
dragon. Our dragons climbed, determined to catch the red. The red entered a heavy cloudbank, the good dragons not far behind.
They emerged from the other side, but the red was lost to sight.
The red had purposefully stalled, allowing the metallic dragons to shoot past him even as he had turned downward. The red
folded its wings against its side, coming at my dragon, Sylveridon, like a shooting arrow. We banked left, looking for an exit. If
Sylveridon had not moved when he did, he would have lost a wing. As it was, he was injured, the claws of the red dragon ripping
through membrane. Still, Sylveridon was able to fly, so we gave chase. We were closing in, when we were suddenly engulfed in
magical flames. Dragons are said to be creatures of magic, and the red was no exception. The fireball spell caught us in the air, and
we started to spiral downwards.
How we managed to land safely, I still don’t know. Even at that, we were both seriously injured. I had found out that Sylveridon
and I were the only survivors of our patrol. I swore on that day that I would hunt this rider and would slay both Ravenmantle and
his dragon.
Lost Biographies 15
Know Thy Enemy expert in aerial battles, though I didn’t know of any gnomish
While Sylveridon and I were recovering from our wounds, flying machines. Prop assured me that I was wrong, citing
who should pay us a visit than the Golden General herself! something about some sort of aerial contraption known as an
She shone like light, her voice a melody upon the wind. I have “ultra-light.”
never seen such beauty before or since. She questioned me I must admit that most of what Prop told me soared above
extensively about the battle, and I told her of my oath. my head. I’m still not entirely certain what a “vector” is.
More casualties were coming in from the field, the result However, I learned much about flight, including information
of the red dragonrider. The Golden General needed as much about wind currents, the angle of the sun…*
information about this rider as she could get. I was assigned the
task of gathering information on our mysterious opponent. Historian’s Note: This portion of Brayard’s account
I interviewed several knights and began gathering facts. has been damaged. In an attempt to fill in the gaps, we have
The rider was a tall man, over six feet. He was adorned in red requested a copy of Prop’s notes on aerial battle. Officials at Mt.
dragonscale armor, with a tall, open-faced helm. The top of the Nevermind have assured us that the request is in review by the
helm had the symbol of a black raven with a blood rose on its Guild of Historical Warfare, and that we should have an answer
crest—our first clue as to the identity of our assailant. Other in approximately 47 years.
accounts showed this same symbol set against a red field. -Ashe Lorefinder, aesthetic of the Great Library of
I consulted with Lord Heinrich of the Order of the Rose, Palanthas, 365 AC.
whom some have called “the Learned Knight.” Had Lord
Heinrich not been a knight, he surely would have been an
Aesthetic at the Great Library. Upon hearing the description, The Hunt Begins
he identified the heraldry as belonging to the Ravenmantle I was soon able to make a full report to the Golden General,
family from the Taman Busuk region. According to Heinrich, including a list of recommendations on how to combat
the family’s only surviving member who fit the description of the Crimson Count. I was surprised that she was not only
the dragon rider was the young Count Albrecht Ravenmantle. impressed, but she also had recommendations of her own.
Our enemy now had a name. Truly, she is as brilliant as she is beautiful. After further
conference with Lord Gunthar uth Wistan, we modified our
tactics and crafted a plan for hunting down the Crimson Count.
Tactics Little did I realize that I would be placed in charge of the
I began to study the tactics of our foe. Several things were hunt. Sylveridon had recuperated nicely, and we set out to
clear. The “Crimson Count,” as my fellow knights called our create a force of dragon-hunters the world of Krynn had never
enemy, indulged in hit-and-run tactics. Often he would make seen. Including myself, we had a total of nine dragons with
a strike, only to disappear into nearby cloud cover. Using the knights as their riders. We had two gold and six brass dragons,
camouflage of the clouds, dragon and rider would “stall,” as well as Sylveridon. Though Sylveridon was more susceptible
allowing pursuers to fly by so that they could gain advantage to the great red’s fiery attacks than the other dragons, he and
against the metallic dragons. I were a team. Besides, I also held that the opposite held true
The Crimson Count made use of his dragon’s natural and that the great red would be susceptible to Sylveridon’s frost
weapons. Beyond tooth, claw, and tail, the great red employed breath. We would see.
a blazing inferno of a breath weapon. Whenever our forces There was precious time for training, as more dragons and
were in a line or a “flying-V” formation, that’s when the red riders were dying every day. The count was over two dozen, and
employed his fiery breath. The dragon also drew upon its rising. In my research, I discovered that the Crimson Count
natural ability to cast spells, perhaps its favorite being what liked to attack just before twilight, therefore we patrolled
the White Robes call a “delayed fireball.” This is a ball of fire during those hours. Rather than a single V-wing formation,
that deploys seconds after the dragon’s passing. While the red we broke into groups of three, with one lead dragon and two
is apparently immune to flame, the same was not true of silver wingmates to protect their leads. It didn’t take long for us to
dragons. However, our gold and brass dragons withstood the encounter the Crimson Count once again. And this time, we
heat better than any others, indication that they should be our were ready.
mounts of choice for tackling the Count. The Count obviously felt invulnerable, as his attacks came
across as bold and reckless. He ambushed from behind, strafing
with the red’s breath weapon. Using the brass and gold dragons
Aeronautics here proved to be helpful, as no dragons were lost due to the
My superiors soon introduced me to Prop (short for Pro- dragonfire. The same could not be said for our knights. Sir
pellerfanusedfortransmittingpowerbyconvertingrotational Vincent Kinsington didn’t even have a chance.
motionintothrust), a gnome from the Guild of Aeronautics and
Aviation, or the GAA for short. I was told that Prop was an
16 Lost Biographies
Our group broke formation, veering off in several directions The Count raised his weapon, which we dubbed the
at once. Third Triad broke left, veering at an almost vertical dragonflail, and it shone with an unearthly power. The end
angle, then doubling back toward Ravenmantle. Second Triad was shaped like a dragon’s head, with barbed ears serving as
broke right, veering straight up, curling around to attack the its cutting edge. An unholy fire seemed to blaze from the maw
Count from above. Meanwhile, my own First Triad turned in of the draconic visage. The power of the attack hit Sir Thomas
mid-air, doubling back upon our assailant. Raltheford hard, causing him to succumb to his fears. His
I could see that we took the Count by surprise, though he dragon had no choice but to land with his rider.
recovered quickly. The red increased speed, folding its wings The red came down for a strafing run against the gold,
against its side, and flew straight at the riderless gold dragon; tearing it badly with metal-tipped claws. The gold was
Aureus. In a fit of fury, Aureus continued to aim for the red, injured—gravely—and forced to land. Quickly, this battle’s
falling for the Count’s trap. I tried to signal the dragon, but tide had turned nearly against us. I ordered the remaining
he would not listen—rage blinding him to all else. As the two brass dragon and her rider, Sir Jonathan uth Verek, to follow
neared collision, I saw the red turn, claws and teeth ripping his wingmates and make certain they were safe. I faced the
through the gold’s wings. Aureus fell towards the earth below, Crimson Count alone.
joining his rider in the afterlife. Seeing my advantage, I signaled for Sylveridon to charge at
a steep angle towards the great red. Prop’s lessons had taught
Historian’s Note: Again, portions of Brayard’s account me more than I realized, for Count Ravenmantle was taken by
have been lost. Through accounts taken from survivors, we surprise. The two of us began a spiral ascent, circling around
know that Kinsington and Aureus were joined by Sir Allan one another as we reached higher altitudes. Whoever climbed
Brighthelm and the brass dragon Burnn. Witnesses also the highest would have the advantage. Sylveridon kept a
claim that Brayard became ever-increasingly grim after this respectable distance, outside of striking range of the red’s claws.
encounter with the Crimson Count. Brayard himself is reported Unfortunately, the evil dragon’s tail slashed out as we climbed,
to have destroyed records of the next few days of hunting the slamming into my left arm. A bone broke, and pain shot up
Crimson Count. into my body. Still, I had to hold on for dear life.
-A.L. We entered a series of rain clouds above us and finally the
advantage was ours. Sylveridon broke off, even as he unleashed
his breath weapon—a blast of super-chilled air—towards the
Crimson Death cloud and the dragon. The water contained within the rain
Five days of hunting have led to continued failures. Though cloud froze, unleashing snow and ice upon the red. The dragon
we have shown dramatic improvements in the skies, we still sustained the brunt of the blast, and soon descended, weakened.
routinely meet with disaster. Since our initial battle, we have We dove down in pursuit, Sylveridon’s wings close by his side
lost three additional riders, leaving us only four. The Golden to allow for speed. As we gained, I aimed the dragonlance at
General assures me that she will allocate more riders to my our opponent. The lance held true, impaling both the Crimson
cause, though she is unable to spare any at the moment. My Count and the dragon he rode.
resolve is steeled, and I shall meet the Crimson Count one last The terror of the crimson skies had come to an end.
time, in the skies of the Abyss if I must.
The Golden General presented me with the means to Historian’s Note: Brayard’s injuries were worse than even
finally rid the skies of the Crimson Count—one of the fabled he realized at the time. Had he sought clerical aid immediately,
dragonlances. It was the first ray of hope we had since our hunt he may have saved his arm. Unfortunately, the damage from
for the Crimson Count began. the battle was too great. Brayard would never ride a dragon into
Again we took to the skies, all of the lessons we learned the battle again, though he and Sylveridon remained fast friends.
last few days in our hearts. I muttered a prayer to Kiri-Jolith The two developed dragon rider training techniques based on
that we would finally bring Ravenmantle to justice. I think this their own experiences as well as the methods of the Crimson
was the first time I had ever prayed, and it felt right to do so. Count. To this date, Count Ravenmantle remains Ansalon’s
Again, we came upon the Count. I could tell, by his most successful dragon rider.
countenance, that he knew what weapon I bore. He kept a wide -A.L.
berth and focused on ranged attacks. For once, this proved to
be unsuccessful. We broke off in separate directions, pulling a
dizzying array of aerial maneuvers that Prop would be proud of.
Yet despite our efforts, the Crimson Count was a dangerous foe
and full of surprises. Wing and tail barbs adorned the great red,
making him deadlier than ever. The dragon’s claws ended in
razor-sharp steel, allowing the dragon to inflict more damage.
17
Lost
S
Relics
ome say the gods abandoned the
world at the time of the Cataclysm.
The wise believe it was man himself who
turned his back on the gods. During the
gods’ time of silence, much of their wisdom
and many of their divine gifts were lost.
Legends of Istar speak of the Kingpriest’s
inquisitors gathering up the relics of
all faiths and placing them in a former
Tower of High Sorcery, now called the Hall
of Sacrilege. The articles in this section
provide a catalog of many of these relics,
describing their origins and rumored
powers.
Now that faith has been restored to the
world, some of these divine relics may one
day find their way into mortal hands, to
serve man for good, evil, or the gray in
between.
Caramon Majere
Proprietor of the Inn of the Last Home
Amulet of theSoul’s Fire
F ire is change, and change is truth. Change brings both good and evil, but one
must face it head on or risk never fully experiencing life. So say the kindred
of Sirrion. This amulet was originally crafted as a gift to the Flowing Flame
himself from a fiercely loyal worshiper. A despondent young noble, his family torn
apart by war and betrayal, had spent years wallowing alone in self-pity and fear
of the future. After witnessing the near-death of a cleric of Sirrion courageously
saving people from a fire, he saw how the changes in his life, though traumatic
and painful, had made him stronger. The new acolyte vowed to live his life to the
fullest from that point forward and began crafting the amulet as a symbol of his
commitment to live by Sirrion’s principles.
The Amulet of the Soul’s Fire is said to make the wearer immune to fear
and to enhance the individual’s greatest strengths, whatever those might be. It
rewards bold action and assists the wearer in imperceptible ways whenever he or
she tries something new. In places of great natural beauty or in the wake of great
ravaging or destruction, the stone has been known to sing a poignant, heartrending
melody. The song heals living creatures, moving most to tears, and burns away
sickness, impurity, decay, and even rubble to make room for what the future will
bring.
Bearers known to history include numerous followers of Sirrion, a smattering
of bold politicians and warriors, a powerful dwarven Scion who used the amulet to
increase his mastery over the elements, and a fallen Istarian paladin of Kiri-Jolith
who, through many trials, was eventually led by the medallion back to his greatest
strength—his faith. Humbled and respectful of the fire god’s truths, the newly
restored paladin brought the amulet to a remote temple of Sirrion at the edges of
the empire. Unfortunately, he was followed by imperial scatas who, skeptical of his
restoration, had him arrested for associating with pagans, destroyed the temple,
and under order of the Kingpriest hid the amulet away in the Hall of Sacrilege
where it presumably remains to this day.
The Amulet is essentially an ornate holy symbol of Sirrion made of copper and
gold flames, with a hemisphere of sunburst-cut citrine nestled into its center. It
hangs on a long golden chain, usually resting at the wearer’s solar plexus, and is
always warm to the touch.
Lost Relics 19
The Beastheart
W hen the first elves had gathered and Silvanost was just shy of two centuries old, there lived in the
young elven capital an even younger elfmaid. She was a scholar, researcher, and teacher, grateful for
her life in the city but always nagged by feelings that something was missing. One day, daydreaming
alone as usual, she felt an irresistible call from the forest beyond the city walls. Without telling anyone, and
without provisions or supplies, she set off for what would be a long journey into the woodlands.
Deep in the wildwood, at the bottom of a steep hill, she found a narrow, overgrown path. She struggled
upward until it began to level out and then emerged into a vast expanse of forest. She gazed upward as she
walked, spinning circles as she marveled at the heights of the trees and the breath of the world rustling
through their leaves. Soon she was running in exultation through beautiful, untamed nature until a barrage
of scents carried to her on the breeze abruptly overwhelmed her. She smelled the moist earth
around her, the lush greenery, and even tiny creatures hidden away in the foliage, and she
smelled too the cool, ancient stone long before she came within sight of the weathered,
hut-like shrine.
As she approached the tiny structure she heard a soft, regular pulsing and caught a
scent she recognized as blood. Although her mind raced in alarm, something deeper
within knew that she need not be afraid. The shrine was empty of furnishings and
adornments. On the smooth earthen floor lay a beating heart wreathed in ivy with bright
rivulets of silver blood flowing from it. Again her mind reeled in panic, shocked by the
unusual sight, but she pushed her thoughts away knowing that this was not something grisly
but something natural—and something she had been seeking all her life.
The stone walls of the shrine spoke to her then with a sighing wind as their voice. “This
is your primal heart, daughter,” they whispered all around her. “Become one again with your
World Mother.” As she reached out to touch it the heart transformed into a talisman. The bright
blood became a feather and the ivy became a cord. From that day forward, the young elfmaid
never set foot in a city again.
The Beastheart talisman is said to unlock the wearer’s deepest instincts, awakening natural
survival skills so they can make their way in the wilderness, sense and predict weather changes,
and understand the tracks and movements of other creatures. The wind speaks to the wearer,
describing terrain for miles around, carrying scents to them from near and far, and even summoning
weather, as he or she desires. As the church of Chislev maintains few written records, little is known
about what other powers the artifact might possess. Legends persist that if the proper rituals are performed
under the red moon’s brightest light, the talisman will unleash what Chislevites call the wearer’s totemic
or spirit animal form.
This artifact is a simple talisman of petrified wood on a leather cord. The “stone” is a pale brown
striated with dark bands, and its river-smoothed shape resembles a miniature humanoid heart. A single
exotic feather of green, yellow, and brown dangles below it.
20 Lost Relics
Bloodthorn
T his is a plain ring of dull grey metal, with a flat oval of red gold set in the middle of the band. From this
protrudes a tiny needle, almost invisible to the naked eye. Consecrated to Morgion, it first appeared
in Solamnia during the Age of Might; scholars assume it to be created by a high priest of Morgion in
Caergoth to spread disease and further his lord’s might. This may have been in retaliation for the healing miracles
taking place in Istar at the time.
Evidence also exists that Bloodthorn was part of one of the numerous attempts to assassinate the Kingpriest.
The plot was far more subtle than most – to introduce a plague into Istar, hoping to infect the Kingpriest or, if
that proved impossible, to create enough fear amongst the populace that they would revolt, ending his reign.
Had the plan worked, it would have garnered much respect for Morgion and his followers, doing what even
Paladine could not: removing the Kingpriest from power. Knowledge of the ring reached the ears of the Church,
and Bloodthorn was intercepted before it could enter the Empire, but it was too late for many of the people of
Krynn. Death followed in the wake of Bloodthorn’s journey across the continent. Only the supreme efforts of the
Mishakite clergy blighted the spread of the rapidly blossoming plague. Bloodthorn is a most unpredictable and
dangerous item, as it is very difficult to control the disease it generates.
The victim is pricked with Bloodthorn, but they barely feel it, so sharp and small is the needle. Once pricked,
the victim is as good as dead, as the mark it leaves is almost undetectable and the victim will show no sign of
infection for three days – by which time it’s much too late to save them.
Onset is rapid. It starts with a heavy cough producing thick, grey, foul smelling mucous, then vomiting begins
with an accompanying high fever. The last symptom is the eruption of pustules all over the body, seeping a
viscous grey fluid, which burst with even the lightest touch. A painful death occurs within one day of the cough
beginning. The cause of death appears to be the internal organs of the body breaking down and rotting, turning
into the grey fluids seen all through the disease’s progress. The pestilence is highly contagious, owing to the silent
incubation period and the way it quickly spreads via any bodily fluid.
Bloodthorn may only be used once a day. Morgion’s followers are immune to the effects of Bloodthorn.
Symptoms are lessened in followers of Mishakal, with death occurring only 50% of the time, and they also cannot
act as carriers of the disease. Those clerics who are infected but do not die suffer terrible permanent scarring
from the pustules, should the disease reach that stage. No force on Krynn can heal these scars, not even the Lady
Mishakal Herself.
Lost Relics 21
Bronze Stylus of Eons
T his is a stylus of the kind used for writing on wax-covered Tablets. It has a bronze tip, and end cap, which
is flat and used for scraping over what one has written. The handle is made from ivory, and is yellowed
with age, showing hair-fine cracks here and there. The Stylus was once paired with a Tablet of similar
make, but was lost during the Cataclysm. The Stylus has traveled the length and breadth of Ansalon and, some
say, other places on Krynn as well.
During the Time of Knights, the Stylus and its companion Tablet came into the hands of Ogennes Palarem,
who was inducted into the Order of the Crown in 1773 PC, a year after the founding of the High Clerist’s
Tower. Ogennes Palarem and his squire, Bran Gevornan, discovered a small monastery nestled in the Vingaard
Mountains. The Stylus and Tablet were the only objects they dared to take from the crumbling monastery, and it
was Bran who discovered several of the Stylus’ powers. Since then, the Stylus passed through several generations
of Gevornan and Palarem knights, but the fate of the Stylus does not begin or end with Solamnia.
The minions of the Kingpriest confiscated the Stylus and Tablet in 7 PC from the possession of Auglar
Gevornan while Auglar was in Istar attempting to rescue his own daughter. Auglar was killed for resisting, and it
was Auglar’s daughter, and his squire, who brought news of his death and the theft of the Stylus and Tablet back
to Solamnia. An old acquaintance of the Gevornan family was the archmagus Alfonsar Duskmere, who, greatly
troubled by the loss of the Stylus, undertook a mission to recover it.
The Cataclysm did more than shatter the lands of Ansalon. History often forgets that there were people who
suffered those times. The Palarem and Gevornan families were nearly extinguished because of that period, and in
the same tragedy that consumed Istar, the Tablet was lost. Alfonsar, on the other hand successfully obtained the
Stylus; he never spoke of the cost to himself that was required to acquire the Stylus.
He did much to discover the Stylus’ origins in the years that followed, and the
old mage discerned that it had a divine purpose – a purpose to which its powers
were inextricably linked.
Alfonsar took the Stylus with him on a journey to Palanthas, where he gifted
it to the Aesthetics. The Stylus was examined by Astinus, but the chronicler
did not apparently give it much weight in his thoughts. Several Aesthetics
over the years have come into contact with it, and have used it on occasion,
though it vanished recently. In its place was a medallion, the open book symbol
of Gilean plainly etched onto its burnished surface.
The Stylus has several powers, the most obvious being that any writing done
with the Stylus cannot be erased - except by the flattened end cap on the back of the
Stylus. The marks, which are a silvery grey in color and cannot be called ink in truth,
are never washed out by water or damaged in any way. Also, the Stylus cannot be used
to deliberately pen false histories, or untruths – though what is truth often depends on
the perspective of the writer. If anyone should try, the Stylus vanishes, and comes into
someone else’s possession.
Amazingly, the Stylus can write upon any flat surface, even star metal, leaving shallow
gouges and the familiar silvery grey marks. To date, there have been no recorded attempts
to actually physically damage the Stylus, but Alfonsar theorized that if it could write in
materials of great hardness, than it must be very resistant itself, which would explain why it
has persisted so long. The last known power of the Stylus is its capacity to copy any work of
the written word upon which it is placed, in perfect spelling, grammar, and penmanship when
the command word “record” is spoken directly to the Stylus. It copies the book or other work
in the language in which the command word was spoken.
22 Lost Relics
Eye of The Storm
A minotaur pirate captain, and little known devout follower of Zeboim, by the name of Garm Es-Talos
ruled in the waters of the Northern Courrain ocean for years, uncontested due to his strong following
of like-minded pirates and what many rumored to be the favor the sea goddess Herself. His power base
was granted largely due to his masterful use of a brass astrolabe known as the Eye of the Storm, and the requisite
tributes paid to the sea goddess in return for Her blessing. Those rumormongers didn’t know how true that
was.
True to a pirate’s nature, it was greed that led some of Garm’s rivals to make a deal with the Istarian navy. A
deal to give Istar the head of Garm in exchange for some of Istar’s ever increasing hordes of gold and pardons
to enjoy that gold. The traitor pirates agreed to this arrangement too quickly, and realized too late that the navy
played a gambit with them that paid off. After Garm was apprehended, a power vacuum resulted, leaving the
remaining pirates to feud among themselves, making the clean-up job of the navy that much easier. Most of the
pirates that remained were either sunken at sea, or apprehended. It was only a matter of time before the betrayers
were imprisoned or executed. As for Garm, he died in battle, his body lost at sea. A seafaring tale tells of how
Garm is a twice-cursed soul, damned to haunt the sea for all eternity for failing Zeboim and letting her artifact
fall into enemy hands.
