What follows are a list of War Wizard write ups I have been writing, tinkering with and adding too for the past five years or so.
The project started as a goal to write one War Wizard a day, but that proved impractical in conjunction with my other goal for 2010, which was to visit the neighborhood bar every day for one year (I succeeded at that and found a wife as a bonus).
I am still working on fixing the links, which were busted when WotC "updated" the forums.
Enjoy!
UPDATE: The links are all busted, thanks to WotC's last "update" of the forums. Just scroll on down the thread to find a name that interests you. Thanks for reading!
WAR WIZARD NAMES LIST:
Baerdrin Ongalor
Ombrier Thurlkast
Tashlara Shimmerstar
Jathos Indemeir
Jorbril Rammastar
Forthin Andramar
Authkant "Old Codpiece" Melevor
Anduala Jhansibur
Mindala Jhansibur
Orthos of Greatgaunt
Orgreth Dinsimer
Faerthin Seshore
Eltagar Ironhand
Almarr Massingham
Bindil Blackfeather
Imdar the Stout
Haerldoun "Six Fingers" Hornscar
Mindra Theld, War Wizard Out Of Time
Interlude: Unknown War Wizard
Taltar Battlestorm
Ammandra Jhansibur or Ammandra the Troubled
Allastra Redhorn
Tanthil Oakfist
Dantar Blackbrook
Jassur Bralhost or Jassur the Unfortunate
Ulskan Hammantle
Alorae Ruldragon
Feldran "Doraunk" Durvorkar
Lhornara Blacktower
Imcharla "Windyrobes" Darphon
Welvore Hammerfist
****latest updated 4/16/15****
Samdras of Athkatla or Samdras the Peacemaker
Imbre of Mistrim or Imbre of Westgate
Dornal Thresk
Bramas Downjack
Baerdrin Ongalor is a War Wizard in service to Cormyr. Baerdrin is old, battle-wise and experienced, and possesses all of the qualities sufficient to make him a suitable commander of all the War Wizards of Cormyr, second only to the Royal mage Ganrahast himself.
Or so Baerdrin sees things.
But despite a lifetime of loyal and dedicated service, often at personal cost of loved ones and friends, Baerdrin has twice been passed over by Ganrahast in his choice of a War Wizard to be his second in command; the War Wizard Vainrence most recently assumed this role.
This cruel turn of events has left Baerdrin a bitter, disloyal man and one of Cormyr's newest and deadliest enemies. Baerdrin has gathered around himself a small, loyal cadre of similarly disaffected War Wizards and Purple Dragons (see Baerdrin's Bullyblades). Through a chance encounter Baerdrin has come to see the King's nephew Erzoured Obarskyr as unfairly estranged from his proper position of authority as well.
How I used Baerdrin in my Realms Campaign:
Through careful effort, Baerdin forged false orders in the name of Ganrahast to have the player characters apprehended and brought to the Royal Court in Suzail so that they could be interrogated by King Foril over their actions at Spellguard Tower (Baerdrin secretly chose Ombrier Thurlkast for this task, whom he plans to slay soon after Ombrier returns with the PCs). Baerdin further "ordered" himself and his men the task of secretly watching over the King from concealment behind a pair of secret doors that open into the meeting chamber where the PCs are scheduled to meet the King.
It is here that Baerdrin plans to assassinate the aging King Foril and lay the blame at the feet of the player characters, whom he will claim were agents of Ganrahast, acting on Crown Prince Irvel's orders.
Once the King and PCs are dead, Baerdrin intends to slay his surviving men with his own magic, then take credit for avenging the King (and leaving no witnesses to his betrayal). He will then back the efforts of Erzoured to claim the throne and intends personally to eliminate both Vainrence and the "traitor" Ganrahast in the civil war that follows so he may be named Royal Magician.
As it turns out the player characters found the secret door Baerdin and his men were to hide behind well before the meeting took place. They went into the chamber beyond the door and followed it back into the recesses of the Royal Court where they came upon Baerdin while he was handing out the last of his treasonous orders.
They did battle with Baerdrin and his men and slew all but one man, who they held for questioning when the King's retinue arrived. The PC's also saved Ombrier from being slain by Baerdin's men.
Ombrier is a dedicated War Wizard in service to the crown of Cormyr. Though still young (Ombrier is not more than thirty winters old), his successful record had earned him additional responsibilities and rights of access to the secrets of Cormyr that are usually reserved for more experienced and older War Wizards.
Ombrier's duties involve personally relaying messages of vital importance from the Crown and the Royal Mage Ganrahast to Cormyr's local lords and war wizard garrisons. For this reason, Ombrier frequently uses Cormyr's still functioning portal network (of old Netherese construction) as a means of traveling the length and breadth of the Forest Kingdom.
It was one such mission that found Ombrier face to face with the ghost of Spellguard, Lady Saharel. Ombrier dutifully relayed to the apparition a request from King Foril for the opportunity to speak with her at length, whereupon the spirit replied that she would accept the King's request, so long as Ombrier and no other would accompany the King on his trip.
Over Ganrahast's vehement protests, King Foril agreed to Saharel's terms and departed with Ombrier to the Scepter Tower of Spellguard, where the ghost of Saharel laired.
To this day the details of that meeting are a secret known only to Saharel, King Foril and Ombrier, much to Ganrahast's consternation.
How I used Ombrier in my Realms Campaign:
Ombrier's current mission is to apprehend the player characters from Spellguard Tower, per orders signed by the Royal Mage Ganrahast, and return with the PCs to the Royal Court in Suzail where they are to be questioned by King Foril himself about their activities in the Tower.
Ombrier was to remain with the characters until the King arrived, but has been relieved of his duties by his superior, Baerdrin Ongalor.
Tashlara Shimmerstar is a stern and foreboding War Wizard of some fifty winters, who bears such a shocking resemblance to the former Dragon Queen Filfaeril, wife of King Azoun IV, that were Tashlara to stand next to a painting or illusionary depiction of Filfaeril, an observer would find no difference between them save for the clothes they wore.
A strict disciplinarian, Tashlara brooks no jokes or humor at gatherings of War Wizards, particularly during Council of Mages meetings chaired by Ganrahast or his second in command, Vainrence. Possessed of a long memory and wits to match, Tashlara has reduced elder War Wizards to tears with harsh rebukes and reminders of their past failings, particularly if those failures had anything to do with the guardianship of King Azoun V, King Foril or their families.
Tashlara is tireless in her pursuit of traitors to the crown and threats against the King. Many are the death sentences that would be hoisted onto Tashlara's head, were each of her mind-reaming activities ever to be discovered*. Ganrahast has considered appointing her to the post of alarphon, but hesitates from doing so only because she is so regularly effective in uncovering conspiracies against the Crown and tracing them back to their roots before striking them down.
Very rarely can Tashlara be found walking the side halls and deep passageways of the Royal Court, quietly singing to herself songs of love and lives lost from the time of the war with Nalavara the Devil Dragon to the dawn of the Spellplague.
"Tashlara sings" is a watch-word amongst the Purple Dragons who guard these parts of the Royal Court. With swift and practiced ease they quietly depart their posts for a time, to give Tashlara a wide birth and privacy.
It is well they do this, for many ghosts of the Royal Court gather as Tashlara wanders the halls to silently shed ethereal tears and feel the echo of times past in her song, including the ghost of Alusair Obarskyr.
It is said that Tashlara is not the first Shimmerstar to serve as a war wizard. Only a handful of elder Crown mages can recall the name of Valantha Shimmerstar**, a pranksome mage who served in Vangerdahast's and Caladnei's time and was said to be a favorite of King Azoun IV and his family.
But like so many other mages she disappeared and was lost when the Spellplague ravaged Faerûn.
How I used Tashlara in my Realms Campaign:
Tashlara's failure (in her mind) to uncover Baerdin's plot against King Foril has shaken her deeply.
The loss of the the Dragonsdown Tower meeting hall, along with the disappearance of the player characters, the Wardens of the Eastern, Western and Northern Marches and four senior War Wizards from same just one day after the attempt on King Foril's life is all the proof Tashlara needs to assume the player characters are part of a larger conspiracy to weaken Cormyr for an attack from an as yet unknown foe.
She plans to mind-ream the traitorous purple dragon the PCs captured during the attempt on the King's life and may just do the same to her fellow War Wizard Ombrier Thurlkast, if the purple dragon's mind doesn't provide her with the answers she seeks.
*Tashlara can mind-ream a subject without fear of losing her sanity or causing madness in the subject. She has taken great pains to keep this ability hidden from other War Wizards and Ganrahast in particular.
**see Volo's Guide To Cormyr, page 224
A long, thin scar runs the width of Jathos' neck, a gift from a would be killer who attempted to strangle Jathos while he operated alone and under cover of night within the prison city of Wheloon.
Jathos still carries the strangler's cord--itself salvaged from the remnants of the old Rallogar Hardware shop by the man who'd tried to kill him--as a reminder of his time as a watch wizard on the ramparts overlooking Wheloon and as a spy and assassin for the Crown within its walls.
From those high walls Jathos has fought to keep the prisoners of Wheloon locked within and departed for a time to track and slay any who escaped. Jathos has infiltrated Wheloon to quietly slay gang leaders who became too influential or attempted to unite the prison population, and has regularly sown discord and distrust amongst their numbers.
By Jathos's reckoning he has slain more Cormyrian citizens than outside enemies of the realm and this bitter fact is never far from his thoughts. Nor is the black irony that his skill at infiltrating the prison population and slaying his fellow citizens has caused him to rise in authority; Jathos now commands the War Wizard contingent at Wheloon and personally reports to Ganrahast on the status of the prison city every tenday.
Jathos long ago buried his pain and anger over his actions behind a resolute and dutiful facade and is regarded by his peers as cold and emotionless. In his heart, however, lurks a furnace of anger and contempt for King Foril and Ganrahast. For each he nurtures a dark hatred and has come to believe both have turned their backs on Cormyr and its people.
Jathos is a conspirator with Baerdrin Ongalor and has supplied the later with several loyal-to-them-only purple dragons from the ranks of his prison guards, each man eager to be the first to put a blade through King Foril.
When Baerdrin executes his plot to slay King Foril, Jathos intends to manufacture a revolt in Wheloon to occupy all the War Wizards and Purple Dragons under his command so as to keep them out of the coming conflict in Suzail.
In the tumult that follows Jathos plans to slip away by means of a Linked Portal to Suzail and join Baerdrin and their fellow War Wizard conspirators to slay Ganrahast once and for all.
Unbeknownst to Baerdrin, Jathos sees himself as a fitting replacement for Ganrahast and fully expects to be appointed Royal Magician after Ganrahast's death.
His first act in this new post will be to personally open the barred gates of Wheloon and set its people free.
How I used Jathos in my Realms Campaign:
News of the attempt on the King's life has not yet made its way to the War Wizards at Wheloon, but the knowledge of Baerdrin's death came swiftly to Jathos by means of a ritual magic that alerts every conspirator when one of their number dies.
Jathos is most concerned with the operational security of the conspiracy and has departed for Suzail by means of a Linked Portal ritual to ascertain Baerdrin's fate and whether any of his men were captured.
If so, Jathos stands ready with his murder rope to slay another Cormyrean for the greater good of the realm.
Jorbril Rammastar
Jorbril is one of six War Wizards stationed in Eveningstar who are tasked with watching over the Eveningstar side of the Blueleaf Gate*. These six wizards (known as Blueleaf Sentinels for their assigned duty) watch over the Blueleaf gate in pairs for eight hour shifts. Jorbril, as the most experienced War Wizard of his group, is known as the Blueleaf Warden.
By standing order (and long tradition) the War Wizards who watch do not challenge those who use the gate; rather they observe and report. Each sentinel reports to Jorbril in person or by magical sending at the end of their shift any news of the comings and goings of those who travel using the Blueleaf gate.
Jorbril catalogs these reports along with his own observations in a journal. Once per month Jorbril travels via the Blueleaf gate to the Royal Gardens in Suzail to hand deliver his current month's journal to his Blueleaf Warden counterpart, so that the sentinel's reports may be added to the ever growing mass of records and paperwork kept in the Royal Court. He obtains a fresh journal for the coming month and but for a few moments of shared pleasantries and the relaying of any new orders from Ganrahast departs as quickly as possible for home.
Jorbril is accomplished at quiet meditation (often sitting for hours at a time while on watch), ritual casting and renewing the "hanging spells" that silently alert any sentinel when someone steps near the Blueleaf gate or when the gate is activated.
A tall, well built man with deep brown eyes, long black hair and a full beard to match, Jorbril can only be found in his War Wizard robes while on duty at the Gate. Otherwise he dresses as a simple commoner and spends his days walking through the King's Wood and tending with practiced hands his field of plantings at the small hovel located in the High Pasture just outside of Eveningstar that he calls home. When in need of supplies Jorbril travels by foot to Eveningstar, quietly humming to himself the lyrics to bard's songs of Cormyr's past. Songs that feature the mythical Sword Heralds** are his favorite and for reasons he doesn't understand he finds most of these tales to be quite funny.
Because of his simple habits and appearance, Jorbril is often mistaken for a commoner and has been sometimes treated rudely by traveling merchants, purple dragon patrols and nobility on the road to Eveningstar. Few Evenor beyond the King's Lord of Eveningstar, senior purple dragons and his fellow War Wizards know Jorbril is a capable and most dangerous War Wizard.
Jorbril is aware of the tales of how the Blueleaf Gate came to be. He keeps a small shrine to Mielikki in his home and prays to the goddess regularly that the Blueleaf Gate continue to function safely for all who utilize it. The other sentinels have reported seeing a lone, horse-sized stag lurking in the woods near the gate recently. Jorbril has taken this as a sign that Mielikki has heard his prayers and watches over the Blueleaf gate to this day.
Of late Jorbril has been troubled by blackouts on his walks through the wood and to Eveningstar, and on more than one occasion has awakened alone and with his clothes in tatters in the strangest of places (before a massive stone slab deep in the King's Wood, before the doors to a noblewoman's wardrobe [herself asleep in bed at the time, the sheets on her husband's side of the bed turned aside and him thankfully elsewhere] and standing on the precipice of the Stonecliff overlooking Eveningstar).
At each awakening Jorbril found himself staring into a soft, silvery glowing light that quickly faded, it's departure heralding the arrival of an edged weapon that appeared in the air before him and then clattered to the ground at his feet. The ringing sound of the blade striking the ground possessed Jorbril with the overpowering urge to collect the blade and flee with it as though his life were at stake.
Six such blades now reside in his home, each a question that Jorbril wishes desperately to answer.
I have not used Jorbril in my Monday Realms game yet.
*see Volo's Guide to Cormyr, page 230
**Volo's, page 225
Hrmmm....Merry Christmas!
Merry Christmas to you, too. I was just reading over these NPCs and I like what I've seen, especially Jathos. Even though my next campaign takes place in Waterdeep, I think I might use him anyway. He'll be tracking down an agent of the Crown (I'm still considering whether or not I want to use a former Wheloon prisoner who was indoctrinated by Ganrahast) whose activities in Waterdeep seem suspicious to the conspirators. I had been hoping to run a Cormyr campaign after the Waterdeep one (I tend to get ahead of myself when weighing my options). Jathos might serve as the ideal link: appear in Waterdeep, attract the attention of the PCs, befriend/oppose the PCs, then use the resolution of his affairs to accompany/lure the heroes to Cormyr after the Waterdeep adventure concludes. Thanks for the great stuff you've done so far.
Hello LordManshoon.
I am stoked that you found something of use out of my postings. The idea that one of these NPCs could find their way into someone else's game and grow into something I haven't imagined absolutely rocks.
