Essembra

While travelling in Battledale one may see pilgrims, foresters, and dopplegangers who imitate all of these sorts of folk —as well as raiding bands of trolls, bugbears, mongrelmen, leucrotta, and similar menaces that lurk near civilized lands and prey on the unwary.

Many shrines to Chauntea and Silvanus dot the countryside. The former usually take the form of a stone table laden with food offerings (which sustain many a hungry traveler by design—the goddess does not frown on the needy eating from her table.

The shrines to Silvanus most often consist of a small bell hung over a pool or rising spring in a small forest clearing that has been planted all around with herbs and rare woodland flowers.

The occasional depredations of owlbears and other more dangerous woodland creatures have kept the beautiful and fertile Three Rivers lands (where the Semberflow and the Glaemril join the Ashaba northwest of the Pool of Yeven) sparsely settled, but many an adventurer dreams of building a keep thereabouts. A few find the time and funds to do so, and these uplands are dotted with the monster-haunted ruins of such keeps, left lifeless when adventurers were overwhelmed in their beds by dragons or more mundane foes—or went off on one too many adventures and never returned.

Wolfjaw Towers
One of the most famous of these abandoned holds is Wolfjaw Towers, the once-palatial stead of the Sembian adventurer Amberlan Wolfjaw. Said to  stand atop a warren of twisting, hand-dug tunnels crammed with the loot brought back from his adventures, it fell into ruin as Wolfjaw’s wits failed. He ended his days  as a mumbling eater of berries and squirrels in a roofless ruin laid waste by fire, heavy snows, and lack of upkeep—for the crazed Wolfjaw slew all of his servants. Many folk have searched for his fabled riches, but so many overgrown ruins dot the region that no one is now sure just where Wolfjaw Towers is. Companies in neighboring Deepingdale and Tasseldale mount hunting expeditions into the Three Rivers  uplands, but the traveler is warned that the operators tend to pick this or that ruin to camp in so they can look for Wolfjaw’s  hold. Should they ever find it, the personal safety of anyone who is on that expedition is not likely to be long-lasting.

The Ghost Holds
A likely source of treasure for curious adventurers—as well as discarded gear and even possible homes—are the many abandoned and overgrown farmsteads and manor houses that lie both east and west of Rauthauvyr’s Road just south of Essembra known as the Ghost Holds. The most famous of these ruins is the crumbling castle of Aencar’s Manor (dealt with in its own section earlier), but between it and Essembra are several dozen lesser dwellings cloaked by the forest. Despite their collective name, it is rare to encounter undead in these fallen structures, since the Lord’s Men, the volunteer band of adventurer-soldiers led by War Chancellor Ilmeth, chase out ghouls and other predators regularly. Nevertheless, the usual horrific tales of monsters and tantalizing rumors of treasure are told about the Ghost Holds.

The traveler can readily see seven or so of these ruins by ascending the splendid natural lookout of Aencar’s Watch (said to be the reason the Mantled King chose this spot for his capital in the first place) by means of a very steep footpath west of Dunstable’s Sleeping Cat warehouses. Be warned that on several occasions brigands using rip cords and push poles  have caused the deaths of lone visitors on this path, and plundered their bodies with impunity. Ascend alert, armed, and preferably with several companions.

Some of the larger ruins still have towers, stone-walled compounds, moats, and extensive storage cellars that are more or less intact—and most of the ruins are either home to, or regularly hunted through, by woodland monsters seeking easy food. No maps of the Ghost Holds area are known to survive, and some local shepherds say that bandits have purchased and destroyed the last of these available locally and have even despoiled maps in the libraries of nearby Sembian cities. Brigands and fugitives from justice in Sembia, Zhentil Keep, and Hillsfar have long been rumored to use the ruins as homes, moving from one to another whenever the Lord’s Men or other large armed bands intrude.

All Essembrans agree that the woods south of the town are dangerous. (If they cut wood, set traps, or pick berries, they usually go north and west.) They also agree that the Ghost Holds are so numerous that one could spend several years just exploring them all! They are a relic of times when Essembra was much larger and more prosperous, and the Dale served as a woodlandretreat for wealthy Sembian nobles and as Sembia’s trading outpost with the elves and the few humans who then dwelt in the heavily forested western Dragon Reach lands.
One dark rumor even asserts that at least one ancient magical gate to other planes and several connections to the Underdark are hidden in the cellars of these ruins—and that slavers and some monstrous things still use them. The logs of the Lord’s Men support this belief.

They recount battles with a wide variety of creatures usually known in Faerûn only through the writings of sages and the wilder sermons of priests.

Basic Info on Essember

When Aencar rose to power in 1030 DR, he declared Essembra to be his seat since it was near his ancestral manor. Aencar’s chief lieutenant, Ramorth Wyvernblade, took the title of lord of Essembra and built his manorhouse there. Ilmeth, Ramorth’s descendant, still lives there.

The sense of battle and long history is everywhere in Essembra. Local lore insists that somewhere in or near the town—in a magically hidden lair reached by stepping between a certain pair of trees, perhaps, or in the pit of a back-ofthe- house privy—is the hastily hidden treasury of Lashan of Scardale: several chests of gold and platinum coins brought here to pay his mercenary troops and lost amid the confusion of battle and the collapse of his dreams of empire. Essembran citizens insist just as firmly, however, that any folk who start tearing apart homes, shops, or anything else in town looking for treasure will find short and sharp endings to such careers and possibly to their lives, too.

Some of the interesting locations include:

1. Ilmeth’s Manor.

War-Chancellor Ilmeth is an accomplished warrior who inherited the lordship of Essembra 16 years ago. The manor is impressive and its rooms are filled with coats-of-arms, banners, and other military memorabilia. The Lord’s Men, Ilmeth’s war-band, meet here’ when needed. Ilmeth’s home is guarded by six men-at-arms who are quartered here.