Once the remains of Garm’s vessel were raided, it was discovered that the captain’s astrolabe possessed strong
enchantments, thus making for a very curious object to say the least. It was taken back to Istar where it was
deduced that it was an artifact from the sea goddess Zeboim and inherently evil. Thus it ended up in the Hall of
Sacriledge.
Just being a mariner’s astrolabe intrinsically ties this item to use at sea, the domain of Zeboim. It’s powers are
wielded on the open water, affecting the water and weather patterns associated with the sea.
When a devout follower of Zeboim calls forth her name, and holds the astrolabe aloft, the caster’s vessel comes
to a halt as the waters around the vessel becoming eerily calm. The waters surrounding the vessel out to 400 feet
begin to stir and toss, as a violent storm seems to spring up from nowhere, forming an impassable squall centered
on the vessel, and spreading outward up to 3 miles. The storm persists until pursuing vessels either leave the area
of effect, or are sunk.
Lost Relics 23
The Gnomish Wrench of Reorx
A.K.A. Thetoolthatisreallyusefulandhelps withalotofdifferentthings
T his wrench was made in the Age of Dreams during the time when the gnomes were settling Mt. Nevermind.
It started out as just an ordinary wrench, passed from gnome to gnome, and the original creator, Engose,
gave up on finding it ever again. The wrench managed to survive until the completion of the settlement
in Mt. Nevermind, which was a miracle given gnomes tendency to blow things up.
During the final days of construction of the settlement, Reorx came to Engose in the form of a gnome and
told him to go to the deepest levels of Mt. Nevermind. Engose did not know who this strange visitor was, but
he decided to heed his advice, for he had a feeling that there was more to him than there seemed to be. Engose
went to the deepest level of Mt. Nevermind, enduring the sweltering heat, and arrived at one of the areas where
they were planning to build geothermal power stations in the future. Engose saw another gnome high up on a
catwalk drop a wrench into the magma below. The gnome on the catwalk, without really thinking, jumped into
the magma. Engose saw him do this, immediately appealed to Reorx for his protection, and jumped into the pool
of magma after the other gnome.
Engose found that he was able to swim in the lava pool and was gladdened to see that the other gnome was
miraculously unharmed. He grabbed the other gnome, dragged him out of the pool of magma, and made sure
he was all right. Then, the wrench rose out of the magma and floated to Engose, who heard a voice speaking in
his head: “For your faith in me, I reward you with this wrench, use it well, and never against your own people.
Oh, and do try and keep a better hold of your tools, for I can’t keep stepping in to save you every time you drop
one.” Engose took the wrench and looked at it with awe, as did the other gnome. Engose then used the wrench
to complete the final few things that needed to be built in the mountain and he went on to become a legendary
craftsman. Engose’s inventions, like all gnomish inventions, had their redundancies and occasional drawbacks,
were always of a grand scale and were wonders to all of Mt. Nevermind.
The wrench is the size of an ordinary gnomish wrench. It has images of gnomes at work engraved on it. It
does not emit any light, or look in any way magical or blessed. To most it just appears as a very well crafted
wrench. The wrench gives the user the ability to craft amazing devices and allows him to dodge even the fastest
flying piece of scrap metal, flying glass, and other explosive byproducts of gnomish experiments. It grants the
user the ability to not only work in any condition, but also avoid harm from mishaps that their own devices cause,
as well as protect them from the elements. The wrench can enlarge itself at the user’s command and be used as a
weapon; it is especially effective as a weapon if used in defense of other gnomes.
Only tinker gnomes can use this artifact, and a gnome may never strike a fellow gnome with it. If a gnome
ever attempts to hit another gnome with the wrench, the target will not be harmed and the gnome who struck the
blow will find that the wrench has disappeared, taken away until a more suitable wielder is found.
The artifact came to be in the Solio Febalas, the so-called Hall of Sacrilege, during the late Age of Might. A
group of Knights of the Divine Hammer had come to raid a small gnomish village that was said to harbor rebels
who opposed Kingpriest Beldinas Pilifiro’s rule. The small gnomish village held no such rebels, but the Knights
went on and raided the village. A gnome named Furnace had come into possession of the wrench and used it to
defend his fellow gnomes from the attacking Knights. He put up a valiant fight, taking down many Knights, but
in the end he was killed. When the Knights realized how many of their own he had killed with just the wrench,
they felt such a tool could have only been borne of the Gods of Darkness. Thus, they took it back to Istar where
it found its way to the Solio Febalas.
24 Lost Relics
Habbakuk’s Au
T
hunt:
his is a sharp, comb-shaped boar’s tooth set in a handle of highly polished mahogany, six inches in length.
The hard enamel surface is chased with silver in a fine network of whorls and lines.
The legend of the Au is a well-known tale told to young Kagonesti warriors on the eve of their first
“Early in the Age of Dreams when the Gods still walked with our people, a great hunt was held and dedicated
to the God of hunting - Habbakuk, the Blue Phoenix. Many tribes came together in peace and joy, for this was
before the founding of the nations of Qualinesti and Silvanesti, before the great troubles of the world began. But
little did the hunters know the God Himself ran with them that day.
“The forest was bountiful, and when the hunt ended the most magnificent of the prey, a great boar, was offered
in thanks to Habbakuk. A tooth was taken from the boar to make an au, a tattooing instrument. All who had
participated would be tattooed with the new au that evening, bonding the disparate elves together in memory of
the hunt. The ink was prepared, large fires were lit, and the first hunter approached the eldest Chief to receive
his tattoo. The Chief looked upon this well built youth with striking blue eyes and wild black hair and fell to
his knees – for he recognized the Blue Phoenix standing before him. Habbakuk smiled and proffered His arm,
and with shaking hands the Chief tattooed the God. Habbakuk blessed the Au, still wet with His own blood, and
strode away into the forest.
“Henceforth the Au was only used in the most spiritual rites to bestow powerful tattoos on those considered
worthy.”
The Au is passed down through the tribes of the Kagonesti, although it may be used to give a tattoo to any
race. The person chosen to receive the tattoo must meditate alone in the forest for a day and a night. If Habbakuk
deems them worthy He sends them a vision of an animal that becomes their personal totem. The tattooist uses
the Au to tattoo the image of that animal over their heart.
The recipient gains a mystical trait bestowed by the spirit of the animal represented by the tattoo. If the
recipient is a descendant of a hunter that took part in the original hunt with Habbakuk, the trait is even stronger.
In times of great peril to their life, the tattoo leaves their body and becomes a spirit guardian in the form of the
tattoo animal, with all the attributes of the regular animal it represents. Should the tattooed skin get permanently
damaged, all effects are lost and the tattoo becomes just a normal tattoo, however frequently even scars and
abrasions to the tattoo seem to completely heal. The following traits are common among the Kagonesti braves
who have been tattooed by Habbakuk’s Au:
Bear: The recipient gains the tough hide or great strength of the bear. Descendants of the original hunters also
acquire the bear’s intimidating presence.
Boar: The recipient gains supernatural endurance and stamina, and a heightened awareness of the forests
around him. Descendants of the original hunters also acquire enlarged tusk-like teeth, with which they can inflict
painful wounds.
Fox: The recipient gains the fox’s cunning mind and ability to get out of the way of danger. Descendants of
the original hunters also become faster and more agile.
Hawk: The recipeient gains the hawk’s keen vision and reflexes. Descendants of the original hunters acquire
the ability to utter a shrill war cry that breaks the concentration of their foes.
Snake: The recipient gains the ability to lock his gaze on his enemy, temporarily entrancing them, as well as
a snake’s swift reaction time. Descendants of the original hunter acquires venomous spittle, with which they can
blind their foes.
Lost Relics 25
Hiddukel’s Dice
T his looks like a pair of rough and fire-scorched bone dice, colored with red spots. Scholars believe
Hiddukel himself blessed the Dice at the time of the War of the Lance, and entrusted them to a pair of
Nerakan thieves who fought and died over the objects.
The Dice appear normal, but when used to gamble they often roll very well, giving the wielder great winnings.
This great fortune is limited. Hiddukel has cursed the dice for those who get too greedy and raise the stakes too
high. Once lulled into a sense of invincibility, the “luck” of the dice runs out at a critical moment for the gambler,
leaving him with enormous debt.
Hiddukel then demands the soul of the loser, haunting him with horrific visions and worse until his debt is
paid in full. If the gambler cannot pay and meet the terms of his wager, the gambler often meets an unfortunate
end, driven mad by the visions or succumbing to an unfortunate “accident”.
Rumor among taverns states that one of the previous owners of the dice was Lord Toede, who lost them
gambling shortly before his (first) death in a hunting accident in Kendermore. While the church of Hiddukel
disputes this, even they cannot deny the tales of woe that have been attributed to the Dice across the face of
Ansalon.
Writings found by scholars state that the Scales of Shinare are directly opposed to this artifact, and that the
two objects’ fates are intertwined. If the two are brought together, the consequences of their union are uncertain
but likely dramatic and far-reaching.
26 Lost Relics
Shinare’s Scales
S hinare’s Scales are a set of gold and silver weighing scales three feet wide, embossed with symbols of the
Goddess of Wealth and Industry. The Scales have been identified as the weighing scales of one Solar
Ponns, a wine merchant who played a large role in re-invigorating the Holy Order after the War of the
Lance. The Scales are said to be blessed the goddess herself in tribute to one of her favored adherents.
The scales are normally housed in Shinare’s temple in Solanthus, and are only removed from sight during the
Golden Week (first week of Sirrimont) when the money-priests carry out their inventories. On the fifth day, a
grand party is held in the temple, and the Scales are brought forth again for the new financial year.
Coins and other trade goods left on the Scales mysteriously disappear overnight, and more skeptical merchants
believe that the church takes these offerings for their own profit. The faithful have attributed great changes in
fortune and increases in profits to such offerings, as the Scales are reputed to be responsible for visions that
often lead to great profit for Shinarites. Over the years, her clerics have used the Scales for a focus for their
divinations.
It has been said that the Dice of Hiddukel are directly opposed to this artifact; see their entry for more
details.
27
The Last Altar
T he Last Altar is a single massive block of lead. Its top surface is engraved with the symbol of Chemosh
and with several deep blood grooves spiraling out to the edges. Reliefs of pastoral life and merriment wait
below these channels on the altar’s sides, each scene conspicuously featuring a tombstone or cemetery.
Sculpted, jawless skulls protrude from the reliefs to serve as both purchase for transport and hooks for sacrificial
restraints.
In the Age of Dreams, as the first races of the world came to reflect upon mortality and suffering, many grew
fearful of death while others became increasingly fed up with life and its limitations. Chemosh, drawn to these
souls like a moth to a flame, offered them a way out. While many refused his overtures, some were enticed by
his promises of endless life. He shared with them a vision of a world without pain and without end, with every
last creature and plant blessed with his gift of eternal undeath. These early mortals formed the Heralds of the
Undying World, a small but tenacious apocalyptic cult within the Lifebane’s church. The Last Altar, originally
known as the Altar of the Undying World, was his gift to them.
The altar served as the center of worship and proselytizing for the Heralds, and Chemosh taught them to use
its powerful deceptive magicks for both worship and secrecy. It is said that any living thing that dies upon the
altar’s surface, be it human, elf, animal, or plant, is raised again as undead. No normal fire will burn within a
mile of it, and all hope, morale, and divine magics are diminished in its presence. At the command of a cleric of
Chemosh, enemies of the Lord of Bones can be slowed to a crawl, frozen in time, or even plunged into the Abyss
itself. Further dark curses are rumored to exist, accessible through gruesome trial and error and especially with
the sacrifice of beings strong in faith and beliefs.
The history of the altar follows that of the Heralds closely, waxing and waning in prominence through the
centuries and reaching its most fanatical heights during the reign of mighty Istar. Imperial records from this
time claim that the cult of Heralds—and indeed, Chemosh’s entire church—was wiped out in a final confrontation
and Chemosh’s “last altar” was locked away forever. Followers of Chemosh scoff at this obvious error and snicker
at the irony of the Istarians’ words. They point ominously to prophecies that one day this artifact will serve as
the last altar of the world upon which all gods but theirs will be sacrificed. On that day, the Gate of Souls will be
sealed for eternity and Chemosh will rule all Krynn.
28 Lost Relics
Majere’s Everlasting Rose
T his is a single ordinary rose, deep red in color. When looked at more closely, it can be observed the petals
are impossible to count and the rose seems difficult to focus on. Its scent is intense, but not overpowering.
The Rose shows no signs of wilting though it has been in the world for centuries. Despite its seemingly
fragile nature, it has survived being passed from monasteries to palaces to cellars to obscurity, through the hands
of countless monks, nobles, and clerics. Where it is now, or if it is recognized as the treasure it is, no one knows.
The Rose acts as a meditation focus. When studied it appears to waver in the onlooker’s gaze, but when the
mind is relaxed and open, not studying the Rose but accepting its beauty, the petals have an almost hypnotic
effect on the viewer. If the viewer has a certain issue they are pondering or a problem they wish to resolve but
cannot think how to do so, an hour of meditation using the Rose will provide clarity of thought and the viewer’s
mind will usually become aware of a probable solution, one they may not have considered before, or thought
unworkable. If the Rose cannot help find a solution, the viewer will still come away feeling more hopeful for a
resolution, refreshed and calmed.
Lost Relics 29
Mishakal’s Grace
T he half-ogre Kurthak Heimdell grew up in predominantly human civilization. Not fitting in due in no
small part to his ogrish bloodlines, he took out his frustration by bullying other young men. After breaking
his arm, he was too proud to ask for assistance, but knew that the local shrine to the healer he heard of
would not turn him away. The priestess of Mishakal, Cindel Forsythe took Kurthak in, befriending him with
her gentle, patient, and accepting nature and healed his injuries. Kurthak found someone that seemed to accept
him, as he found himself returning to visit the priestess and becoming good friends in the process. In time, the
preaching of Mishakal’s ways started to sink in with Kurthak and he took those sermons to heart, becoming an
acolyte of Mishakal in his own right.
Several years passed before Kurthak decided he wanted to see more of the world and spread the teachings of
Mishakal. During those travels, he had a vision of a long lost and forgotten shrine to the Goddess of healing.
Following those visions, he found the ancient shrine, and there found a circlet bearing the infinity symbol of
Mishakal. Kurthak found that the circlet bolstered his own clerical powers as continued his journeys healing and
teaching the ways of Mishakal.
Those journeys eventually led Kurthak deep into Istaran lands. Istaran soldiers accosted Kurthak, assuming
the half-ogre was an evil being. When he professed to be a cleric of Mishakal, the soldiers could not believe
him–how could one of ogre lineage who dare sully the reputation of the much revered Mishakal by telling such
base lies? In the ensuing altercation, Kurthak was mortally wounded, as was one of the soldiers (in truth by the
overzealous nature of his comrades). Kurthak’s dying action was to heal the soldier of his wounds. With that
final action, the soldiers realized the wrong they had perpetrated. Shamed and afraid of the consequences of what
they had done, they burned Kurthak’s body. The circlet, however, could not be destroyed. And so it was that
the circlet was eventually placed within the Hall of Sacrilege in the hopes that the tragic event surrounding the
artifact would not be discovered.
Mishakal’s Grace is a thin circlet made of dragonmetal in a weaving pattern, with an infinity symbol completing
the circle, worn above the wearer’s brow. Aside from Mishakal’s symbol being incorporated into the design of the
circlet, the powers granted by the circlet play directly into Mishakal’s virtues. Healing abilites, aiding others in
time of need, and providing shelter are all documented manifestations of the circlet’s power. Mishakite priests,
bearing the circlet in battle, have been known to draw all hostitilies and threats to themselves, allowing their
allies time to escape; such sacrifice has been the final use of Mishakal’s Grace for many of those who bore it.
30 Lost Relics
Obsidian Orb of Infinity
T he Obsidian Orb of Infinity is a glossy black sphere approximately six inches in diameter. The Orb bears a small
ivory disc on its surface with the black rune of infinity graven into the center. A clear crystal disc is embedded
into the sphere’s face opposite the rune, such that both discs cannot be viewed at the same time (unless the
viewer uses a reflective surface). The Orb is considered a Mishakite artifact by some because of the rune for infinity,
but it is in fact a relic of Zivilyn.
An unknown type of liquid is contained within the Orb, such that shaking it produces a light sloshing noise.
Peering into the Orb via the crystal disc reveals only blackness, even if the researcher is aided by light-based magicks.
Some have speculated that the liquid within the Orb is water from the River of Time, but as the River’s literal existence
cannot be confirmed, this too is considered nothing but folktales and rumor.
The Orb’s first known appearance was in 1947 PC, a time in which the Empire of Ergoth had regained some of the
glory lost to Silvanesti in the Kinslayer War. The Ergothian Navy was militarily strong as were its cavaliers. Emperor
Quevalen X was held in high regard for his great wisdom, which was said even to eclipse that of his wife Idalia, a
Zivilynite soothsayer he had taken for his wife in spite of Ergothian custom.
Unfortunately for the empire, Quevalen’s mental acumen began to fade when his favored daughter Landea died
after being thrown from her horse. He fell into a grave mood and scarcely cared for the politics of his station. When
Idalia’s ministrations failed to soothe his spirit she brought in Mishakite and Majerean clerics, but they ultimately
informed her of what she already knew–her husband’s condition was self-imposed.
Fearful of a possible uprising and determined to maintain her family’s presence in the royal line, Idalia prayed for
guidance in facilitating Quevalen’s return to health and in maintaining a wise rule. After four days of meditation and
prayer, Idalia received a vision of a mighty oak standing upright in the middle of a vast river. When she regained her
senses, she was holding the Orb.
Idalia gave the Orb to her husband in Sirrimont, 1946 PC, the same month that other historical texts note that
Quevalen regained his lost spirit (Marcrilius denCaer, 1972-1926 PC). Quevalen consulted the Orb often at first, but
as the days passed he made more of his own decisions, and he gave the artifact back to Idalia the following Aelmont.
When Quevalen died two months later, neither Idalia nor the Orb could be found.
Ergothian history texts (specifically “Excerpts of Ergoth,” 2100-1900 PC) mention the Orb once more before its
apparent disappearance. Emperor Emann Quisling learned of the Orb in 1794 PC. Hoping to use its powers of insight
against the traitorous Vinas Solamnus, Emperor Quisling dispatched seven cavaliers to seek it out. After months of
travel, two of the seven returned victorious. The emperor and his vile allies spent hours trying to discern the Orb’s
secrets but were unable to produce anything more than vague half-formed answers. Colorathnius (Topical Histories
Subdept., Library of Palanthas) claims that his great-grandfather saw a frustrated Quisling throw the Orb at a wall after
receiving several dozen responses of “Concentrate and ask again”.
A bit of folklore and oral tradition provides the last known piece of information pertaining to the Orb. According
to centaurs of the Duntollik region, four Zivilynite oracles using a small black orb in their divinations protected the
Grandfather Tree (“Vallenwood and Religion,” 182 PC). As the Holy Istaran Empire continued its actions against
the “heretical faiths of Balance,” the oracles sought an audience with the Kingpriest. Leaving the Tree’s care to the
centaurs and their shaman Brightwind, the four oracles traveled to the Lordcity of Istar where it is said they presented
the Orb to the Kingpriest. The centaurs do not know the oracles’ ultimate fate, but it is likely that the oracles were
slain or enslaved for their worship of the Tree of Life. If the Kingpriest’s experience was anything like that of Emperor
Quisling, the Orb may be elsewhere on Krynn or lost beneath the Blood Sea in the Hall of Sacrilege.
The Orb’s apparent purpose is to provide the bearer with insight into her immediate future. If the bearer focuses her
concentration upon a specific question while shaking the Orb, she will see a cryptic answer float to the surface of the
clear disc such that she can read the answer to her question. The answer always appears in the bearer’s native language;
it is not known what results, if any, occur when an illiterate bearer tries to use the Orb.
Answers revealed by the Orb seem to be based on information known to the bearer at the time of divination–answers
such as “ask again later” or “who knows?” are not uncommon. If these accounts are factual, they suggest that the Orb’s
true purpose may be to improve the bearer’s own insight, rather than allow them to continue to rely on outside sources
for information.
Lost Relics 31
Pathfinder
P athfinder resembles a thick arrow, but with carvings along its shaft that represent animals,
birds, plants and people. Indeed, it is so heavily carved it is a wonder that the arrow is
still in one piece. There is no fletching, and the head is cast from pure gold. The arrow is
blunted, indicating that this is obviously not an arrow for war or for hunting.
An elven cleric of Astarin, Branchala’s name among the elves, gave Pathfinder as a gift to a
wild and wayward relative about to go exploring in the wide and dangerous world of Krynn.
It was intended to keep him on the straight and narrow, or at least prevent him from getting
too lost, but the foolish elf boy soon ran out of money and sold it to a human merchant for
far less than its value. A kender “liberated” Pathfinder from its new owner soon after, and it
became an artifact of great renown to that traveling race, who found that it always pointed
the way to interesting experiences. It is thought to still be in the possession of one kender or
another.
This artifact relates to Branchala’s love of trickery and his concern to help those who have
lost their way in life – this is not readily apparent to the user, however, who thinks it is merely a
navigational tool. When a traveler is unsure of the way to go, he places the arrow at a suitable
junction of paths and a swift prayer to Branchala will cause the arrow to point the way. Unfortunately
for the traveller, owing to Branchala’s sometimes chaotic nature the arrow may not always point the
way the traveler wants to go but will always point the way they need to go. It is surprising how often
and widely these two directions differ.
32 Lost Relics
Ring of Laughter
T his artifact lies at the heart of many cherished fables told by the followers of Branchala, but descriptions
of it rarely agree. In one story, a daring treasure hunter might pursue an ornate band of gem-studded
precious metal or a delicate loop of priceless, multicolored silks. In another, a humble farmer might find
great fortune after donning an unimpressive circle of orange clay or noticing an inexplicable tattoo marking on
a single, weathered finger.
Just as the Song of Life would have it, everyone is right and everyone is wrong all at the same time. In a twist
known only to the cleverest of Branchala’s clergy, the Ring of Laughter is not one but two rings, separated at
the forge just before completion. Both rings can change appearance and even location upon the wearer’s hands
seemingly at random, and they are often an eyesore or oddly conspicuous, especially at humorous moments.
The only consistent trait the rings possess is some variation of a harp symbol, but this has often been cleverly
concealed from casual observation.