Like you I get ahead of myself sometimes when I think about where I want my campaign to go next. I need to win the lottery so I can play 24/7. 
[edit] I've been spending some time thinking about who is going to win between Tashlara and Jathos; even more feeling sorry for the poor former purple dragon soldier who is the focus of their combined attention. The former wishes to mind-ream him, while the later wants to strangle him to death. Poor fellow. ;)
The Bel's Blade*? Yes, I've seen it. You come upon her thinking she's a half-sunk merchant cog, but as you get close she moves towards you as fast as any ship while blade-wielding skeletons rise up from within her black decks and disappear like phantoms, only to reappear aboard your ship to visit swift, brutal death on you and your crew. Her captain stands as tall as a giant and no mundane blade can harm him.
Yes, I've seen that murderous ship and have the scars to prove it. --from the journal Thirty Years At Sea, by Forthin Andramar
Forthin Andramar is an ocean going War Wizard who has spent the last three decades serving aboard a variety of ships in various capacities, whether providing magical support aboard one of His Majesty's fleet of Blue Dragons vessels or investigating the mysterious disappearance of a merchant ship's captain on the route between Marsember and Suzail.
Forthin is extremely fit for his age and a very disciplined man. This shows in his appearance: graying hair and salt and pepper beard well kept and cut to accent his wide face and keen blue eyes, his War Wizard robes unwrinkled and kept perpetually clean and new by means of his magic. Forthin exudes a commanding presence that belies his average height and build. He maintains a calm and precise tone, speaking with a clear voice of authority earned through years of experience and service.
Forthin never took to the idea that War Wizards should exclude themselves from the work of others aboard a ship and actively discourages this behavior by War Wizards who come to be under his command and/or tutelage. More than one arrogant young mageling has sat before Forthin, their soft hands blister-ridden and sore after a tenday of hoisting masts and scrubbing decks, and been admonished that one's status as a War Wizard is insufficient to earn one's place on a ship.
As a skilled sailor Forthin is ready to take over a fallen man's position and prefers to stand and work with his fellow sailors to keep a ship seaworthy in lieu of using his spells for that purpose. In the past Forthin has taken command of captainless vessels and guided such ships safely to their home port.
Forthin eagerly hunts for The Monolith**, ghost ships like the Bel's Blade, dragon turtles, sahaugin and all manner of sea based dangers and oddities. He is not above working with adventurers and has taken the liberty of granting "field charters" to ocean-going adventurers who put down pirates and other dangers of the Dragonmere.
Forthin is currently serving aboard the Lammath Drios, a small, swift vessel crewed by veteran Blue Dragons but disguised as merchant ship that plies the northern coast of the Dragonmere, fast sailing cargo between the ports of Suzail, Teziir, Palagarr (on the isle of Prespur) and Marsember.
I have not used Forthin in my Monday Realms game yet.
*see Ed's October 22, 2009 response: www.loremaster.org/vbinterviews.php?do=s... for more info on the Bel's Blade and other haunted ships that ply the waters of the Realms.
**see the Forgotten Realms Campaign Guide, page 106
EDIT: Sadly it appears Ed Greenwood's responses to questions posed to him on Loremaster.org have been lost. I'm sure Matt James has thrashed himself with a wet noodle several times already over this, so we forgive him. ;)
Nicknamed "old codpiece" for his lusty behavior and avarice in relating the female gender of all races (particularly his ability to patiently suffer through stern refusals involving kicks to the groin and hurled objects) Authkant Melevor is a wily old War Wizard specializing in battle magics of the "blow up everything in sight" variety.
"Let's slay them all tonight, for I've a bed to warm before the morrow" is Authkant's motto. He eschews ritual magic and when not pursuing his amorous interests is constantly researching and devising new ways to destroy things as efficiently as possible with his own spellcastings.
Authkant can be quite charming to those he's just met, but is too quick to reveal his intentions and lacks any real sense of tact when it comes to the opposite sex. Authkant is a braggart and will not hesitate to share tales of his magical prowess on Cormyr's many battlefields, often slipping in subtle-as-bricks hints that grand spellcastings are not the only thing he's highly proficient at.
Authkant resides in the fortress city of Arabel and has in his free time made himself something of tour guide. He gives "tours" to unmarried and widowed noblewomen, promising to safely guide them through, "the wild, harsh and dangerous lands to the north, betwixt our fair and strong Arabel and the lightning-tossed peaks of the Stormhorns".
On such tours he teleports the noblewoman as near to danger as possible and materializes himself a few moments later, ready to hurl spells and over-worded invective at anything daring to endanger a (now terrified) noble lady of the realm.
In some instances Authkant will often feign weakness and terror himself, then plead with the noble lady to grant him the "strength of the realm" through a passionate kiss and embrace, for he has, "lost the strength and vigor needed to cast mighty battle magics necessary to save us both!"
Such "swoon and save" tours (as he calls them) have been quite successful for Authkant; he has yet to lose a charge and shows no sign of slowing down.
I have not used Authkant in my Realms game yet.
Thats one hell of a feller you got there M.Like so much else in this thread, I've taken liberally from Volo's Guide to Cormyr and used what I found in its pages for inspiration.
"Old codpiece" is no different. I was randomly thumbing through my well-worn copy this afternoon when I came across an entry for The Old Codpiece Arms and Armory (located in the small village of Jester's Green) on page 160.
I decided on the spot that the first part of that name would be the basis for building an NPC around, and went from there.
Never question inspiration; she'll get around to helping you one way or another. ;)
Anduala Jhansibur is a woman of some twenty winters who stands half a head taller than most Purple Dragons. A fresh recruit into the War Wizards, Anduala ("Dala" to those whom she befriends) was born and raised in the prosperous war town of Thunderstone and is the youngest of five sisters (all but one serving the crown in some capacity). She came to admire both the Purple Dragons, adventurers and War Wizards at a very young age.
Anduala grew up on adventurers tales of encounters with magical beasts of the Hullack Forest, as well as bard's tales of noble Cormyrians battling wicked Sembians and dark Netherese mages all around the Vast Swamp, from Besert to Highcastle to Battlerise to Azoun's Hold.
Tall though she may be, Anduala rides even taller in the saddle and has become quite expert at hurling blades and axes from horseback. She lets her long auburn hair loose to flow behind her and loves the feel of the wind in her face when riding at a full gallop.
In addition to spellcasting (a talent she was disappointed to learn she possessed, as she'd imagined herself becoming a Purple Dragon soldier in service to the King and did not want to be "just like her sisters") Anduala loves fine edged weapons of all types and owns an impressive collection of magical daggers and hand axes for such a young non-adventurer. She delights in sword play as much as spellcasting and is not afraid to take a hit, nor throw a punch.
Anduala despises arrogance and brutish, bullying behavior in others and will not hesitate to put a stop to it. She has already earned some measure of respect from the Purple Dragon garrison in Suzail after having literally pulled a Dragon off his horse and hurling him to the ground subsequent to that fellow insulting* a pair of lost, young upland magelings who'd asked directions of the solider while trying to find their way in Suzail.
Initially trained as a War Wizard, her skill with a blade encouraged her instructors to cease her regular arcane studies and enroll her in training as a Swordmage. Anduala deeply enjoys immersing herself in the study of combinatory magic and blade work, and looks forward to the day when she and her fellow Swordmages stand against the Eldreth Veluuthra and route them from the Hullack Forest once and for all**.
I have not used Anduala in my Realms Campaign yet. If I had the chance to play a Swordmage of Cormyr, though, Anduala would be the character I'd make. ;)
*"You're certain you're not from Zundle?" were the words that sent her into a rage. See Volo's Guide to Cormyr, page 126.
**see Forgotten Realms Campaign Guide, page 108
Mindala Jhansibur is the eldest of five sisters and a semi-retired, veteran War Wizard. Mindala has spent the latter half of her career posing as a merchant based in Marsember who specializes in the acquisition and sale of ritual components and ritual scrolls of all types.
A petite, middle aged woman with mousy lips and short, curly brown hair, Mindala is exceptionally talented at casting eavesdropping magics and is fully capable of casting all the scrying rituals found in the Player's Handbook except for View Creature. When not posing as a merchant she spends her free time spying on nobles, merchants and the shadier doings of less reputable folk in Marsember and knows better than most that spices are not the only powders one can purchase there.
Mindala has embraced her dual role as a merchant/spy and is quite sociable. She can regularly be found at gatherings of nobles and merchants (particularly those events hosted by the self styled "Spice Lords" who rule the spice trade) where she rubs shoulders with the moneyed of Marsember. Mindala gathers and passes along gossip and information at these revels and enjoys dishing out subtle barbs and insults when engaging in wordplay with noblewomen and the wives of merchant's she dislikes.
When the need arises Mindala will let slip false rumors and news that she "just happened to hear and could not let remain unused" by her good friends. Such tellings are targeted at merchants or nobles who are suspected of dealing with spies, slavers and worse. Those who have acted on her information have revealed themselves to spying War Wizards and Highknights, stationed to observe who takes the bait and who does not.
Her identity as a War Wizard is known only by a few senior War Wizards based in Marsember*, select Highknights who Mindala trusts** and the King's Lord of Marsember. Mindala has an extremely cool relationship with Ganrahast and would have left the War Wizards years ago, were it not for Vainrence's timely intervention.
Mindala's business is self sufficient as it brings in large amounts of coin, much of it coming from the coin purses of adventurers. Mindala is skilled at manipulating adventurers so they blunder into all sorts of trouble, often resulting in battles that give the watch cause to enter warehouses and property that Mindala suspects of housing illicit goods.
One of the Spice Lords who has been hardest hit by Mindala's manipulations suspects her of passing on information to the Crown (but does not know she is a War Wizard) and has set his agents to watching her and the goings on around her shop closely.
Player characters are as likely to find themselves working for Mindala (in exchange for discounts on ritual components and scrolls) as they are to be working for the Spice Lords in an effort to uncover information about her.
I have not used Mindala in my Realms campaign yet.
*Of the five senior War Wizards who know her true identity, three pose as merchants in Marsember, just as Mindala does.
**Two such Highknights work for Mindala, posing as errand runners and assistants. One Highknight is always in attendance at Mindala's Menagerie and both are ready and willing to stand fast against any threat.
Orthos, along with the work chamber and study located in a long disused wing of the Royal Court where he conducted his research, is officially recorded as dead and lost over ninety four years ago when the Spellplague decimated the ranks of Cormyr's War Wizards.
Orthos was a specialist in the art of researching and testing new spells designed to thwart eminent threats to the Forest Kingdom. His current research focused on devising a means to magically detect and repel the last Ghazneth known to exist, with spells and wards that could overcome those creature's innate magic-absorption abilities.
When the Spellplague hit, Orthos quickly realized some sort of magical catastrophe was decimating his fellow mages and literally rocking the world around him. He rushed back to his research chambers and once there he took up a Ring of Three Wishes, using it to wish that both he and his work chamber be forever untouched by whatever was going on around him, "...as though it be immune to the ravages of time itself!"
Immediately the shaking and rumbling stopped. Confident in the ring's magic, Orthos went on with his research for the day, not having realized the ring had shorn Orthos and his research chambers out of the Royal Court and into a fixed-time demiplane.
The next day Orthos remembered the theories and ideas that he came up with the day before as though they were fresh ideas that dawned upon him when he awoke, but no other memories remained in his mind beyond the sight of his fellow War Wizards exploding or being driven insane by the ravages of the Spellplague pior to his use of the ring. His work chamber showed no signs of use from the day before, his tomes bereft of the prior day's writings and his alchemical experiments magically reset to be just as they were when he made his wish, with Orthos none the wiser.
Every few years or so Orthos will come to decide he needs an alchemical reagent or spell component not found in his well stocked work chamber. In such instances he walks from his work chamber to his study, then exits from there into the Royal Court (the magic of the wish selects at random any closed door of the Royal Court and links it to Orthos' study) to go in search of what he needs.
Over time he's been seen in increasingly out of date robes wandering about the halls and passages, often asking why the storage chambers have been moved and remarking at how relieved he is to see that no more of his fellow War Wizards are exploding in their seats.
"Ah, one of the lucky ones I see. Still have all your arms and legs, do you? Good, good! I don't suppose you can guide me to the components chamber, could you? I'm all turned around and seem to have lost my way."
During the war with Sembia Orthos helped repel a Shadovar Archmage and host of Umbriri swordmages who battled their way into the Royal Court. Orthos let loose with an unexpectedly adroit non-ritual casting of Planar Portal that ensnared the archmage and her escorts and whisked them all off to the Abyss. Orthos swiftly departed the scene of the battle to resume his research before anyone could stop him to offer congratulations, much less ask of him how he cast the spell so swiftly.
"Oh if Vangerdahast had had that spell when he came upon his first Ghazneth! This is proof I'm on to something, I tell you. So back to work. We mustn't keep Caladnei waiting!"
On another occasion Orthos was accosted by an angry noblewoman barging through the halls of the Royal Court. Orthos tried to ignore her and go on his way, but she demanded he delay his business to help locate her husband immediately.
"Oh I suppose I have a free moment or two, if it's for the good of the Realm as you say. May I take your hand, my dear?"
Thoroughly enspelled by an overpowered Sunite love charm, the noblewoman's desire switched from her husband to Orthos as soon as she took Orthos's proffered hand and the charm's magic came into contact with one of Orthos's personal, experimental anti-Ghazneth wards.
The magical conflagration that followed several breathless moments later shattered walls, floor and ceiling. When asked, the noblewoman (who wishes to remain unnamed in this tale) could not recall traveling to the Royal Court, much less how she came to be found safe and sound in the center of a whole building wing's worth of rubble.
Fortune (if not exactly Sune) favored the noblewoman that day, for she bore twins some three seasons later. ;)
Sometimes Orthos will do no more than open his study door to toss out the leavings of a meal or set out a chamber pot. Such events have driven several generations of stewards and chamberlains bat-crazy.
Ganrahast suspects that Orthos is alive and well in some fashion and has also noticed subtle (and entirely unauthorized) improvements to the Full Wards that protect the Royal Court, but the demands of his post and the infrequent sightings of Orthos have kept Ganrahast from pursuing the matter any further.
I have not used Orthos in my Realms campaign yet.
A word of roleplaying advice, should you choose to use Orthos in your campaign: If you're at all familiar with professor Horace Slughorn from Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince (esp. as portrayed by Jim Broadbent in the movie adaption), Orthos is quite like him, save that where Horace is keen to keep a dark secret, Orthos is just as keen to perfect his Ghazneth warding magic.
Happy New Year's Eve! Don't forget: A rare blue moon tonight! Wish on the moon and watch it come true in 2010! ;)
Orgreth Dinsimer
Orgreth is a short, stocky man with wide shoulders, bushy brown eyebrows and beard that tend to turn reddish after several days under the sun, and close cropped brown hair. He has wide, flat hands and similarly proportioned feet, and is of such a square build that he can easily be mistaken for a dwarf at a distance.
Orgreth enjoys eating, drinking and good living. He is not a hedonist, nor a glutton, but takes pains to gain as much from each experience as possible, whether it be the simple act of eating or the complex task of penning a new ritual scroll.
Blendel Arcandle, Orgreth's father, impressed upon his son at a very young age that life was meant to be lived. For many life was far too short and often ended painfully, so it was best to live in the moment as much as possible and take all that one could from each experience.
This outlook, along with the early death of Orgreth's mother in childbirth, served as a great inspiration for Orgreth. While growing up in Gladehap, Orgreth experienced all the village had to offer. He's hurled himself across the sturdy cords that run between the village buildings on both sides of the dell where Gladehap is located, leaped off of Gladehap Rock to see whether the ring he'd just bought was truly a Ring of Feather Fall, learned to dress animal carcasses and prepare meats at the hugely popular Wyrmkindler's Carvery (formerly Wyrmkindler's Sausage Works) and learned the nature of commerce and demand from various Gladehap shop owners (Gladehap is still a prime destination for merchant caravans and nobles from Suzail).