Ilmeth’s Manor
It is a surprise to find a miniature moated castle in a town as small as Essembra, but that is what the hereditary local lord, War Chancellor Ilmeth—descended from Old Ilmeth, right-hand swordcaptain to King Aencar —lives in. Ilmeth is a grim, moody veteran warrior overly concerned with the safety of Battledale. He leads the Lord’s Men, his band of soldiers, against monsters, brigands, and the like and has a small armory and stables for them here. The walls also enclose a garden (a gloomy place in the perpetual shade of several huge, old oak and walnut trees), a fish pond cloaked with lily pads, and the fortified manor house of the Ilmeth family.
The current war chancellor has no wife or descendants and may well prove to be the last of his line—  but he is well protected: His magnificent wood-paneled home houses a comfortable domestic staff  a six bodyguards. Visitors are admitted only on business —proposals of advantage to Essembra, in particular, get the gates to open —but the lucky few let in see maps to rival the libraries of Candlekeep and royal palaces elsewhere as well as the tattered banners, war trumpets, and battered shields of the great Dale heroes. All these fragments of history are preserved securely here largely because some sort of enchantment involving both watchghosts and invisible stalkers ensures that anyone who carries off a relic soon brings it back again.

Such relics include the mace of Aencar and the arm of Halondras. For those not familiar with ancient Dales history, Halondras was a petty king remembered mainly for his success at tirelessly conquering one self-styled lord’s hold after another and adding each one to his own lands. He hewed out a small realm before dying in battle. His daughters found his body on the battlefield clutching in one hand both his own crown and the larger spired one made from the circlets of three lords he had conquered that he normally wore on his helm.

They could not pry his fingers open and did not want the crowns to fall into enemy hands, so they cut off his arm and burned his body that night. They spirited themselves and the arm away so that his slayer, an otherwise forgotten lord named Salygrar, found only bones and ashes where the king had fallen.

The arm disappeared, buried by the daughters before they fled to other lands (from whence they never returned), and it was not until Ilmeth’s adventuring days that it came to light in a monster-haunted network of tunnels under his own manor! Local rumors tell that the tunnels go a long way into the woods and there come to the surface, allowing the war chancellor to enter and leave Essembra unseen, It is certain that with their aid Ilmeth never fell into the hands of Lashan’s forces or the Sword of the South Zhent army that briefly occupied Essembra during the Time of Troubles. Tales are also told in the Dale about chests of gems and gold dust from Aencar’s treasury being hidden down in the tunnels, but Ilmeth is not polite to folk who ask him about such things.

From my own researches I can tell you that secret passages honeycomb the thick stone walls of the manor and definitely connect Ilmeth’s bedchamber with the kitchens, the cellars, and at least two other bedchambers. I can also say that one entry to this web of passages is gained by moving a suit of armor aside. However, since visitors may encounter over 60 full suits of armor standing throughout the manor amid the old weapons and blazoned shields, finding the right armor may take some time.

2. The House of Gond

This temple has an impressive facade: broad stone steps ascend between massive pillars that support a portico adorned with gears—stone cogs that turn endlessly thanks to enchantments that also make them glow faintly in darkness. But the quiet splendor of this temple is marred by an air of snobbery and inertia. Here there is none of the excitement over new things and devices seen in other temples to Gond.

Visitors are not allowed to do more than view an entry hall crowded with interesting-looking but minor mechanisms —such as the screw-lift water pump and the two-powder-mix cooking hot plate—while facing eloquent pleas for donations to the greater glory of Gond unless their devotion to the God of All Artifice impresses the underpriests. Then they summon Lord High Smith and Artificer Gulmarin Reldacap.

Only those who in Gulmarin’s sole and haughty judgment serve Gond with sufficient dedication (that is, large monetary amounts) and style (conservative and respectful) receive any aid from Essembra’s House of Gond. All others are treated to a blessing from the god and a further entreaty to join the faith—or if one of the faithful, an exhortation to renew and strengthen their dedication by undertaking a task of Gulmarin’s choosing—and then shown Swordpoint Shrine This simple stone chapel stands always open to the street, and travelers of any faith are welcome to take shelter herein if the weather is inclement. Those who attempt to set up camp within the walls, however, are directed firmly to the south field.

Swordpoint Shrine is staffed by priests from the nearby Abbey of the Sword, who can recount much of the war history of Battledale. If shown a map, they will readily point out battlefields and known ruins.

They will display proudly the rusty shards of a blade said to have belonged to Aencar the Mantled King, as well as a plain dagger left behind in Essembra by Lashan, the self-styled Lord of the Dales, and several more dubious relics such as a blackened blade purportedly used by an elven warrior to slay a local red dragon several centuries ago.

The priests tend the sick and wounded for reasonable fees and also provide bed rest in the back room of the shrine. For tending the injured they ask a typical donation of 5 gp for an examination, the dressing and cleaning of wounds, the lancing of swellings, and the application of simple poultices and herbal medicines. Bed rest at the shrine costs an additional 1 gp per night, which includes bedpan and linen services plus simple fare of bread-and-milk puddings and watered wine. Medicines and potions of healing are also sold here.

What is not in stock can be brought from the Abbey of the Sword in a day.

I am told that the usual shrine stock of holy water is 30 vials, which sell for 25 gp each, and 14 potions of healing, which can be had for 450 gp each; however, a discount of 20-30 gp is sometimes given if the person to be healed is a worshiper of Tempus who was afflicted as a result of battle. The priests will not sell more than 12 potions to any individual or group in case other needy persons arrive later.