Few stories of the rings acknowledge that there are two, but all teach lessons of humility and kindness. They
reiterate the church’s insistence that society and its laws (the important ones, anyway) exist to serve people,
not the other way around. Abstract rules are hollow and artificial. Humanity, Branchalans say with a smile, is
instrumental. Perhaps the most popular tale tells of a lazy and arrogant noble seeking to escape the obligations of
political life and a rakish rapscallion who dreams of being wealthy beyond measure. Each comes across the ring
and, through hilarious farce, learns that authority is best used for helping others and that social status is rarely
the best measure of contentment.
Those who find a single Ring of Laughter claim blessings of safety and good fortune. In times of trouble, the
ring wearer is often saved by odd noises such as a rustling in nearby foliage that provides just enough distraction
for escape. A Ring of Laughter will also grant its wearer one of their dearest wishes, although requests motivated
purely by greed or dark purposes typically go awry–usually in a way which exposes a weakness or teaches the
bearer a lesson.
Mischief and mayhem often ensue when two people each wear one of the paired rings at the same time. As soon
as this occurs, the mind and spirit of each wearer immediately switches with that of the other regardless of location.
Rings cannot be removed nor bodies regained until each wearer learns an important lesson, as determined by
Branchala himself. Among the eldest of the Songmaster’s clergy it is rumored that if one individual dons both
Rings of Laughter, he or she will laugh out loud as the Bard King grants a simple yet profound answer to one of
the Universe’s greatest questions.
Lost Relics 33
The Staff of Argon
T he Staff of Argon is an ancient artifact of Sargonnas, dating back to the early years of the Third Dragon
War in the Age of Dreams. The staff is six feet tall and made from the wood of a black locust tree. Black-
and-red leather wraps the top half of the staff. The most noticeable feature of the staff is the golden
condor at the top, with a golden circlet behind it. The condor figure faces to the right and has ruby eyes. Only
a true follower of Sargonnas, typically a cleric or monk, may touch this staff. Those who do not hold the wrath
of Sargonnas in their heart staff will find thorns jutting out from the black locust wood, impaling the hand that
holds it.
Little is known of the staff ’s origins, though some historians date it back to the Third Dragon War and possibly
earlier. It was created by a group of Ergothian monks who had fallen away from the path of Majere. Bitter and
vengeful, the monks turned to the worship of Sargonnas and founded the Brotherhood of Argon. These monks
combined the teachings of Majere with the harsh ways of Sargonnas to create a new path of brutal discipline.
The Brotherhood of Argon sought to destroy the monastery of Majere that they once called home. After
fasting and praying to Sargonnas, the god gave them a vision of the Staff of Argon. For days, the monks worked
feverishly in creating the staff. When the golden condor was mounted atop the staff, it is said that Sargonnas
himself blessed the weapon.
The attack on the Ergothian monastery was swift and decisive. The monks proved to be formidable foes.
Though they didn’t have the numbers to destroy the monks of Majere, the Staff of Argon was the deciding factor.
Molten lava erupted from the earth, swallowing the monastery of Majere in volcanic fury. When one of Majere’s
faithful tried to seize the staff from the hand of the Argonian monk, thorns punctured his hand, causing it to be
crippled for the remainder of his life.
What happened next to the staff is largely unknown, though the Brotherhood of Argon was defeated in the
Third Dragon War. It would not be seen again for many centuries until agents of the Kingpriest discovered it
in a tomb in the Khalkist Mountains. When the agents tried to grasp the staff, thorns punctured their hands.
Branding it an artifact of evil, the staff was cautiously taken by cart towards the Holy City. It would have surely
been locked away in the Hall of Sacrilege in the Tower of Istar had it arrived in Istar. The cart and its caretakers
never made it.
With the return of the gods in the War of the Lance, clerics of Sargonnas have uncovered ancient prophecies
surrounding the Staff of Argon. According to various clues in the Tome of Tirinus, the power of the Bloody
Condor will be felt upon Ansalon again, and the Brotherhood will make its return.
34 Lost Relics
Taivul
T he Taivul is a kind of war-drum, made of bison hide stretched across a sturdy wooden frame, around two
feet long and a foot wide. The sides of the drum are painted with the colors and symbols of the current
army or lord it belongs to. A sturdy, thick, bison-leather strap attached allows it to be slung around its
bearer and easily carried and beaten on the move.
The Taivul is a legendary item known to armies on the sides of both Light and Darkness–although the good-
aligned speak of it with awe and reverence, whereas the wicked whisper in fear and despair. The Taivul has been a
part of several armies in its long history, passed from armory to armory as needed or as the god dictated. Humans
say Reorx made the Taivul as part of his duties as Kiri-Jolith’s squire, and that he would beat it while his Lord
was in battle. Dwarves scowl at this–when in their possession, the campfire tales relate that although Reorx did
indeed make the Taivul (who else could have carved such a perfect frame, such a well-made instrument?) it was
only because Kijo the Blade begged him to.
It is always borne into battle and beaten by a warrior-priest of
Kiri-Jolith. The Taivul is a clear sign to all that Kiri-Jolith favors
the army it is being used by; however, should the Taivul somehow
fall into the wrong hands, it falls weirdly silent and no amount
of beating will produce a sound from the skin.
When beaten in the heat of battle, it emboldens those in the
army it belongs to, rallying troops and raising morale. It inspires
individuals to acts of heroism, and whole regiments are motivated
to perform well beyond what they thought they were capable of.
Even the most untrained army of farmers and craftsmen begin to
feel the rush of battle in their blood at the sound of the Taivul and
work together to fight as if they were an almost professional force.
Some swear it also increases strength and stamina, but that may be
attributed to the fresh courage it inspires in those previously too
weary or dispirited to continue the fight. Many a hopeless battle has
been declared a victory thanks to the presence of the Taivul.
The Taivul is best used to rally a fatigued army, or maximize the
impetus of an attack, but may also be used to give mundane orders
or set pace. When used in this manner, those orders seem to be
communicated farther, more clearly and carried out faster than those
given on a normal drum.
Lost Relics 35
Lost
T
Magic
Mysteries
hree moons in the night sky.
Three gods of magic.
The dedicated wizards of the Orders of High
Sorcery keep watch to make certain their
arts are being used responsibly. They seek
artifacts of magic—from objects as simple
as ever-sharp blades to devices that allow a
person to travel through time—which could be
found in abandoned tower or forgotten tomb.
In this section are pages from a spellbook
written by my twin, Raistlin Majere, in his
youth. Learn of the sword carried by my fallen
friend, Sir Sturm Brightblade. Study the
ways of the Renegade Hunters, who enforce the
laws of magic on those who practice powerful
spells without first taking the Test. Discover the
artifacts of a lost Tower of High Sorcery, and
examine the shards of a shattered Dragon Orb.
Magic is fascinating, alluring. But
there is a heavy price for its power.
Follow its mysteries only if you can
keep them from consuming you.
Caramon Majere
Proprietor of the Inn of the Last Home
The Brightblade
This document was found among the belongings of Sir Sturm Brightblade, Knight of the Crown and Hero of the Lance.
According to Sir Brightblade’s companions, the document was unearthed by the Solamnic in the great Library of
Khrystann in Tarsis prior to a major assault on the city by the Red Dragonarmy. It is written by renowned scholar and
servant of Kiri-Jolith Sumitpo diFurian and is presented here in its entirety.
Reilmar Gislora Kantis,
Master Librarian of the Library of Khrystann
As requested by my esteemed colleagues in the Lordcity of Tarsis, I have put together this report on my findings
regarding the legendary sword known as Brightblade. First, however, I must give thanks to Lord Trysten Brightblade who
was kind enough to allow me access to the sword as well as several drawings detailing the sword and the process involved
in creating it. I am most grateful for his kindness. Indeed, I could not have written this document without the support of
the entire Brightblade family.
O
ur faith teaches obedience to those properly set above us. Yet, we are also taught to seek the keys to holiness in the
order of Creation around us. After two weeks of meditation, I deemed it holy and right that I write to you directly
on this matter, Prophet. Although High Abbott Thomas disagrees with me about the significance of this matter, I
believe you will understand the gravity of my writings. Know that I do not seek glory for the one of which I will speak, but
only to spread a message of hope.
Amongst the names penned into the bi-annual census list already sent to you by the High Abbot, you may notice an
oddity in the column headed “New Recruits to the Faith:” Adalgisa Copperthorne, apparently a woman’s name. It is true
that our monastery has given temporary shelter to a woman. However, I believe this woman is special. I believe her to be
the Mantis Rose.
It is an obscure legend of the church, I know. However, as chief instructor of the Darkwoods Monastery’s Hall of
Prowess, it is my responsibility to be intimately familiar with all our tales of honorable combat – even those believed to
be merely children’s bedtime stories. I have read the oldest illuminated manuscripts of our church, even those kept by
the Aesthetics of the Library of Palanthas that pre-date the Cataclysm. In them I have found repeated references to lone
warrior champions of Majere (known as Manthus to the Ergothians) who, with a combination of fists and exotic ranged
weapons such as whips and spiked chains, battled the undead throughout our history. I believe these are the earliest
mention of the legendary Mantis Rose.
Many of our brethren have also heard the legends of the Mantis Barb, a holy whip with the power to strip the flesh
from a ghoul in one strike and send an unwilling specter into the River of Souls. There are stories of a strange warrior who
appeared in the days after the fiery rock struck Istar wielding just such a weapon. He is said to have battled the undead
spilling over from the cursed realm of Knightlund into Gaardlund and Hinterland.
Many people think that the Mantis Rose of this era is nothing more then a folk tale that
was told to help children living along the Vingaard River sleep at night. However, with
the help of the Aesthetics in the Great Library, I uncovered the diary of a Solamnic
rancher from this period in history who wrote of befriending a man he calls “Mantis
Rose.” As you will see from the copied manuscripts I have included with this letter,
the rancher’s account creates a historical record of the months during which
this Mantis Rose lived and fought before he disappeared with the whip into
Nightlund in a failed attempt to vanquish the dread Lord Soth.
Additionally, and perhaps even more importantly, the
rancher describes the Mantis Barb in great detail. I have
included his drawing and description of the weapon with
the copies of his diary pages.
I
am Carsus, an elder Aesthetic of the Library of Palanthas. I will not bore you with a tale of my life; suffice it to say,
my life’s work for the Library has been the history and cataloguing of magic and magical artifacts. Recently, I was
compiling various texts on the Dragon Orbs and came across something that I am surprised was not discovered sooner.
I believe you will find it of great interest.
The origin and history of the Dragon Orbs is fairly well known to those in our fields, but to summarize: created during
the Third Dragon War, the five Orbs, each with a colored mist representing a chromatic dragon, are powerful relics
wrought to help defeat Takhisis and bring balance back to Krynn. Most of what we know is that they have a great effect
upon chromatic dragons, but their full capabilities are still not known. What is known about their composition is that
they are made of a delicate crystal that is susceptible to damage by physical means, but not magical. The crystal is of an
unknown composition that is not found in nature; certainly, the crystal is one of the many marks of the gods of magic that
can be found in the Dragon Orbs. There is also the nature of the mist inside each Orb, which I confess our texts mention
little about.
Of the Orbs, Tasslehoff Burrfoot destroyed one at the Whitestone Council. Another was used by Laurana at the Battle
of the High Clerist Tower and is now presumed destroyed, buried beneath the Tower’s ruins. The third, rumors have
hinted, ruined the mind of Lorac Caladon. Its current whereabouts are unknown, but even here in Palanthas we have
heard that it is the possession of Raistlin Majere. Most importantly, the two final Orbs went missing and were likely
destroyed during the Lost Battles in the years before the Cataclysm.
As you well know, there are a great number of magical items in the world - so
many that it is a wonder that every man, elf, and dwarf does not possess his
own - many of which have unexplained origins. It has long been believed
that the only magic of the Orb is the mist that swirls within, with none
in the crystal that makes up the Orb itself. Yet, a handful of stories
from our texts may provide clues otherwise, clues that indicate there
is more to the Orbs than previously thought. These stories all
revolve around simple objects such as pendants and amulets, which
are often designed with small gems, jewels, and pieces of crystals as
the centerpiece of the jewelry. As you may have surmised, I believe
that the objects described in our texts contain pieces of those two
missing Dragon Orbs, whether the jeweler knew of the origin of
the crystal or not. The shards themselves are likely a variety of
sizes and many have probably been shaped for specific jewelry.
Sorting the stories that fit the description of potential Dragon
Orb jewelry has been difficult, but not impossible. With our
catalogues dating back to the time of Istar, I have chosen three
diverse entries from the catalogues to share with you:
T
here are many paths to power, and they can be very seductive. It is all too easy for aspiring mages or sages steeped
in arcane lore and a thirst for power to overreach and attempt to grab greater and greater power. Not all those who
wield magic have the skill or the courage to wield it properly; with thought and understanding of what they are
doing, ensuring that they control the power contained within their dusty tomes and not letting the power control them.
Realizing the need to ensure that all those who would use the power of the Art would wield it competently, all aspiring
mages must undergo the most hazardous and grueling of Tests, to prove that they are worthy of learning the more
advanced arcane spells and rituals.
But even this measure may not be enough. Many wizards throughout Krynn’s history have taken the Test and gone on
to threaten the world around them. They have defied the will of the Conclave, the ruling body that oversees all wizards on
Krynn, or sought to threaten the magic itself.
The task of policing these wielders of the arcane arts falls upon a small group of mages, drawn from each of the three
Orders of High Sorcery. Such mages, called the renegade hunters, are the most secretive and disturbingly quiet of all
wizards.
Every wizard that walks the world today does so under a cloud of misunderstanding and fear, inspired by the
machinations of the long lost Kingpriest in ancient and doomed Istar, and perpetuated in the dark days that followed the
Cataclysm.
Although all wizards walk in this shadow, the renegade hunters walk within greater shadows. They are reviled and
feared by even their fellow brethren. None look fondly upon a visit from a renegade hunter; none willingly associate with
them, fearing the day that one might knock on their door.
Renegade hunters hear the callings of the Moon Gods within their hearts, calling them to the service of all magic, not
just to their particular Order. Their calling is to walk the world, watching those that wield arcane power. They watch and
report what they see to the Conclave, and if necessary, they take action against those who abuse the power granted by the
Art.
Joining the renegade hunters is not easy. The applicant must be both a wizard in good standing and must have survived
his Test. During the apprentice hunter’s Test, the apprentice often receives some sign or portent from his chosen patron,
urging him to undertake the arduous training to become a defender of magic.
Renegade
Hunters of
Each Order
Just as no two mages are exact, so too
are the renegade hunters from each
of the Orders. Each, although trained
S
cattered across Ansalon are ruined cities great and small. Some were abandoned or torn by war; others were ravaged
by the Cataclysm. The region of Goodlund holds one such ruin. Its name is Talin, and the well it contains is one of
Ansalon’s great mysteries.
The forsaken city itself is a curiosity, for legend holds it was home to a band of elves called the Talinesti. Mostly what
is known about this ancient people is that they are now gone. I went to some lengths to uncover more information about
them, and it seems theirs was a sad story.
The nearest living elves, a band of Kagonesti, are from the stretch of forest called Beast’s Run, so naturally I asked
them about the Talinesti. Most didn’t talk to me or claimed not to speak the common trade tongue. Some seemed open to
conversation until I mentioned the Talinesti, at which point they abruptly walked away without another word. Only one
elf spoke to me on the subject.
Gray and worn, sorrow leapt from his eyes from the outset of our talk. He told how his people were at odds with a small
group of radicals. These radical elves felt threatened by the Istaran Empire long before the last Kingpriest came to power.
When differences of opinion became heated arguments, which in turn came to threats of injury, the radical elves left their
cousins and founded the city of Talin. Though not small in size, the Talinesti managed to keep Istaran eyes off their new
city. They didn’t have the ability, however, to stave off the dangers of the Cataclysm. Most perished in that one night,
and appeals to their old brethren fell on deaf ears. In addition to dealing with their own matters, the Kagonesti still felt
wronged by the Talinesti for the departure. It was at this point that the elven storyteller could go no further.
The ruins of Talin were empty until the recent arrival of the Glug clan of gully dwarves. Highglug Muk the First credits
himself with finding anything beneficial in the ruins, including the mysterious well. It is a kender by the name of Juniper
Ambertail, however, that lays claim to discovering the well’s power. The size of the well, about ten feet in diameter, means
several gully dwarves at once can dip buckets into its dark depths and draw up water. The kender convinced herself it
could also be a wishing well. Moments after she dropped in a coin, a sack of steel coins fell from the sky onto her head.
The kender returned to her home in Kendermore to tell the story. My two friends–the human Jakob Gronin and the
dwarf Malachai Strongchisel–and I were outside the kender city when Miss Ambertail came upon us and told of her
experience at the Well of Talin. We traveled to the ruins, soon followed by scores of kender whom Juniper made curious,
and the debate started almost immediately. How did an ordinarily-looking well possess such power? Did the lost Talinesti
create it, or was it another force?
Others soon joined in our debate. The centaurs of Wendle Wood and the small Kagonesti population in Balinost
noticed the large groups of kender visiting the ruined city. Emissaries from both peoples were sent, and debates grew more
numerous when the Glug clan found their well had gone dry. Experiments began, all with unexpected results.
When a few drops of water were poured into the Well of Talin, it provided a day’s worth of water for all in attendance.
Arguments were made for even how far down our buckets needed to drop to reach the water, so the kender Juniper
dropped a lit torch into the well. Instead of seeing deeper into the well, Juniper
witnessed a spectacular light show displaying the evaporation of the Maddening
Springs, located in Goodlund’s Southern Dairly Plains. Word later came that the
Maddening Springs had indeed dried up. My friends and I were caught up in the talks
between elves and centaurs, who issued an edict banning all from placing anything in
the Well of Talin.
Highglug Muk the First took offense to “Big Ones” giving orders in “This Place,”
the city he ruled. The gully dwarf ruler sent an infiltration force, alternately labeled
a mob by the elves and centaurs and a parade by the kender, to see to anything and
everything be dropped into the Well of Talin. Little did his followers know their
HighGlug had counted on the ensuing confusion. Muk the First expertly found his
way to the Well of Talin and poured an entire canteen of water into it. Within an hour, a
storm formed over the Southern Courrain ocean and caused flooding throughout much
of Goodlund. The HighGlug’s home was wrecked. While he publicly blamed the elves
and centaurs for the storm, he privately decided Big Ones might be smarter than they
look.
T
he destruction of the Towers of High Sorcery in Daltigoth and Losarcum was, until the Cataclysm, the
greatest disaster in Ansalon’s long history. Tens of thousands died instantly, bodies burned, crushed or
cut to pieces by debris. The catastrophe was only the beginning though, for even now, centuries later,
the ruins of the Towers and the cities that held them are spoken of with awe and fear. Adventurers still enter
the wreckage seeking the wealth of the cities. That few return serves only as further incentive for others to go,
believing that great risks mean greater rewards.
In the months and years following the explosions, the Conclave dispatched dozens of expeditions to chart
the ruins and to salvage whatever remained. Some returned, others did not. Some of these groups were wizards,
while others were hired through agents of the Conclave, their true employers and purposes unknown. Many
who returned spent the rest of their days haunted by voices and nightmares of the dead, some even taking their
lives after going mad. The Tower of Wayreth is the only place on Krynn with detailed maps of the ruins–though
few have ever seen them.
Artifacts:
The ruins of Losarcum and Daltigoth are permeated with magic. The explosion of the Towers threw stone
across the miles, raining debris and death across the cities. Relics of the Towers can
be found almost anywhere in the ruins, though most that were on the surface have
been take, or are guarded by beings of dark might. The years have not been kind to
the ruins. More buildings have toppled, taking other artifacts with them into the
buried catacombs of the cities. The flooding of the Cataclysm submerged parts of
Daltigoth even before the salvage groups could fully survey the sites. It is almost
certain that shards and pieces lie amid the sand-choked ruins, and that twisted sea
creatures stalk the depths.
Heartchamber Shards
Deep within the halls of each Tower of High Sorcery, lies a room of incredible
power: the Heartchamber. In this room stands a model of the Tower, a focal point
for the magic needed to destroy it. When the two Towers were destroyed during the
Lost Battles, mages gathered in these rooms, channeling their art into the Master
of the Tower, and he into the model itself. None of those present for the rituals
I pen this missive in response to the question you posed at the last meeting of the
Conclave. Yes, the first spellbook that Raistlin owned is kept in the Tower of High
Sorcery in Palanthas, and I do have access to it, as it wasn’t sealed in the laboratory. You
should forgive me the time it took to find it, but it is such a nondescript volume that when
I carried out the inventory of my late master’s possessions, it escaped my notice. The
book is, as one would expect, the typical primer that the late Theobald Beckman provided
his students with: a hard leather-bound book.
When I found the tome, I carried out a thorough analysis of it. I cannot say with certainty
that it posseses any secret, lost, or forbidden knowledge, nor do I believe any cataclysmic
spells lie within its pages. However, as far as I can determine it is just the spellbook of
a novice mage who has yet to leave his mark in the world and, in fact, most of the spells
contained within are considered the most basic of any wizard’s repertoire. The true
gems lie in the margin notes, and the insight that my shalafi displayed even at such a
young age. It is quite astounding how brightly his true genius shines, and his in-depth
comments on techniques usually dismissed as common tricks are amazing.
I have enclosed some of the more interesting pages from the spellbook with this letter. I
hope it finds you well.
Yours in magic,
Dalamar, Head of the Order of the Black Robes.
Caramon Majere
Proprietor of the Inn of the Last Home
Lost Tales
Defeat in Kenderhome
Report of Corporal Junior Grade Information Correspondent Carron Gulchul; Black Dragonarmy, of Operations in Kenderhome
To be forwarded to the High Command of the Black Dragon Army in Neraka.
I
t is my unfortunate duty to inform you of the loss of both Highlord Toede, his son Lord Captain Toade, and the battle
for Sikk’et Hul. Although the illustrious Highlord was not with us on this particular mission I have been informed
via magical correspondence with my contact in Flotsam of his death. So I have recorded this and I am passing this
information along in this report as it is of the utmost importance. Further information of Highlord Toede’s demise will be
recounted in full detail in a separate report you will be receiving from my contact in Flotsam. Included in this report are
my records on our failed mission to Sikk’et Hul and the eventual defeat at the hands of the kender of Kenderhome.
We set sail on the war galley ‘Silver Spear’ captained by Lieutenant Poliander from Flotsam on Loot 13th, 352 AC.