In his teens Orgreth was both delighted and a little terrified to learn he could cast minor spells without the aid of a spellbook. News of his talent quickly spread to his father, who insisted his son leave Gladehap to join the War Wizards. Though sad to leave his home, Orgreth headed his father's wishes and has yet to regret his decision.
Orgreth enjoys the thrill of battle and has matched spells with Cormyr's foes on several occasions. Orgreth prefers to ride in support of a charging company of mounted Purple Dragons formed up in a V formation, with Orgreth busily hurling battle spells from its center, before the purple dragons crash through the enemy ranks.
Orgreth is currently stationed along Cormyr's eastern border at Azoun's Hold, between the free city of Daerlun and the village of Battlerise.
I have not used Orgreth in my Realms campaign yet.
Faerthin Seshore was born in the formidable fortress keep of Hornshield* and raised to continue on with the long tradition of crafting, metalwork and glasswork that Hornshield's artisans are famous for.
A tall, thin man with a rather square head and a long, freckled nose who tires quite easily, Faerthin moves about in an ungainly, not-quite lumbering sort of way and sits with a bit of a slouch owing to much time spent as a youth leaning over a workbench while doing fine, detailed metalwork and engraving. For all his clumsiness Faerthin possesses exceptionally nimble hands and is skilled at manipulating small objects such as lock tumblers, artisans tools, clockwork gears and spell components.
Faerthin grew to despise the idea of a life lived in solitude, where endless hard work, long hours and the never ending dictates of the council of elders who collectively rule over Hornshield would come to rule his own adult life. He vowed to free himself from Hornshield and pursue his own interests.
The discovery of his arcane powers led Faerthin to secretly pursue his magical studies, believing this to be a gift from the gods meant to remove him from a life of endless toil and servitude. He masked his interest in magic as no more than curiosity about how the group of mages who magically transport goods to other parts of Cormyr conduct their business, just as he claimed his interest in the long-dead mage Aumrathar Uernhands, who once resided at Hornshield, as a passing curiosity about Hornshield's history.
Faerthin diligently pursued the art of crafting locks and the creation of ornate metal work, eventually earning himself his own workspace. He learned to quickly create objects of surpassing quality and used his remaining time alone to secretly study ritual scrolls and a single tattered old spellbook he'd stumbled upon after getting himself lost in the depths of Hornshield's catacombs.
Faerthin soon realized he had learned all he could from the limited means at hand and, as he was of age, he chose to rebel. In a burst of unexpected defiance, Faerthin revealed his powers of the Art, but made it clear to his immediate family that he'd not become another magemule, hidebound to the dictates of the keep and its need to have finished goods magically transported to warehouses in Suzail.
Before his father could have him run out of the castle, Faerthin begged transport from one of the mages who moved Hornshield's goods to Suzail, convincing the mage to take him to the next Council of Mages meeting so he could present himself as a fresh recruit to the War Wizards.
Fortune favored Faerthin, for his encyclopedic knowledge of Hornshield's activities, as well as his relative frailty, was sufficient to earn him a watch post at the Royal Court. His duty is to receive, catalog and meticulously store information and reports from War Wizard spies** who keep watch over all commerce in Cormyr. He reports to Vainrence once a tenday.
With the passage of time Faerthin has grown accustomed to sitting behind a desk, receiving information from War Wizard agents across Cormyr and forwarding the occasional order or decree from Ganrahast. Faerthin keeps to the Royal Court as much as possible.
Faerthin pursues his work diligently and with great care. His greatest nightmare is making a mistake that leads to him being stationed in the "outland" regions (that is, anything beyond Suzail and the Royal Court) or horror of horrors being forced to camp in the wilds with a pack of brutish Purple Dragons and their smelly mounts.
He greatly prefers having a roof over his head, avoids inclement weather and is ill at ease when there is no ready access to food, drink and a warm bed. He considers Suzail to be the epicenter of culture and civilization, its every part designed to keep him comfortable and safe.
His time in Suzail has given Faerthin something of an eye for architecture and how the finished products produced in his old home are used. He keeps in his quarters the old tools of his family's crafting trade.
In his free time he sits alone, patiently creating wood, metal and glass replicas of his favorite buildings in Suzail.
Faerthin idolizes the one-time Defender of Suzail (Maxer Hlaar) and is curious to recover any of Maxer's lost constructs and creations. As Faerthin is not one to go poking about into dangerous things on his own, he has instead quietly researched as much as he could about Maxer's creations and former abode and is considering approaching the Society of Stalwart Adventurers—by means of an agent—to enquire if any of its intrepid members would be willing to pursue the matter further on his behalf.
I have not used Faerthin in my Realms campaign yet
*See Volo's Guide to Cormyr, page 212
**The wizard who transported Faerthin out of Hornshield, he was surprised to learn, was just such a spy.
Hello Imruphel,
Thank you for your kind words and for reading to at least page 2. ;)
I will do my level best to get one of these done every day, even if I post after midnight from time to time to do it.
When I started this I knew it would be a challenge, but I didn't realize just how difficult it can be to sit down every day and say, "OK, I'm gonna write up another War Wizard." Volo's Guide to Cormyr is my life preserver in all of this.
Question (or two): Is there anything missing from these write-ups you'd like to see? Should I try my hand at Ed's style of shorthand NPC game info? (LG hf M14 being Ed-speak in 2nd Edition D&D terms for Lawful Good, Human Female, 14th level mage, that sort of thing?)
Again, thank you so much for reading!
Eltagar Ironhand is a War Wizard who specializes in magically repairing stonework and designing castle fortifications. Eltagar is part of a group of War Wizards tasked with continually fortifying, testing and improving the physical and magical defenses of Cormyr's various fortresses and castles.
Eltagar is a vociferous, opinionated wizard who firmly believes Azoun's Hold and Castle Acacia are simply not strong enough, nor big enough to handle future onslaughts by the Sembians and Netherese (it's only a matter of time, according to Eltagar). He often butts heads with crown officials who are not War Wizards and has more than once had to be physically restrained from magically burning to cinders senior courtiers who disagreed with him.
Eltagar sees enemies of the realm under every rock and in every shadow and views conflict as an eventuality. That war will return to Cormyr in some fashion is not an issue of if, but when.
To Eltagar's way of thinking Castle Crag and High Horn are the best examples of how a castle is built to survive and win and Cormyr should have at least six or more similar keeps all along its frontier.
Were Eltagar's more extreme ideas ever to be implemented, Cormyr would have a curtain wall stretching from the eastern edge of the Stormhorns all the way to the Thunder Peaks. There would also be a castle constructed along the southern edge of the Dragonmere between Teziir and Elversult.
Fortunately Ganrahast keeps Eltagar far too busy inspecting and improving the extant castles of Cormyr to ever find the time and support necessary to see his ideas to fruition.
Eltagar's interests are not just limited to Cormyr's castles. He is just as interested in the castles and fortifications of other nations, city states and organizations. He is particularly fascinated by Darkhold's history and the five hundred foot tall obsidian walls that surround Daerlun.
The secrets of the latter's construction are something Eltagar highly covets. He would pay handsomely for any information revealing the secrets of how the Netherese created Daerlun's walls.
I have not used Eltagar in my Realms campaign yet.
Almarr Massingham is a liar, a murderer and a scoundrel of the first order. He has been nearly drummed out of the War Wizards on at least three different occasions.
The latest near-expulsion occured under questioning over events that took place in the mining town of Hillmarch.
Almarr was (and still is) suspected in the murder of at least one noble: Blaise Hawklin, second in line to head the Hawklin family after his brother Berendor, who invested heavily of his own funds in Hillmarch to reopen an abandoned mine rumored* to have yielded up strange, magical ores.
Aside from murder, Almarr is believed to have blackmailed a successful sword maker into double paying fees for the inspection, sealing and transport of his blades through the realm. He has been accused of abandoning his watch post and other duties as well.
For all this Almarr has managed to successfully lie, implicate others, once eliminate a witness and generally do whatever it takes to pull himself out of the fire.
Ganrahast has chosen to keep Almarr in Suzail where he can keep an eye on him. This is well, as Almarr has prepared and secreted away in an abandoned mine north of Hillmarch a cache of secret Cormyrian documents listing known gates, portals and extradimensional hideaways created by the Sword Heralds of Cormyr, as well as their means of activation and known destinations.
It is in this mine that the last of Blaise Hawklin's considerable personal fortune may be found, as well as his moldering corpse.
Almarr's portal and refuge list is lengthy and in some cases damning. In the wrong hands it could lead a would be gang of criminals to untold hidden away riches belonging to several noble families and provide them with objects presumed lost, as well as incriminating documents that would allow such criminals to extort at least three extant noble families into ruination.
Almarr is being investigated and closely watched by the Alarphons and at least one Highknight. He is aware he's being surveilled and currently keeps a low profile, seeing to his assigned tasks with simple, unhurried efficiency.
His wish to be done with and gone from Cormyr grows with each passing day. Almarr is toying with the idea of hiring adventurers through his merchant contact in Arabel to retrieve his hidden cache, then have the merchant hire assassins or less scrupulous adventurers to eliminate the first party outside the mine and dispose of their bodies in one of its dark shafts.
Almarr has no interest in turning the list over to an enemy of Cormyr such as Sembia, Netheril or even Westgate, as this would be "wrong" to him. He is not, however, above selling the list to the highest merchant bidder. What they choose to do with it is none of his concern.
I have not used Almarr in my Realms campaign yet.
*Rumors supplied by Almarr's merchant contacts, with the strange ore no more than common iron ore enchanted by Almarr to seem rare and magical.
Bindle Blackfeather is a small, thin man of with closely cropped black hair, inquisitive eyes that look out from under long, thin eyebrows, who sports a sharply cut goatee and moustache that wrap around small, forever pursed lips.
Bindle is a man of few words and highly efficient motions. He does not waste time with needless gestures nor long-worded sentences. He can convey by stance and posture alone his impatience with anyone he perceives is wasting his time and can easily communicate "get to the point" with but a look.
Protecting the ever busy Warden of the Eastern Marches (Warvred Emmarask, based in Castle Crag) is Bindle's responsibility. It is a task he takes very seriously.
The similar natures of the two men leads to a sort of mutual, unspoken understanding between them where gestures, looks and nods are sufficient to communicate volumes. Bindle admires Warvred's ability to digest, analyze and retain large amounts of information before issuing precise orders to the Purple Dragons under his control with a bare minimum of fuss and effort.
Warvred is forever moving about Castle Crag and the surrounding environs, often personally leading patrols of 40 to 60 Purple Dragons into the wilds between Gnoll Pass, The Redwoods and the eastern borders of the Hullack Forest to inspect merchant caravans and waylay anything the Warden perceives as a threat to Cormyr.
When not on patrol Warvred moves about by Gates and Linked Portal rituals to Arabel, Castle Nacacia and Azoun's Hold, constantly seeking information, asking questions, testing the readiness of the Purple Dragons based at these locations and keeping all in a state of battle readiness.
In all of these tasks Bindle is constantly challenged to stay one step ahead of the Warden, to anticipate his needs and decisions and make sure the way is clear and safe for him to proceed.
Ganrahast is most pleased with Bindle's efforts, having failed thrice before to find a Wizard of War amongst the Brotherhood capable of keeping up with Warvred while avoiding his easily-roused ire. With Ganrast's approval, Bindle was allowed to handpick eight other war wizards to serve as his assistants and extra bodyguards for Warvred.
Five of these eight remain alive. Three were slain along with several Purple Dragons while protecting the Warden from a large contingent of Eldreth Veluuthra who'd crossed the Immerflow south of Elfmound and ambushed a patrol the Warden was leading.
Sensing the unique threat posed by the Eladrin, Bindle is looking to replace these mages with highly motivated War Wizards skilled in the battle art of the swordmage or the various warlock pacts.
Much like Vainrence, both Bindle and Warvred believe the College of War Wizards should be militarized and turned into a spear wielded by the King to skewer Cormyr's enemies.
After nearly losing his life and that of his charge to the human hating Eladrin and Elves of the Hullack Forest, Bindle believes that spear should be pointed right at the forest's heart.
I have not used Bindle in my Realms campaign yet.
(snip)Question (or two): Is there anything missing from these write-ups you'd like to see? Should I try my hand at Ed's style of shorthand NPC game info? (LG hf M14 being Ed-speak in 2nd Edition D&D terms for Lawful Good, Human Female, 14th level mage, that sort of thing?) (snip)
Actually, I like that you've left them open, particularly on the subject of alignment. Perhaps you could make a comment only if they are multiclassed? Frex, it would be interesting to see a wizard who multiclassed into tactical warlord and that might be worth noting (and perhaps also mentioning his signature multiclass power).
Imdar the Stout was born in 1442 DR (the Year of Darkenbeasts Risen), in the village of Wormtower*, itself nestled between the Mistwood Trail and the Bluemist Trail, southeast of Kirinwood.
Imdar is called "the Stout" thanks to his wide build, solid features and protruding belly. Imdar's corpulence has often led others to mistake him for a soft, biddable man, or to think him no more than a lazy glutton.
While he does like to eat (Imdar can consume a whole basket of Kirinwood-raised apples in one sitting) he is by no means spineless. On the contrary, Imdar is a resolute man with a will of iron and an almost fanatical belief in the righteousness of Cormyr.
Like many youths of Cormyr, Imdar was raised on tales and legends of Cormyr's many conflicts and the prevailing glory of its wise rulers and way of life. But unlike other youths, the tales told to Imdar were imparted to him by the dragon ghost who dwells at the heart of the tower ruins that gave the village of Wormtower its name.
As a boy Imdar chanced upon a small, oval shaped stone with a strange rune carved into one side, with a mithril loop jutting out from its top and a chain of the same material running through the loop. He found the stone half buried in the earth near the border of the village where Wormtower's cobblestoned lanes and hedgerows end.
Not knowing any better, the lad set the chain around his neck and placed the stone beneath his woolen shirt. As he made his way down the path, the stone warmed over his breast and a voice spoke in his mind, ’Finally..."
Curious, but not yet scared, Imdar said aloud, "Finally what?" To which the voice in his head replied, "Finally one has come who is worthy and can be taught. Seek me in the ruin, boy. I trust you know of which ruin I speak?"
At this Imdar did know fear. Try as he might, he couldn't remove the necklace, his fingers flowing through it and the pendant as though they were made of air. Imdar rushed home to get help, not caring for the consequences levied on him for getting a strange magical thing stuck around his neck. Yet when he did find his parents and tore his shirt off no necklace with a pendant could be seen, though Imdar could still feel the weight of it on his neck and its warmth on his chest.
In bed later that night the voice came to him again, "Come to me, boy. I have much to teach and your lives are too pitifully short. Come. Now. Hesitation is for the weak."
Anxious to be rid of the pendant, Imdar snuck out of his home and visited the ghost dragon that night at the ruins of Wormtower, where the voice beckoned him to come forth and sit before the massive skeleton of the dragon. The five tower spires that girded the ruins did not rain lightning down upon him, though he greatly feared they would. Nor did he get turned into a bat or a toad or a rock and then disappear like so many before who'd dared tresspass Wormtower.
That night the ghost dragon told Imdar of its birthplace in the Eastern Stormhorns, of how mages of Anauria and Asram slew its parents and carried away its brothers and sisters while they were still in their eggs, of how the men discarded the dragon's egg upon seeing it damaged, and how a now-dead goddess appeared before the struggling hatchling with the gift of vigor and the means to survive alone.