3. Swordpriest Shrine of Tempus.

4. Hitching Post General Store

The Post is an unexciting but very useful place. Many a passing merchant has found its stock of spare wagon wheels, tarps, and lashing cords to be a boon from the gods! This large, well-stocked general store sells oil, spices, rope, clothing from Sembia, parchment and a variety of inks, and fine metalwork from the Moonsea. In other words, it sells all the things that the verdant farms and thick copses of Battledale cannot produce.

The sleek proprietor, Rhannon, overcharges shamelessly. If customers cavil at her prices, she shrugs and tells them they can no doubt find what they need more cheaply “just down the road in Sembia.” Every town seems to have one citizen who knows all, sees everything, and wields a lot of local power behind the scenes—and in Essembra, Rhannon seems to be the one. Adventurers are warned that this wily, stout little lady is not as old as she looks, has an exciting past adventuring career of her own, and is quite able to defend herself.

5. Durn’s Forge Weaponsmith and Blacksmith

The largest and finest smithy in Battledale, this enterprise is owned and operated by Durn the Red (LG hm F6.) Durn is a hulking exfighter with arms like tree trunks and a generous, jovial manner. He spends most of his time crafting tools and horseshoes, but likes to forge beautiful long and bastard swords. He can forge a weapon of quality, but the price will be 10 times normal, and he will require 1d6+2 weeks of advance notice to prepare the materials.

This smithy is known as “Durn Blacksmith ” to some folk because that is what the sign over the door says. Here lives and works Durn the Red, a jovial giant of a man who once fought as a hiresword all over the Inner Sea lands. He once picked up a haughty Zhentilar commander in full plate armor and with one arm threw the man, underhanded, across the smithy, out its open door, and into the horse trough outside a good six paces beyond.

Many Essembran folk tell tales of his breaking what he deemed an inferior sword blade simply by grasping it at both ends, barehanded, and pulling his fists down and toward each other! Most of the time, however, Durn spends his days hammering out horseshoes and tools of solid, dependable quality. His scythe blades are favored by farmers all across the Dales.

Durn loves to make swords of large size —and his parlor trick to impress haughty visitors is to casually snatch down a two-handed sword from the rafters and with a single backhand swing, not looking at his target, “behead” a solid oak post as large around as the great helm perched on it! Durn does not want to become every Sembian’s pet swordmaker, however, so he requires both huge fees in advance (up to ten times the normal price of a blade) and notice of a month before beginning work on a commission. He discourages thieves by pointing out his guardian sword: a naked, floating long sword that appears and disappears silently and at random here and there around the smithy. Durn warns that it hunts down and slays all who take things from his smithy without paying for them in full.

The truth is that the sword is a harmless apparition, the result of a wizard’s miscast curse against Durn. The curse was upon him during his mercenary days for his part in the pillaging of a mage’s tower. The sword never manifests far from him and has no solid existence, but more than one of the smith’s lady friends over the years has been terrified by its sudden appearance during more intimate moments and complained of feeling a chill as it floated through her! Durn must be wealthy, but shows no sign of having a great deal of money. He employs only a few apprentices and lives simply, enjoying the company of ladies awed by his mighty size and strength.

7. Aencar’s Watch.

Local legend states that Aencar once waited here for elven reinforcements to help him against an incursion of orcs in Tasseldale. This rocky hilltop towers above the surrounding forest, and from its summit one can easily see Aencar’s castle — about four miles to the south of Essembra.

8. North Field.

Every spring through summer, dozens of tents and stalls clutter this glen, which is the site of Essembra’s market. Merchants of Cormyr and Sembia sell their textiles and metal goods in exchange for Battledale’s produce.

9. South Field.

Battledalesmen journeying to Essembra for the market are provided with this open field to pitch their tents or sleep under their wagons.

10. The Silver Taproom Tavern

The Silver Taproom is the most popular stopping place for travelers anywhere on Rauthauvyr’s Road in Essembra. The Tap, as most regulars call it, specializes in swiffly serving ice-cold draft (or in winter, hot cider) and a meat-filled hand pastry meal to one’s stirrup or wagonboard. Its popularity comes from the fact that folk with their coins ready can get food and drink in a trice and continue on to camp elsewhere by the roadside for free—or for a few silver pieces on a farm front outside of town.

The Tap fronts on Battle Court and stands just outside the walled center of Essembra. Once an inn and later a fortified guardpost, it presents an impressive stone front to the road with a welcoming front archway flanked by two smaller entrances out of which the well-trained tavern staff leap to deal with wagons and riders pulling to a stop outside the gate. A mounting block assists patrons in getting down from their carriages and the staff in reaching those perched aloft.

Travelers who pull their wagons in beside the inn or surrender their mounts to the hostlers and go inside to enjoy “a sit by the Tap” with the locals find themselves in a justly popular, pleasant taproom. The room is hung with stag’s heads and candlewheel lanterns, crowded with glossy-polished tables, and filled with folk good naturedly chuckling away over jests. The spirit of the place is warm and friendly, and the taproom is attached to unusually large and well-lit jakes for both sexes and a few back rooms where drunkards can sleep off their disgrace in peace.

Upstairs are gaming rooms and rooms that can be rented for meetings at a flat 20 gp per night in season and 12 gp per night—plus 4 gp for firewood if the hearth is to be lit—in winter. Though one is not supposed to sleep overnight in these rooms, the staff members turn a blind eye to adventuring bands doing so—so long as they do not disturb the folk in neighboring rooms with weapons practice or similar excitements in the wee hours.