Aboard ship we had Lieutenant Poliander’s crew, and a war band of twenty-five hobgoblins and ten bugbears that
comprised our heavy infantry unit and one hundred goblins for light infantry. Our orders were to invade the city of Manic,
the capital of the goblin nation of Sikk’et Hul, assume control of their government, make examples of any rebellious
factions and conscript the goblins there into service for the glory of the Dark Queen’s magnificent army.
After more than three weeks of traveling around the northern coast of Ansalon from Flotsam, we headed around the
Tanith peninsula and headed south through the Straits of Algoni. This is where the trouble began. As we traveled along
the east shore of Northern Ergoth our ship ran afoul of a strong storm. Lieutenant Poliander wanted to drop anchor and
wait the storm out, but Captain Toade ordered the Lieutenant to continue through the storm so the Captain was forced to
comply. During the first night in the storm we lost seven goblin warriors and two of Lieutenant Poliander’s crew. The next
morning the weather still had not improved and Captain Toade ordered Lieutenant Poliander to drop anchor. However,
before the Lieutenant could comply the hull of the war galley was torn asunder by a number of jagged rocks. The ship was
smashed repeatedly against the reefs and started taking on water. Captain Toade ordered an evacuation of the ship and all
warriors under his command complied. I joined Captain Toade and his personal bugbear guard on a supply raft and we
made our way to shore.
By that evening all the survivors had gathered together. From the shipwreck we lost six hobgoblins, thirteen goblins,
Lieutenant Poliander and most of his crew. Captain Toade sent out goblin scouts into the surrounding forests to determine
our position. The rest of the troops were ordered to salvage whatever supplies they could find along the shoreline and to
make camp on the tree line of the beaches despite the storm overhead. By the next morning the storm had subsided and
order had been established.
The goblin scouts indicated that there was a congregation of kender to the north that appeared to have taken shelter in
a number of caves during the storm. From my maps we determined that this was probably the kender village of Hidal near
the Ogaral border, which placed us more than one hundred miles from our intended location of Manic. This also meant
that the kender city of Hylo was approximately thirty to forty miles south of us. Captain Toade decided that the best course
of action was to invade Hylo and take whatever sailing vessels they may possess and to continue our mission to Sikk’et
Hul.
As the captain made plans to deploy the war band into the surrounding region we were alerted to the fact that an
intruder had made it past the perimeter of the camp. It was not surprising that the intruder was a kender. He was dragged
by his collar and deposited at the foot of Captain Toade. This particular kender did not at all seem intimidated by our
half-goblin captain. In fact he seemed rather exited just to be surrounded by hundreds of goblins. The kender introduced
himself as Bluster Padfoot and through his incessant chattering implied that he would be happy to show the captain
around Kenderhome. By the way the kender was prattling on it was evident that he thought we were “friendly goblins”
from Sikk’et Hul. At that point Captain Toade made an executive decision. He declared that any kender we encountered
between here and Hylo had to be exterminated in order to keep our attack on the city of Hylo secret for as long as possible.
So he fed the kender to the troops. There wasn’t much meat on him, but I have to agree that the decision did raise morale
among the warriors.
After a brief rest during the day the troops headed south. Orders were given to trick any kender we encountered into
thinking we were from Sikk’et Hul so that they could be lured behind our lines and killed. This plan worked for most
of the night as we progressed through the forests until nearly daybreak when we stumbled across a whole nest of kender
living in the branches of the trees above us. These kender were not so easily fooled and scattered into the treetops. It was
understood that our cover had been blown and it was only a matter of time until the kender mounted a defense.
Lost Tales 63
By the time the sun had risen kender began arriving weapons had been stolen! The kender had sneaked into
in small numbers, then in larger numbers throughout the the encampments and taken our weapons and what meager
day. We were surprised to discover that it was not kender supplies we had on hand. The goblin warriors were furious.
warriors, but simply large groups of civilians that wanted to A number of them even grumbled that the captain had been
get a look at us. Since they were not impeding our progress too easy on the kender and we should have slaughtered
in any way the captain ordered that we continue to march them when we had the chance. These four goblins were
and for our troops to reserve the small number of missile gagged and caned for the enjoyment of the rest of the troop
weapons we had on hand for a real fight. It is unnerving before we began moving south again. The warriors without
to have hundreds of kender staring and whispering and weapons were instructed to find rocks, sticks and anything
pointing at you from behind trees and bushes and from tree they could that could be used to kill a kender.
tops. I admit that our troops are disciplined, but the leering That night, as we continued south, we knew there were
of the kender was more than our goblin troops could take kender trailing us. Our scouts and warriors on the front
and on a number of occasions the hobgoblin commanders line caught site of them. With the goblin’s superior night
had to order back a stray goblin warrior that had rushed off vision the kender were unable to hide from us in the dark.
into the woods to pound a kender skull. In fact some kender appeared so confident in their ability
By midday information from a goblin scout indicated to hide that the hobgoblin commanders issued the order
that the beaches of the shoreline were rapidly diminishing to start attacking any kender that came within arm’s reach.
to the south so Captain Toade passed the order to tighten The captain agreed to the tactic and even suggested that
ranks and move fully into the forest and away from the some of the goblin warriors circle around and try to heard
shore. An hour after midday we encountered our first real the kender, like quail, into the waiting arms of the army.
resistance. Warriors on the front line started taking fire The first pass worked wonderfully and we managed to kill a
from missile weapons. The attack was hardly severe and handful of wretched kender sneaks. That first massacre was
was mostly comprised of small rocks and sticks. Despite the the beginning of trouble.
inadequacy of the attack Captain Toade called a halt and As the goblin warriors got more confident they fanned
ordered the troops to retreat and form ranks. out farther, chasing the squirrelly kender. The kender
A kender waving a green and white polka dotted flag began leading the warriors on chases away from the main
cheerfully announced that she only wanted to talk. The unit. Unleashed, the goblins took off into the forest in a
kendermaid was allowed through the ranks and taken to bloodlust, chasing down kender. Some of the hobgoblin
the captain. She politely introduced herself as Fallana commanders even joined the hunt. By the time the captain
Windseed and respectfully insisted that we stop attacking and the bugbears were able to restore order we had lost
the kender of Kenderhome and perhaps turn around and eight hobgoblins, nineteen goblins and one bugbear. The
go back where we came from. Like his father, Captain captain was furious. His troops were deteriorating before
Toade is a noble and cunning leader. He explained to the his eyes. At this rate we would not have enough troops
kender that he was merely trying to get his troops home to to force our way through the city of Hylo to their harbor.
Sikk’et Hul and that all the kender deaths up to this point As the troops assembled and continued reports came in
had been accidental. Goblins can be an emotional folk if from various scouts that the bodies of our warriors had
provoked. So he suggested to “Lady” Windseed that if been found. Some were in pit traps or hanging from trees,
the kender would just stay out of their way he would have all of them dead. Some appeared to have been ambushed
his goblins back home in no time and out of the kender’s by multiple attackers. The odd thing is that when these
enchanting forests. His sweet talk moved the kendermaid goblins disappeared into the forest, no one heard them
and she agreed to inform her people to allow the army to scream.
pass unmolested! Amazingly the kender began to disappear The army had to slow its pace as they encountered more
from view. traps on route to the city. Eventually Captain Toade ordered
After this encounter the captain ordered a rest for his the troops to circle to the west to hopefully avoid any more
troops. He clearly believed that the army would be able traps. The plan seemed to work and by morning we began
to simply walk straight into Hylo without any sort of heading southeast and it was evident that we would reach
resistance. That day, as we rested, a strange thing happened. the city in half a day’s march.
Everyone had the feeling that there were shadows among us Shortly after daybreak the captain was hailed from
flitting from bush to bush. The captain suspected that the above. Seated in a tree above us was a kender that had
kender were up to something. But no one had been attacked gone unnoticed. The young kender was dressed in furs
and no one could find any intruders in the camps. So they and leaned over an axe he had laying across his lap. He
continued to rest throughout the day and into the evening. waved to the captain and said that we were headed in the
It wasn’t until the troops were making preparations to wrong direction if we were on our way to Sikk’et Hul. A
continue when we realized that more than half of the army’s goblin warrior nearby threw a rock at the kender who easily
64 Lost Tales
dodged it; the captain ignored the infraction. The captain there. When the captain heard this news his demeanor
stated that he and his men wanted to visit Hylo before changed immediately. He laughed and said that if that was
heading home. Then he asked if the kender had found any what the Grand Master wanted, then by all means he would
of the warrior’s weapons lying about. The kender, who I take his people directly home to Sikk’et Hul. The kender
later discovered goes by the name of Kronn Thistleknott, nodded, stood up and disappeared among the leaves of the
stated that his people had found a number of weapons and surrounding trees.
would happy to return them when the goblins made it The captain called for his commanders and instructed
home safely. Then he insisted that the goblins were actually them to prepare their troops to move out. However, he
not welcome in Hylo and would need to continue south. was not about to pass up the chance to find and kill the
Captain Toade was outraged by the slight. When he asked Solamnic Grand Master. The kender had proven their skill
why we were not allowed to visit Thistleknott explained at subterfuge and trap making, but when it came to brute
that the famed Solamnic Grand Master Gunthar uth Wistan force the kender were no match for his army. He declared
was in town and that he advised against the goblins staying that the streets of Hylo would run red with the blood of the
kender slaughtered in that city
and he would personally find
and kill Gunthar uth Wistan
himself. With a forced march the
city would only have a few hours
to prepare. He felt confident that
the majority of the population
would be weak and ineffectual
against his forces as long as he
could keep the troops clear of
any traps. He figured that each
kender warrior killed would
provide one more weapon for his
army.
The troops were eager to get
moving and the first couple of
hours of travel were uneventful
until they saw the leaning spires
of the citadel of Hylo through
the treetops. It was then that the
kender made their stand. Kender
archers attacked from the cover
of the trees and the goblins
took cover behind rocks and
trees. They had been instructed
to work together scaling the
trees and before long many of
the kender archers were killed
or forced to fall back. By my
estimate a dozen of our goblins
were lost in the exchange. I
suggested that we fall back
and reconsider the attack and
Captain Toade struck me down
and ordered the troops to
continue on.
From the north, a group of
ten kender armed with nothing
but sticks began to fire off rocks
at the troops. A hobgoblin
commander and a detachment of
Lost Tales 65
goblins were sent to pursue them while the rest of the army fleeing, drawing the goblin warriors into the woods where
continued on. As the army passed ,the goblins returned, more kender would ambush them. Few battles were out in
or what we thought were the goblins. Instead it was the the open. When kender did come out of the forest it was
same ten kender and they were wearing the helmets of our always in groups. They worked together to flank opponents
goblin warriors. Among the ten, one was clearly Kronn and protect each others back. Their attacks were well
Thistleknott. What was so infuriating about the kender was coordinated and deadly.
their laughter! They thought this was funny. The kender Within the first few minutes of the battle it was clear
began taunting the goblins and especially Captain Toade that we were out matched. Kender warriors, one of who was
himself. They called him Lord Toade ruler of Stench and Kronn Thistleknott himself, surrounded Captain Toade. He
asked him if he would like a last meal of “flies” before his put up a brave fight, but in the end he was defeated, along
eventual defeat. The barbs cut deep and before long half with the rest of the army. I am the only survivor of the
the army had broken ranks and took off after the kender. battle because I threw down my weapon and surrendered to
Captain Toade was among them so I dutifully followed. our attackers.
The troops were lead down a steep ravine after the I was taken into Hylo and I can see that we greatly
chuckling, jeering kender. Some of them stopped to throw underestimated the number of kender living here. In fact
rocks while others barreled down the hillside in a rage. we underestimated the kender race as a people. Currently
Captain Toade stopped at the edge of the ravine. He seemed I am being held in a small room of the citadel overlooking
to have regained his senses and looked around to study Hylo. My captors have strangely been cordial enough
the terrain. Then he began to shout at the top of his lungs to give me anything I ask for, except my freedom. I am
and gave orders for retreat. Only a handful of the warriors awaiting trial here in Hylo which the kender claim should
heeded his calls, but for most of them it was too late. From be “quite exciting.” I’m not sure what that means, but it
all around the ravine kender popped their heads up. Some scares me.
rolled large rocks down the ravine while others began firing The kender allowed me the use of a magical mirror with
arrows and well placed stone bullets at the goblins. This which I could speak with my contact in Flotsam and he
tactic eliminated about half of our forces. informed me of the Dragon Highlord’s demise. They also
Then kender warriors brandishing forked sticks, provided me with my journals with which I was able to
clubs, and whips appeared from out of the nearby bushes compile this report. The kender have promised to deliver
on both sides of the ravine. Captain Toade ordered the this message to Neraka with all haste. I can only hope they
remaining troops to form ranks around him but the field are telling the truth and that this message reaches you.
was in disarray. The kender warriors kept appearing and
Cpl. Jr Grade Information Correspondent Carron Gulchul
66 Lost Tales
The Journal of
Falyrnthesal Haramdass
25 Autumn Dark 349 AC
With quill and parchment at hand once again , I feel relaxed and renewed, despite my situation. This
morn I woke, bruised and muddied, in a cage, exposed to the elements, a prisoner of ogre slavers
in the employ of the Green Dragonarmy. Three and twenty of us had been captured three days ago
during the flight of the elven people from our ancestral home; we were a group of more than one
hundred when the ogres fell upon us. May E’li’s light guide those who did not surrender.
Though I am hopeful, I am no less a slave now than when I awoke. At irregular intervals during
my capture, an exceptionally foul ogre would enter the cage, and pick a prisoner seemingly at random,
and unceremoniously bludgeon them out the door to some unknown fate. This day at noon was my
day.
The ogre commander, whose name have since learned is Gfgar, entered the cage and muttered,
“Look at your feet if you want to keep your eyes.” It was not until I heard his massive footsteps toward
me that I realized he spoke in the ogre tongue. The ogre’s handling was less brutish than it seemed,
though by no means comfortable. I felt no need to resist when asked what other languages I knew. I
quickly discovered he was as much examining me as roughing me up. I soon found myself in a cold
though well-lit room, transcribing orders, commands, and missives in quadruplicate, and marveling at
the intrepid thinking of simple-minded ogres. I am hopeful to think that my time on Krynn has not
yet ended, that I might yet again see my home.
Lost Tales 67
than elves in all of Silvanost. And these draconian
creatures; is all of Krynn outside my sylvan home 13 Winter Come 349 AC
cruel and vile? Today we have reached the northern edges of
the elven wood. The moment my escritoire was
erected and myself chained to it, I retrieved my
8 Winter Come 349 AC journal (I was right in assuming the guards could
Gfgar presented me as a prize to the commander not read its contents) in excitement.
of this camp, a human by the name of Salah- Griffons! They flew high in the sky, hidden in
Khan, claiming I knew all languages and was the sun, but I saw them nonetheless. The reach
possessed of no spine. Till now Gfgar’s insults of the Skyguard is long indeed to search out
were nothing to me, but I found this parting survivors here.
insult poignant. The truth of it struck my heart Alas, my arrival in this human city has cast a
as I translated his words for Commander Salah- shadow over reborn hope. We joined a brigade
Khan. of the Red Dragonarmy. They are accompanied,
Salah-Khan has taken me as his personal at my best guess, by no more than five dragons,
scribe. I find myself less repulsed at his feral but that is more than enough to counter the few
appearance than upon our first meeting, but what griffons I observed. More disheartening still is
he has gained in countenance is lost to a most knowledge that a second “dragonarmy” exists.
annoying habit of presuming all words spoken in I wonder silently if there are not five of these
his presence are falsehoods. Thus is the reason armies, created in some tribute to a forgotten evil.
for his ever present aide, the black-robed mage. Still, hope survives in a flight of griffons, and I
I know scarce little of this magic-user, save endure.
that he is not an ogre, nor a goblin, and at
Salah-Khan’s command, he uses what I can only
presume is a truth-detecting spell with which he
15 Winter Come 349 AC
I have met the black robed mage. Roughly roused
confirms or decries the speaker’s words. When he
from sleep this morning by armed guards, I was
speaks, it is gentle, barely above a whisper, and
brought before the wizard. As ever, his features
he is ever hidden in the shadowy places; I have
were cloaked within his enveloping robes. He
yet to see him abroad in the sun. Though I have
gestured with a nod for the guards to place me in
seen little evidence of it, it galls me to think what
a chair, then bade them leave in a soft whispery
atrocities this evil mage has inflicted to wield
voice.
his power, and it frightens me to think what vile
The room sat in silence for long moments
creature exists beneath those robes.
whilst I wondered at his purpose. Just as my
12 Winter Come 349 AC resolve weakened, as I was about to beg mercy
against an unknown fate, the mage pulled from
Silvanost is so very far away. We travel toward
Khur. his robes – with a delicate hand – my journal.
This very journal I write in now.
His question was direct: “What do you know
of these Dragon Orbs?” I stammered, not from
ignorance, though in truth I am largely ignorant
of these artifacts. I hesitated, not in fear of the
68 Lost Tales
discovery of my hidden journal, nor was I any magic has destroyed my homeland, but I would
longer intimidated by the color of his robes. not be surprised to find the Dark One and the
His hand, so pale and thin...his words spoken in other foul wizards of the dragonarmies at fault.
perfect elvish. I stumbled in my response because
my inquisitor was a dark elf. 30 Winter Come 349 AC
The threat of torture, of pain, of the evil he We arrived in Neraka. This “great city” is little
would visit upon me should I fail to cooperate more than a fortress surrounded by tents and
was never spoken, nor did it need be. I answered hovels populated by the basest members of the
his soft questions quickly, all the while in fear lesser races. In that, the Dark One and I agree.
of the atrocities of which this elf was capable. I As we approached the city–we traveled apart
daresay he learned nothing pertinent, for I knew from the column, for the most part–we came
but little–the Speaker is guardian of a Dragon upon a group of elf slaves and their captors, a
Orb, the orbs allowed elvenkind to end the mixed group of goblins and humans lead by an
Third Dragon War, that I knew nothing of Lorac ogre. For entertainment, the thugs were forcing
Caladon’s plan. At length he again grew silent. some of the elf men–with their hands and legs
Without ceremony, he returned my journal and still chained–to chase scorpions as they skittered
bade me return to my duties. across the hillside. It was apparent one captive
had been stung several times, as he could barely
16 Winter Come 349 AC stand, and it looked as another had succumbed
In accordance with tradition, I will not repeat to his wounds as he lay motionless apart from the
the dark elf ’s name, nor allow it to be written rest.
down, but it seems he is to be a presence in my I entreated the Dark One to put an end to
life for some time, as he has requisitioned me as this, but his dark heart shown through: his only
his personal assistant. As such I will call him the remark was, “At least they aren’t using children.”
Dark One. He chuckles to hear me say it, but is This enraged me for some time.
accepting. I vow never to speak to him again.
The Dark One has transferred his service
to a contingent of the Blue Dragonarmy (my 2 Winter Night 350 AC
premonitions were correct, there are five) bound It seems I was pre-emptive in my vow. I cannot
for Palanthas. In interrogation, the Dark One be certain, but I am more than sure, that the Dark
may be merciful, almost elven, but in casual One is yet possessed of some basic elven kindness,
conversation he is most evil at heart, for when I as when I woke this morning I recognized some
supposed that we would both find it grievous to younger of the elves from yesterday’s scene in
be so far from home, he remarked, “Silvanesti is servitude about the fortress. Previously this was
destroyed, a land of nightmares now.” a position held exclusively by goblins. I have no
At the time I was merely disgusted at his misconceptions that their lives are in any way
rotten candor, but as the day wore on, overheard renewed, but surely their lot is elevated some,
conversations and newly arrived captives revealed for the masters of the fortress are concerned with
the truth of his words. I know not what foul waging war, not petty sadism.
Lost Tales 69
He did not respond when I posed the question
to him, but his change in posture alone spoke 13 Winter Night 350 AC
volumes–it seems there is some bit of elf left We travel south from Jelek. He doesn’t indicate
beneath those black robes. where we are bound, but I have discerned it is not
Kalaman. He says only, “The invasion will wait.”
I suspect we are bound for Sanction.
3 Winter Night 350 AC
In haste we have left Neraka. I do not know
the details, but I gather the Dark One had an
28 Winter Night 350 AC
Sanction holds more draconians that humans. As
altercation in Neraka that he seeks to avoid.
a result, I join my companion in traveling cloaked
I asked him again how he could travel so far
and hooded at all times.
from the lands he once called home. His curt
He grows ever more silent, however. These
replied left no room for argument. To him, the
unfriendly confines find us in close quarters
war in Silvanesti is over, but the war in Solamnia
on a regular basis, and often I hear his private
is just begun, and where there is war, there is
musings. He mutters archaic elven proverbs.
power to be gained. He would not be specific on
Qualinesti proverbs, no less, regarding the
his plans, but we travel first to Jelek, afterwhich
importance of purpose, the fight against
I can only assume we will rejoin the Blue
complacency, and the quest for self-actualization.
Dragonarmy in its assault on Kalaman.
The land, these people…him. More than ever,
It is fair to say I am no longer treated as a slave,
I long for home.
though I do not doubt I will find myself again in
chains if I attempt escape.
28 Winter Deep 350 AC
A full month without a journal entry. I suppose I
10 Winter Night 350 AC have taken solace in my companion’s presence.
Today we arrived in Jelek. We had a run-in with
We traveled from Sanction to the shores
some draconians. Apparently, they despise elves
of Qwermish, and from there we skirted the
as much as elves despise them. The Dark One
Dargaard Mountains and entered the lands of
was injured defending us both during one of our
Lemish. These lands have not been touched
assailant’s death throes.
by the dragonarmies, but my companion says
The event was worth little note; resentment
the invasion is imminent. He hesitates when
for elvenkind in this area is common. It was
we speak on such matters. Not, I think, from
after the guard arrived and ended the dispute
any moral issue; he has no more love for these
that the noteworthy event took place. The Dark
scattered communities of low humans than they
One pointed out that I had missed the perfect
have for us, but rather his pauses seem to indicate
opportunity to escape.
that his presence here is part of the “invasion.”
I can only reason that I instinctively knew I
He speaks often of these lands and the
could not survive in this country without the
inhabitants, how they are rife with ruins of
black robe’s help, but I cannot shake the fear
ancient strongholds of nations and empires long
I felt during the fight, both for myself and my
forgotten by these short-lived humans. And
captor.