It told Imdar how the goddess taught it secrets of the Art, then bade the dragon go forth to find humans who were not like those of the now-dead Netherese survivor states, but were worthy to learn the Art and could be taught by the Dragon as it saw fit. The ghost dragon told him of how it and others like it taught free mages the art of Dragon Lair Magic and how to create extradimensional safeholds to secret away truly valuable things.
Fascinated, Imdar returned the next night and the night after that. In all the tales told by the ghost dragon of its many centuries of teaching magic to humans of Cormyr and the surrounding lands, it wove in the story of Cormyr's long history, the nature of the pact between men and elves that binds the Obarskyrs and the people of Cormyr to the land, of its many rulers, its heroes, its mistakes and its struggle to grow, fight and survive.
When not telling tales, the ghost dragon taught Imdar secrets of the Art. He taught the boy that the power of magic came from the land, the oceans and life itself and flowed through all things, and that from this was born the Weave. He taught Imdar that until recently the Weave was the best means to access this magic, but in its absence great magic was still possible.
The ghost dragon tempered young Imdar's impatience to learn new magic with threats to withhold its tales of Cormyr. The boy learned well under its tutelage.
When Imdar came of age the ghost dragon told Imdar the story he'd long wanted to know: How the ghost dragon died and why it slew the mage Nendar Thrinn, whose remains lay beneath the bones of the ghost dragon in the ruins of Nendar's former tower.
Imdar had great pride in the nation of his birth, but this last accounting inspired in him such love for Cormyr that he resolved to travel to Suzail and present himself before the Council of Mages to be accepted as a War Wizard.
Ganrahast almost lost newly minted Wizard of War Imdar to the King after the Mage Royal commanded Imdar to deliver a message of minor importance to his majesty, then return swiftly for his next assignment. A group of sages were imparting to the King information about the known history of dragons lairing in the Stormhorns as Imdar entered that particular chamber of the Royal Court.
His interest piqued, Imdar waited patiently and listened to each sage's remarks. But upon hearing the sages confidently declare the number of dragon lairs to be found in that region of Cormyr, Imdar politely interrupted and good-naturedly corrected them, noting there were at least sixteen other dragons, now dead and gone, whose lairs in the Stormhorns the sages had failed to include--of which ten were infested by beholders** and one the lair of the dragon whose bones sat at the center of the Wormtower ruin.
Surprised and more than a little put out by the fat, ruddy faced young Wawr wizard's bold claims, the sages went on the offensive by peppering Imdar with a series of difficult questions regarding dragons, intending to betray his ignorance and drive him off. But the young man answered with ease and levied his own questions at the sages.
The coterie of learned sages could not answer even half the questions Imdar asked.
King Foril was on the verge of reassigning Imdar to the Royal Court when an impatient Ganrahast appeared in the chamber and spirited his fellow mage away from the King and his advisors.
Imdar's duties revolve around advancement of the Art and the creation of new spells and magic items that can mimic the power and efficacy of rituals (which take much longer to cast and are quite costly). He works in the fortress barracks shared by the Purple Dragons and the War Wizards and has personally researched over twenty battle spells now in wide use by the Brotherhood.
Imdar still bears the last passage stone created by Nendar Thrinn, which according to the ghost dragon is bound to Imdar until he dies or becomes unworthy. When in need of coin (the ghost dragon has opened its hoard to Imdar) or advice on the Art, Imdar conceals himself by means of his magic and visits the ghost dragon of Wormtower.
I have not used Imdar yet in my Realms campaign.
*Information on Wormtower can be found on pages 118-120 of Volo's Guide to Cormyr.
** See Ed Greenwood's Eye On the Realms article: Xrarnuarr Will Triumph, Dragon #406
Haerldoun Walks the Royal Court
Magic no longer flows smoothly or easily. Men (and elves, dragons and worse) are still relearning its ways. Like a used woman in tattered clothes, magic stands abused, torn and wild, and will not always bend to one's will, no matter how strong that will may be.
A key on a ring, the ring attached by a tassel to a wrist. The ring is wide, it fits in his hand as he curls his fingers around it. His arm hangs leisurely at his side, the key dangling like an extra finger.
Magic is willful. Its parts are disjointed, like a broken mirror that cannot be fit back together. Shattered is too staid a word for magic as it is now. Old ways no longer work. If you follow them, you will find death. The edge of a broken shard of magic will cut you down as surely as a blade through the heart.
The key is enchanted; a thing of old magic. The ring itself is a like a calling stone. If the key is lost or stolen, the ring can recall it, much like a magic weapon once thrown or hurled will return to its owner's hand. This is how the Blackstaff wanted it. If the key is destroyed...
But broken pieces mean broken rules. A proper reflection in the mirror of magic is now a thousand separate reflections, each showing the same thing in a different way. Some reflections are bigger, others smaller, some show this and some show that.
Haerldoun lost the key. That is, the key fell prey to a purple dragon, too hasty to bar Haerldoun's way upon his unlocking a door and unexpectedly finding the King himself in the midst of a heated discussion with the Mage Royal and the heads of the families Silver.
Cast a spell in the old manner and it can turn out any of a thousand slightly different ways.
The purple dragon grabbed Haerldoun's wrist firmly and pushed him back. Wrist attached to tassel, tassel to ring, ring to key and key in the keyhole.
Learn those differences and you discover the keys to power.
The key snapped. A flash, a bang. Half the key remained on the ring, the other half in the keyhole.
Learn which pieces fit and you unlock the old secrets.
A ring of black, charred flesh left in Haerldoun's hand as the key ring glowed red hot.
Discover which pieces fit in new ways and you stand higher than any master of the Art.
Haerldoun attempted to repair the key. Would that he used his other hand, the one not charred, to complete the ritual.
Remake the mirror and you awaken the goddess of magic.
Haerldoun has no key and no key ring, but he possesses a sixth finger. It's on his ring-scarred hand, a twin of his ring finger.
Or the god of magic, if Asmodeus has his way.
Haerldoun walks the Royal Court. When he touches any locked door with that extra finger, then wraps his scarred hand around the door handle, the door always—always—opens.
I was writing the italicized part all by itself yesterday as a kind of ominous sage prediction or poem.
After, I looked at this thread and started counting weeks. Thinking I ought to write another War Wizard (it's been awhile, after all) I chose Hornscar to write about.
Almost instantly the italicized part came back so I tried my hand at 'writing around it'. I'm glad you enjoyed the result.
:D
Anymore good stuff Mr.M? Where have ye been lately?
For the most part I've been working and tending to my bar blog, both of which are a lot of fun.
Bars are good places to think about D&D, to be honest. Just let the hum of voices, the sounds of sports on the flat screens or the music from the jukebox drown out the background noise in your mind (stray thoughts, worries, earworms, whatever...), then let the gaming thoughts come forth.
It's like caution tape holding back reporters and the crowd at a crime scene, and you just happen to be CSI on the case.
I ought to have something new one of these days. Until then I'm going to keep reading Eats, Shoots & Leaves by Lynne Truss, all while thinking to myself just how atrociously abysmal my punctuation has been on these forums over the years. It's all I can do to show my face around here anymore. ;)
Take care, Delta!
And also given me some inspiration for my own NPC's of Akanul...
Warmest Regards!
Carter
Been awhile, hasn’t it?
This particular write up is all story. I’ve taken liberties with things about the War Wizards I don’t know (whether the College of War Wizards has towers, particulars of the Suzail Writ, Vainrence' attitude towards Nobles and the goings on at the Royal Court) and am still a little confused over when you capitalize “Crown”, “Noble”, “War Wizard” and so on. But for all that I think this is a good write up.
If you spot inconsistencies or have questions, please let me know.
Hope you enjoy it! (And thanks for reading!)
Mindra Theld
Mindra Theld's eyes opened. Her mind was thick with the fog of sleep, the whole of her body heavy and warm with the weight of a long, restful slumber. She was happy to have awakened. A Wizard of War of her advanced years had far fewer days ahead then days left behind in the wake of time.
She threw aside the large bedsheet and let her legs dangle over the side. The chamber her bed occupied was one of several that comprised the inner spaces of a tall, many-leveled stone tower that jutted up from the grim walls of the College of War Wizards.
Half-remembered thoughts and images played through her mind as she breathed slowly and ordered her thoughts. Memories of concerned junior War Wizards—her apprentices all—bidding her farewell and a safe journey to whichever god would claim her; the last rights administered by a wandering priest of Mystra, Goddess of Magic; a dream image: awakening on a cool, hard surface and the grim, sharp face of a man looking down at her with cold, calculating eyes; a massive, many-eyed and tentacled thing floating before her, gobs of drool falling from teeth the size of daggers as it dragged her kicking and screaming by the leg, one of its tentacles lifting her up and then depositing her into a great, fang-filled maw. Then…here, resting as though from the most peaceful, trouble free slumber she'd ever had.
Ha! The feebleminded dreams of an old, doddering war wizard—one well past her prime and too near to death. Her apprentices would just have to be patient, she thought to herself. Mindra Theld, retired Court Wizard of all Cormyr and senior member of the Brotherhood of the Wizards of War was not done drawing breath in this world just yet.
She stood up and padded along the floor, then frowned as she looked down at her feet. Why was she dressed in brand new riding boots? And why in Mystra's name had someone dared to place a huge, bearskin rug at the side of her bed? The head of the beast was still attached, its open mouth pointing towards the only door set in the wall of her chambers.
As the light of the rising sun washed through the multicolored glass of the tall window that stood opposite the door, Mindra slowly turned and beheld a room that was not of her own making.
The old ironwood desk that sat for years against the curved wall near the foot of her bed was not there. In its place a tall wooden armoire stood, its two doors shut and fastened together by a complex set of locks and dials. Its clockwork arrangement was unlike anything Mindra had ever seen.
Between the great window and the armoire, the stone bookshelf that had long been a repository for her spellbooks, spell scrolls and magic items still stood, but its contents were not hers. Spellbooks resided there, but she recognized none of them as her own. Where a bundle of battle wands should have been, spell scrolls sealed in green wax were piled up. Steel vials of healing potions once stacked neatly on the topmost shelf had been replaced by disorganized piles of spell components.
Uncertainty welling up in her breast, Mindra rounded the foot of the bed to the window and threw the catch. She cranked the window open and beheld Suzail, capitol of Cormyr and seat of the Dragon Throne.
Only this was not the Suzail she knew. The rising sun illuminated a city twice the size of the one she'd gone to bed in. The docks held row after row of tall-masted ships, their sails painted hues of gold and pink in the sunrise light. Warehouses and buildings stood where once small copses of trees and grass stood. The great wall that surrounded the city stood taller—and further out—than she'd ever seen.
Her view included the Royal Palace of the King of Cormyr. The walls appeared to have been built over, with new wings and towers added. The College of War Wizards had seen change as well. Once a single tower housed all the mages sworn to protect the realm. Now four towers of equal height stood, one to a corner of the College.
The Royal Court had grown too, becoming a sprawling, many-winged and towered mass that had swallowed all the land before the great hill upon which the Royal Palace stood.
Mindra closed the window and turned away from the view of a city now alien to her. Sheleaned against the stone window sill, taking in the room and pondered her situation.
What madness was this? Had her chambers already been reassigned. Would they dare remove her possessions and replace them with her successor's, with her dead in her own bed?
Or was this all a mind-image, spellwrought upon her by an overly concerned priest of Mystra, that she might in her last moments see a future Cormyr in all its radiant glory? If this was a dream meant to placate her, it was doing a damned poor job of it.
Whether real or fake, there was little sense in staying in her chamber. She raised her right hand to favor the War Wizard ring she'd worn for almost the entirety of her service to the Crown. Even if asleep or in the midst of an arcane mind trap, Mindra could call upon the ring to carry a message from her mind to all of her apprentices who wore the other four rings that comprised the full set of five.
Only the ring was not there. She quickly raised her left hand and found it bereft of rings as well.
But her hands...these were not her hands! Mindra had walked for nearly six decades in this world, forty of those in service to the Crown and these were not the hands of the old, near-to-death crone she'd become. They were not stained by spell inks from the countless spell scrolls she’d penned, nor did the shape of her finger bones show through paper-white skin that should have been wrinkled and sagging.
These hands were flush with youth, the skin taught and tanned.
She reached to unclasp her robe and found that it was of a burnt orange color, with a round red badge over the right breast. A black sphere with five wavering tentacles was depicted on the badge. Each tentacle carried one item: rod, staff, wand, sword and crown.
This was no heraldic device she'd ever seen. Nor was this the robe she’d gone to sleep in, thinking—nay, hoping—this would be her last rest in these chambers. The robe had pouches sewn along the inside where spell components, wands and small weapons could be concealed, but all were empty.
She hastily threw off the robe. Underneath she was clothed in a simple cotton shirt and pants held up by a belt with extra loops that could hold magical rods, wands and a sword scabbard. A potion bandolier looped over her chest from left shoulder to right hip. She could feel thin but comfortable socks clothing her feet inside riding boots that felt well worn, but looked entirely new.
This was garb for battle, not a funeral. By Tempus was there a war on that nobody had informed her about?
She took one last look at the outfit before she sat on the bed, kicked off the riding boots and removed the bandolier. Then she stood and disrobed.
She turned from side to side, taking in as much of her naked form as she could with her eyes while feeling the shape of her body with her hands. This was her body, but years younger. The scars along her right arm where she'd been blasted by lightening were there, as were the trio of white marks that showed where she'd taken three crossbow bolts in the gut. But the deep, puckered scars that should have run the length of her thigh and up her hip where the hydra had bitten her did not exist. Nor the ragged scar where her thigh bone had burst forth as the hydra crushed her leg. The white slash of a scar on her left arm where she'd stopped an assassin's blade meant for her throat was absent too.
Mindra was thrilled to find the ever-present aches of age were gone. She stood straight up, the hunch in her back absent as though it had never been. Her breathing was no longer a ragged labor. She could actually lift her arms over her head and even bend them at the elbows to touch her back between her shoulder blades. She brought her hands up to her hair and lifted it up to her eyes: it was long, brown and thick, with just a hint of the grey that would turn silver in time.
The delight of newfound youth was replaced by concern: what game was this? How had she come to stand in a younger body, while all around her Cormyr appeared much older?
A bolt was thrown and the door it held shut opened partway. The sounds of bustling feet and voices flowed into the room as Mindra dashed forward more swiftly then she'd moved in the last twenty years, gathering her robe, clothes and bandolier and pulling them down to the floor at the side of the bed.
The confident voice of a man mingled with the din in the hallway beyond and rolled over the bed to Mindra's ears. "I care little what the patron of the Truesilver family has told you. The Suzail Writ binds King, noble, war wizard and commoner alike. If Lord Truesilver believes those commoners who farm his lands have banded together to steal a portion of his crops and sell them for their own gain, then a crime has potentially been committed outside the jurisdiction of the nearest local lord. By law a war wizard and not the King’s Lord of Arabel—or of Eveningstar, for that matter—must be sent to oversee the creation of a jury to determine whether Lord Truesilver's accusations are true.”
“But,” said a lesser voice, “Lord Truesilver has declared he will only accept the judgment of men he’s ridden into battle with.”
The voice of the man at the door became stern, “The power of judgment belongs to the jury, within the bounds of the Writ as adjudicated by a war wizard and not whichever local lord the aging head of the Truesilver family has gone to battle with.”
“Couldn’t whomever of our Order is assigned to the Truesilver family adjudicate this matter?” the young voice asked.