The Tap offers hand meals—that is, pasties and filled buns that one can eat one-handed while drinking or riding with the other—and a small selection of good beers, from the local Tantul’s Dark through Dragon’s Breath Beer, Shadowdark Ale, Purple Dragon Ale, Archenwood Stout, and Bitter Black. Brandies, zzar, sherries, and a few white wines can also be had. These are priced by the tall tankard or bottle according to availability.

In cold weather,, hot cider and soup can be had by the tall tankard, too.

The accent here is on getting what you order into your hands fast. To do this, the outside staff members employ leather covered pitchers equipped with long pour spouts to dispense beer, and reach baskets (covered wicker bowls affixed to long poles) to lift hot buns, slabs of cheese, and hand pastries up to all customers.

The inside staff members use covered pitchers to prevent sloshing, and chest trays to keep spills to a minimum— and they hustle! The Provender Fare at the Tap is made on the premises.

Roast fowl and stewed sauces are ladled into buns baked in the kitchens or pinched into dough with spiced potatoes, mustard, and cold cut roasts. The only form of hand food not served here is the sausage, because the owner, Roliver Thynd, has a hatred of sausages—or more precisely, of the cold, decaying lumps of fat and offal that his mouth found in the sausages that were fed to him when he was young.

The venison pies here are particularly fine, because the cooks toss powdered almonds into the red wine used in the simmer sauce. The venison soaks overnight in the sauce and is then simmered in it for the morning so that the pies can be baked and ready for early evening.

All beer at the Tap is sold by the tall tankard. It is 3 cp for Tantul’s Dark, 4 cp for Dragon’s Breath Beer and Shadowdark Ale, 6 cp for Purple Dragon Ale, and 1 sp for Bitter Black. Other beverages are priced by the talltankard or bottle and by the season except for cold tea, which is always 1 cp. In winter, hot drinks such as cider and soup—usually duck soup—are 1 sp per talltankard.

Food pricing is simpler: 5 cp per pastry and 2 cp per bun in the winter, and 1 sp per pastry or 5 cp per bun in all other seasons.

The reader may well wonder why I have covered such a mundan e—if popular— place at length in these pages. The reason is the Curse of Anadar.

Anadar was a one-legged mage whose mobility was severely limited when he was not using a fly spell. As luck would have it, Lashan’s forces rode into Essembra while Anadar was in his rented room at the Tap feverishly researching spells. Unable to move from his chair, he died there when a fearful invading warrior discovered him and his cat familiar and impaled them both on a spear that thrust through the chair and deep into a suit of partially enchanted armor on a stand behind it. A blue flame is said to have slowly consumed spear, armor, chair, cat, and wizard, as the transfixed mage gasped out a last agonized incantation—and the Curse of Anadar was born.

From that night on, random folk who drink anything inside the Tap are overcome with the Curse: Their wits leave them, ghostly armor seems to surround their forms, and they stalk toward the nearest human male warrior who served under Lashan, seeking to slay that man by any means. Some of the targets of people afflicted by the Curse have been brigands living in the woods near Essembra, others were successful merchants now flourishing in Scardale or Sembia—and a few have been mercenaries serving in Hillsfar or Zhentil Keep. The Curse cares not how distant or well protected Lashan’s former soldiers may be. It simply selects one quarry, who does not change thereafter even if another former warrior of Lashan moves or is positioned closer to the curse victim, to die.

Sages say it is the limited, pain-filled mind of the familiar that drives victims of the Curse to slay in vengeance for the dead mage—and the remaining vestiges of Anadar’s sentience that keep the Curse’s victim from walking off cliffs, charging into leveled weapons, and the like. Victims of the Curse cannot be roused from thrall or swayed from their mission by any known means, although the enchantment wears off by the next dawn or when they have slain their quarry. They take no notice of any folk save their quarry and any who attack them and stride along determined to deal death with whatever weapons are at hand, regardless of their own class and skills. Enthralled mages never employ their own spells, but Anadar does protect them after a fashion.

The shimmering armor that appears around those suffering from the Curse seems to lessen all physical damage suffered by the cursed victim by half. It also intercepts any and all spells and magical fields of effect, harmful and beneficial, and converts them into a flame strike (just like the spell used by priests of many faiths) on the quarry if that being is within view of the Curse victim or onto a random being or item if the quarry has not yet been reached.

Various means to end the Curse of Anadar have been tried, but all attempts have been utterly without success. These days, the folk of the Tap just keep quiet about the Curse unless pressed for information in the presence of someone obviously afflicted by it and hope that each affected drinker is the last.

12. Four Flying Fish

The name of this dark, smoky drinking spot comes from a fight between the onetime proprietor and his wife. Business was slow and getting slower thanks to bad beer and a rougher clientele than other local tankard houses, so Baloout Ornysh unwisely told his wife Daera to stop waiting on tables and start dancing on them.

She refused in no uncertain terms, and said it would do more to bring in the louts if he danced on the tables instead! A fight developed and raged throughout the tavern —to the vast amusement of patrons— before it ended in Baloout’s unconsciousness.

During the festivities, he was struck in the face by no fewer than four (frozen!) thrown fish from his own larder.

Business has picked up over the years, and both of the taverns in town are now full from the time when roads grow hard enough to be used in spring to the first bad snows of winter. Through three sets of subsequent owners, however, the tradition of throwing fish has remained.

The Four (as locals call it) now does have hired dancers atop its larger and sturdier tables from time to time—but patrons who take liberties with them or who disturb the peace are likely to hear a shouted chorus of “Fish!” moments before a cloud of frozen and rather batteredlooking longjaws strike them down. These fish are kept for the purpose and reused.

It is popular in Essembra for folk who have no money to bet with to offer to eat the most shapeless longjaws from the Four if they lose.

