Folklore, Superstition, & Legend

Customs

Disnator

When winters near and the first snow falls on frost bitten earth, mists rising from the rivers and plains mix with steam given off by hundreds of scalding cauldrons in cities and villages, with screams of pigs in their thousands echoing in the otherwise serene morning. Disnator, or "pig's wake" is a centuries-long tradition, especially revered in northern Impiltur. Each year, thousands of animals meet their end during this period and are being converted into hams, ribs, bacon and miles and miles of sausages seasoned with liberal amounts of garlic that are taken to smoking. These are intended to last all the way into the next fall season.

Communities and families gather together, enjoying fresh melted pork rinds and ale; men and women exchange stories while they gut the pigs hanged on great iron hooks, children fighting over succulent pieces of poached pigs' brain, and there is even time for some drinking contests. The most talked-about contest is the pig-butchering competition held annually in Laviguer, a small mining town at the foot of the eastern Earthspurs.

Virgina

Excerpt from the "Treatise Of Impilturian Folk Lore and Tradition As Told By Folk Themselves", Scribe Emphrain Grim of Thun, Sarshel, 1351 DR

" It is an odd and for some dreadful custom in mountain villages and communities of Earthpsurs. As the women are considered to marry into a family, cutting the ties with their own parents, if the family is to have no surviving male heir, and in order to preserve the family name and ownership of the land and status in local society, one of the daughters would be raised from birth as a male child. "

"The gender of such person would be a secret, and he would consider himself a man, wearing the man's clothes and performing the roles of a man in the local community, including carrying the weapons and going to war. The community and the lord that owns the land would consider such a person a man, too, including the taxation lists."

"Celibacy was considered a norm, and, really, virginas would never marry for a man, but instead some would take a woman as a "spouse". As a rule it would be a widow with a male child, thus providing her with livelihood, and himself an adopted heir that would inherit the family possessions and name."

"It is interesting to note that, without an exemption, virgina would consider her lot in life superior to that of an ordinary woman, as men always had better position in society, and the life in the mountains was hard enough."

"Apart from this, the most numerous case, as I was assured, There are other instances when the women would take on appearance of a man. Most notably, in the cases when the male heir was not yet of age. Such role would be temporary one, and the woman would be able to marry afterwards."

Folklore

The Angelus Bridge

The Angelus Bridge refers to the artificial bridge on the northern road away from Outentown, designed by an architect named Athos 'Pinquick' Ilabrar; an Impilturan who spent much time in the great cities of the west, such as Cormyr and the Dalelands. His works are heavily influenced by the cultures, sights and sounds he experienced there, and to most Impilturan folk he remained a grandmaster of his craft, yet a household name spoken with both admiration and trepidation due to his expansive ways of thought and his embracing of traditions that were not his own.

The bridge is an engineering marvel, consisting of a rumoured 100 columns and beams, with winged angels on either sides, trumpeting the glory of the Impilturan Empire at the hands of Imphras the Great during 1097 DR, which marked the end of the Kingless Years.

The Bridge is significant as it is one of the few major entrypoints to the North, marking the start of the Herald's Road; past the Ilmatarian Towers of Lamentation and further still to the fortress-city of Ilmwatch to the northeast. This road passes through the Barrowlands, a large area devastated during the Fiend Wars. Over the years, many adventuring bands who entered the earthen mounds of the Barrowlands failed to return. The adventurer Yargildas, prior to his untimely demise in the Year of the Worm (1356 DR), reported no obvious signs of the presence of fiends or undead but noted the existence of what he described as "rune circles" which he postulated operated as a sort of portal system and provided access to hitherto undetected chambers, isolated from the others. For this reason, travellers are a rare sight beyond the Angelus Bridge - and those who must pass through are either those seeking pilgrimage, or passage to Ilmwatch, or those foolhardy enough to explore the waterless wastes.

The Bridge is manned at all times by a handful of stationed Impilturan Wararms. Construction is also underway to repair the centuries-old Bridge as part of a conservation project. Increasing raids by humanoid races inhabiting the surrounding areas are, however, proving this effort more of a challenge than expected.

Past the bridge, in the easterly shadows is a small clearing that has not escaped the rich imagination of the locals. An old folktale says that a sworn knight of Tyr, having his heart swayed by the fairest of maidens, decided to break his oath with his god when his fair love was not offered the mercy she pleaded for. It is said that they had leapt off the Angelus Bridge together to escape their fate, but die together they did not, for the winds that day were so strong that they each fell apart from another when the ground rose to claim them. The place suffers from an eternal fog that doesn't go away even in the hottest of summers.

Easting Wilds - Broken Dreams

South of Sarshel, half a mile west of the road, in the copse of trees, there are still visible ruins of a castle. Local people avoid going there, though no one knows who once ruled here or the name of the fort.