“Yes. But, as Ganrahast has told us all, the War Wizards are to remain as neutral as possible in all legal matters over which the Writ holds sway. Another must adjudicate this matter and that war wizard is you, Thurldinn. Lord Truesilver anticipated your appointment which is why he dispatched a messenger to warn you away.”
A brief pause, then the voice added, “Find a saddle and requisition an escort of Purple Dragons. Lord Truesilver's holdings are far west of Arabel. You'd best be on your way and stay well ahead of his lordship's retinue. He's not known for his patience and will likely leave Suzail to try and outrace you once he learns at this morning’s session of Petition and Redress that I have already dispatched a war wizard to oversee his complaint.”
Mindra tensed at the sound of someone stepping into the chamber.
“We cannot have nobles dispensing their particular brand of justice in our place, Thurldinn. And fear not. Lord Truesilver is more bluster than real threat. He will not have the next uninvited Wizard of War who sets foot on his lands be drawn and quartered."
"May it be as you say. Many thanks, Master Vainrence. I shall depart at once."
"Safe journey, Thurldinn."
The door was closed with more force than necessary. Mindra could hear the one called Vainrence speak an impatient word of magic that caused the bolt on the outside of the door to slam home.
"Greetings, old bear," said Vainrence as he walked past the the bearskin rug to the armoire.
Mindra heard the ticking sound of swiftly turned dials and the winding of gears. Peering around the foot of the bed, Mindra spied thin metal clasps unlock as the two wooden doors of the armoire parted slightly before Vainrence.
The wizard, for he could not be anything else, impatiently opened the right hand door and shrugged off the simple blue robes he was wearing. He hung them on a peg inside the armoire and then selected a formal set of robes striped in black and purple, which he donned swiftly and belted firmly at his waist.
A large oval mirror girded in silver filigree hung on the inside panel of one door. Mindra's eyes grew wide at the sight of it as Vainrence regarded his reflection with a critical eye.
The mirror had belonged to Mindra, once.
“Lord Truesilver is finally realizing his word does not hold sway at Court as it once did,” Vainrence said to his reflection.
An elderly female voice answered from within the mirror, "Lord Truesilver was once a great warrior who served Cormyr with distinction. But the passage of time—particularly the death of Azoun V—has left him bereft of contemporaries.”
“He’s the last of his generation and has no more battlefields on which to fight,” Vainrence stated matter of factly.
The surface along the edge of the mirror rippled as the voice emanated from it. “I cannot imagine one so old as he drawing breath much longer. Fortunately his sons are wiser and more patient than their aged father. The eldest has already put himself in charge of overseeing their holdings north of the King’s Forrest. He will be there when Thurldinn arrives and seek to tame his father before he can do too much damage.”
Vainrence grunted at this as he carefully weighed a pair of wands in each hand. He selected one and slid it into a sheath in his right boot.
The voice in the mirror continued, “Thurldrinn will adjudicate wisely. Consider: no matter how much he might fear offending the elderly patron of the Truesilvers, he is more afraid of displeasing you or Ganrahast. His judgment in this matter will be fair."
Mindra sat stock still, her hand over her mouth to stifle the gasp that threatened to lurch forth from her throat. The voice coming from the mirror was hers! And that could only mean…no. How by all the Watching Gods could she be dead when she was crouched to one side of the bed, hiding like some sneak thief?
Vainrence spoke to the mirror as though it were a colleague, "I would prefer a law appended to the Writ that all male nobles over the age of sixty be put down as a favor to the Crown. Or something to the effect that they be buckled into their best armor, given a sword and sent off on an equally old steed—roped down onto the saddle so they don’t fall off after the first ten paces, of course—to the frontier to do battle with brigands and worse until horse and rider are finally slain. Do you think His Majesty will see fit to add such to the Writ?" he asked the mirror in mock seriousness.
"Would that I had been placed in his Majesty's private chambers, I am sure I could convince him of the wisdom of your ideas," the mirror replied earnestly, playing along.
Vainrence smiled, "You are too valuable to be given over to his majesty. Impatient, battle-seeking Crown mages such as I have long benefited from your wisdom and council down the centuries."
Centuries!?
As Vainrence moved to close the armoire the mirror spoke, "Could you leave the door open towards the window? I miss the view."
"You know I cannot leave the window open. T'would render the tower vulnerable to intrusion as the wards over the window will remain inactive."
"Yes, I know. But I miss even the sight of it. I need see only the window for now."
Vainrence looked into the mirror again and sketched a formal court bow, "As you wish, milady."
"Many thanks, kind sir," the mirror replied in the same courtly tone. "May your time as substitute Court Wizard be short, ere Ganrahast returns."
"May it be just as you say, milady. I prefer the wilds of the frontier, where blasting foes to bits and questioning their spirits after the fact are a permissible form of diplomacy. Such tactics, unfortunately, are frowned upon at Court."
Mindra heard the War Wizard called Vainrence chuckle at his joke as he walked to the door of his chambers and spoke a different word of magic to release the bolt outside.
Mindra waited until Vainrence had stepped onto the flagstone floor of the central tower stairway and closed the door behind him before she stood up on unsure legs and walked to the mirror.
The bolt to his chambers closed as Mindra’s reflection, wrinkled and bent with age, regarded her with milky blue eyes.
Each said to the other, "You should not be here."
Interlude: Unknown War Wizard
The light spread like a fire. Or that’s how it seemed as the light, its leading edge a ribbon-like band of white, flowed along tunnel walls, rocky ceilings and cave floors, spreading outward from the great central chamber where it originated to touch every conceivable surface in the closed-off expanse of the Underdark beneath Faerûn.
There was no swiftness to its pace; the light moved slowly, like a fire devouring parchment.
Whatever the light touched became radiant. The light exposed stone the color of chalk as it hounded the darkness deeper into the outer reaches of the caverns.
The light climbed up stalagmites, forming rings at their base and rising like water in a basin. When it reached each tip of stone the light shone brightly. Soon the great central chamber was illuminated by hundreds of stone candles.
Further into the complex the light found what it was seeking.
Two bands of hard stone rose up from the floor of a small cave like a pair of bridges arching over a river. They wrapped around the chest of a man interred in the floor of the cave. His eyes remained closed as the stone that held him glowed from within as the light flowed over it. Then, into it.
The stone shined brighter, its hard surface turning yellow then smoldering red as the light continued to flow. The silence in the cave was broken by a sound like thunder as the twin bands of stone burst apart in a fiery cascade of hot, glowing, spark-like motes.
The limp figure of the man, now free from his stone prison, rose up on unseen magical hands to float in the midst of the stone embers as they began to coalesce and slowly rotate about him.
The air hummed as the motes spun faster around the man’s torso, arms and legs. Soon they were spinning fast as lightening, their circular orbit forming thick bands of red and gold that emitted wisps of sparkling thread.
The threads fell over the man as the bands moved up and down his body, forming into boots, shirt, pants, bandolier and robes the color of burnt orange.
Fully clothed, the man hung in the air as though floating on water while the swirling bands, now greatly diminished, slowed and then stopped above him. The few remaining motes of orange and red, little more than points of light, passed through the man’s clothes and into his body.
Brilliant white light burst forth from the man's eyes, mouth and chest. His back arched and his arms and legs spasmed. His eyes opened and his chest expanded to draw in breath as his mouth formed a wordless shout.
The eruption of light dissipated. The man's eyes and mouth closed and his body relaxed. His chest rose and fell of its own accord, drawing in the deep, full breaths of slumber.
Beneath the now sleeping man, the living radiance pooled in the oval cavity in the cave floor where the man had been interred.
The magic that held the man aloft ceased and he fell, disappearing into the pool of light.
The pool of radiance disappeared after the man. A recess of cold, hard stone in the shape of a humanoid form the only evidence that the man had once lain there.
The remaining light in the cave retreated quickly back along the tunnel walls, receding like an ocean wave falling back into the sea.
The winking lights on the tips of stalactites and stalagmites went out one by one as the living radiance withdrew into the massive cavern where a great white orb, tall as a wizard's tower and wide as a castle keep, stood immobile. The light flowed over and into the orb, then disappeared inside it.
Darkness reigned again in the caverns far below the surface of Cormyr.
Up above, somewhere on the surface of the Forest Kingdom, another Wizard of War awakened to life after death.
Taltar Battlestorm
To think of a foe is to find him.
--old Realmsian saying[1]
A native of Stonebolt Fields[2] (known formally as the Spurbright Steads) Taltar Battlestorm is not the sort of war wizard who avoids physical confrontations.
On the contrary, delivering a punch, breaking bones and causing physical harm are part and parcel of how Taltar prefers to perform his duties: up close and personal.
Rarely did Purple Dragons ride into the farm fields on either side of the Way of the Dragon north of Espar where Taltar grew up, and so there was no one to protect the farmers from the ever increasing demands of the coin-starved Spurbright nobles—these demands often as not delivered with violence by Spurbright bullyblades—to produce more for less coin.
By the time Taltar was born, his six older brothers and sisters were already living in squalid conditions and his family had grown poor under the strain of feeding several mouths. Fighting and squabbling with his siblings was the norm, but when it came to dealing with the Spurbrights, Taltar’s family presented a united front.
Before he turned twelve Taltar knew how to unseat a rider and wrestle a man to the ground, there to break bones or sprain ankles, knees or wrists, either on his own or with the help of others.
Rarely did Taltar tend a field alone and in time, when the Spurbrights and their enforcers rode the fields, they did so in groups of twenty or more.
It wasn’t until shrewd investments in Sembia and a monopoly on unique magical lichens (discovered in the Upperdark around Plungepool by Spurbright-funded explorers) began to pay off that their stranglehold on the farmers lessened.
But the violence did not stop until the Crown formally intervened, once word traveled to Espar that the Spurbrights were beating—and in some cases abducting and torturing—commoners in violation of Crown Law and the Suzail Writ.
In his early days as a war wizard, Taltar earned a reputation for wading into fights and ignoring orders from Purple Dragons to hang back and let the soldiers do their work. He found himself at loggerheads with his superiors, who preferred subjects of the Crown to be subdued without injury (nobles in particular) whenever possible.
Taltar did not find his calling until he was posted to Irlingstar[3], a remote prison castle situated in the Thunder Peaks. There he watches over the very worst of imprisoned nobles and stands ready to deliver harsh punishment to those who step out of line.
He has perfected verbal component-only versions of the more common subdual spells (e.g. charm person, command, hold person, sleep) so that he can keep his hands free for fighting, and devised spells to harden his fists, knees and elbows for delivering punishment. He wears no less than three sharp daggers (belt and both boots), and keeps a potion of stoneskin on his person for when things get out of hand.
Amongst the noble prisoners of Irlingstar (and not a few Purple Dragons), word has spread of Taltar’s involvement in the disappearance—any Spurbright would say murder—of two Spurbright heirs and five of their cousins.
When not on duty, Taltar watches the four surviving nobles in his mind’s eye as they struggle to return to Cormyr from the far reaches of Faerûn—this ability a gift from the magical crown laced with emeralds[4] that rested briefly on his head after it and its counterparts whisked away the nobles all those years ago.
[1] See “Elminster Enraged,” hardcover edition, page 3.
[2] See Volo’s Guide to Cormyr, page 139. Also Greenwood, Ed. "Questions for Ed Greenwood (2013)" forum.candlekeep.com. 13 Oct 2013. http://forum.candlekeep.com/topic.asp?TOPIC_ID=17385&whichpage=39#434669.
[3] See “Elminster Enraged,” hardcover edition, page 57.
[4] See Volo’s Guide to Cormyr, page 141.
Ammandra Jhansibur
The middle of five spell-gifted sisters, Ammandra is believed to be dead and gone by her family. A burial plot was set aside for her at the family holdings in Thunderstone, but no remains were ever delivered by the Crown.
The truth of her fate is a secret of the realm kept by a handful of loyal Cormyreans, each working day and night to preserve Ammandra's body, if not exactly her mind, in the depths below the Royal Palace of the Purple Dragon.
If wishes and prayers could render a body dead, Ammandra’s keepers would have failed in their appointed task years ago, and the arcanists of Shade would have been freed of the Dreamdoom that is Ammandra, for her consciousness wanders in and out of the dreams of Shade’s wizards. She rides their dreams and is exposed to their fears, their hopes and their nightmares as she plies their minds for secrets.
Sometimes she falls prey to the nightmare-spawned monstrosities let loose by the mind she occupies, but her consciousness always repairs itself. No spell or psionic power has yet been able to completely banish her, capture her or keep her out for long; only the will of the dreamer has any chance to stop her.
She has no control over which mind she occupies, but she has learned to control the dreams of the young and weak minded. The intensity of a dream draws her inexorably to the mind that created it—in some cases pulling her mid-dream from one mind into another.
Before her fall Ammandra led a cadre of spell and item crafters. These war wizards improved the process by which magic items were made, striving to create a standard process that could be taught to other mages. They also worked to recreate the very best one-off magic items crafted by prior generations of war wizards.
Among these were the team rings[1], which allowed the minds of several ring-wearing war wizards to be linked, such that they could communicate with each other, monitor the health of each wizard in the team, and (rarely) share spells.
One of the first sets of new rings were being tested by Ammandra’s team when a Netherese arcanist attempted to overtake Ammandra’s mind via the ring she wore, and through it grasp and control the minds of the war wizards under her command.
Ammandra commanded her war wizards to remove their rings even as she drove the arcanist from her mind. But the arcanist’s spell—anchored by Ammandra’s team ring—overtook her consciousness and she was pulled into the mind of her foe. There a battle raged for control of the arcanist’s body. Again Ammandra drove off her foe, but not before the arcanist drew a dagger across her own throat.[2]
Desperate to free herself, Ammandra attempted to rest control of the fleeting magic left in the team rings. She succeeded in freeing her consciousness, but as the arcanist’s body expired she was drawn through the veil between worlds. Soon she found herself in one nightmare landscape after another, believing herself dead and forsaken until the night her team members—now her keepers—materialized around her and helped her fight off the dream horrors conjured by the mind she occupied.
In time her condition was understood and a plan of action undertaken to learn the secrets of Shade. Despite the efforts of her keepers, Ammandra has been unable to return to her body—her team ring still on her finger—and she will never be able to until the consciousness of the arcanist that fled its native body and arrived in Ammandra’s chooses to relinquish it.
For now the arcanist waits patiently, slowly gaining control of Ammandra’s body one muscle and nerve at a time, as she observes Ammandra’s keepers and awaits the right moment to strike.
[1] Team rings are mentioned partway through the novel “Elminster Enraged.”
[2] The arcanist was found by her husband, and to this day he preserves her body as best he can via a rudimentary stasis spell that he must renew every tenday. He has not disturbed her body; she still wears the same clothes and items, including a ring he’d never seen before the day he found her body (a ring stolen from one of Ammandra’s students). Unbeknownst to the devoted shadovar, his actions are mirrored by Ammandra’s keepers, each of whom has a ring that they must never lose, but can never wear unless commanded to do so by Ganrahast.
Allastra Redhorn
Allastra Redhorn is a tall, flame-haired Wizard of War of middle years and sharp memory. She carries herself with a commanding presence while on duty and speaks with the confident tone of someone who understands how things are supposed to work and has no patience for anyone wishing to violate the regular order. She is just as capable of melting into the background and remaining completely silent when in the presence of those who outrank her.
The daughter of two minor courtiers, Allastra grew up within spitting distance of the Royal Court, and spent her formative years serving in a variety of capacities in that sprawling edifice.
Allastra's parents made a game out of naming the endless number of rooms and passages in the Royal Court, and rewarded her with spending coin and small gifts when she correctly named several rooms in succession.
Her knowledge of the Royal Court served her well, as she found herself thrust into the role of errand runner, page, doorjack and gentlewoman usher. In time she became an all-purpose assistant to a variety of minor courtiers, such as the numerous underclerks, underscribes and undercooks that populate the Royal Quarter.