This amusing tradition aside, travelers will find the Four to be very ordinary. Dim lighting in the Four conceals flies in the beer and a general unclean condition, and no one stops customers from getting too drunk to hold in previous meals or keep their manners. The price of the beer— 1 cp per tall tankard with a free refill thrown in—keeps the place packed, however.

One hears a lot of muttering in dark corners as unsavory business is done here—but beware the doppleganger on staff (and on retainer to the war chancellor, whose friend he is), who can send an earstalk snaking along under tables to eavesdrop on talk that the participants no doubt think is safely private! This eavesdropper goes by the name of Eritt, and usually takes the shape of a silent, slackwitted, very petite wench.8

The Four is currently owned by a couple from Daerlûn, the half-elven Taladar Snowstars and his human wife Ildaeryle. They regard Eritt as their best friend in the world. That is, overall, a good thing, because the doppleganger spends a lot of time helping to raise their two infant children.

Elminster: Eritt is the only shapechanging monster who holds official citizenship in Essembra. “She” once rescued Ilmeth’s life during the war chancellor’s adventuring days, and they fought side by side often until Ilmeth inherited the lordship of Essembra. Eritt still has rooms in Ilmeth’s Manor and some folk in town whisper that this “weird man-eating monster” is the war chancellor’s consort. I tell you here that the local belief about Ilmeth and Eritt is true. Do not attack the doppleganger, and she will not harm you. There is more to her tale and doings than should be revealed here.

13. The Lonely Mermaid

The oceanic theme of this house is hard to miss: Blue-green draperies are hung everywhere, interspersed with pedestals bearing marble miniatures of the striking life-sized sculpture that dominates the front hall: a mermaid rising from a wave with a longing expression and both arms outstretched to embrace the viewer.

Except for these sculptures and the plethora of very beautiful and well-dressed ladies wandering the halls with decanters and goblets in their hands, the Mermaid resembles the best inns everywhere.

It is clean, brightly lit, and tastefully —if sparsely —furnished. Good meals (firmly in the “good hearty roasts” roadside inn style) are served in a dining room on the ground floor.

All festive activities take place behind discreet closed doors except in the cellars, where a spiral back stair leads down into the Mermaids’ Grot, a spell-lit, lukewarm bathing pool where guests and staff can frolic. Here wine flows freely, and private bowers and dive-tunnels sprawl on all sides. There are even rumors that a real mermaid dwells down here in the dimmest depths and rises to embrace evil men or those who mistreat her staff members, dragging such miscreants down to drown in her embrace. I questioned my hostess, Merilee Glesta, the Lady of the House, about this—but she smilingly turned my queries aside and gave me no straight answer.

14. The Bold Banners

The house of the Bold Banners stands on Rauthauvyr’s Road, its balconies looking out over the passing traffic. It is the most exclusive and expensive festhall in Essembra—and probably in all the Dales.

The formerly wanton banners for which it is named are now tasteful pennants displaying the badges of satisfied past patrons who have consented to the use of their coats-of-arms as an endorsement.

The faithful say Mielikki appeared in person to the famous ranger Florin Falconhand here, and that it was Mielikki’s hand that caused the three swordsmen who slew the ladies of the Green Door on Lashan’s orders to wither like dead leaves and die horribly, desiccated into hollow Husks.

The escorts of the house often take their meals out on the balconies —and the house bodyguards have instructions to keep the road watered in front of the festhall when necessary, so that no dust rises to sully them.

That careful attention to detail is typical of the kind, graceful owner and senior escort of the Bold Banners: the lady known as Belurastra. Her wits brought her house intact through a Zhentilar occupation during the Time of Troubles despite the Zhentarim mages making the Banners their personal home. Folk in Essembra believe she actually managed to slay the most powerful wizard, Spellmaster of the Sword of the South army, and survive.

Under her reign, the Bold Banners has lost all trace of the bawdy, and become an exclusive inn and dining club whose heavily padded meeting rooms offer Essembrans and visitors their best venue for conducting private business—as well as pursuing private pleasures. As a result, entire floors of the Banners are often reserved for months or even years in advance by Sembian cabals who meet to do business behind closed doors here and unwind only afterward.

The sensitivity of some of the negotiations here— which have included quite separate but uniformly unsuccessful overtures by both Sembia and Cormyr to various Dales regarding the possible annexation of those Dales and meetings between Maalthiir of Hillsfar and Elminster of Shadowdale to establish just what behavior on the part of the former would and would not be tolerated by the latter— have made necessary a skilled and capable security force equivalent in training and magical might to a very successful band of adventurers. On at least two occasions these house bodyguards have been reinforced by Harpers and by certain of the Knights of Myth Drannor, and they may well possess means of calling on their aid again. Disagreeing with the good swords of the house would not be a wise thing to do.

The menu of the Banners is varied and accomplished, with a small but judicious selection of wines fronting dishes whose minty or spicy side sauces need conceal no shortcomings in the cooking or portions.

The ring of a bell brings swift personal service, or one can choose to dine with one’s choice of a comely companion who both enjoys the meal with one and serves one with the viands throughout.

After my stay, I must join the folk of the banners out front in recommending that all travelers on Rauthauvyr’s Road, whatever their personal tastes in entertainment, patronize the Bold Banners just to see what good taste and wealth can do in presenting all patrons with quietly luxurious accommodations.

15. Dunstables Sleeping Cat

This row of rental warehouses is named for its most attractive fixture: the fat, furry, constantly snoring monstrosity that is the owner’s pet cat. Indyn Dunstable is a spice merchant who grew tired of the ruthless, frenetic cut-and-thrust of Sembian trade and retired here to eke out a more meager but much easexchange ier living by offering clean, secure, noquestions- asked rental storage to all interested patrons.