70 Lost Tales
he has revealed the true purpose of his interest
in me. I can read, somewhat haltingly, Old 27 Spring Dawning
Ergothian. 350 AC
What his specific plans are he will not say, but The castle is a ruin, though surprisingly sound of
he has hinted at some secret Ergothian Sorcerers structure for such an ancient place. One wall lies
took with them when their empire collapsed. He in rubble, but the main keep stands strong–even
called it his ainaaista, his divine quest. much of the woodwork remains in place.
My companion toured the grounds of the place
13 Spring Dawning with me this afternoon, and then together we
traveled to a nearby village. There he informed
350 AC me that my service was at an end.
These two weeks have been spent in various
On the morrow, he said, he would return to the
keeps and holdfasts of Lemish, calling upon the
ruin to claim his ainaaista, and he recommends I
local baron lords for guest-rights. My companion
not be anywhere near this place come tomorrow
is well funded, and these petty lords are eager to
eve. With a chuckle, he warned me away from
please a representative of the dragonarmies.
the entire north for the next year or so.
Each day he has me pouring over tomes and
Needless to say, I was shocked. True, I have
scrolls of these long dead holds, searching, but
grown to feel a kinship with this dark elf, but I
for what I know not. He says to find reference
did not dare to hope his soul was possessed of
to a place called Ulgurmere, a stronghold from
such mercy. I took a risk then, and proposed to
the days before the Third Dragon War, but these
him he come with me, rather than to his ruin,
dusty tomes offer little on ancient geography.
to leave behind his life of darkness, for surely in
the chaos of this war a single elf could re-enter
24 Spring Dawning society unnoticed, even welcomed for his magic.
350 AC His mood darkened then, as I feared it might.
I have found it at last. I pen this even before
Tersely he wondered aloud why he would heed
informing him of Ulgurmere’s location. The
the advice of an elf that could not even speak his
reference is of one Baron Otho Ulgur, “…whose
name.
castel leis nord of Aym in teh Oesten range.”
I knew then he was right. Even should he
I admit I am excited, if somewhat hesitant.
sneak his way back into society, his elf-ness had
The tome makes reference to the dark mages who
been taken from him.
have taken residence there, driving away the local
populace – there is every indication they were not
even of the Order of High Sorcery.
28 Spring Dawning
Addendum 350 AC
He was most pleased at the discovery. For the Unbeknownst to my companion, he remains
first time his hood fell away. No horrid scars or my companion. I know not if it is from a sense
evil visage greeted me – he was simply an elf. of pity, or trepidation at being alone, but I
We travel immediately to Castle Ulgurmere. followed him on his return to the castle. He took
up residence in one of the towers; I can see his
light. I found a place in the lower bailey with few
windows; it looks to have been a barracks.
71
bidding: two great earth elementals dig from the
29 Spring Dawning rear courtyard into the mountain wall. I can only
350 AC guess that he digs for his ainaaista.
I dared not enter the tower for fear of alerting
him, but after midday I was able to observe
his movements about the castle baileys and
2 Spring Rain 350 AC
I have decided to stay. We supped together last
courtyards. I was witness to some powerful
eve; he was as couched as ever about his purposes
workings of magic, as he summoned an army of
here, but his eyes held a spark that said soon it
creatures to do his bidding: earth elementals to
would be a secret no more. Tomorrow he said,
move and smooth the earth, air elementals to cart
it will be a dark night, he said. Solinari and
of rubble and ruined roofs, a cadre of fire-bearded
Lunitari will both be new, and Nuitari full.
dwarf-men to rebuild. And imps–imps he sent out
one by one as messengers to unknown places. By
day’s end, the place looked less a ruin and more 5 Spring Rain 350 AC
an unkempt keep. I wonder what purpose the And so it was. Two nights past I learned his dark
dragonarmy has for this place… secret. He kept silent vigil, alone in the middle
tower throughout the day. The elemental stood
guard as it had before, and I was not allowed to
30 Spring Dawning pass. Long after night fell, the clouds cleared
350 AC and the stars shining, he came for me, and we the
No sign of him today. I dare not venture into the
spiral stairs of his tower.
tower, and there was no sign of light from his
He asked me why I keep this journal, who did
window.
I hope would read it. I told him that it was for
31 Spring Dawning me that I wrote–to help me remember my home,
myself. At this he quoted a Speaker of long ago,
350 AC “Are we defined by our surroundings? The family
I chanced to enter the tower today, but a guardian
that raises us, the lords that lead us, the forests
of earth with eyes the color of bright amethyst
that keep us? No. An elf is defined in his heart,
barred the door. Surely it reported my presence
his love of the things that surround him.”
to the mage, but he has not found me hiding in
I was startled that he would speak thus. It
the barracks.
became clear to me that though the elven race had
abandoned him, he had not abandoned the elven
1 Spring Rain 350 AC race. I ventured then to ask him his story, why he
When I woke, he stood there over me. His hood
had been cast out, and I again I was startled at his
was drawn back; he looked fatigued, but nothing
response, which I record as faithfully as I know
more. He spoke simply, “You are free to stay,
how. He said,
but know this: if you do not leave now, you will
“Love, Falyrn. For love I was branded a dark
not later be able to leave.” Then he turned, and
elf. When I traveled to take my test of sorcery, I
drawing up his hood, returned to his tower.
stayed a night in the human village of Solace, and
And here I sit on the wall overlooking the
there I met and fell in love with a human girl.”
rear courtyard, pondering my own fate. Today,
Here he chuckled.
again he has summoned elementals to do his
72 Lost Tales
“I can see by your expression, Falyrn, that you “When love is lost, and respect is no more,
do not approve, so I will spare you the details. what is left for me, but power?”
And I am forbidden to discuss the test of High With that we entered to tower’s windowless
Sorcery, so I will say only this: those who survive solar. I beheld a raised platform on which stood
the test are offered a glimpse of their life with two pillars about half the height of an elf. I
gods of magic, that the user might pledge himself could not tell if this structure was part of the
into one’s service. original castle or a new addition so finely had he
“From Nuitari I saw power unimaginable. refurbished this chamber. Atop each pillar sat a
From Solinari I saw fame, the respect of my globe, a sphere so dark it drank in the light.
peers, and a high position in House Mystic. From Without fanfare or hesitation, he stepped onto
Lunitari, I saw the love of that girl: she and I the platform, and placing his hands one on each
living together for all our years. For love, I chose globe, it began: subtle at first, like a charge of
the red moon. For that, I was banished.” horses heard over a hill, but rising in strength
He fell silent then, withdrawn back into his and intensity to shake the walls, then louder,
robes. Cautiously I reminded him his robes were as though the very earth was being rent. Then
black. silence. Long silence.
“When you stand before the Council of the I stood in ignorance, wondering when the spell
Book of House Mystic, with your new human would be complete, and he stood unwavering atop
wife, wearing robes the color of new-blossomed the platform, eyes closed in concentration. At
roses they do not hesitate to banish you, Falyrn. long last he spoke,
And when they banish you, it is immediate, “This, Falyrn–this is power!”
without warning, to threats of violence and worse, I looked around the room, my ignorance
the longer you linger. shown plain. He chuckled then, a refreshing
“From the heart of Silvanesti to the Khurish sound, and bade me come with him to the
city of Pashin, we made our way without benefit courtyard. I looked out over the broken wall, and
of coin or cloak. No elven village would aid us, where once there had been a rolling hill down
for word had gone forth. In the desert there is into a stand of trees, there sat now clouds.
no respite from the sun, and we met no travelers This mage, this elf, had ripped the castle from
to give us aid. My wife died of exposure on the the earth. His name was Trythian.
sands.
Lost Tales 73
Gunthar’s
War Journal
Kayolin’s Involvement in the War of the Lance
“This document, while seemingly unimportant, includes the exploits of our dwarven allies from Kayolin. I believe that without their exploits that the
war effort would have been in vain. Time, I fear, will erase the importance of the dwarves’ actions.
The actions of these courageous dwarves saved thousands of lives and provided the resources for the counter attack. Without the Kayolin dwarves,
many refugees would have been caught in the open and killed by the advancing dragonarmies. Let these pages be a testament to those fallen heroes
who have been forgotten by the triumph of our armies.”
–Lord Gunthar uth Wistan
The War of the Lance affected the nations of Ansalon deeply and in different ways. While some of these
nations’ actions have been well publicized by several sources, other nations’ contributions have been missed.
The Kayolin, a realm of dwarves, is one of those nations that played a key part in the conflict, but in the closing
days of the war was not considered a major player.
74 Lost Tales
Battle of Iron Pass
In 353 AC in the closing days of the war, Kayolin fought in a major battle in the defense of the mountain realm.
In the country of Lemish an aurak draconian named Tolc Lenog schemed to create his own nation. Believing
that the dwarven realm held fabulous riches he believed that a sneak attack would find the dwarves unprepared.
Lenog marched his forces from the south towards Southgate in hopes of discovering it unguarded.
Flowstone learned of the enemy movement and was worried about the possible attack. Many of his forces
had joined the Knights of Solamnia on the field and would be unable to return to defend the realm. The
dwarven generals deemed the area of Iron Pass as the best area to defend south of Southgate. Flowstone
ordered the army to march to the pass and prepare to hold it.
The human refugees living behind the gates heard of the pending attack and wished to offer their assistance.
Their leader, a young Solamnic noble named Lord Thomas Helgaard, offered to lead a cavalry that could help
protect the dwarven flanks. Flowstone quickly agreed and the cavalry under Helgaard traveled to Iron Pass.
Lenog launched his attack early in the morning by using goblin-mounted wolves to probe the enemy lines.
Believing that the left flank was the dwarves’ weakest area of defense, Lenog launched a heavy infantry attack
at the left flank while feinting to the right flank with a small force of hobgoblins. Unknown to Lenog, the left
flank had been disguised to appear open but was in truth well supported by entrenched troops. As the two lines
crashed into one another, it became clear that the flank was going to create a stalemate.
The draconian attempted to counter the attack by sending his cavalry to sweep further left in the hopes of
getting around the flank. Flowstone had already sensed his opponent’s action and had positioned the human
cavalry there. The order from Flowstone was to engage the enemy and then feint a retreat. The hopes were
that a successful feint would allow the defenders to believe they had routed the cavalry. Flowstone was hoping
that the enemy would take the bait and pursue the fleeing units. Already positioned were several dwarven
crossbowmen protected by several score of heavy infantry. If the feint were successful, the goblin cavalry would
be routed.
Flowstone watched as the enemy force attacked the cavalry and was pleased to see the pursuit of the goblins.
As they crested a hill, he saw the dwarven crossbowmen launch volley after volley. The few goblins that
reached the crossbowmen were quickly cut down. This force now moved forward, as Lenog believed that his
cavalry had successfully routed the enemy moved another unit of draconians towards the hill. The two forces
meant at the top of the hill and a mighty struggle continued.
The dwarves were outnumbered by the draconian attackers and began to give ground to the attackers. A
great horn sounded from behind the dwarves as Lord Helgaard led his troops in support of Kayolin. The
humans entered the fray and turned the tide of battle. Unable to continue his attack, Lenog was forced to
withdraw and retreat.
As the army of Lenog withdrew they discovered another obstacle. A small wing of silver dragons had
been told of the fight and had come to join. Seeing the fleeing army of Lenog they blocked his only avenue of
retreat. The army, then seeing no escape, fled in every direction; Lenog himself was killed in the chaos that
enrsued.
This battle, while little known, prevented the creation of a draconic empire in the southern parts of
Solamnia. Following the conflict, the dwarves continued to patrol the area and drive out small pockets of the
remaining forces. The battle also further cemented the relationship between the dwarves of Kayolin and their
Solamnic neighbors.
Lost Tales 75
The True & Faithful Account
of Lord Toede’s Campaign
It is with distinct pleasure that my close friend and lord, Toede, requested the use of my literary skills and faithful accounting to scribe our most recent
campaigns. My hope is that with this diary, all previous false accounts of my lord will be expunged and that his true greatness (and mine) will be
recognised across the new empire of the Dragonarmies. The below entries are factual and true as witnessed through my own eyes. This is but a glimpse
into two brilliant minds, and the full thirty-seven volumes will soon be in print by the Toedaic Press and available in the Library of Palanthas.
--Groag, Highlord’s Aide
Spring, 351 AC
It was a day like any other. My lord and I were riding at the head of the Red Dragonarmy, whilst our
itinerant nitwit of a commander resided in a wagon with the scullery maids at the army’s rear, cowering and
whining about the possibility of an impending attack. Of course, one could debate that he definitely belonged
in the rear. But such gutter talk was beneath my master and myself.
The army had already passed through the goblin lands of Throt, which is where my master and I joined.
And it had also passed through Lemish, who had the foresight to ally with us, after my master raised a single
eyebrow at them. We were now travelling through the lands of Estwilde, a rugged place fit for the bravest of
warriors, like the two hobs who were fast riding through it. The land was home to a number of wild beasts and
monsters, not the least of which was the manticore. One such beast hovered a short distance northwards of the
head of the army. A girlish scream erupted from the rear of the army, which meant either one of the scullery
maids or Lord Verminaard had also seen the beast.
Lord Toede raised a hand, and a hush fell over the entire army. “My friends stay here whilst I deal with the
beast. It should not trifle me overlong, and I expect to be back within a short while to enjoy another fine march
with you. Tally ho!” With that, mighty Toede sauntered off towards the manticore, with my good self in tow.
For anywhere my lord tread, I surely followed…except the bathroom, because that would simply be awkward
and uncomfortable for both of us. The pair of us rode at breakneck speed towards the foul beast, which was the
biggest manticore we had ever seen. I would be remiss if I didn’t add that it was also the only manticore we had
ever seen. The beast tossed its mane and rolled its eyes at what it possibly thought were two foolish warriors
rushing headlong towards death. How little the beast knew!
The manticore swung its tail towards us and unleashed a barrage of needles to pierce our bodies. However I
leapt clear from my horse to avoid the needles, carelessly forgetting my dear horse Daisy. My master had much
more foresight though. Raising his tower shield, he charged into the heart of the barrage of needles, diverting
them from the horses and himself. One needle managed to skim over the top of the shield, and cut a scratch
upon his cheek. A single drop of blood fell from his cheek that day, and I’m certain the entire army gasped from
a mile away.
My lord grimly smiled at the manticore as he touched his cheek. “That will be the only blood you shed
this day, other than your own.” The beast roared at Toede and prepared to pounce, as I walked behind the
beast, which had forgotten me in its rage. With a war cry, I cut downward with my broadsword, keenly slicing
through its tail. The manticore gave a pained cry and tried to turn to lash out at me. However, my master then
drove his sword into its torso. The beast shuddered and collapsed onto the ground, dying a quick death. The
pair of us sheathed our swords and rode back to the army, receiving the usual adulation from our troops.
76 Lost Tales
Hoping to share in
the moment (now that it
was completely safe), Lord
Verminaard left the maids to join us near the front.
Clapping Toede on the back and striking a fighting
pose, Verminaard grinned and said, “Well, I must say,
you chaps did a fine job out there with the manticore.
Very nicely done. I would have joined you, you see,
but the maids were frightened and someone had to
command the troops when you ran off, didn’t they?”
Toede smiled magnanimously and nodded. I
glared at our commander; my master leaned over and
whispered, “Let the baby have his bottle if he wants,
it makes no difference to us or the troops.” However
I must confess with some shame that I let rage
overcome me. With one quick turn I swung my
fist at Lord Verminaard and floored him with
a single blow. “Take that, you god-botherer!” I
yelled at the unconscious cleric as I stormed off.
With a quick series of directions from Lord Toede,
several of the army lads hoisted our commander
and with a heave-ho launched him back into
the wagon with the scullery maids again.
We marched onwards toward Solamnia
and certain victory.
Summer, 351 AC
It was far beneath my lord to admit
frustration, but I cannot claim such high
moral ground. The rest of the spring had
been one disappointment after the next.
The army had ridden throughout
the southern part of Solamnia,
conquering every town and
settlement that they passed.
Lord Toede had wanted
to stay in the realm
of the knights
Lost Tales 77
and crush all possible resistance, by launching true clerics and holy artifacts or some such. Now I’m
attacks on Palanthas and the remaining Solamnic all for treasure hunting, but come on, we have a war to
strongholds. Verminaard strongly opposed the idea, win. A war to win for you, in fact!”
insisting that we head southwards into the realm of Takhisis smiled serenely at Toede’s words. “Now
Abanasinia. He had publicly promoted Toede to the my pet, I know your heart is in the right place. Truly
rank of Fewmaster, which supposedly meant he was I do. But in this case, Vermy is right. The army really
a group commander and chief advisor to Highlord must head southwards, as there are portents of a
Verminaard. All the lads rolled their eyes at God- wondrous holy artifact that must be acquired, or it
Botherer’s (as we now all called him) proclamation, could prove a threat to my armies. I agree that the
given that Toede was the true commander of the Red Solamnics will be destroyed, but all in good time.
Dragonarmy anyway. In normal circumstances, we Right now the priority is to head towards Abanasinia.
would all have simply ignored the blithering idiot and With a champion such as you at the helm in the south,
advanced throughout Solamnia with Toede, however I trust nothing can possibly go wrong.”
Verminaard called on the one useful card in his My lord sighed and nodded his head in defeat. “Of
moronic deck. He called for Takhisis. course, my queen, I am always your servant and will
Our wondrous Dark Queen appeared out of abide by your greater wisdom.”
nowhere, looking every bit the lusty mistress. She The Dark Queen cooed and gave Toede a kiss on
rolled her eyes at Verminaard and sighed, “Oh what is the head. “Now don’t get all down and depressed. Give
it now Verminaard, can’t a goddess have a moment’s me a big smile before I head off, muffin-toast.” With
peace without you nattering away?” another smile at Toede, Takhisis departed suddenly.
Verminaard prostrated himself on the ground. “My As Verminaard picked himself up off the ground,
Dark Queen, I beseech you to convince this army to looking awfully proud, Lord Toede then turned to
march southwards into Abanasinia for the greater….” the army. “Right then lads, our goddess has graced us
Takhisis perked up and squealed with delight, with her presence and for those who couldn’t quite
“Ooh, is that my beautiful Toede over there!” The hear in the back, it seems that we are needed post-
goddess sauntered over to Lord Toede and sat in his haste in Abanasinia to find some holy gear and to
lap smiling at him, whilst Verminaard continued to lie protect it for Her. Prepare to move out!”
on the ground mumbling to his goddess. “Oh shut up, Throughout the rest of the summer, the Red
Vermy, I’m really getting tired of your clap-trap, one Dragonarmy made it safely across the New Sea
of these days I’ll just simply ignore your whining if to Abanasinia due in no small part to the tactical
you don’t ease up.” troop maneouvers engineered by Toede and myself,
Turning to smile sweetly at Toede, Takhisis batted his trusty aide. We reached the ruined city of Xak
her eyelashes and began. “So Toedy-kins, what’s news? Tsaroth, where a black dragon by the name of
It’s nice to see you’re serving under my banner and Khisanth soon met us. Much like our previous
that your dashing aide Groag is still with you. Now encounter with the manticore, Verminaard ran away
what was the bonehead going on about?” shrieking to the rear of our troops at the sight of the
I perked up at being complimented by a goddess dragon. From somewhere to the rear came a disgusted
and gave her my best worshipful look, whilst my lord sounding voice. “Oh cripes, I think God-Botherer’s
prepared to defend his case about going to war against gone and soiled himself.”
the rest of Solamnia. “Well you see, my lads and I With yet another of his now infamous deep sighs,
were all up for crushing those dastardly Knights of my master (with myself in tow) approached Khisanth
Solamnia in your name, but God-bother… I mean and gave a deep bow. Taking his full measure of
Verminaard wanted to head southwards to find other the monstrous black dragon before him, Toede
respectfully began, “Greetings to you, great Khisanth.
Our Dark Queen has not done you justice in
78 Lost Tales
espousing your size and majesty, nor the sheen of your God-Botherer to hide away behind the walls of Pax
obsidian scales. The Red Dragonarmy prostrates itself Tharkas. On the return from one such patrol, he told
before you and offers its aid in occupying this realm.” the tale of a bunch of idiot-savant adventurers. “A
The powerful black dragon snorted slightly and half-elf, a dwarf and a kender tried to stop a patrol
inclined its head to the brave hobgoblin. “I assume led by yours truly. It almost sounds like a bad joke
you must be the fearless Lord Toede that our Mistress really, and they were even heading towards a bar! We
speaks of, and beside you is the equally fearless roughed them up a bit and sent them packing. I don’t
warrior Groag. And I assume the squealing bed- know…the refuse they allow into cities in this region
wetter at the back is Highlord Verminaard?” This last is just horrendous.”
query was followed by the spitting of acid onto the My own ingenuity, coupled with that of my lord,
flagstones beneath the great wyrm. The dragon gave a led to the complete capture and domination of
toothy grin and continued, “No matter. You are most the town of Solace, as well as that of several other
welcome here bold one, as are your troops. There towns and settlements throughout Abanasinia. Our
is little to oppose us in this place, but conversing resident Highlord continued his great campaign of
with someone who doesn’t wet themselves at every complacence and inadequacy within the walls of the
opportunity is always a pleasant distraction.” fortress that we claimed. When our goddess sent a
Toede chuckled at the last statement, as did I, red dragon known as Ember to aid Verminaard, the
before responding, “Alas, would that I could stay Highlord seemed to grow the slightest of backbones
and bask in your magnificence longer. Duty calls and started even trying to give orders to my master!
me further inland to Abanasinia. I will leave several Ember told Lord Toede and I in confidence that
squadrons of our troops here, but we must move Takhisis had sent him to actually watch Verminaard
on.” With this last statement, he bowed again to the rather than to serve him. The dragon also
dragon. acknowledged my master as the true leader of the Red
Khisanth gave the army a final glance before Dragonarmy, and pledged to serve him until the end
retreating back down a nearby well. Her voice echoed of its days. Toede gave Ember a friendly pat and told
from the depths, “Just make sure that you take the him that he was honored that such a big powerful
incontinent human with you.” dragon would want to serve him, but that the red was
Once more the Red Dragonarmy continued needed to keep a complete moron like God-Botherer
through Abanasinia (minus a few squadrons), finally in line. Sadly, Ember agreed completely (both that
stopping at the ancient citadel of Pax Tharkas. Toede God-Botherer was a moron and that he was needed in
and I ensured the fortifications were adequate and Pax Tharkas).
defensible, before proclaiming the site was worthy to Not long after, Toede was recognised for his
serve as the headquarters for the army. Toede allowed brilliance by Ariakas himself, the ruler of all the
Verminaard to serve as the nominal lord in name of Dragonarmies. Believing that with Ember to watch
the fortress, whilst we set about planning the conquest Verminaard, the army could cope with the loss of
of Abanasinia and far more important duties. The Toede, he specifically requested Lord Toede take over
summer gave way to autumn, as many of our plans as Highmaster in the Black Dragonarmy, and become
came to fruition. the governor of the town of Flotsam. My master
and I were only too happy to take our leave of the
Autumn, 351 AC Highlord Incompetent (we had tired of calling him
God-Botherer), and migrate to Flotsam for the greater
By autumn, Toede and I had created a series of task
forces, made up chiefly of draconians who searched glory of the empire. Clearly we were really needed
the lands of Abanasinia, looking for true clerics and there.
divine artifacts. Not one to let others do his work for
him, my master often rode in patrols himself, allowing
Lost Tales 79
To tell the truth, we were not as needed as we Not that I didn’t appreciate his enthusiasm and
thought in Flotsam. There were no real enemies trust in not only my master, but also in myself. To
to fight, but we did get a crash course in how to have the self-styled Dragon Emperor ask one to be a
effectively tax your citizens and diplomacy through general of his armies is a good boost to the ego… even
the use of a big stick. However Lord Toede and I did if said Dragon Emperor has the intellectual might of a
enjoy what we viewed as a nice vacation from the gnat.
bothers of the road. It was also interesting to note “No, no, my good man. Whilst I’m flattered, truly I
that only a month after we left, we received news that am. It just wouldn’t be right. See Lord Toede and I are
the Highlord Incompetent had managed to go and a team, a symbiotic unit of sorts, if you will. Why if I
get himself killed. Whilst that in itself was highly left, it would be like a kender without a topknot, or a
entertaining news that could only benefit the empire, gully dwarf without fleas. It just wouldn’t be right.”