She gained a reputation for reliability thanks to her unwavering focus on the task at hand. Many of the courtiers she assisted found her to be intelligent and comfortable in her work, no matter the orders they gave to her.
Unless guided through them, she avoided the secret passages and hidden pathways between chambers that are ubiquitous in the Royal Court and Palace, keeping to the common ways whenever possible. This lent her an air of trustworthiness amongst Purple Dragon guards and palace watchers.
A chance encounter with an eccentric Crown mage[1] awakened Allastra to the fact that she possessed a budding skill at Art: in a dimly lit hallway the mage was tinkering with a set of Wards long forgotten by the living mages that frequent the Royal Court. The mage noticed Allastra shielding her eyes as she hurried past him, and called out to her, “My dear! My dear! Fear not, I have things under control. Hear, allow me to bring down the glare.”
What followed was a long conversation punctuated with humor and stories that disguised the mage’s questions. The mage warned Allastra about the dangers of the many wards to be found in the Royal Court and Palace and gave her clues to where useful magic was hidden that could be used if she were in danger. He determined she was unaware of her talent, and managed to teach her a pair of cantrips that he promised would serve her well before bidding her farewell, and a minor word of magic.[2]
In the decades that followed she became a Wizard of War, earned the trust of the Mage Royal and numerous courtiers, and spent many, many days and nights quietly studying the wards active in the Court and Palace, and searching for signs of the eccentric Crown mage that set her on the path of magic.
[1] The Crown mage’s name was Orthos of Greatgaunt.
[2] A spell to hide small objects or pieces of paper for a few breaths; a spell to silence one's footsteps for the length of a palace room or as long as a breath can be held (whichever ends first; regardless, one must be walking when this spell is enacted and it ends when one stops walking, even if the breath is still held and more paces are required to reach the end of the room); a word of power that allows the speaker to borrow a sliver of magic from a ward without shattering it, that can be used to power a cantrip or to provide the energy to activate a minor magical power stored in a magic item held by the caster (note: this word of power also allows the speaker to give a sliver of magic to a ward in order to strengthen it temporarily, or return it to normal if borrowed from previously; the magical energy may come from a spell memorized by the caster or from an item in the caster's possession).
Tanthil Oakfist
Tanthil Oakfist is an instructor at Stormhaven House[1]. He stands half a head taller than most men, wears a sharp goatee, long sideburns and regularly thanks the gods he still has a full head of hair. That hair is going from grey to white, as is his goatee and eyebrows, the later sitting over eyes that change color regularly, the tint of the irises visibly moving as their color shifts in unison from blue to black to silver to brass, like flame made to burn slowly.
Like the other instructors in attendance, Tanthil teaches the full spectrum of magecraft: casting spells, writing spells, using, identifying and creating magic items; identifying and dealing with wards; topics of arcana relevant to Cormyr, its neighbors and its foes; alchemy, war wizard history; Cormyrean law and Royal edicts regarding magic in Cormyr, and so on.
Tanthil also teaches battle tactics (referred to by students as “the class that teaches you how to swiftly hide behind the nearest Purple Dragon”).
Tanthil’s area of expertise is magic item creation and identification. Since prior generations of war wizards have let numerous minor magic items find their way out of Stormhaven House and into the various farms and dwellings in and around Espar, Thanthil will on occasion take one or sometimes two fledgling war wizards with him on long walks through the farmlands, around and up the knolls and along lanes connecting one Esparan’s dwelling with another, in order to meet with the locals and inquire about anything strange that’s been turned up while farming or discovered amongst the possessions of great aunts and uncles or grandparents that have recently passed away.
These polite inquiries rarely fail to yield a story or two about odd items, such as a sword plowed up in a pasture that emits an audible hum if you hold it in your left hand, but lets loose a shriek if you hold it in your right, or a strange locket that nobody knew old uncle Gorstag kept under his bed that’s deathly cold to the touch, but will open up if you breathe softly onto it and even reveal the image of a deceased friend or loved one if you say their name as you exhale, and so Tanthil and his student(s) spend their time visiting farms, poking around in old musty rooms and casting their most basic spells (detect magic, for example) to try and identify magical objects.
Most students assume all found items are to be confiscated, but Tanthil does not remove a magic item from the care of those who’ve found it unless he judges it harmful or dangerous. Instead he explains that by royal edict such items are to remain in the hands of their finders, unless their owners wish to be rid of the item.
Those who choose to keep found items are given basic information about the item, instructions on how to use it (if possible), safely store it (if unusable) and what to watch out for if it starts behaving strangely.
Tanthil’s duties are not limited to Stormhaven and its environs, as the Master of Stormhaven will pair up small groups of student war wizards with an instructor and a force of Purple Dragons (no less than twelve in number and led by a veteran firstsword), and order them all to depart by horse for a month’s training at any of several relatively safe waypoints in Cormyr where war wizards and Purple Dragons are garrisoned together.
In this way the mages see first hand many parts of Cormyr they might otherwise only learn about in the classroom, gain practical experience in their war wizard duties, learn to operate around Purple Dragons and, as Tanthil puts it, “grow some much needed calluses on their too-soft behinds.”
When Tanthil is given this duty he invariably selects Stonewatch[2] as the destination. He is a longtime friend of the Ornrion in command there (Lhornan Drakehar) and the two men share a common interest in the history, pedigree and current owners of the many blades that were crafted by Quiral o' the Blades at Stormhaven House over a century ago.
Tanthil and Lhornan each own two blades of Quiral’s making and are eager to share news about and speculate over the many blades thought lost or missing.
[1] A “secret” college for war wizards. See Volo’s Guide to Cormyr, page 139.
[2] See "Eye on the Realms: Thormil’s Secret." in Dungeon #194.
Jassur Bralhost, sometimes called Jassur the Unfortunate, is a War Wizard with a particular gift...or curse, depending on who you ask.
When Jassur is within ten paces (roughly 30 feet or six 5' squares distant) from undead of any kind, and regardless of intervening barriers (stone, earth, metal, etc...) he breaks out in hives on his face and arms.
Jassur's "gift"—one not known to his fellow War Wizards until he was already in the service to Cormyr—has earned him the honor of being dragged along on most any War Wizard errand where undead are suspected or thought to be encountered.
A native of Teziir, Jassur is a confident, headstrong and intelligent man of middle years, who joined the War Wizards after the loss of his farm and family to famine and disease. Jassur will not speak of his affliction nor his past, though fellow mages whisper that Jassur's ability to sense undead was caused by the sad, angry ghosts of his wife and children; something meant to drive him away from their farm on the Horse Prairie between Teziir and Elversult and on to a new life.
Jassur's ability has not gone unnoticed. Twice before Jassur has been singled out for assassination by undead operating in Cormyr, but has been fortunate to survive both attacks.
I don't post often, but I felt like your thread was well worth it. You sir are a talented wordsmith. Thank you for invigorating Cormyr for me and my party. Cheers!
That is totally awesome!
TenShields02, you are most welcome. :D
Ulskan is a soft-spoken, senior War Wizard based in Arabel, with distant familial relations in Waterdeep.
A short man of unremarkable looks, Ulskan is known for his lack of adornments, simple appearance and forthright manner. Ulskan is firmly loyal to the Crown of Cormyr and possesses average individual spellcasting talents, but is an accomplished ritual caster.
Ulskan prefers the cultured society of merchants to that of the nobility and cultivates a taste for fine wines. He believes that the farther away a wine comes from, the better it must be.
Inspecting merchant wagons and their goods is something Ulskan specializes in to the point of enjoyment****. He uses his position in Arabel to track and purchase the very best wines from far off lands that a War Wizard can afford as each new merchant caravan makes its way through Arabel’s gates.
Rumor amongst wine merchants states that difficulties regarding the taxation and inspection of wagon loads of goods arriving in Arabel--particularly wine duties--can be smoothed over if the right War Wizard is presented with a “sample” of the farthest traveled bottle a merchant has in his or her wagon*. Rumor also states this War Wizard has very poor taste in wine and almost any swill will do, provided it appears to come from distant lands or cities.
For all his civility, an explosive but rarely seen temper dwells within Ulskan that prompts him to lash out violently at anyone he perceives to be a menace or a danger.
Ulskan is aware of his temper and makes a great effort to manage difficult situations through underlings and intermediaries. He cultivates friends, encourages courteous, professional conversation (i.e. Uslkan speaks the truth, but does not use it as a cudgel to put others down) and avoids arguments like the plague.
Of late Ulskan has learned something of the antics of his fellow War Wizard Authkant "Old Codpiece" Melevor** and, to put it far too mildly, does not approve of Authkant’s dallying with ladies of noble birth, nor his willingness to put them in real danger as a means of winning their affections.
Preferring to avoid a direct confrontation with his colleague, Ulskan has engaged the services of at least one loyal battle mage apprentice*** and her sword-comrades (one a former Purple Dragon) to spy on Authkant and determine if any of the more outrageous rumors of Authkant’s doings are true.
Autkant, for his part, cares little what uptight Ulskan thinks, so long as the Royal Mage Ganrahast and Lord Warder Vainrence are each happily busy at the Royal Court in Suzail and neither man is given reason to go poking his nose into War Wizard affairs in Arabel.
Authkant has heard rumors of Ulskan’s temper and is not above taking action (through the services of any of the several groups of chartered adventurers that are constantly traveling to Arabel before embarking on journeys to the wilder parts of Cormyr) in order to cause awkward or socially difficult situations that can provoke an embarrassing outburst from Ulskan in front of his merchant friends, should Ulskan interfere with Authkant’s “swoon and save” tours.
* For interesting ideas on just what kinds of wines with unknown (and perhaps even dangerous) qualities Ulskan or one of his merchant contacts may unknowingly possess, see Ed Greenwood's Eye on the Realms articles A Surprising Vintage in Dragon #407 and Spellslayer Wine in Dungeon #195
** Authkant's write up
*** See Character Themes: Heroes of Cormyr by Dan Anderson in Dragon #407
**** If you'd like to read about how merchants smuggle wine and other liquids in and out of Cormyr and other lands, see the Eye on the Realms article Jalander's Dodge in Dungeon Magazine #191
Alorae Ruldragon is a tall, round-faced woman with long hair the color of straw and eyes that are always open wide.
She wears an old, frayed, stone-colored robe, the bottom of which drags along the floor behind her as she walks, with a voluminous hood and wide sleeves that hide her hands from view. An observant mage who says little, Alorae is known for quietly slipping into rooms in the Royal Palace and standing in alcoves or the shadows of empty suits of armor to watch and listen, melting into the background as unwary courtiers, nobles, Purple Dragons and even fellow war wizards speak with unguarded tongues.
When she has heard or seen enough, Alorae simply walks out of whatever room or place she was standing in, to the surprise of the room’s other occupants. At such times Alorae has been mistaken for a wraith come wandering out of the haunted wing of the Royal Palace in Suzail or the ghost of a long dead palace courtier.
None know what guides Alorae in her observations and her exact duties are a mystery to her fellow War Wizards. At least one bold palace chamberjack has followed her and claims to have seen her stop without warning in the middle of a room and stand there unmoving for a full hour while she carried on a conversation with someone or something unseen, then for some unaccountable reason move swiftly to another chamber in the palace, but stand for only a few minutes and speak not a word before departing for yet another room where she vanished from sight.
As the courtier left to return to his assigned duties he was startled to see no less then three palace ghosts calmly watching him.
No active war wizard can recall ever leading Alorae on a mission, though she has been seen in the company of the Lord Warder (Vainrence) and, if rumor holds any truth, she has access to some means of translocation magic that allows her to travel swiftly from one end of Cormyr to the other, presumably to do the Lord Warder’s bidding.
At least one well-traveled officer of the Purple Dragons swears a war wizard matching Alorae’s description led a company of Purple Dragons from Castle Nacacia at a fast gallop to the west along the Moonsea Ride.
According to the Dragon, the war wizard commanded them to stop a passing merchant caravan headed out of Cormyr. She calmly walked past several wagons before raising her right arm to reveal a hand glowing in dancing black flames and point at a merchant sitting atop his wagon. The merchant’s face seemed to shift and fall away, revealing a charcoal-skinned Shadovar. Faster then the Purple Dragon or any of his sword comrades could react the shadovar spy spell-shifted from his wagon to a point behind the war wizard and plunged a dagger into her back.
The Dragon officer heard the attacker gasp in pain and saw his eyes go wide in surprise before he fell dead at the war wizard’s feat, then saw the wizard remove her hood and turn, unharmed, to regard the fresh dagger wound in the shadovar’s back.
The Swordcaptain, who wishes to remain unnamed in this tale, claims the “chill of death itself” emanates from the war wizard and she watches those around her with “eyes that seem to bore a hole right down to your very soul. If the gods smile on me I’ll never have to work with that one again.”
Haelrorn Fireweather
(Wizard 8)
“Solid. Dependable. Trustworthy. Hard to kill.
Afflicted with a subtle madness--something he desperately tries to hide.”
--From a dossier of active war wizards commissioned in 1479 DR.
By night in Suzail, in that part of the Royal Gardens that stands between the proud eminence of the Royal Palace and the sprawling half moon expanse of the Royal Court, a Wizard of War can be found wandering among the the trees, gardens and fountains.
His wanderings increase in frequency as the moon waxes gibbous. On the night of the full moon inexorably he finds his way to a silverfin pond that catches the reflection of an overhead torchwalk connecting the palace and court.[1] The Crown mage waits, watching the water for a sign. When the white form of Selûne is eclipsed by the bridge, darkness falls over the pond. A few breaths later the reflection of a tall tree appears.
The wizard turns towards the tree that was not there, which stands on the edge of the pond, and bows. By way of reply the white bark of the tree splits down the center and opens, revealing a thick tome resting on heartwood.
The war wizard reads his fill of the tome, then steps back and bows. The tree closes and the moon makes its way past the bridge overhead.[2]
The mage never remembers the tree or the tome filled with old magic that he learns from by moonshadow. The spells in his mind are too loud and too many to allow him room for memory.
*********************
By day Haelrorn Fireweather can be found in any number of places in Suzail, doing any number of things: backing up patrols of Purple Dragons; cornering and capturing outlander mages too eager to cast spells; at the gates of the city, assessing the danger of caged beasts purchased by rich nobles who await their delivery; visiting a merchant's office, there to question the activities the hiremages in the merchant's employ; casting warding and defensive magics on a room in the Royal Court; watching over members of the royal family as they meander through the Royal Gardens; etc.
Haelrorn's eagerness and experience often result in assignments where he leads other mages. He can usually be found in the company of a pair of lesser mages, plus a handful of Purple Dragons depending on the nature (and danger) of the task assigned.
He's earned the respect of war wizards and Purple Dragons alike, and has a reputation for staying relentlessly busy at all times while on duty. Haelrorn dreads assignments requiring him to wait and watch, and fills his idle time by volunteering, by keeping others busy, and finding work to do.
Haelrorn is easily distracted by mirrors and reflections, and save for the lack of mirrors in his home he keeps the sort of opulent, cluttered living space one might expect to find in the decadent residence of a
Calishite pasha. Tapestries cover the hard stone walls and what furniture he keeps is made of stone covered in plush cloth and pillows.
If he ever owned a spellbook, nobody has seen it.[3]
These living conditions and his work habits are the result of a compulsion to scribble, draw and write on any surface capable of being marked, cut or stained. He can lose hours at a time doing this, and the glyphs, symbols, arcana and alphabets he writes are indecipherable to him. But he's learned that to other mages such writings are like honey to a bee; they grab the attention of anyone magically capable, and those who decipher his writings often unleash magic that slays them or harms others.