The rules are: no unsecured magic, no kidnap victims or other living captives, no molds or other fungal growths, and no live or undead monsters can be stored.

Everything else is fine. The staff will tend plants that need watering and take care of similar minimal maintenance tasks.

The warehouses are constructed of fused stone (that is, stout stone blocks melted together by magical means) and seem able to withstand almost everything.

Each wall is pierced by a door and a ventilation grating, both of massive metal construction and covered by rolling shutters of even heavier metal.

There may well be other defenses I am not aware of, but one can readily see the rooftop ballista emplacements, the triple-key locking system (so that intruders must overcome three specific guards to gain entry), and the 20-blade strong standing guard contingent. Above each door is also a weighted drop net that those on the roof use without hesitation to entangle intruders—even if their fellow guards are embroiled in some sort of fray. At least half of the guards are expert slingers who strike first at anyone who looks to be employing any sort of magic.

At least one of the guards is armed with a wand of viscid globs, and some four or so of them wear rings of spell turning. If you get past these, you must still face Dunstable, who has comfortable apartments in one of the three warehouses, and his cat. Dunstable employs an unknown personal array of magical items, and the cat is actually some sort of shapechanging monster that has reached an understanding with the retired merchant.

It can turn into something far more fearsome than an portly cat if facing intruders.

These defenses make Dunstable’s the safe place to store your valuables—if you can afford the 25 gp per day per cubicle fees. A cubicle is 6 feet wide × 10 feet high × 10 feet deep, and the rental fee includes keys to its padlocked, openworkgrating front door. The walls, floor, and ceiling are solid stone. On my visit to the warehouses I swear I saw a throne with a crumbling, long-dead crowned occupant inside one cubicle! Many adventuring bands virtually make Dunstable’s their home while on forays in the area—but be aware that he does not allow patrons to cook, eat, bathe, or sleep in his warehouses, and that he removes all goods in rental space no longer paid for into “safe storage cellars ” underground nearby. These cellars have their own monstrous guardians (rumors of links to drow are simply talk, I assure you). Goods are recovered from these storage cellars only upon payment of the lapsed daily storage fees plus a penalty—though I have also heard that Dunstable can be flexible in negotiations with the needy.

16. The Watchful Eye Inn

This justly popular inn is a favorite stopover on Rauthauvyr’s Road. Folk can easily find it by the large, open, lidless staring eye that looks down the road painted on each side of the inn, so that the inn seems to stare in both directions. The eye that faces south was liberally used for target practice by certain drunken crossbowmen during Lashan’s occupation and hence has a worm-eaten look.

The Place This large, half-timbered building looks like just what it is: a converted former manor house. The ground floor is made of stone and has arched casement windows whose shutters have been adorned with crude but striking silhouette carvings of dancing bears, leaping stags, charging boars, and running hares.

Drainpipes lead down to huge rain barrels at many places along the walls. The barrels are big enough to bathe or sleep in, but beware: Some folk have been found drowned within them after sudden storms! Chimneys at either end of the angled building and at its bend (underlaid by the busy kitchens) keep folk warm in winter, and the building’s large windows are opened in hot weather to let breezes blow through. Overall, the Eye is a solidlooking, welcoming place with good furnished rooms, even if it is a trifle sparsely and simply decorated.

At one time the Eye was home to the now-extinct Iskyl noble family exiled from Chessenta. The Eye still has the extensive storage cellars they dug out, including one, local lore whispers, that stretches out into the trees south of the inn and comes to the 66 surface there. This long tunnel cellar allows certain folk to sneak in and out of the place without being seen, which is how the three beautiful daughters of the innkeeper escaped the hands of Lashan’s soldiers.

These cellars formerly held great quantities of food and firewood against the harsh winters when the manor stood isolated in elven-held deep woods, kept the riches of the family safe behind concealed doors, and held the bones of fallen Iskyls. Some of the Iskyl riches—notably a chest of pearls “bigger than an ogre’s eyeball&‘—are still hidden down in the cellars in nowforgotten hiding places. The Iskyl crypt lies at the westernmost extent of the cellars under Rauthauvyr’s Road. It has several times been afflicted with the rise of undead.

The present owner of the inn does not discourage talk about these undead creatures in an effort to keep thieves from descending the many back stairs of the Eye to wander freely about the cellars.

The Watchful Eye offers comfortable accommodation, to be sure, but its fame is built on the output of its kitchens.

Housewives of Essembra line up at the serving shutters of the kitchens to take home the same thing that guests crowd into the dining room for: the best chicken and turkey pastries in all the Dales! Folk come from all over Battledale to dine here from a menu that consists of little more than drink, various pickles, roast boar, venison, hare, sauces, and the famous pies. Not a few rich and haughty Sembians who hurry past the crude backlands of the Dales on their important travels between their own realm and the bustling cities of the Moonsea make a point of stopping here to eat. Their expectations have led to small but steady improvements in the amenities offered to guests, so that the Eye has become a good—if not spectacular—hostelry.

The owner of the Eye, Chesduk Malrit, is a weary and bitter man today. The death of his wife a few winters back took all the life from him, it seems. He spends most of his time these days walking the woods and smoking his pipe and lends a hand with inn work only to repair chairs, tables, doors, boot jacks, and other wooden items that need work or replacement.

Luckily for travelers, Chesduk’s three daughters—energetic, laughing beauties who have grown adroit at resisting the blandishments of many smitten guests over the years—have taken over the running of the Eye without any formal agreement or arguments.