I was sad to hear that Ember had been taken down At these words, Ariakas slumped and looked
by some random heroes as well. The poor dragon was defeated. And I must say, both myself and Lord Toede
probably trapped in the wide ranging net of stupidity just felt terrible that our dear bumbling colleague
that sprung from God-Botherer’s enormous ego. couldn’t reach the conclusion that we were guiding
It was only weeks after this news had reached him towards. So my master felt the need to spell it out
Flotsam that another arrival came in the form for him.
of Ariakas. Whereas Verminaard had plumbed “Ari, old chum. Look this is your moment to
the depths of idiocy, Ariakas had only dipped his shine. We’ve had our time in the sun, and it’s been
toe in the stupid pool. The supreme ruler of the grand. But right now, Groag and I just want a wee bit
Dragonarmies had at least some foresight and of a vacation and enjoy some kickbacks right here
recognised the greatness of my master. He prostrated in Flotsam. We’ve been talking about this for a little
himself before Lord Toede in my master’s court and while, and we think that you should command the Red
begged him to take control once more of the Red Dragonarmy yourself. You’ve got it in you. So chin up,
Dragonarmy, following the death of Verminaard. For march out and command that army. Get to it, soldier!”
the briefest of moments, I could see my master debate Now whilst this was far from the grandest speech
the possibility, before he casually dismissed the idea. my lord had ever made, Ariakas did indeed get that
“Well you see, not that I wouldn’t want to… but surely old sparkle back in his eye. He then puffed out his
it would look better for the troops if someone else took chest, saluted Lord Toede and myself, and with a
the reins. Been there, done that…and well it’s old hat, cheeky grin the little boffin marched out into the sun
really. I’m sure if you think about it hard enough you to command his army.
can think of a more suitable candidate for the role. Toede then turned to me and sighed. “You realise
Someone…close to home, as it were.” that in a few months, the twit will have buggered up
Ariakas scratched his head and stared at my master the army and when everything is a right royal mess,
with the glazed over look of someone who’s sniffed we’ll need to go fix everything up again, right?”
a bit too much of the old tarbean tea, if you get my
drift. Then his eyes lit up with the hint of activity Winter, 351/Spring
in his cranium and he started once more. Having 352 AC
failed to persuade Lord Toede to take the reins of the As winter set in around Flotsam, a missive arrived
Red Dragonarmy, it was then that Ariakas turned from Neraka for Lord Toede. The letter from Ariakas
to my good self. “Master Groag, you are a strategist advised that another of his Dragon Highlords had
and tactician with few equals. Could I beg of you to been killed, a dark elf by the name of Feal-Thas who
command the Red Dragonarmy and carry it to victory had commanded the White Dragonarmy. The message
in the name of the Dark Queen?” implored that Toede was the only individual that
Ariakas had at his disposal who could possibly take on
80 Lost Tales
the task, as even Ariakas himself was busy running the However even the greatest tactical minds could
Red Dragonarmy. Toede finally acquiesced to take the not save our forces from the horrid Solamnic
reins of power, but sent a note back to Ariakas telling butchers. Neither Toede nor myself were present
him that he would only be the Highlord of the White at Vingaard Fortress when the forces of the Golden
Dragonarmy on a temporary basis until someone else General struck, and the Whitestone armies destroyed
came along. He reinforced once more that he enjoyed the feeble attempts of Bakaris to hold them at bay.
being governor of Flotsam, and really enjoyed taking a Hearing of the losses, I ordered Kadagh to send
backseat, and let others take the glory. several green dragons to waylay our enemies. Toede
So it was, that in the winter months between 351 appreciated my initiative, especially when it paid
and 352 AC, Lord Toede, myself, and several of our dividends and caused massive casualties amongst our
key staff took charge of the White Dragonarmy, which foes and promptly threw a raging party to celebrate. In
they led to Throtl. It was near Throtl that a huge ogre hindsight, throwing a huge party when one is right in
by the name of Kadagh claimed that he should serve the middle of a major conflict is not the best tactical
as the Highlord of the White Dragonarmy. Thinking move. The Whitestone forces headed towards Throtl
he could bully my lord, he began a tirade, attempting to find a huge and very hungover army. It was not our
to goad my lord into battle. However my lord is finest hour.
simply above such things. Lord Toede simply advised Whilst all our lads really wanted was a nice lie
Kadagh that he was in the role for a short period, and down to sleep off the alcohol, those fiends lay waste
that the great blustering buffoon was welcome to it to our forces. In spite of being terrible unwell, Toede
after that point. Kadagh took offence at some such and I gathered a small group of our troops and held
thing that my master had said and charged. I leapt off hundreds, if not thousands of the enemy at a pass
to my lord’s defence, but he waved me down with leading into the Dargaard Heights. As the last of our
an all-knowing smile on his face. Judging the ogre’s comrades reached safety, our small band called for a
charge, he flexed one muscular arm and with a quick parley with the enemy leader. The Golden General
sweep, knocked Kadagh’s legs from under him. He herself came to the fore of her army and agreed to
then flipped the stunned ogre over onto his belly and converse with Lord Toede. The pair had a private
soundly gave him a good spanking, right there on the chat, and as Takhisis is my witness, I noticed the elf
battlefield. After the thousand or so nearby troops maiden check out my lord on more than one occasion.
stopped laughing, a red-faced Kadagh stomped back Clearly using his charms, Lord Toede had managed
to his Green Wing in silence. to get the elf maid to agree to allow our brave band
In these cold months, the Blue Lady, Kitiara Uth to leave in peace, with the promise that we would not
Matar, visited Toede, as she had apparently long trouble their forces any further.
been infatuated with him, a fact unbeknownst to With a bow and a blown kiss from Toede, our band
all, including my lord. As the pair waited for their left toward Flotsam and more peaceful ventures. It is
approaching foes, the Whitestone forces, they spent with some degree of relief that we now find ourselves
many nights together. Eventually Kitiara was called back at home and again in need of some excitement.
away to another battlefield, leaving my lord and One of the lads recently told me of a fabulous trail out
swearing to return him as soon as possible. In her in the woods that would be excellent for a hunting
place, she left one of her generals to command the trip. With danger safely behind us, my lord and I are
Blue Wing, Highmaster Bakaris. Both Bakaris and planning a sojourn out into the woods later today.
Kadagh wisely deferred to my lord Toede on all battle With such a well-planned trip underway on such a
tactics, something that possibly saved the Dragonarmy beautiful day, what could possibly go wrong?
forces at Vingaard from total annihilation.
Lost Tales 81
Lost
I
Music
n these dangerous and uncertain
times, the only music that might
come to mind is the beating of the war
drums or perhaps the pounding of our
own hearts. But music, whether it is a
light-hearted ditty sung in a tree-top
inn or a love song filled with hope and
longing, can transport us to a different
place. Songs can speak to us in ways
that transcend language. Here then,
are songs that may speak to you.
Caramon Majere
Proprietor of the Inn of the Last Home
Fanfare for Derek Crownguard
Solamnic Knight Derek Crownguard was born with an excess of ambition and self-confidence. He
envisioned himself as one day becoming leader of all the Knights of Solamnia. In anticipation of his rise
to power, Crownguard hired the famous Solamnic musician, Frederick Francis Shallowford, to compose
an illustrious fanfare for him. It is said that Crownguard’s main requirement was that this fanfare must
be more illustrious than that of his rival to power: Lord Gunthar Ust Wistan. Shallowford delivered a
stirring composition that could be played, in whole or in part, on the battlefield or could be repeated over
and over, as many times as needed, to cover the lengthy formal processionals that are common at court.
Some legends claim the first four measures of this fanfare sounded to announce Derek Crownguard as
he rode onto the battlefield to lead over a thousand men during the siege of the High Clerist Tower.
Others claim the first and only time this tune was performed was at Derek’s funeral, which occurred not
long after the battle.
Music cataloged by Jarrus Locastus
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83
Old Solace
This traditional Ergothian harp melody has been set to a number of different lyrics over the years. The
present lyrics, “Old Solace,” were written by former resident John Aelwreth to celebrate his beloved
village in all its glory. Aelwreth lived in Solace until it was burned to the ground by evil Dragonarmies
during the War of the Lance.
Music cataloged by Jarrus Locastus
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I sing of old Sol - ace, splen - di - fer - ous vil - lage a
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(The) Sol - ace Val - len - wood trees grew so gi - gan - tic towns -
(But) Sol - ace was more than it sim - ply ap - peared, oh his -
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place most de - ser - ving pre - ser - ving in song. The sag - es that
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folk built buil - dings in the trees’ up - per crowns. A net - work of
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e - vil dra - gon - ar - mies went on cam - paign. They burned and they
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work for As - tin - us all al - lege its beau - ty was leg - end, its
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bridge - walks con - struc - ted was so thick to pass house - to - house caused no
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pil - laged Old Sol - ace a - sun - der. Gray ash and charred rem - nants were
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his - tor - y strong. The shi - re of Sol - ace sprung up at a
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need to touch ground. All vis - it - ing trav’ - lers found ac - com - mo -
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cross - roads near Khar - o - lis Mount - ains and Cry - stal - mir Lake. Trav’ -
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da - tion in most fam - ous lodg - ings: Inn of the Last Home. A
old Sol - ace to fight to give free - dom from evil a chance. Flint,
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lers who passed through were all wel - comed and showed the most in - ven - tive
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whole town of build - ings in lof - ty lo - ca - tions you’ll not find its
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86
The Gnome Song
Most musicians simply call this “The Gnome Song.” The original title began “Ode to the Illustrious
Invention of Our Famous Gnomish Ancestor, GellanWindodius HydraulimerFatherOfGlamnusPaintrific…
(8 pages of genealogy omitted)….” This song was meant to be a commemorative tune, praising a mechanical
wind-detection device that was invented several years before the Cataclysm. Unfortunately, it took the
Gnomes so long to research their ancestral line that, once they got the title out of committee, they ended up
hiring a human bard to write the actual music and lyrics. The result is a fast paced patter song in 6⁄8 time that
isn’t quite as complementary to their ancestor as the Gnomes had hoped. (And they’ve formed a new
committee to study what to do about that.)
Like most patter songs, The Gnome Song is characterized by a rather fast rhythmic beat where each syllable
of text corresponds to one note. The song relies on four tongue-twisting verses filled with alliterative words
and rhyming vowel sounds. Thus, to best showcase the song, it helps if the singer has excellent enunciation!
In fact, performers of The Gnome Song are often challenged by their audience to sing the final chorus a
second time through, as quickly as possible, with the crowd listening carefully for slip-ups. Although, the
musical accompaniment has been kept intentionally light to emphasize the text, experienced musicians may
detect a very recognizable chord progression hidden in the bass line.
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This is a chron - i - cle some - what i - ron - i - cal told of a tink - er gnome, by
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gnom - ish tra - di - tion his life’s am - bi - tion was well known. Re -
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87
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pis - tons and gear locks a high - tech wind - sock he’d cre - ate.
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down through - out his - tor - y, sol - ving the mys - ter - y, it is con - sid - ered a Gnom - ish suc - cess.
Chorus:
Hard to conceive it but you must believe it
The high-tech wind sleeve did at long last impress.
And down throughout history, solving the mystery,
It is considered a Gnomish success.
Verse 2:
He worked acquiring methods of firing water turned into steam,
To power mechanical gears, quite gigantical was its scheme.
But after all this there was something amiss it’s a fact no one could deny
The wind sleeve was sizable and ill-advisable weight to fly.
CHORUS
Verse 3:
He spent time thinking, mathematically tinkering ’til he had grown quite old,
Until inspirational and revelational thoughts unfold.
A dual-piston chamber with oil enflamed there would lift the sleeve high indeed,
To reach to the sky, where wind sleeve would fly and would succeed.
CHORUS
Verse 4:
It’s worth re-mentioning now that invention that gave the wind sleeve success,
The dual-pistoned chamber given the name hydraulic press.
Though some cast aspersions at complexer versions and think that this gnome’s a dunce.
No one can deny that the wind sleeve did fly…exactly once.
CHORUS
89
Autumn
Songs from
Twilight
90
Qualinesti Hymn
The Road Eternal
Thalasi elevas
Guides (all) home
Ki valinost
May the stars shine your way home
Quenta solari nen heth y thon
Exile’s end
Valthonis eth
Winter’s close
Plenisharei
Spring blossoms
Qualiareth
Bringing breath to me.
Shareia
91
Hymn to Takhisis
(with Nerakese translations for the draconians)
Hail to the Queen of Darkness
Sambut ke Permaisuri itu punya Kegelapan
Majesty of the Abyss
Kemuliaan punya Abis itu
Hail Takhisis, allegiance to thee
Sambut Takhisis, kesetiaan untuk anda
I pledge eternally
Saya jaminan kekal
92
Hymn for Laurana
Now sleep,
Our oldest friend,
Lulls in trees,
And calls
Us in.
Shalost,
Mersala quisali,
Odowath quadi,
Huwe yen
Uadelas.
The age,
The thousand lives
Of men and their stories
Go to their graves.
Uanyetha,
Kithcopequa heltithas
Anthopas tal astini
Mori-thonas tsalarian
But we,
The people of the long
In poem and glory
Fade from the song
Uadeth,
Nesti thonas
Quenta ayani kithanawas
Malosha astari.
93
Funeral Song for a Solamnic Knight
(with Solamnic Translation)
94
Song of Darkenwood
(with Sylvan translation)
95
Battle Song of(withtheSolamnic
Solamnic Knighthood
translation)
Into combat ride triumphant When evil dragon hordes surround you
Dar ras ruc intisaras Uct takh draco urdos mahalas anta
Loyal knights of Paladine Care not what the odds define
Afinas kharam oc Paladine Nafnagai urdos amkaan alvar
Heed the call of battle trumpet Fight like Huma, stand your ground
Tahud palam oc ras-anafil Tarum muta Huma, kara ma madan
Oath and Measure you define Fight in the name of Paladine.
Aelas ai Tatus anta alvar Tarum dar ismac oc Paladine.
Shout the name Vinas Solamnus
Awas ismac Vinas Solamnus Crown Knight loyal to Habbakuk
Come with lance and sword and shield Barus Kharas afinus ila Habbakuk
Uras ham mocmalus ai pax ai darga Sword Knights of Kiri-Jolith
Smite the evil foe before us Pax Kharam oc Kiri-Jolith
Uwas takh yagi silatas-ai Rose Knights who are wise and just
Fight ‘til death and never yield. Ras Kharam min akelos ai adelos
Tarum biham cadav ai sinhas aslam. Look: what the Measure doth bequeath!
Ocul urdos Tatus ust ahi!
Hail! the Solamnic knighthood
Oma! Solamni parankhar Hail! the Solamnic knighthood
Hail! the courageous heroes Oma! Solamni parankhar
Oma! kannai mardas Hail! the courageous heroes
Hail! Hail! All Ansalon Oma! kannai mardas
Oma! Oma! nafai Ansalon Hail! Hail! All Ansalon
The Knights of Paladine Oma! Oma! nafai Ansalon
Kharam oc Paladine The Knights of Paladine
Hail! the Solamnic knighthood Kharam oc Paladine
Oma! Solamni parankhar Hail! the Solamnic knighthood
Hail! the courageous heroes Oma! Solamni parankhar
Oma! kannai mardas Hail! the courageous heroes
Hail! Hail! All Ansalon Oma! kannai mardas
Oma! Oma! nafai Ansalon Hail! Hail! All Ansalon
Whom honor doth define. Oma! Oma! nafai Ansalon
Minas sularus ust alvar. Whom honor doth define.
Minas sularus ust alvar.
96
A Wedding Gift
from Sir Occo of Solamnia
97
Lost
M
Organizations
ost people feel a need to share a part
of their lives with others with similar
interests. Craftsmen join guilds to protect
their trade and exchange their secrets.
Religious sects share the mysteries of their
faith. Kender congregate on the side of the
road to trade items and maps and exchange
the latest news.
In this section you will learn of the bardic
college of Ergoth, the wolf warriors in service
to the Dark Queen, kender knights, cursed
dragons, and elven wildrunners.
Whether we join a fellowship of warriors or
a strange secret society, we should all find a
place we belong.
Caramon Majere
Proprietor of the Inn of the Last Home
A Kirath Wildrunner
Extracts from the Journal of Saralorn,
Found in the forest of Silvanesti, 382 AC.
“I will keep my senses ever alert, taking in all and committing it to memory so that the Silvanesti may be well served, and their
return made easier. I am the eyes and ears of the Silvanesti. My presence declares the return of the Silvanesti to their rightful homes.”
—Code of the Kirath
“I travel light. If my skills are sharp, my senses are keen, and my courage unfailing, then I have all the equipment I need.
I am truthful whenever possible, for it is difficult for the deceitful to see through falsehoods.”
—Code of the Kirath
Lost Organizations 99
7th Winternight, 351 It leapt at me, its foul breath making me gag as I dodged
We Kirath are provided with all the tools we need to do our to the side, my Soris leaving a trail of black blood down
job well. We are taught from a young age to use our minds its rubbery hide. The slimy blood hit the ground, fizzing
as well as our bodies, to watch for changes in nature that and popping when it hit the earth. This creature was truly
may give clues to the passing of others. We can recognize otherworldly.
many secret marks, and some of us have even learnt to It turned and snarled, bearing its huge teeth at me,
speak the language of the forest beasts, to use them in circling me slowly, and testing my resolve. I in turn circled
order to help us with our quest. We have a code that binds slowly, pointing my Soris straight down its drooling maw.
us together; we can adjust, adapt and improvise to any It lost its patience and leapt through the air toward me,
situation. landing on me bodily, impaling itself on the Soris. My other
We are lightly armored, to allow speed, agility, and grace. hand held its throat as its jaws snapped and gnashed close
We have the Greenmask to protect us from the noxious to my face, its tentacles and claws pounding and raking
fumes that now fill our home, the Atrakha flute to imitate my arms, my body, my legs. Its weight crushed me into the
the birdcalls of the forest and to keep in contact over vast earth. I saw stars in front of my eyes. I felt searing pain in
distance, the ritual cloaks that protect us from fire or help my hands as its black blood fizzed and popped down the
us to blend with the woodlands, but most important is darkwood shaft of my spear. I had a choice: live or die.
the Soris. The Soris is a symbol of the Kirath. A jointed I chose to live. I pushed it harder now, through skin and
staff-spear, two pieces of darkwood connected by a universal bone and tissue, until the melting tip of my Soris breached
joint. The short upper shaft has small folding hooks and its back.
a rope hand-loop. The lower shaft has an attached leather The creature whimpered and collapsed on top of me. My
thong and is tipped with a sharp metal spike. The ball- hands were burnt and blistered from its corrosive fluids.
like joint can be locked in any position, allowing for many The wood of my Soris is now destroyed, useless. My armor
possible uses in the forest, both weapon and tool. The Soris was torn and ripped by its powerful claws. I rolled it from
has saved the life of many of us and is our most precious where it lay on top of me, feeling the air fill my lungs as
possession. the crushing weight was removed. And for the first time,
Today I had need of my Soris to defend myself. I felt the rays of the sun pierce the boiling clouds. It was a
That itself is unusual. We are not the warriors of House moment of beauty, an oasis of calm in a sea of darkness. I
Protector. We travel fast and light, we are the eyes and was filled with hope, and for the first time in weeks, my fear
ears of the Silvanesti people, we report back, and do not vanished.
engage in bloodshed unnecessarily. But today I had to fight. I’m only a few days from Silvanost now. The tangled
Fight against creatures of which my darkest dreams could paths seem clearer ahead.
never have conjured. As I traveled
through the forest, ever onward
toward Silvanost, the aberrations
of nature and corrupted forms
continued to assail me from all
sides. I could not find the roads,
and traveled through the deep and
thick forest, at times so twisted and
dark I did not know if it were night
or day. I dreamed of my brother,
repeating the image of his death in
my mind so often I felt like I would
go mad.
I came upon a clearing, where
a beast awaited. Perhaps it used
to be a wolf, but I really couldn’t
tell. Its form writhed and tentacles
sprung from its mighty shoulders,
and its legs seemed to be little more
than misshapen claws, its mouth
split into mandibles like some
giant insect. It would almost have
been pitiful, were it not so deadly.
T
he term ‘secret society’ has a negative connotation to it, but in reality it simply refers to a group that has some form
of exclusionary membership and purports to have access to some form of secret knowledge available only to those
members. A clandestine group, by comparison, is what people typically think of when they hear the term, ‘secret
society.’ It is a group in which membership is a closely guarded secret, not something publicly proclaimed. The meetings
are held in basements and other secret places, and the group’s goals and motives are usually suspect. They are typically
thought to be subversive, but in fact they are as likely to be beneficial as malevolent.