In the past his markings have led to the release of hidden magic, the tearing of holes in wards, the dispelling of magical disguises, the bending and reshaping of spells in unexpected (and often dangerous) ways, and (rarely) the binding and capture of spirits, extraplanar entities and incorporeal undead lurking in the area.
Haelrorn's condition is not unknown to the senior members of the brotherhood of the Wizards of War, who value his abilities as a capable--if disadvantaged--sorcerer[4], and encourage him to take every opportunity to walk the Royal Gardens and find some peace.
[1] The palace side of the torchwalk (read: bridge) opens into the Hall of the Warrior King.
[2] Though the wizard may have spent hours reading, to anyone looking down from the bridge or from somewhere in the gardens, the wizard would appear to have disappeared into shadow for only the time it takes the moon to pass over the bridge and reilluminate the pond below. Anyone observing the mage with magic whose reach is limited to the Prime Material Plane would lose track of him for that same amount of time.
Known to a handful of elves and to sages of the arcane, trees that only become visible in long shadows caused by the full light of the moon--such as the one described here--are called moonshadows. They exist throughout Cormyr and are the result of the Lord of the Scepter's initial efforts to fortify the Wolf Woods (that would later come to be called Cormyr after men took control of the land from Iliphar and his elven kin) with powerful magic and to create safe havens for elves in times of need. Whether Moonshadows exist in their own pocket dimensions or live on the border between the Feywild and the Plane of Shadow is a mater of debate. What is known is that time spent near such trees passes separately from the wider world; one can find a tree, spend days in it or within reach of it, then step away and find that almost no time has passed in the world at large. Moonshadows are often enspelled so that additional conditions must be met before they can be seen (such as becoming visible only to someone who looks into a pond and then bows to the tree). The reality bending nature of these trees and the powerful magic they hold, coupled with the fall of magic in the Time of Troubles and the Spellplague, have made some of them into terrible traps capable of twisting the minds of anyone who interacts with them. Deleterious effects such as Haelrorn's scribbling of arcana are the minimum effect on the mind of someone who survives a first encounter (his mental dependency on the spellbook in the particular moonshadow he long ago discovered is another matter). A grove of moonshadows exists in the woods near the ruins of Tethgard.
[3] In point of fact there are no writing instruments, books, blank parchment or paper of any kind in his domicile.
[4] Haelrorn's condition predates his entry into the War Wizards, and has led to the belief that his powers are innate and not the result of arcane study, when in fact the exact opposite is true. In (3.5) game terms, he's an 8th level wizard, not a sorcerer, and he is not required to memorize spells on a daily basis. He must rest for a full eight hours as normal. Each day he selects his daily spells as though reading from a (nigh-limitless) spellbook, and he must revisit the particular moonshadow tree he learns from every month or he risks permanent insanity.
Feldran "Doraunk" Durvorkar
Feldran "Doraunk" Durvorkar is an accident prone War Wizard. Thought by some to be blessed with far too much luck and far too little wits, Feldran nevertheless succeeded in his lifelong desire to join the Brotherhood of the Wizards of War.
Feldran's (mis)adventures are many.
In one instance, Feldran was left to attend an injured, unconscious noble of Cormyr in the wilds north of the Hullack Forest.
By chance a group of elves, all seemingly friendly, happened upon Feldran's camp and asked to render aid. Feldran took this opportunity to exercise his elvish language skills and speak kind words about the noble lord entrusted to his care.
Feldran began in elvish, as follows: "His Lordship misses his wife dearly and longs to walk the sheep-filled pastures which his family cultivates, that are so bountiful."
The elves heard the following: "His lordliness avoids his wife effortlessly and prefers to lay with sheep on the ground, cultivating many offspring."
Seeing the elves smile and snicker under their breath did not deter Feldran. He took their laughter in stride and continued: "His Lordship is very discriminating in his taste. He selects only the finest things to fill his home. He says one must never overfill one’s home, lest he become happy to discover his house is on fire."
Roughly translated, the elves heard: "His lordliness discriminates against his tongue. His dwelling is filled only with shiny objects. He always makes sure his home is full before he happily burns it down."
Lhornara Blacktower is a thin, disheveled looking war wizard, with unruley brown hair, large eyes and just a hint of pointed ears. Lhornara is actually quite beautiful, owing to an elven ancestor, but is deliberately hiding her appearance until a time of her choosing.
Lhornara spies on nobles and merchants in Suzail, keeping tabs on several as yet unwed males, with the intent of finding a suitably rich, but biddable man to seduce and marry. She plans to start a rich family of wizards who will come to wield great influence in Cormyr and the surrounding lands.
Of late Lhornara has taken notice of several chartered adventuring groups who’ve come to Suzail to sell their treasure and boast of their accomplishments. At least one lucky young adventurer does not yet realize Lhornara has set her sights on him and will do almost anything to win his affections.
Imcharla “Windyrobes” Darphon is a veteran war wizard of average height, with deep brown eyes and straight black hair cut to shoulder length.
Imcharla, like most war wizards, is keenly intelligent and accomplished at both ritual and individual spellwork. She has served at the Royal Palace in Suzail, fought on the battlements of Castle Nacacia and rode down brigands and mercenaries along Cormyr’s border with Sembia.
Imcharla’s peculiar nickname stems from the fact that she suffers from bouts of excessive flatulence.
No choice of food, use of magic or the drinking of herbal concoctions has cured her of her malady. Aside from unpleasant sounds, the scent (or bouquet, as one sputtering-over-his-words war courtier put it) she leaves in her wake is of almonds.
The Royal Palace of Cormyr has its share of ghosts and apparitions. Most are harmless and some (such as the ghost of Alusair Obarskyr) aid the Palace’s living occupants. One such ghost, that of an unknown palace doorjack, appears from time to time carrying small items such as snacks, messages or parcels. Soon after manifesting, the apparition is set upon by unseen foes that run through the ghost with their blades. The swords the apparition is skewered with can be seen protruding from his body as it crawls along the floor to the spectral form of a bell rope, which the apparition pulls (to give warning, presumably) before collapsing in death and fading from view.
During her time at the Royal Palace, Imcharla was ordered to find Crown Prince Irvel and relay a message of some importance. This she did, interrupting the prince as he was about to take his evening feast. Irvel departed from his chambers after hearing the message, but not before kindly thanking the lady war wizard and offering her his as yet untouched dinner, noting as he left that war wizards work far too hard and rarely seem to have the time for a good and proper meal.
Imcharla noted the accuracy of the prince’s words and the trust he showed her by allowing her to remain alone in his chambers. She ate with gusto and took no notice of the enchantment carefully laid over a small bowl of almonds, one that had slowly conjured a single, concentrated dose of poison into the bowl that would be absorbed by its contents, but only after the bowl had been touched by a blood Obarskyr.
Imcharla meant to return to her post, but she had not taken three steps before falling to the floor in the prince’s chambers, groaning in agony at the pain in her gut. Try though she might, she lacked the strength to reach the bell pull that would summon aid. As she collapsed into unconsciousness, the ghost of the doorjack appeared next to her, reaching for the same bell pull. The ghost stopped, turned to look at Imcharla, then flowed over her, his form swirling like water down a drain, before disappearing into her and concentrating its form around the poisoned food in her gut.
Imcharla awoke to the sight of Purple Dragon soldiers and the Crown Prince standing over her, a look of concern on his face and an intense feeling of cold in her abdomen. She made to stand and the prince lent his hand to hoist her up. As she stood a thunderous, almond scented fart erupted unbidden from her backside.
The magic in the bowl was both carefully made and devious. The magic of the bowl was made to pass from the bowl to the food, where it would anchor the food in the stomach of the Obarskyr unfortunate enough to eat it and release the full brunt of the poison, thereby causing certain death.
The ghost of the doorjack could not undo this magic, but he could slow the release of the poison considerably. This he continues to do, trading away his essence to save the life of the war wizard.
These days find Imcharla forever cold and seeking the warmth of a fire. She wears layered robes and her skin is cold to the touch. Her fellow Wizards of War do not shun her, though some (like Jassur Bralhost) avoid her as much as possible.
Savander Kiriag
Savander Kiriag is tall and lanky, with gnarled hands, tanned arms and a tanned face, the later covered in a growth of facial hair just short of a beard but never less than stubble. His sapphire blue eyes could fairly be described as enchanting, but this spell is broken by his gap-toothed grin, unkempt wiry hair and simple, uncultured speech.
Savander has spent the better part of his life as a manual laborer and fixer of things, working in and around Arabel for as long as he can remember. What little family he has is scattered throughout Cormyr as far south as Teziir, most of them earning a living by making or mending a variety of things, whether tools, wagon wheels, doors or sails.
Savander enjoys the company of his extended family when they winter in Arabel, but he does not miss them when they leave.
The breadth of Savander’s experience is such that he can fix or mend anything capable of being repaired. He has neither the coin nor the wherewithal to make objects from scratch, preferring instead to fix things already made and sometimes make them better in the process.
Savander is not the sort of person one might expect to find in the ranks of the Wizards of War, but he is a member in good standing, if infrequently utilized.
Unlike most War Wizards, Savander is not garrisoned with other mages or sent out on Purple Dragon patrols. Instead he can be found working in his small home/shop near Calantar’s Gate or at the sight of any major construction work in the city.
This is deliberate, as Savander is forbidden to assist his fellow Wizards of War unless raw magical power is required.
The particulars of how Savander’s ability was discovered are a secret that no war wizard or courtier has yet learned. Neither Ganrahast or Vainrence will discuss the matter and most war wizards prefer to avoid the topic as much as they prefer to avoid Savander himself.
Savander is not so tight lipped, as he responds to most requests for information with a wide “see how many teeth I’m missing?” grin.
In emergencies where a war wizard of great power is needed to address a problem but is not available, or when the might of several war wizards are required to complete a ritual casting but only one or two mages are present (or there is no time to cast a ritual spell), Savander is called upon to assist.
This is because when a mage casts a spell while in skin-to-skin contact with Savander (usually with Savander standing behind the mage he is assisting, his hand on the nape of his fellow war wizard’s neck), all dice effects of that spell are maximized and the spell’s range, area of effect (if any) and duration are all enhanced (roll 1d6+1 for each spell trait and multiply the result by the normal maximum for each; instantaneous effects thus lasting for 2-7 rounds with the mage allowed to pick new targets and effectively move the effect each round).
Savander’s ability debilitates the mind of the mage he assists, leaving that mage anywhere from dazed to unconscious or (rarely) feebleminded after a single assisted casting.
Only the most experienced war wizards can withstand this effect long enough to cast a handful of spells before feinting into mind-numbed unconsciousness, but there has yet to be a time where such effort was insufficient to allow a single war wizard to quell a rampaging fire in Arabel, move the entirety of a collapsed tower to uncover survivors, or hurl away a flock of foraging wyverns.
Savander cannot cast or memorize spells in the normal manner. What few spells he knows are drawn from the minds of the mages he assists; the pattern for a given spell appearing in his mind as the mage he’s touching casts a spell. These spells Savander can unleash with an act of will, regardless of the spell’s normal casting time and its requirements for spell components or somatic gestures. All such spells have minimal effect and disappear from his mind when cast.
Savander’s ability to gather spells in this manner has outlasted the few attempts Ganrahast has made to test the extent of his power: the war wizards participating in these tests all feinting before Savander failed to retain a just cast spell.
For his part Savander does not consider himself much of a wizard, preferring to work with his hands and tools to repair anything given to him for fixing. When not busy working he finds his way well beyond Arabel's walls, there to safely unleash the spells in his mind.
This can be difficult for him in the winter months. Thus he is most likely to be holding spells in his mind at this time.
Standing over seven feet tall, Welvore Hammerfist has little trouble looking over the heads of his fellow Wizards of War, Purple Dragons or courtiers occupying the Royal Palace in Suzail.
Welvore is the great-great-grandson of Chalasse of Immersea, herself a rich clothing merchant who made her fortune over a century ago selling her wares and aiding adventuring bands—the later invested in her business and bequeathed her much wealth and not a small amount of magic in return for her timely aid in keeping their hidden treasure safe from thieves.
Chalasse’ only daughter, Saerendra, married Landreld Hammerfist, a cook who worked long hours at the Immer Inn and was responsible for the exotic (and usually disastrous) combinations of items that appeared on the menu. Saerendra purchased the Inn when it fell on hard times and gifted it to its hapless cook, but only after he promised to turn the cooking over to another and raise a family with her instead.
Saerendra opted to keep her wealth hidden around Immersea, using it to purchase property and maintain a balance of sorts against the growing-year-by-year ambitions of the Stormswords, Wyvernspurs and Cormaerils as each noble family sought (and still seeks) to outdo the others in matters of wealth and influence in the Immersea region where their powerbase lies.
Saerendra’s descendants continue the family tradition of carefully checking and balancing the interests of noble powers against one another and were quiet supporters of the Suzail Writ. The family looks to the prosperity of the common Cormyrean first and maintains a fearless attitude of disdain towards nobles who fail in this regard. This tradition of quiet service has not gone unnoticed by the Crown, its spies watching carefully and with an eye towards elevating the family to the nobility when the time is right.
Welvore is the first of his generation of Hammerfists to leave Immersea. His younger siblings and numerous cousins operate the rooming houses, taverns, inns and various other shops (such as the original Chalasse’s Fine Clothing) owned and managed by the family elders. His older sister Talantha is also gifted with skill at Art and has assumed the role of house wizard for the family.
Careful to remain neutral in matters professional and ever mindful of the politicking amongst war wizards and the numerous courtiers who run affairs at the Royal Palace, Welvore attends his duties with diligence and care while learning all he can about politics at court. He collects friends and allies and has earned the respect of his fellow war wizards.
His size and stature draw much attention his way and he welcomes each opportunity to serve. He is not afraid to use his deep voice and looming presence to challenge anyone while enforcing the lawful commands of the Royal family and the Mage Royal.
NOTE: Information on Chalase, the Immer Inn and the nobles living in and around Immersea can be found in Volo’s Guide to Cormyr, starting on page 152 of that fine tome. If you'd like to learn more about the Wyvernspurs, see The Wyvern's Spur by Kate Novak and Jeff Grubb. (Really good book too! Giogioni Wyverspur is a fop with a heart of gold.)
Dornal Thresk
Dornal Thresk is average in many ways: looks, height, skill at art, accomplishments both mundane and magical, simple dress and typical behavior.
His unremarkable way with all things has earned him the scrutiny of at least one paranoid Alarphon, who believes it's all an act on Dornal's part while he secretly plots treason against the Crown, whereas those in charge of the war wizards see Dornal's knack for not being noticed as a gift to be exploited.
Thus can Dornal be found anywhere in Cormyr, where he acts the part of nobody in particular (oft dressed in commoner's or day laborer's clothes) while spying via simple magic, or acting as a guard for important courtiers on Crown business (themselves dressed down as well) that do not wish to be noticed.
In combat Dornal is practical and by the book: his spell selection is utilitarian and not showy, he doesn't panic but isn't afraid to flee if he can see himself (and anyone he's charged with protecting) to safety, and he doesn't level grandiose threats or otherwise make a show of doing what needs to be done.
He is not the type to improvise. Instead he scouts the area he will be operating in, makes plans and sets contingencies that are meant to help him survive danger and succeed at his mission.
Dornal is well-traveled and has an ear for picking up useful information about all the places he's visited.
DMs may find Dornal useful when they require the presence of war wizard spies but do not wish to announce their presence by their dress or behavior.
Likewise if the DM wants the war wizards to manipulate the PCs by having Dornal relay information to them, perhaps after he befriends the players while in disguise and/or becomes a contact of theirs while they're resting in between adventures in Cormyr.