On my last three visits I recognized undercover Harper agents among the staff, and I suspect Harper assistance helped the daughters rebuff several Sembian highpressure offers to buy the Eye. More recent purchase overtures have come from the Darkwater Brand of Archendale, whose owners are most anxious to buy the inn, and from the Sword of the South, who wants the inn for his (or her) troops during their stays. I would not be surprised to soon learn of a daughter or two wedding Harpers in the future—but for the time being, Aleesha, Baernysse, and Lathyleea remain in the hopeful dreams of many travelers on Rauthauvyr’s Road. And every one of these women knows how to make the Eye’s famous pies.

The Provender Though modesty forbids too much discussion of such things your scribe can claim several accomplishments in life, and one of these can only be delicately described as “a way with the ladies. It is my bound duty to assist the reader in every way, and it was with this diligent task in mind that I set out—armed with a bottle of the very best elverquisst, I might add— to learn all I could of the superb viands served in the dining room of the Eye from Lathyleea, the, er, most lonesome of the owner’s daughters. It is with a humble mien that I can report success.

Folk buying their meals through the window can expect to pay 7 cp per pie, or 5 cp per trencher (yes, a trencher is a thick slab of bread) of whatever roast is available.

12Elminster: I can only wonder what way he means here —the way to make women give polite or rude excuses to get rid of him?
A Humble mien and a twinkle in the eye designed to make ye think he got more than just the single recipe out of her. Don’t worry, he did not. I was watching the whole time in disguise. Lathyleea has better things to do than spend her evening listening to the honeyed words of some idiot who is actually proud of the name “Volo.” The disguise spell was simplicity itself, and the elverquisst as good as always, but how women wear those tightlaced bodices I do not know.

Prices in the dining room are 2 cp higher for each, and all drinks are 6 cp per talltankard or tallglass. The wine selection is good but very limited. A bed is 1 gp per night, a private room runs 2 gp per night, and a suite with private jakes and bath cost 4 gp per night.

Guests who slip the porters 3 cp can see the cellar door carved with the Iskyl arms: a shield, surrounded by ornate scrolls and bunting, whose Sky17 is forest green and bears a bronze hawk in flight from low on the sinister toward high on the dexter. One talon of the hawk is manacled in silver, and from this manacle trail three links of silver chain, the last one broken open. The family motto is unreadable on the door and has been lost with time in other records.

This pleasant coat-of-arms is said to be carved in miniature on many chests and coffers that held the Iskyl family wealth.

One of these can be seen in a market hall in Ordulin, where it is now used to hold the ivory vote tallies used by merchant organizations, but most of the others are lost. These treasure chests still sit in dark places, local lore insists, holding the family wealth ready for the one bold (or lucky) enough to find them! One local belief puts the largest treasure vault under the family crypt, accessible only through the false bottom of a coffin that houses the skeleton of a family foe slain at the manor when he came to seize an Iskyl maid and marry her by force. If this coffin exists, it has yet to be found by the Malrits.

Elminster: In thy world, ye would use the word field here instead of sky. In either case, what is meant is the background.

16. Adderposts Curiosities and Secondhand Goods

Adderposts is the place to come if you need something unusual in a hurry—particularly in the line of disguises, where a certain type of armor or uniform must be had and no other will do. Duskar seems to have specimens of every sort of military garb from the Moonsea and Dragon Reach lands. Coins he takes in payment are poured into one of a dozen or so speaking tubes that stand against pillars here and there around the shop—tubes that pour their contents down to unknown regions below. Change is brought to customers by one of Duskar’s daughters, so it is likely thieves will not find any coin at all in the shop itself.

Elminster: By these coy words, Volo is attempting to imply that Duskar is the local fence for stolen goods. This implication is true, and Duskar has some very unsavory allies. His daughters are even more ruthless. They love to lure amorous travelers into situations where drugged wine can lead to easy robbery at best and a quick introduction to slavery at worst.
These rumors about a cult are true. Have fun finding out more, for I shall not tell you—other than to quote the motto of the cult: “The Serpent Never Sleeps.” Still words some live by today. . . .the door.

17. Findar's Bag o’ Nails

Woodworking, Carpentry and Findings
Findar’s is a pleasant, crowded place dominated by trestle tables, shavings, halffinished items, and the smell of fresh-cut cedar. Run by a man who seems eager to help, Findar’s is a fast-growing business: The wing that houses a selection of readymade chairs and travel chests seems as new as the wares it contains. This woodworker and carpenter also deals in nails of all sizes, hooks, and locks. Findar tries to have at least one sample of each regular (not custom-made or specially ordered) item he makes on display, which makes this shop very useful to the traveler in a hurry.

Findar is a young, slim man with a pointed black beard and an air of nervous energy. He is no fine craftsman, but his work is solid and dependable and boasts reinforced corners and stress points. A dozen local youths are learning the trade as apprentices alongside him—and with ever-growing orders for packing crates and strongchests from Hillsfar and Sembia, their hands are needed.

18. Sarguth’s Wheelworks

Wagonmaking, Wheelmaking, and Wagon Repairs
This shop does more than just make wheels. It is a fast, efficient assembly line where teams of skilled workers under the watchful eye of fat, shrewd, old Sarguth make, repair, and refit wagons. “While-one waits ” jobs are always steeply priced here (usually 25 gp per hour or morel, but the replacement of single wagon wheels at Sarguth’s is cheaper than at the Hitching Post— and here the coins cover the lifting of your conveyance and installation of the wheel, whereas at the Post you simply come out with a wheel in your hands and some crippling work ahead of you!
I recommend a visit to this shop to any shopkeeper interested in how swiftly things can be made by many folk working together, each one skilled at one or two tasks. Such entrepreneurs should find it fascinating!