The dark forces that plague society exist at all its social levels, so clandestine group members feel that in order to keep
them in check they must combat them in secret ways. Other clandestine groups are dedicated to social turmoil and strife,
seeking instead to sow chaos and dissension. The end result is that these two opposing groups often combat each other
under different guises, clashing in a secret war of which average citizens are typically unaware.
In some cases, a guild is a fluid organization, while in others it is a very rigid hierarchy. They are commonly reserved
for tradesfolk, such as smiths and merchants, although Palanthas and several other major cities on Ansalon are known
for their thieves’ guilds. In the past, the priesthoods of Reorx and Shinare, being the patrons of many merchants and
tradesfolk, heavily influenced shipping and manufacturing guilds to the point of outright control in some cases. Fraternal
or sororal orders are commonly known as “brotherhoods” or “sisterhoods;” these are very similar to guilds, but have
more mystical and decadent accoutrements. The groups claim to be more exclusive, but in fact many have rather lax
membership requirements.
Claims of Antiquity
An important part of any group’s reputation is its history. Often, a new group will simply invent a grand history extending
back before the Cataclysm, adopting historical figures into its ranks and weaving itself into history, to the point of
commissioning false histories and ‘ancient’ artifacts or artwork depicting their influence down through the ages. In other
cases, a group will steal a name from a defunct group of historical note, claiming to be a new or reborn branch. Woe to the
group that steals a reputation from a group that later proves to be very much alive and active, and does not appreciate its
reputation being sullied by pretenders. This historical posturing ties into the desire on the part of members to be part of a
long and proud tradition, especially important among those who are ineligible for the great long-lived orders such as the
Knights of Solamnia or the Conclave of Wizards.
Man and smoke. Fire hours old. His hair long, juts from his head, neck, shagged down his spine.
Uniform tunic and pack in a roll by the tree he huddles against. Stares at the smoke through the curve
of twin daggers, a lens. Four wolves facing the fire, sit around the ring of heat, cough to each other,
growl. Two men, two women, sitting next to their wolves. Moons above Neraka’s mountains catch the
rising column of soot from burnt logs. Through the lens, in the smoke, red, silver, then first, the black.
Ripple, changing place. Reveal the history and sacred mission.
Starbirth. Against the Dark Queen and her allies were the Gods of Good. Each side using living
light, living dark. Forging weapons. Birthing monsters, heroes. Clever tricks won battles. Nothing
won the war.
For inspiration, Takhisis traveled to the outer marches of existence, drank from the Great Well in
the Plains of Chaos. Her dark creations grew dangerous with the power of her Well-born madness.
Edges, sharper. Fangs more venomous. Thousand-headed serpents with black-iron galleon bodies
and wheels larger than lakes. Leagues of flowers vomited deluges of acid. Blades wailed for the souls
of new victims. Her new armies of night never broke ranks, charged light-bringers without fear. The
gods of good were pressed back, toward their bright keeps, high walls. Krynn’s surface surrendered
itself to the poisoned influence of the Dark Queen’s madness. The sky wept black rain.
Where Takhisis was content to send servants to perform her bidding, the gods of good took to
their own walls, threw spears of pure Light, called floods of power. Held the armies, slowly
pushed them away, back to their own lines. Again, Krynn’s surface surrendered itself,
but this time to the other power, as dangerous to the new world.
Amid the clash of continuous battle blew the Horn Resounding,
signal of the High God’s return. All gods looked up, to themselves,
each other. In the heavens, the golden Horn blew again. Fighting
ceased. A third blast. The heavens opened, revealed the High
God’s great right hand. It swept over the wounded, bloody Krynn,
accused each lesser god of harming the world too much. The gods
put away their toys, their weapons, soldiers, retreating to their
places in the Godhome before their greatest prize met final
doom.
The water from the Great Well fled the Dark Queen, taking
her madness. Eyes clear, she saw her creations without guidance
lay blind waste to the land. Taking council from the other gods,
she walked Krynn again, destroying those weapons that could
be broken. Others would not be undone. These she buried in the
Abyss, in places more secret. Those she could not bury she fought,
found even her might was not enough.
Though it was often said the Bündesphar Corps was started in the Age of Might, it is more accurate
to say it began in the Age of Dreams. However, at that time, there were too few to term it a “corps.” It
was not until the Age of Might that the litany of the bündesphar was first spoken.
In the Age of Might, the Dark Queen brought us the word of Canus. Canus is the faithful. Canus
is the guard. Canus is the hunter. Canus brought us the Bond between wolf and man, wülfbunde and
master, both to the Corps. Nothing can break this Bond. Nothing can come between this Bond. No
force can sway this Bond.
There once was a man, somewhere in Ansalon, during the War of the Lance, who lost everything to
dragonfire. I’m not just talking his home, his crops, but his wife and children, his friends, the village
where he lived, the woodlands where the village had been built by his ancestors. He lost even more
than that. He lost faith in his goddess, none other than Takhisis herself. He lost his mind, his good
sense. And somehow, during the seeming and nearly systematic destruction of everything he possessed
in the past, possessed in his present, and could ever possess in his future, he survived completely
unscathed. He believed that not even the Queen of Darkness could be so cruel to one of her faithful.
This unfortunate man wandered the ruin of his life for many weeks, alone and, if the words can
possibly convey a fraction of what he felt, utterly bereft. And one night, among the smoking plain
where even the smallest animals had been laid waste, he willed himself to die. And being no ordinary
man, living in an extraordinary time, his heart slowed its beat, his eyes dimmed. The blood in his
veins thickened. His thoughts moved as sluggishly as water in a near-frozen river. After days and days
without food, his muscles finally surrendered themselves and he fell to the earth on his back.
And there they were. The twin green stars of Canus. And don’t forget, the Lord of Wolves is not
known to everyone on Krynn. But this man looked up to the stars hanging straight above him,
wherein he gave himself up to the heavens. He let out a harsh, parched howl that made blood rise
from his throat and foam his mouth. The Lord of Wolves heard him.
I’m not sure if I will describe what happened next. I’m not sure I can do it justice. It frightened
me at the time, and frightens me to think of it now. There’s a difference between the fear felt in the
first moments of combat, and the fear of seeing, for lack of a better word, the divine. I have one time
felt dragonfear, and that was not something to be repeated, but I have never before felt awe. You
understand, being a simple scribe, I’m not used to feeling anything more than being tired, hungry, or
put-upon.
Thus I will say in simple words what happened. The man became a wolf. Or the man, who was
really a wolf, became a man. . . . or something.
I told you I wouldn’t be able to do this justice. The Bond? He was granted the Bond with himself?
I don’t know. What he became was frightening, awe-inspiring, majestic. As if the Lord of Wolves was
made flesh. What did he look like? His hair was long, jutting from his head and neck, and ran shagged
down his spine.
What became of this man-wolf? I don’t know. But I’m sure the Dark in all its forms trembled that
night.
Even their name, “bündesphar,” and other parts of their speech, such as “wülfbund,” are part of
an ancient language, probably the same language from which come such names as “Sturm,” and
“Gunthar uth Wistan.” It may have been the language spoken by the Dark Queen herself to the wolf-
god Canus.
“The daggers of the bündesphar are mid-length and curved, and they use them two at a time. The
teeth of the scouts are either filed or grow into fangs like their wolves. Suspicion is that new scouts file
their teeth, but as the scouts grow older and serve longer in the corps, their teeth naturally take on the
tendencies of their canine companions. The man becoming wolf, and the wolf becoming man.”
Chapter 21
(The so-called “lost chapter” from Laws of Krynn, compiled in the time of the first High Clerist.)
A wolf ’s howl echoed in the high, surrounding hills. The scouts did not move. “One of our patrol has
lost his wülfbunde. He bears the Grieving,’” said Arana and dug a line with her heel, toward the fire.
“Shall we suffer him to live?”
Another howl echoed in the high hills. The voice of a man. The wolves around the fire were still,
like their masters. “By the word of Canus, we must judge the Grieving. The decision of the patrol is
final. The decision can be only life or death. As captain of this patrol, I cast the final vote.”
Each of the scouts turned their back to the fire. Arana scratched another line through the first,
forming a cross. She turned her back to the fire, wülfbunde following without touch. “We have all
agreed to the judgment of Canus. By dagger and fang we have agreed.”
In the center of the clearing was a rock cairn covered with dried blood. A pair of Corps knives formed
a crescent, handles stuck in the ground, tips touching. Drawn into the dirt between the handles of the
blades was the glyph of the Grieving’s wülfbunde.
Conversation
(between two high-ranking officers of the Dark Queen’s army in a tavern, both later killed in battle)
“I have seen man and wolf have walk through warring armies, through terrible waves of dragonfear,
and between ranks of the undead. One time, I saw a scout walk past a kender who taunted him with
insults and yet the scout kept walking.”
“A taunting kender?”
“By the cracked skulls of my ancestors, I swear it!”
Scouts of the corps prepare a kind of general-purpose healing powder, which has the ability to heal
wounds, soothe sore muscles, stop bleeding, and a host of other “in the field” injuries. The powder is
red, and carried in a folded leaf-packet. A little pinch of the powder goes a long way, and very little
is needed to cure most ills. This substance works on both man and wolf, but it is not known if it will
work on anyone outside the corps.
Chapter 21
(The so-called “lost chapter” from Laws of Krynn, compiled in the time of the first High Clerist.)
The five wolves of the bündesphar patrol walked to the hillside edge, peered down, then at Blood.
With a paw, the alpha wülfbunde dragged a line in the dirt in front of Blood. Blood shied away, paced
near the edge, finally sat.
Karn lifted his head. He breathed deeply, tried to raise himself. Blood forced his body behind the
man’s back and lifted. Karn got himself to a sitting position. Waited, then stood. His right leg weakly
supported his weight. Karn touched his canines to his lip, stared at his wülfbunde, removed the rod
from his belt.
“Never have you failed me twice,” Karn said. “You are the best of all wülfbunde, by dagger and
fang, you are the best. With you, I have long been blessed by Canus. I will remind you.”
Karn raised the rod and struck Blood once. Blood howled, the other wülfbunde howled. Blood
stumbled away, ran in a circle, bit and licked his flank where the rod had struck. The wolf spat, barked
fury at his master, moaned, crawled and leapt up, barked again. Karn replaced the rod at his side,
checked the bandage at his throat, secured the end. “I am leaving to perform our duty,” Karn said. He
left Blood standing.
The wolves of the patrol made their way down the hillside wall after Karn was gone. Blood limped.
The alpha wülfbunde drew a line in the dirt. Blood crossed the line, final judgment on his master
made.
“The word used by the scouts is “sichten.” It roughly translates as, “the thinness between.” In this
case, it refers to the thinness between worlds, where things might cross over, one world to the other, or
between the Abyss and the material world.
“Krynn is spotted with sichten. You can’t see them. You’ve probably at least heard of sichten without
knowing because, though we can’t see them, we can know their influences. A sichten is place where
crops refuse to grow or a town that should prosper, but never thrives. A place of hauntings. Where
there are hauntings (if they’re real and not the tales of old women with nothing better to do except
waste time and not bring in my wash), you might find a sichten. In these places, things from the Abyss
or those ‘outside’ can find a way in, even if only a few times a day, or at midnight, or when all the
moons are new.
“I think it may be said that those people made more of evil, or those with particularly evil thoughts,
may find themselves unintentionally swallowed by the Abyss if they spend too much time near a
sichten. And I also think sichten tend to draw evil people to them. I’ve been to towns and villages where
everyone seems ready to slit your throat. Haven’t you?
“Apparently, a few wizards, some of those draconians called “noble,” and the bündesphar are able
to perform certain rights or rituals to permanently seal off a sichten. Until a sichten is closed, whatever
lives inside it can never die--at least not permanently. Warriors who defeat creatures or things born of
sichten may return to the same spot and find their “handiwork” nullified, and the danger still present.
“Sichten are usually the cause of misery, but can sometimes be the opposite. I remind you of rumors
of pools of healing water or areas where live many mystical good creatures. In fact, according to a
scroll I recently read, there is a legend of a guardian water-spirit called a “naga” that keeps away
pirates attempting to use its river as a launching point. The result of a good sichten?”
“We can’t see them, but the bündesphar know, they have a ‘sense,’ when they are near a sichten.”
Beneath Neraka, there’s said to be a dungeon known as the Pit. The inmates never grow old or
hungry. They live in constant fear, beset upon by strange horrors.
The bündesphar claim there is a sichten in the Pit. The sichten leads part-way into the Abyss, and has
some of the Abyss’s salient features, mainly, nobody grows old or needs to eat. The sichten is relatively
infinite, and is always shaped like the Pit’s original structure, a cylindrical dungeon with cells on the
sides and a huge pit in the middle. Some say it is the perverted energies of the prisoner’s own darkness
that keeps them in constant terror.
Maybe this will also help you understand the strength of the Bond. If you’ve ever seen a child’s
attachment to a parent, a rider’s affection for a horse, a king’s love of country, maybe these things are
like the Bond. But the Bond is unaccountably stronger and backed by the will of gods.
There are druids and elves who live their lives in the company of animals, and some of these folk
have an undying connection with these animals, and when the man dies or the animal dies, there’s a
time of mourning. Then life goes on, though with great and continuing sadness. For the bündesphar,
“This leads into a very interesting and particularly secret area of bündesphar lore. How are they
brought into the fold? There is a bündesphar corps, mentioned in their litany. Where is their
recruiting sergeant?
“I have a friend, an alchemist, who has his own glassworks. He says that his art requires not only
special ingredients, but also vessels particularly made for different potions. He told me that sometimes
it is safe to mix something as if you’re mixing a cake--just toss things in a bowl, stir, set in the oven
for a few ticks, and you’re done. Other times ingredients have to be mixed in careful batches, and the
batches combined carefully or disaster ensues.
“This alchemist told me of an elixir that can bring the almost dead back to life. I say almost,
because if the imbiber is dead, well, you should go through his pockets and look for loose steel. But
for the almost-dead, this elixir does the trick and fully restores them to health. Naturally, this potion
takes a long time to make, is difficult to make right, and is very expensive, not only because of the
ingredients, but also because of the bottle in which the elixir is made.
“Bottles are generally the same--bottom, top, roundy-sides--the same. For this particular elixir,
the bottle requires another bottle to be made inside of the first; a very thin, very fragile bottle that
sits inside the outer bottle. This inside bottle is filled with the usual assortment of precious and rare
things used by alchemists: beads of sunlight, the gaze of a beautiful woman caught in a pearl, booze,
and such like. Then the outer bottle is filled with the rest of the concoction. After that, apparently, the
trick is to apply heat long enough to the outer bottle, so that there’s some kind of change of pressure
and temperature inside which cracks the inner bottle, releasing its contents to mix with the rest. If the
inner bottle cracks because it’s too weak or at the wrong time, the elixir is ruined and you have to start
over.
“Now imagine. Somewhere in the world, there’s a man surrounded by a ring of wolves, holding
them off with nothing but a stick and every last ounce of strength and courage he has in his guts. His
body grows tired, his limbs grow heavy, his arm goes weak, but still he fights on. At that moment,
there is no more desperate struggle on Krynn. But the wolves keep coming, and he keeps fighting
them off, and he fights, and fights, swatting the animals aside, breaking legs, smashing muzzles, until
there’s only the man and the one wolf standing. And the two stare at each other, and stare, snarling,
spitting, growling.
“And then, at the right moment, the inner bottle breaks, releasing that thing inside man and wolf
Canus would call his own. The alchemy of the corps is made. The two howl their triumph to the sky,
and they are given the Bond.
“At least that’s how I understand it.
“There are many variations to these ‘recruitment’ stories. For the most part, they usually take place
in the wild, there’s rarely more than one person involved—if I hadn’t mentioned already, the Bond is
shared only between humans and wolves—and there’s often some conflict that sweeps in both man or
Various fragments
(From unidentified text discovered in Ergoth)
It pleased the Dark Queen to have the work of herself and Canus continued, allowing men and women
to follow their path, their “sacred mission.” It’s interesting to note that these scouts do not worship
Takhisis, nor does Canus ask for worship. Men and women who become bündesphar–wolves who give
themselves to the Hunt–do so of their own will and ask (maybe ask is the wrong word, maybe require is
better) nothing more from the Queen of Darkness and Lord of Wolves than the Bond. When wolf and
man take the Bond, they know their lives are dedicated to each other and their sacred mission.
The Dark Queen does not want to destroy Krynn, she wants to control it. And she has the
bündesphar to save it.
Caramon Majere
Proprietor of the Inn of the Last Home
Flint’s Jewelry
S
ince the death of Flint Fireforge, Hero of the Lance, one item in Solace and the surrounding area has become
highly sought after—his handcrafted jewelry. Flint was a well-known master jeweler who created pieces that not
only resembled the nature of the land, but also captured the essence of it. This work would earn the dwarf fame and
recognition even from powerful figures living in the area.
The process of becoming a master jeweler is not an easy one, and the styles that Flint incorporated are considered to
be genius. Straying from the traditional dwarven styles of heavy filigree, large stones, colorful alloys, and exotic minerals,
Flint’s style was closer to the elven artisans of Qualinesti, a style that uses smaller stones, intricate detail, and created
pieces that look lifelike. Flint began to learn this process while his older brother, Aylmar, was mentoring him, but it would
take decades for him to create the master style he became famous for.
Collectors seeking Flint’s pieces have discovered that Flint marked his pieces with a personal signature. This signature
would bear his current residence, such as Solace or Hillhome, and provide a date indicating when the piece was created.
Most of Flint’s works were created in Solace, where he lived most of his adult life, while a few rare pieces have been
discovered bearing the Hillhome stamp. For those who are collecting the jewelry created by Flint, the most desired are
those created around 260-265 AC, when his craftsmanship became even better.
Many leaders in the lands of Abanasinia actively sought to buy his creations. Solostaran, Speaker of the
Sun, acquired first a silver and moss-agate bracelet, and then two goblets made of silver hammered
thin and polished to a brilliance. The goblet had three aspen leaves that seemed to grow out
of the stem to cradle it. Solostaran so prized these that in the spring of 288 AC, Flint was
commissioned by the Speaker for several more pieces and was invited to stay in Qualinost
during the summer months.
During the next twenty years, Flint perfected his skills, creating such
wonderful jewelry that almost all elves tried to acquired a “Fashioned by
Flint.” When the Speaker requested that Flint create a special medal
for Porthios’ kentommen, the dwarf delivered. When the elves fled
Qualinesti during the War of the Lance, the items that were
created by Flint were some of the few that were taken with the
Speaker to Southern Ergoth.
Flint was even commissioned to create a piece for a
Dargonesti princess, Selana Sonluanaau. The princess did this
in secret, giving him only the components and instructions on
how to create a bracelet. It turned out to be a magical bracelet, a
Bracelet of Foresight. If Flint had only known what he would be
creating, he would never have done so, for he despised all things
magic.
Flint continued to create his works after he and his friends
separated, during the five years prior to their involvement in the
War of the Lance. The last piece of jewelry that he was known to have
created was an intricate necklace, created for the Mayor of Solace’s
wife on their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. Flint took great pride at
this request, and the result was a necklace of intricate silverwork that
connected to a large emerald at the center, with three diamonds on each
side of it in the shape of a V. Each of the six diamonds is nestled in
silver in the shape of a vallenwood tree leaf.
T
he following are the final excerpts from the Journal kept by the musical directors of the Gnomish National Opera
of Krynn, which was located somewhere in the foothills surrounding Mt. Nevermind. The book is currently in the
Rare Histories section of the Library at Palanthas. This is part of an almost unheard-of aspect of gnomish culture
and history.
(This tome is leather-bound, elegantly carved, and closed with a complicated metal catch. It is three feet tall and two feet wide, and
is decorated with every musical symbol known in Krynn. There are also some symbols that are foreign to my eyes, understood perhaps
only in gnomish notation. Considering the height of a gnome, the writer must have a moveable stool and an adjustable rest for his
arm, or perhaps he sits on the book itself to put pen to parchment. I have translated these excerpts into Elvish from the original run-on
gnomescript, and include several annotations.)
{There is much splattered ink at the beginning of this section, as if the author had trouble beginning his narrative.)
I pick up my pen, trembling. Even I can hardly read what I’m writing because my hand shakes so much. My words
must be set down in this revered tome with those of renowned maestros who have come before me, and I quail at the
prospect. I am, after all, only a lowly second trumpeter; the last offspring of Maestro Guylomrostrowilliamsprevinish
Prokojakarashawlevineshorek, the greatest director the Gnomish National Opera of Krynn has had in centuries.
(There is a sizeable pale splotch in the manuscript, likely several tears, or a smudge from his sleeve after he wiped it across his nose
and eyes.)
I regret to say that Maestro Prokohakarashawlevineshorek, my father, had a stroke yesterday during the rehearsal of the
new sextet. He is resting at home, his right side (including his directing arm) paralyzed. Human and gnomish healers who
we called in at the moment of his collapse all confirm the diagnosis of our official Opera physician: none are certain if he
will ever regain full movement. A specialist is supposed to help him with range of motion exercises beginning next week. I
don’t envy her; assisting the Maestro in anything is no easy task. He has his own way of doing things. That’s one reason he
is—was—the Maestro.
My name is Wyntonandredizzsatcharnoldmaynardmorricone. A kender I met years ago while I was practicing in a
graveyard shortened it to Dizz because I fell off a stone during a high note and bent the bell of my horn up. I’ve been
known by that name ever since, especially because I experiment with the bells of my instruments. I invented and played
a trumpet having three small bells instead of one large one last year, but the Maestro said it did nothing to improve the
sound. The Maestro is not one for innovation unless he feels the sound or playability is better. So I had to go back to my
old horn, at least during opera rehearsals and performances. I keep the other one for dances and shows.
After that introduction, I don’t need to tell you that I was born into a musical family. My mother
Karalferriermariansteviemaddelenschumann-heink was a true alto diva, a very rare voice among singers. The Maestro
fell in love with her as soon as she opened her mouth and sang full-voice in the low tenor range during a tryout. They
married two days later, and we little gnomes came along a-one, and a-two, and a-three. Mother was so sick with us that
she could hardly sing a lullaby much less an aria, so she reluctantly passed the position of alto soloist to her cousin
Ernestinecarpenterannierdasemiramide, and became one of the Opera’s top-line vocal coaches.