Worwand Gauntblade
(Wizard 4)
“A skilled but careful wizard that speaks little, prefers to travel in the company of other mages, does not volunteer when given the opportunity, and demonstrates a capacity for doing his best work when part of a team.”
--From a dossier of active war wizards commissioned in 1479 DR in the wake of the many dooms visited upon the Wizards of War throughout Cormyr after the Council of the Dragon, and classified as a Dark Document by the Mage Royal upon his review and acceptance of same.
Worwand Gauntblade is a not quite novice war wizard that’s found himself thrust into difficult situations with ever increasing frequency thanks to the recent deaths of several veteran war wizards.
Worwand, and the other surviving War Wizards, have been left with responsibilities that not all of them are ready for.
Recognizing this, the Mage Royal (Ganrahast) has elected to pair up his remaining mages until more can be trained[1]. Though teaming up is by no means a new strategy for the war wizards, the emphasis on guarding each other’s back and surviving at all costs to avoid further depletion of the ranks is.
As a result Worwand has become, if not exactly paranoid, hyper vigilant to threats arcane as well as mundane. He’s ready to draw a wand at the slightest hint of danger and prefers to work in teams of at least three war wizards, no matter the assignment.
Worwand is not arrogant, nor is he one to flaunt his authority. Though he will readily left fly with spells if he thinks he’s in danger, he defers to others in authority—even if he’s not technically under their command—and works to complete his assigned tasks without having to resort to violence.
Worwand has spent the last several months paired with the capable Orgreth Dinsimer, and was alarmed to learn Orgreth was reassigned to Azoun’s Hold.
Upon the notification that his new partner would be the unpredictable Feldran Durvorkar, Worwand calmly concluded he would be dead within a season.
Ganrahast hopes that Worwand’s predicament will force him to grow into his position as a regular amongst the Wizards of War, and just maybe become the first War Wizard to successfully complete a mission with Feldran and not immediately beg for reassignment thereafter.
The two War Wizards have been assigned to Spellcatch Ruin.
[1] The teams that the Mage Royal assembles do not have a regular leader unless Ganrahast assigns one. Even then such leadership decisions are at best temporary and are made on the spot based on the Mage Royal’s assessment of the needs of the mission and the abilities of the mages available to him.
Haelrorn Fireweather
(Wizard 8)
“Solid. Dependable. Trustworthy. Hard to kill.
Afflicted with a subtle madness--something he desperately tries to hide.”
--From a dossier of active war wizards commissioned in 1479 DR.
By night in Suzail, in that part of the Royal Gardens that stands between the proud eminence of the Royal Palace and the sprawling half moon expanse of the Royal Court, a Wizard of War can be found wandering among the the trees, gardens and fountains.
His wanderings increase in frequency as the moon waxes gibbous. On the night of the full moon inexorably he finds his way to a silverfin pond that catches the reflection of an overhead torchwalk connecting the palace and court.[1] The Crown mage waits, watching the water for a sign. When the white form of Selûne is eclipsed by the bridge, darkness falls over the pond. A few breaths later the reflection of a tall tree appears.
The wizard turns towards the tree that was not there, which stands on the edge of the pond, and bows. By way of reply the white bark of the tree splits down the center and opens, revealing a thick tome resting on heartwood.
The war wizard reads his fill of the tome, then steps back and bows. The tree closes and the moon makes its way past the bridge overhead.[2]
The mage never remembers the tree or the tome filled with old magic that he learns from by moonshadow. The spells in his mind are too loud and too many to allow him room for memory.
*********************
By day Haelrorn Fireweather can be found in any number of places in Suzail, doing any number of things: backing up patrols of Purple Dragons; cornering and capturing outlander mages too eager to cast spells; at the gates of the city, assessing the danger of caged beasts purchased by rich nobles who await their delivery; visiting a merchant's office, there to question the activities the hiremages in the merchant's employ; casting warding and defensive magics on a room in the Royal Court; watching over members of the royal family as they meander through the Royal Gardens; etc.
Haelrorn's eagerness and experience often result in assignments where he leads other mages. He can usually be found in the company of a pair of lesser mages, plus a handful of Purple Dragons depending on the nature (and danger) of the task assigned.
He's earned the respect of war wizards and Purple Dragons alike, and has a reputation for staying relentlessly busy at all times while on duty. Haelrorn dreads assignments requiring him to wait and watch, and fills his idle time by volunteering, by keeping others busy, and finding work to do.
Haelrorn is easily distracted by mirrors and reflections, and save for the lack of mirrors in his home he keeps the sort of opulent, cluttered living space one might expect to find in the decadent residence of a Calishite pasha. Tapestries cover the hard stone walls and what furniture he keeps is made of stone covered in plush cloth and pillows.
If he ever owned a spellbook, nobody has seen it.[3]
These living conditions and his work habits are the result of a compulsion to scribble, draw and write on any surface capable of being marked, cut or stained. He can lose hours at a time doing this, and the glyphs, symbols, arcana and alphabets he writes are indecipherable to him. But he's learned that to other mages such writings are like honey to a bee; they grab the attention of anyone magically capable, and those who decipher his writings often unleash magic that slays them or harms others.
In the past his markings have led to the release of hidden magic, the tearing of holes in wards, the dispelling of magical disguises, the bending and reshaping of spells in unexpected (and often dangerous) ways, and (rarely) the binding and capture of spirits, extraplanar entities and incorporeal undead lurking in the area.
Haelrorn's condition is not unknown to the senior members of the brotherhood of the Wizards of War, who value his abilities as a capable--if disadvantaged--sorcerer[4], and encourage him to take every opportunity to walk the Royal Gardens and find some peace.
[1] The palace side of the torchwalk (read: bridge) opens into the Hall of the Warrior King.
[2] Though the wizard may have spent hours reading, to anyone looking down from the bridge or from somewhere in the gardens, the wizard would appear to have disappeared into shadow for only the time it takes the moon to pass over the bridge and reilluminate the pond below. Anyone observing the mage with magic whose reach is limited to the Prime Material Plane would lose track of him for that same amount of time.
Known to a handful of elves and to sages of the arcane, trees that only become visible in long shadows caused by the full light of the moon--such as the one described here--are called moonshadows. They exist throughout Cormyr and are the result of the Lord of the Scepter's initial efforts to fortify the Wolf Woods (that would later come to be called Cormyr after men took control of the land from Iliphar and his elven kin) with powerful magic and to create safe havens for elves in times of need. Whether Moonshadows exist in their own pocket dimensions or live on the border between the Feywild and the Plane of Shadow is a mater of debate. What is known is that time spent near such trees passes separately from the wider world; one can find a tree, spend days in it or within reach of it, then step away and find that almost no time has passed in the world at large. Moonshadows are often enspelled so that additional conditions must be met before they can be seen (such as becoming visible only to someone who looks into a pond and then bows to the tree). The reality bending nature of these trees and the powerful magic they hold, coupled with the fall of magic in the Time of Troubles and the Spellplague, have made some of them into terrible traps capable of twisting the minds of anyone who interacts with them. Deleterious effects such as Haelrorn's scribbling of arcana are the minimum effect on the mind of someone who survives a first encounter (his mental dependency on the spellbook in the particular moonshadow he long ago discovered is another matter). A grove of moonshadows exists in the woods near the ruins of Tethgard.
[3] In point of fact there are no writing instruments, books, blank parchment or paper of any kind in his domicile.
[4] Haelrorn's condition predates his entry into the War Wizards, and has led to the belief that his powers are innate and not the result of arcane study, when in fact the exact opposite is true. In (3.5) game terms, he's an 8th level wizard, not a sorcerer, and he is not required to memorize spells on a daily basis. He must rest for a full eight hours as normal. Each day he selects his daily spells as though reading from a (nigh-limitless) spellbook, and he must revisit the particular moonshadow tree he learns from every month or he risks permanent insanity.
Savander Kiriag
Savander Kiriag is tall and lanky, with gnarled hands, tanned arms and a tanned face, the later covered in a growth of facial hair just short of a beard but never less than stubble. His sapphire blue eyes could fairly be described as enchanting, but this spell is broken by his gap-toothed grin, unkempt wiry hair and simple, uncultured speech.
Savander has spent the better part of his life as a manual laborer and fixer of things, working in and around Arabel for as long as he can remember. What little family he has is scattered throughout Cormyr as far south as Teziir, most of them earning a living by making or mending a variety of things, whether tools, wagon wheels, doors or sails.
Savander enjoys the company of his extended family when they winter in Arabel, but he does not miss them when they leave.
The breadth of Savander’s experience is such that he can fix or mend anything capable of being repaired. He has neither the coin nor the wherewithal to make objects from scratch, preferring instead to fix things already made and sometimes make them better in the process.
Savander is not the sort of person one might expect to find in the ranks of the Wizards of War, but he is a member in good standing, if infrequently utilized.
Unlike most War Wizards, Savander is not garrisoned with other mages or sent out on Purple Dragon patrols. Instead he can be found working in his small home/shop near Calantar’s Gate or at the sight of any major construction work in the city.
This is deliberate, as Savander is forbidden to assist his fellow Wizards of War unless raw magical power is required.
The particulars of how Savander’s ability was discovered are a secret that no war wizard or courtier has yet learned. Neither Ganrahast or Vainrence will discuss the matter and most war wizards prefer to avoid the topic as much as they prefer to avoid Savander himself.
Savander is not so tight lipped, as he responds to most requests for information with a wide “see how many teeth I’m missing?” grin.
In emergencies where a war wizard of great power is needed to address a problem but is not available, or when the might of several war wizards are required to complete a ritual casting but only one or two mages are present (or there is no time to cast a ritual spell), Savander is called upon to assist.
This is because when a mage casts a spell while in skin-to-skin contact with Savander (usually with Savander standing behind the mage he is assisting, his hand on the nape of his fellow war wizard’s neck), all dice effects of that spell are maximized and the spell’s range, area of effect (if any) and duration are all enhanced (roll 1d6+1 for each spell trait and multiply the result by the normal maximum for each; instantaneous effects thus lasting for 2-7 rounds with the mage allowed to pick new targets and effectively move the effect each round).
Savander’s ability debilitates the mind of the mage he assists, leaving that mage anywhere from dazed to unconscious or (rarely) feebleminded after a single assisted casting.
Only the most experienced war wizards can withstand this effect long enough to cast a handful of spells before feinting into mind-numbed unconsciousness, but there has yet to be a time where such effort was insufficient to allow a single war wizard to quell a rampaging fire in Arabel, move the entirety of a collapsed tower to uncover survivors, or hurl away a flock of foraging wyverns.
Savander cannot cast or memorize spells in the normal manner. What few spells he knows are drawn from the minds of the mages he assists; the pattern for a given spell appearing in his mind as the mage he’s touching casts a spell. These spells Savander can unleash with an act of will, regardless of the spell’s normal casting time and its requirements for spell components or somatic gestures. All such spells have minimal effect and disappear from his mind when cast.
Savander’s ability to gather spells in this manner has outlasted the few attempts Ganrahast has made to test the extent of his power: the war wizards participating in these tests all feinting before Savander failed to retain a just cast spell.
For his part Savander does not consider himself much of a wizard, preferring to work with his hands and tools to repair anything given to him for fixing. When not busy working he finds his way well beyond Arabel's walls, there to safely unleash the spells in his mind.
This can be difficult for him in the winter months. Thus he is most likely to be holding spells in his mind at this time.
Worwand Gauntblade
(Wizard 4)
“A skilled but careful wizard that speaks little, prefers to travel in the company of other mages, does not volunteer when given the opportunity, and demonstrates a capacity for doing his best work when part of a team.”
--From a dossier of active war wizards commissioned in 1479 DR in the wake of the many dooms visited upon the Wizards of War throughout Cormyr after the Council of the Dragon, and classified as a Dark Document by the Mage Royal upon his review and acceptance of same.
Worwand Gauntblade is a not quite novice war wizard that’s found himself thrust into difficult situations with ever increasing frequency thanks to the recent deaths of several veteran war wizards.
Worwand, and the other surviving War Wizards, have been left with responsibilities that not all of them are ready for.
Recognizing this, the Mage Royal (Ganrahast) has elected to pair up his remaining mages until more can be trained[1]. Though teaming up is by no means a new strategy for the war wizards, the emphasis on guarding each other’s back and surviving at all costs to avoid further depletion of the ranks is.
As a result Worwand has become, if not exactly paranoid, hyper vigilant to threats arcane as well as mundane. He’s ready to draw a wand at the slightest hint of danger and prefers to work in teams of at least three war wizards, no matter the assignment.
Worwand is not arrogant, nor is he one to flaunt his authority. Though he will readily left fly with spells if he thinks he’s in danger, he defers to others in authority—even if he’s not technically under their command—and works to complete his assigned tasks without having to resort to violence.
Worwand has spent the last several months paired with the capable Orgreth Dinsimer, and was alarmed to learn Orgreth was reassigned to Azoun’s Hold.
Upon the notification that his new partner would be the unpredictable Feldran Durvorkar, Worwand calmly concluded he would be dead within a season.
Ganrahast hopes that Worwand’s predicament will force him to grow into his position as a regular amongst the Wizards of War, and just maybe become the first War Wizard to successfully complete a mission with Feldran and not immediately beg for reassignment thereafter.
The two War Wizards have been assigned to Spellcatch Ruin.
[1] The teams that the Mage Royal assembles do not have a regular leader unless Ganrahast assigns one. Even then such leadership decisions are at best temporary and are made on the spot based on the Mage Royal’s assessment of the needs of the mission and the abilities of the mages available to him.
Some years back I stopped updating these entries and copied everything over to Candlekeep, where I continued to work on them.
I will be updating this thread from time to time with the work I did at Candlekeep. It's my hope this material will be of use to DMs, or at least an interesting read.
Note that some entries had placeholders with the word "CONCEPT" in them. These are now fully fleshed out entries and, I daresay, worth your time to read. 
Dantar Blackbrook
(Wizard 7)
Dantar Blackbrook can recall with perfect accuracy the details of everything he has done, observed, heard or said since the day he turned four years old.
Many War Wizards possess impressive recall ability, but only a handful have the ability of absolute recall that Dantar is learning to wield with precision in the Royal Court where he is assigned as a quiet observer of sensitive activities.
Dantar's most recent assignment is to the Chamber of the Purple Dragon, where he observes and mentally records the ceremonies of investiture, royal proclamations, weddings, and funerals that occur there.
Dantar has witnessed King Foril quietly defuse factions of feuding nobles, the appointment of new Wizards of War, the creation of Highknights and other ceremonies.
The Mage Royal intends to test Dantar's loyalty, by having agents (read: trusted adventurers) offer him coin and valuables in exchange for information of what he has seen and heard.
As a young boy Dantar created an imaginary company of Purple Dragons. With each day that passed, he gave them names, histories, achievements in battle and personalities. The stories he overheard and the tales he read in chapbooks all served to inform his imaginings.
With age and time the unit of soldiers grew into an army, one supported by Wizards of War and courtiers--every individual imagined in full by Dantar.
When not busy with His War Wizard duties, Dantar gives his full attention to his imaginary world, reciting out loud conversations between Purple Dragons, imagining the thoughts and deeds of Lionars and nobles whose actions will have an effect on Dantar's Dragons and thinking up new recruits who will replace soldiers lost to old age and battle.
Dantar is perfectly sane, if a bit obsessed, and makes use of empty rooms and hallways in the Royal Court as much has his own personal accommodations when thinking out loud about the ever growing imaginary world he has created and maintains to this day--sometimes going so far as to conjure illusionary images and give them voices that carry through the halls as though they were flesh and blood people.