19. Tantul’s Old Tankard Brewery

Tantul’s, the local brewery, stands at the edge of its own barley fields and atop deep, cool wells that almost gush with water; little pumping is required.
Here one can buy flagons, handkegs, or butts (cart-sized, and requiring at least six people to shift when full) of the thick, nutty-flavored local brew, Tantul’s Dark. This stout is doctored with crushed berry juice and even more secret ingredients and is very much an acquired taste. Its spicy ropy thickness makes it almost a meal rather than a thirst-quencher! If you like what locals call “proper Battledale beer,” however, this is the place to buy it.
A flagon is 1 cp, a handkeg is 8 cp, and a butt is 1 gp. Do not expect prices less than twice that elsewhere! The fat, lazy brewers here seem to partake liberally of their own wares and are rarely hurried into doing anything. I also noticed that huge wheels of cheese and black bread seemed to be lying on every handy surface ready for carving and eating with one’s fresh-drawn tankard. I would have been happier if the waiting knives buried in the bread or cheese had not so often been adorned with an equally fat, lazy rat!

20. The Elf on the Flying Stag

Thanks to its fanciful signboard, it is hard to miss this eatery in the outer walled “ward” of Essembra. (Who ever heard of blue stags with pegasi-like wings—or an elf deciding to wear not much more than a silly-looking winged helm and a sly expression when agreeing to ride such a thing, either?) The Elf is also the only place in town that whole families of local citizens can be seen trudging toward early on most evenings.

One might expect such a universally patronized place to serve good hearty food but to also be both crowded and noisy—and one would be right. The Elf is as wild as a busy market. Younglings run everywhere and throw food into all areas they have not yet disrupted. The din is terrific: Everyone bellows away at full blast, and metal dishes and tankards (wisely, they don’t use anything else here) crash and clatter in the midst of it all in an almost continuous cacophony.

21.Beldarag’s Finest Stable

This waystables is busy night and day swapping fresh horses to travelers in easexchange for their lame, exhausted, or mistreated mounts. To keep his reputation good, Beldarag never sells any mount he has just received in trade. This way sick and lame animals have a chance to heal, and the truly useless mounts do not earn him a customer’s ire. (All such trade animals are taken to Beldarag’s farm on Hunter’s Lane.) Beldarag is a very good judge of horse, and has bred certain of the beasts he has acquired in trade so shrewdly that horses bearing his own sword-and-stars brand are now ranked very highly in the Dragon Reach lands. Local Dale farms provide Beldarag with most of his stock, though, and the produce of other farms feeds the animals. The one-eyed old ex-warrior gets good prices on feed because he always harvests and takes away what he needs himself, freeing the farmers from the hauling work and expense.

Many merchants using Rauthauvyr’s Road swap mounts here even when they do not really need to, knowing that they will get good horseflesh in the peak of condition. A typical riding horse costs 100 gp, and one can be traded in for 35 gp. A typical draft animal costs 260 gp and can be traded in for 100 gp.

22. The Old Hoof Grist Mill

This grist mill serves the needs of both local farmers and the brewery in town. Its millstones are powered by horses harnessed to the spoke spars of two gigantic driving wheels. The horses walk endlessly around and around in the straw-covered turf when the mill is grinding, working in hour-long shifts that overlap slightly, so that one wheel is up to speed before the other winds down to a stop.

As mentioned before, miscreants may be sentenced to a day or a shift at the wheel, pushing or pulling as they please in their manacles. On one recent occasion, a band of brigands was caught lurking in the woods near the north field by the Lord’s Men. They had no loot and hence could be convicted of no crime but failing to leave the area when ordered to do so by the Lord’s Men on an earlier patrol. They were sentenced to dawn-to sundown duty at the wheel.

As the brigands numbered 14, all the horses were unhitched from one wheel and the brigands alone—men and women, sweating together—were harnessed in their places, with cleverly knotted ropes tied about each of them and one other brigand to prevent them from pulling free of their places. Once word got around, many of the townsfolk turned out to watch and even bid for chances to switch the increasingly hot and exhausted brigands with twigs. Not one of the brigands lasted through the whole day until sundown. By eveningfeast only two warriors (who had recovered from being pulled by their fellows earlier) were left grimly plodding along, dragging the groggy, scraped, and bruised bodies of their fellows through the straw.

The brigands were revived, tended overnight, and in the morning put to work at the pull wheel again to finish their shifts. It took the weakest of them most of three days to accomplish one day’s worth of shifts. When the punishment was done and they were freed, they all fled and have not been seen in Battledale from that day to this.

11. The Green Door

The Door is a place of pilgrimage for followers of that forest goddess because it stands on the site of a pool whose waters held visions sent to her faithful by her.

These tranquil waters, now preserved in their own wooded backyard bower, are the real “Green Door,” not the greenpainted front entry door that most folk think the establishment’s name comes from.

The faithful say Mielikki appeared in person to the famous ranger Florin Falconhand here, and that it was Mielikki’s hand that caused the three swordsmen who slew the ladies of the Green Door on Lashan’s orders to wither like dead leaves and die horribly, desiccated into hollow husks. Worshipers of the Lady of the Forest still come here for private reverence, and the proprietors still give them everything at half price.

Lashan’s word, however, did what the most scandalized Dalesfolk could not: It ended the Green Door’s reign as the foremost festhall in all the Dales. These days it is officially just an inn, though some say the permanent guests on the third floor provide the same escort services formerly so brazen and popular at the Door. The Door is run by four half-elven ladies. Elves and the half-elven are particularly welcome here. I met Lady Sharlee, one of the four, when I visited. She was both graceful and gracious, and she showed me around a house that is clean, simply furnished, and given over to quiet rest. Harping chambers have been set aside at the hearth end of each floor for people to meet and talk in, but the layout of the building provides no common dining hall or taproom. In a touch harking back to the true meaning of the inn’s name, wall tapestries throughout the building display splendid forest scenes.