(Most of the musical parts and many of the crew positions in the Gnomish National Opera apparently were inherited. Families
involved had charts marked with the best singers and instrumentalists in their lineage. Parents and grandparents labored industriously
to mate promising young musicians that might produce truly outstanding soloists, chorus members, even crew chiefs, set designers, and
costumers. This seems an odd way to do things, but it worked for centuries. The practice was put in place almost as soon as the Opera
was established I have found no definitive references as to why, other than obvious reasons of ego, family pride, and job security.)
T
his was a disintegrating scroll I discovered in
a niche in the last aisle in the last room of the
Histories Section of the Library in Palanthas.
It is one of those intriguing bits that one doesn’t find
unless one is seeking something quite different. The
author of the scroll is Amburrtail Getsintoplaces, a name
I recognize as the one kender who decided that she
would write an ambitious history of her race and detail
its lifestyles. I believe she was distracted after writing the
first two or three scrolls, abandoning her work to wander
off in search of adventure. This is the first work of hers
I’ve discovered.
At least we have here several observations of little
known kender attitudes and practices from an inside
observer. This proves that there is quite a bit of thought
put into kenderish living, despite some writings to
the contrary. The collective inability to marshal their
tendencies for “handling,” however, ravels the order that
might otherwise make their lives more practical. Their
innate joy and natural ingenuousness does excuse most of
their shortcomings.
These observations are strictly those of Amburrtail
Getsintoplaces, and do not represent those of any other
historian of Krynn, either living or dead.
With the permission of Bertrem, whose Restoration
staff will be overburdened well into the next century, I
am copying Amburrtail’s original manuscript, as well as
translating it into Elvish. I am also moving this precious
original into the woefully small area marked “Kender” in
the Library of Palanthas so it can be more readily found
by those curious about that race’s culture and traditions.
—Mirrashar, Elven Bard, from the darkest dusty
corners of the Library of Palanthas
Courting
First there’s the Watching Time. This starts when two kender start
seeing each other, and both of them get...well, it can only be described
as a sort of disease. This illness shows in a little fever and loss of appetite,
associated with an overload of silly facial expressions and stupid remarks. There’s also much staring off into the distance
with a rapt look, both while in and out of each other’s company. The couple also does dumb things while swearing they’re
not doing dumb things. The individuals’ hands tremble: they can’t even “handle” a rock that’s right in front of them,
much less pick it with any delicacy out of someone’s pocket or purse. They don’t speak well, either. Some call this The
Tremors.
Millennia ago, in the Age of Dreams, the High Ogres ruled Krynn with an iron fist. Though no power could oppose
them, there was little peace, for the realms of the ogre kings warred with each other.
Sometimes for plunder, sometimes for slaves, sometimes for females, the ogre cities attacked each other, but eventually
all fell under the sway of powerful regents. The wars changed then, from expanding city-states to growing kingdoms,
seeking greater power, until the rise of the first great ogre empires. These spanned dozens of cities, and spread across
the lofty mountain ranges of the world. Some kingdoms fought their own battles, relishing the blood-rush of combat,
while others disdained it as a primitive urge best suited to animals. They often used sepoys—loyal slaves of elf and human
stock—to fight for them, though they were led and commanded by ogres. The world shook with the treading of these
mighty armies, marching for conquest, greed, and glory. It was in this age of smoke and fire, when the great powers
clashed, that the great war drums were forged.
The text says five drums were created, though their locations must be on the missing base of the pillar. The narrative
continues at the top of the pillar’s next side. The drums were forged of bronze, though legends say that the bronze was cast
in molds of bone-clay, and the castings themselves were cooled in the blood of slaughtered slaves. The details of the rituals
required to create the drums are mysterious and lost to history, but inscriptions hint at chanting and sacrifices, of great and
terrible ceremonies on windswept mountaintops, where the dark gods could bless the handiwork of their mortal servants.
Though their names are different for ogres, I have used the common forms of the dark gods names here. Zeboim
granted the fury of the sea and skies, while Sargonnas gave the rage of the earth. From Chemosh came the hunger of
the restless dead, and from Takhisis the drums gained the power to stir souls and lead them unto death, and if need be,
beyond. The night gods poured power into the blood-born vessels, infusing them with an awful might—power that even
fallen ogres speak of in awe. This reverence was confirmed by one of the scribes at the great library, who has lived among
them, and specializes in Ogric studies.
The drums were created when Takhisis granted visions to her most loyal priests, each the ruler of one of the mightiest
kingdoms. The goddess had long tired of the wars between the cities, for no power could gain the upper hand for long.
As one ascended, others banded together to cast it down. While they squabbled, in the forests of the world the elves, the
favored of Paladine, grew more and more organized. Some elves even began to raid the outposts of the empires, freeing
their kin. Takhisis longed to wipe out the children of her rival, and decided that she must directly intercede and guide
F
or many who live on this continent of Taladas, dragons are unchanging, a race that exists beyond time itself. Indeed,
even for we elves of the Silvanaes, who count our years in centuries rather than decades, it can seem that the wyrms
who dwell in the wilds—the Steamwall mountains, the frozen lands of Panak, the jungles of Neron, and even the
blasted wastes of Aurim-That-Was—are truly ageless. This perception is abetted, no doubt, by their mysterious absence
from the world for nearly a millennium, which ended less than one hundred years ago. Surely the dragons of the elder ages
and those of today were one and the same.
Those of us with access to the chronicles of old know different, however. While few histories survived the Great
Destruction, when Taladas was broken, those that survived—both among our people and in the ruins of Aurim—tell a
different tale. Unlike the few, twisted, reclusive beasts that lurk in the shadows of the wilderness today, the dragons of old
were numerous, majestic creatures who, in the words of the scholar Jumaskar of Yush, “did darken the sky with the breadth of
their pinions, and their cries of battle were heard the world over.”
When we first learned of this difference, the learned believed that the creatures we know as dragons were not the same
creatures that once darkened Jumaskar’s skies. Until two decades ago, the leading theory was that they were demons
from the Abyss that took shape during the upheavals after the Destruction. Others thought they were, perhaps, stunted
descendants of ancient interbreeding between the “true” dragons of old and some lesser beast, such as the tylor or the
hatori—or even that some of those lesser beasts had been changed by fell magic so that they resembled the glorious, winged
creatures of ancient days. We were encouraged in this belief by the “new” dragons’ own name for themselves: Othlorx,
which in the wyrm-speech means “false.”
It was the minotaur sage Bragor ath-Kura who put the lie to this, not by comparing the Othlorx to their elder cousins,
but rather by comparing accounts of them scribed during the short period after their return. These accounts, he
discovered, showed a trend: a gradual degeneration of the dragons, beginning in the 353rd year after the Destruction and
continuing at a steady rate ever since.
While many stories, particularly the earliest, are considered apocryphal and unreliable, Bragor amassed enough
different descriptions that he could winnow out the more fanciful embellishments—dragons with two heads, say, or those
who were the size of house-cats—and arrive at a composite that he called the Ur-drake. To Bragor’s surprise, and to that of
most other scholars, this theoretical creature bore a closer relationship to the ancient dragons than to those we see today.
Bragor concluded that the old dragons and the Othlorx were one and the same, after all, and that some terrible affliction
had caused them to deteriorate over the years, changing from majestic beasts to savages.
As is the way of things, many scholars dismissed Bragor’s hypothesis out of hand. It was conjecture, they said; without
evidence, there was nothing to support the Ur-drake. Furthermore, the existence of a few dragons that did not seem to have
degenerated (for instance, the fabled and recently deceased Wyrm-namer of the Hoarspine Mountains), appears to confuse
the issue.
I confess that I was one of these skeptics, until Bragor himself sent a message to me, inviting me to Kristophan for “a
special unveiling.” Intent on proving his theory once and for all, Bragor explained he had embarked on a quest to gather
the evidence we all craved. From his readings, he had surmised that a blue dragon was slain by the Uigan barbarians in the
Ilquar Mountains of Northern Hosk, around the year 360. Following this lead, he mounted an expedition to the mountains
and found the dragon’s bones, still lying in the cave where it had died. With painstaking care, he brought them back to
Kristophan and reassembled the skeleton at the Lyceum there.
I accepted the invitation, and traveled to the minotaur capital, where I was present at the unveiling of Bragor’s Ur-
drake. It was, we discovered, a much grander, more beautiful creature than the few blue Othlorx that were sighted during
the Godless Night, and bore a greater resemblance to the mosaic Varjath and the Wyrm, dated to more than a thousand years
prior to the Destruction. While a handful of scholars—mostly older humans and dwarves—refused to be persuaded, the
majority who viewed the bones of the Ur-drake applauded Bragor and accepted his theory as truth: the Othlorx were the
dragons of old, but warped by some terrible affliction.
After the unveiling of the Ur-drake, Bragor dedicated himself to making contact with one of the Othlorx to obtain a
firsthand account of what had happened to bring the dragons so low. While this would ultimately lead to his disappearance
and presumed death, during an expedition into the Blackwater Glade five years ago, Bragor did manage to speak with
Honored guests, scholars, and patrons, we thank you for attending the birthday celebration of Lord Galsworth uth
Minton. As we all know, his dedication and devotion to the path of racial scholarship has created a vast new world of
understanding and empathy for the various peoples of Ansalon. Indeed, without his years and years of hard work, the
Draco-Dwarven Ale Wars would still be progressing in mead halls, inns, and rest houses across the continent. So it is in
his honor that I present to you the cultural and religious practices of the Phaethon during the War of the Lance. Some of
you in the audience may remember that it was a very young Lord Galsworth who led the Solamnic diplomatic delegation
to meet with the Phaethon after their dramatic entrance into the war in the Spring of 352, so we in the department felt that
it would be properly celebratory to document that culture and the environment that gave rise to this historic meeting.
Phaethonic Life
Every aspect of Phaethon life is dictated in their scripture, the Tasthala-Shastra. This document was said to have been
recited by the three main aspects of the Phoenix (the spiritual center of their religion)—Phaenar the Risen, Sirithos the
Flame, and Kinthalos the Fallen, and recorded by Tasthalan, a dedicated monk and scribe. His work, meant to be read,
memorized, and recited in religious ceremonies, is a masterpiece of poetry, full of musical notations, memorization cues,
and distinct sections and voices that would put any work by the great bards of Ergoth to shame. Even now, hearing the
words of the Tasthala-Shastra sung are enough to move even the most hardened to tears. Indeed, during the early era of
the empire of Istar, portions were routinely sung during the ceremonies dedicated to Habakkuk. During his inquisition,
Revered Son Shambo of Taol said that, “though you may flay the skin off my bones, and string me up like a Blödean
sausage, I shall swear before the most holy that there is no greater scripture than that professed by our winged brothers in
Phaethonic People
Each community is led by a small group of elders known
as Verda. These are Phaethon who, after a certain age, are
divinely inspired to fly to spectacular heights, generally on
clear nights while Solinari is in high sanction, and come
back to the village changed. Their hair, normally reddish or
brownish, is now shocking white, and their wings go from
Recently my old friend John Trowbridge asked if I would gather information for him about what usually happens at
a Solamnic feast. A merchant by trade, John supplied weapons to the knights during the War of the Lance. In fact, he
continued to provide them with quality armaments even after their knightly coffers ran low on funds. And now that the
war is over, in grateful recognition of his assistance, he was invited to attend a feast in honor of Knight Grand Master
Gunthar Uth Wistan. My friend asked me if I would do a little research into feasting for him and then summarize what he
could expect, so that he could better fit in with the gentry and avoid making embarrassing blunders.
Even though music is my usual field of study, I was happy to help my friend with this task. I’ve always been a little
curious about Solamnic traditions and I presumed my access at the Library would make it easy for me to gather the
information he required. So I immediately started searching for citations and reference materials. I had no idea there’d
be such a dearth of information! Beyond the mention that this feast or that feast occurred (and sometimes a note about
who attended and what was the reason for the celebration) details are incredibly rare. For example, there appears to be
very little documentation about proper etiquette, standard procedures, or even typical menus for something so basic to
Solamnic society. Upon reflection, I suppose this is because most Solamnics take for granted that everyone who needs to
know already knows the traditions. After all, Solamnic society has been relatively closed to outsiders since the Cataclysm.
Thus, having scanned several texts, having questioned my Solamnic colleagues, and having consulted with a chef &
chamberlain, I’ve come up with the following notes on the subject. I include it here with the hope that this information,
initially gathered for my friend, may be of use to others as well.
Solamnic Tradition
As most everyone knows, the word “feast” is commonly used across Ansalon to denote a large meal with a festive
atmosphere. For example, someone might say, “We feasted at the Shadow Dragon Inn,” or “We attended a birthday feast
for Rhom Jelek.” However, in Solamnia the word feast also denotes a very formal type of celebration with standardized
rituals that date back hundreds of years. A Solamnic feast or “Grand Feast” as it is sometimes called, is a highly structured
meal, infused with the formal hierarchy that characterizes the knighthood. While the food at a Solamnic feast is important
and impressive, it is actually the pomp and circumstance of the event—(especially the formal seating arrangements and the
standardized order of the proceedings)—that differentiates a Solamnic feast from other food-related gatherings. Although
the stated purpose of the Solamnic feast is a celebration of a current event or special person, always present in the
background is a second purpose—the affirmation of ancient Solamnic society and its traditions. In fact, the role a person
plays at a feast tends to mirror the role he plays in Solamnic society. On the surface, attendees gather together in their best
clothes, eat the best food, mingle with the cream of their society, and act on their best behavior. Below the surface, ancient
traditions govern who enters the feast first and last, who sits at the head table, and even who is served first. With its social
implications and ancient traditions, a feast is much more structured and complicated than, say, a banquet.
By design, the Solamnic Feast is such a magnificent and preparation-heavy event that it is reserved as a celebration of
special occasions and highly important guests. Examples of extraordinary events celebrated with a feast include: weddings
uniting two Solamnic households, newly awarded knighthoods, completed quests, well-fought battles, national holidays,
and the rare visit of a high-ranking Lord Knight or hero. With all the associated rituals, a Solamnic feast can easily last
more than 4 hours and may well go on into the night.
Other, less extraordinary events that may be marked with a banquet (but would lack the formal structure of a feast)
include: birthdays, the rare wedding where either the bride or groom is not of Solamnic descent, visits from distant family
members, visits from neighbors and friends, visits from mid-level fellow knights, masquerades, and funerals or births.
• 4 leeks, dark green leaves removed The best calves’ feet for jelly have had the hair removed
• 1 cup finely diced mixed onions, carrots, tomatoes & by scalding, but are not skinned. Soak the calf ’s feet in cold
celery water for several hours. Drain, place in a pan and cover with
• 2 cloves garlic cold water. Bring to a boil and simmer for 8 to 10 minutes.
• 1 tsp. black peppercorns Drain, rinse well and place in a deep saucepan. Add
• 1 cup white wine 5 cups of water, making sure the calf ’s feet are covered.
• 1 cup water Bring to a boil and skim. Cover pan loosely, reduce heat
• herbs: thyme, tarragon, parsley and a bay leaf tied and simmer for 7 hours, adding water to keep calves’
together with string feet submerged if necessary. Pour the liquid through a
strainer into a bowl and discard the calf ’s feet. Refrigerate
First, split each leek almost entirely in half lengthwise. overnight.
Rinse them thoroughly in water. Now place the leeks in a The next day, clean all traces of fat from the surface
pan with the remaining ingredients on top, and poach on of the jelly by scraping it with a spoon, then wiping the
medium heat for 45 minutes. Remove herbs before serving. surface with a cloth that has been dipped in hot water and
squeezed out. The smallest bit of fat will eventually render
it dull and cloudy.
In a large clean saucepan, warm the jelly over low heat.
Add the sugar, a pinch of cinnamon, several strips of orange
and lemon peel and the juices.
It has come to my attention that our mighty kobold brethren, pressed into service by the Blue Lady and poised to
deliver a victory against the vile Solamnics, are experiencing problems of morale. There are rumors that the draconians,
the scions of the dragons and agents of the Queen of Darkness, are overwhelming the kobolds in the Blue Dragonarmy
with a sense of inferiority and envy. Woe, to the proud sons of kobold-dom!
As you are no doubt aware, I am Magi, and spring from a long line of kobold seers, sages, acolytes, and arcanists, and
while I am the first kobold to attain the stature of Wizard, you and your men should feel a sense of relief that my heritage
brings a solution. Even as I continue to attempt to persuade the humans and elves of the Conclave of High Sorcery to allow
me to pass their Test, I can at the very least take time to draw upon my koboldic prowess to assemble a list of reasons why
the troops should lift their snouts high and walk in confidence.
The list follows.
Caramon Majere
Proprietor of the Inn of the Last Home
Solanthus Sausage Balls Magic Fudge
These tasty meatballs make a great side dish
Sauce—and—Cake
or appetizer, but Solamnic knights favor them as This decadent sauce/cake combination is even
a hearty meal substitute when they’re on watch more enjoyable when diners learn that it all baked in
and can’t make it to the campfire for dinner. the same pan. A more delicate version is attributed
to chefs of the Elvish aristocracy, but kender receive
• 1 lb sausage (hot or medium hot, to taste) credit for this dark, rich form. Whichever origin
• 1/2 lb grated cheddar cheese (mild or medium sharp) story is told, the dish is rarely served in order to
• 3 c multi-purpose biscuit mix conserve the secret of its miraculous baking process.
Pour lemonade mix, one lemonade can of milk In a separate bowl, stir together the brown sugar and
and half of the whipped topping into a bowl. Mix cocoa, eliminating lumps. Pour onto the level surface of
at medium speed for 2 minutes. Pour into pie batter. Pour hot water over the top (make sure it’s really
crust and top with remaining whipped topping. hot!). Bake at 350° for 45 to 60 minutes. During baking,
Refrigerate for at least 3 hours; overnight is best. the cake will rise to the top and the sauce will settle to the
bottom. When you insert a toothpick to test the dessert’s
Serves 6 to 8. doneness, do so shallowly into the cake surface; if the
toothpick reaches the sauce level, it will never emerge clean.
Serve immediately upon removing from the oven, taking
care to get both cake and sauce in each serving. Top with
whipped cream, ice cream, nuts or cherries as desired.
Serves 6 to 9.
This tasty meal was not always a one-dish dinner. Warm milk over low heat until steaming, but not
According to this week’s version of ancestral legend, kender boiling, preferably in a double-boiler. In another bowl, mix
cooks collided in the mad rush to feed an unexpectedly egg yolks and sugar until smooth. Add hot milk slowly
large crowd of diners, mixing traditional favorites Saucy to egg and sugar mix, starting by tempering the mixture
Beef and Vegetable Stuff and Noodles That Look Just Like with one tablespoon of milk at a time to avoid curdling.
Aunt Helmley’s Elbow, But Without The Warts. Modern Once mixture is at same temperature as the hot milk, pour
kender insist that the concoction tastes better when mixed in the remaining milk while stirring the mixture. Then
by entertaining recreations of the original stumbling crash. return entire mixture to the milk pan and heat gently
while stirring until it thickens. Do not allow mixture
• 1 lb hamburger to boil, or egg will curdle. Once thickened, cast Ray of
• 1/2 c onion, finely chopped Frost to cool to room temperature; if no spellcasters are
• 1/2 c bell pepper, finely chopped available, put mixture into gnomish refrigeration device.
• 1 c tomato, cooked and finely diced (canned is fine) When mixture is cold, stir in cream and vanilla extract.
• 1 14 oz can of tomato sauce
• 1 c water Freeze water using Ray of Frost, or cast small-scale
• 1 lb elbow macaroni Wall of Ice spell, then crush ice as finely as possible.
Fill a small tub or very large bowl with ice. Add 1/2 c
In a large pan, brown hamburger with onion and of rock salt for every 2 c of ice. Place pan of mixture
pepper. When meat is thoroughly cooked and vegetables into container of ice and stir continuously until
are soft, add tomato sauce, tomatoes and water. Lower mixture becomes icy and thick. Serve immediately or
heat to medium-low and simmer for 10 minutes. place in a freeze-safe container and chill in freezing
compartment of gnomish device until desired.
Cook noodles in a separate pan. Drain cooking water and
return to pan. Pour contents of other pan over noodles, mix
and cover. Let mixture rest for a few minutes before serving.
Warm milk over low heat until steaming, but not Mash strawberries with 1/4 c of the sugar and let
boiling, preferably in a double-boiler. In another bowl, stand at room temperature while cooking rest of mixture.
mix egg yolks and 1/2 c of sugar until smooth. Add hot Warm milk over low heat until steaming, but not boiling,
milk slowly to egg and sugar mix, starting by tempering preferably in a double-boiler. In another bowl, mix egg
the mixture with one tablespoon of milk at a time to yolks and 1/4 c of sugar until smooth. Add hot milk
avoid curdling. Once mixture is at same temperature as slowly to egg and sugar mix, starting by tempering the
the hot milk, pour in the remaining milk while stirring mixture with one tablespoon of milk at a time to avoid
the mixture. Then return entire mixture to the milk curdling. Once mixture is at same temperature as the
pan and heat gently while stirring until it thickens. hot milk, pour in the remaining milk while stirring the
Do not allow mixture to boil, or egg will curdle. Once mixture. Then return entire mixture to the milk pan
thickened, add cocoa, vanilla, salt and remaining 1/4 c of and heat gently while stirring until it thickens. Do
sugar. Cast Ray of Frost to cool to room temperature; if not allow mixture to boil, or egg will curdle. Cast Ray
no spellcasters are available, put mixture into gnomish of Frost to cool to room temperature; if no spellcasters
refrigeration device. When mixture is cold, stir in cream. are available, put mixture into gnomish refrigeration
device. When mixture is cold, stir in cream, salt and
Freeze water using Ray of Frost, or cast small-scale vanilla. Add strawberries and sugar to mixture.
Wall of Ice spell, then crush ice as finely as possible.
Fill a small tub or very large bowl with ice. Add 1/2 c Freeze water using Ray of Frost, or cast small-scale
of rock salt for every 2 c of ice. Place pan of mixture Wall of Ice spell, then crush ice as finely as possible.
into container of ice and stir continuously until Fill a small tub or very large bowl with ice. Add 1/2 c
mixture becomes icy and thick. Serve immediately or of rock salt for every 2 c of ice. Place pan of mixture
place in a freeze-safe container and chill in freezing into container of ice and stir continuously until
compartment of gnomish device until desired. mixture becomes icy and thick. Serve immediately or
place in a freeze-safe container and chill in freezing
compartment of gnomish device until desired.
Serves 4 to 6.
Serves 4 to 6.
Serves 4 to 6.
Serves 4.
Serves 4 to 6.