Local folktales mention demons that screech in night and steal the souls of unwary travelers, warring wizards and lords and their ladies, but the most would agree that ruin has little value, as whatever could have been pilfered from there already was. Stones were mostly picked up and used in Outentown and Sarshel, no doubt. There is no game, no pastures worth grazing, and there are more secluded and secured places to rest near the road.

During the Interregnum, petty lords, landed nobility and city nobles and merchant families all fought for supremacy. All the gains could be lost within a month, as the Tempus and Tymora's favors switched and the wars were erupting all around once unified land.

Most of the records were lost, but some still stand, and a single page containing the records of payment for men-at-arms and Sarshel militia can be found, with several companies included, some 200 men “of good standing”, who all seem to took part in an attack during “the most evil hour of pitch dark night at troublesome fort, saving the name of our fair city and, with Tyr's grace, defeated the most evil and black hearted enemy of all honest men.”

Folly's Forest

Along the Royal Road, several miles south of Outentown, there is a bend where the road heads westwards. On this infamous stretch of the road, many a traveler was waylaid here by highwaymen. In fact, this happens to be a favorite spot for such an activity, though solitary travelers with no much possessions are usually left alone. How and when this thicket got its name is forgotten long ago.

The King's Crown

From "Travels in the North and East - The Lands of Subhumans" by Yvdraw Sagat, Yhaunn, 1349:

While traveling the west hills of Impiltur, in the village Of Vlasta, I have heard the the most dread filled tales of a certain hillock in the nearby bog. Degenerate peasants that populate and pollute these eastern lands are superstitious lot. And in this case, the stories, as it is a custom with such things, involve people who, for one reason or another, were found on the top of this small hill, in rather dismembered condition.

There are numerous stories, about the people the teller knew in his lifetime, and each involves different men and is more gruesome then the last.

I have no doubt that the bog is filled with dangers. I also know that it is the common for such half human lot, as these people are, to expose their elder and unwanted, malformed children made through the inbred unions these, so called, people have, to the elements and beasts on some distant locations.

This only shows how lucky we are to live in such well organized and civilized lands. It is pity that these reaches are inhabited by such creatures, not even fit to be the slaves... I do hope these examples of their savagery would sway the minds of the Council regarding the exploration and the use of resources that could be find here.

Maiden's Leap

At a local tavern in Sarshel, a certain tale is sometimes passed from one to another when sharing a drink. The legend has become so popular that it has been turned into a song, written by a minstrel named Yelias Elyanyr.

“Few are those who have not heard about prince Maragwim of Sarshel, and how after he slew Gnargath the Giant that terrorized the slopes of Earthspurs went, with three loads of giant's treasure, to king Haramound. There they feasted and celebrated the deed for three days straight, for the lands were free of the monster who slew and ate both men and their cattle.

“Now, Haramound had but one child, a daughter Leari. Her beauty was known far and wide and Maragwim's eyes fell upon her in the feast-hall. Fate, it seems, was sealed for the fair damsel. For it was him, three days after that, who, in lust and breaching the hospitality and sanctity of king's home, accosted her on the cliff above Mal Wash, in the shadow of her father's castle.

“Some story tellers say that he took her by force there, as his men did to her maids, some say that she fled. But all tell and sing how the guards on the walls saw her riding, pursued by their former guests, and how a group of assailants cut off her way to the fort, before her father's men could reach her. She led her horse straight for the cliff, and without hesitation, it's said, off into the void and waters below.

“But, it's said, Sune herself reached for Leari and, in the moment of desperation, turned her and her horse into stone. They can still be seen, jutting from the waters of Mal Wash that clash and foam at their base. To this day, locals would point this spot, just off the road to Laviguer, where the broken ruins of a turret and walls can be seen through the foliage, as the one where the king's castle once stood and where the tragedy happened. Caravan drivers do that, too, since the voyage along the road is arduous and dull. And indeed, one can see the stone off which she launched herself in the river, and there are four prints like horse's hooves on it. They can be clearly seen and I saw them, as did countless before me.

“What happened to others in this dreary tale? It is said that king Haramaund died soon after, his heart broken. Maragwim, the hero, slayer of giants and wrath of Earthspurs... It was told that he died at the hands of the brothers of the giant he slew, Tempus' favor deserting him in his most dire moment... I have no doubts, if it had, indeed happened that way, that it was because of the crime he committed, breaking the vows of hospitality and honor. Some say his shadow is still roaming the slopes of Earthspurs, howling in the wind and storm, cursing his destiny. Other say he died fighting a most foul hellspawn, and that his soul is long gone, for such abominations, it's told, devour the souls of their prey.

“There are other versions of the same story. In one of them, Leari was an acolyte of Goddess, hence the help she was given. If such fate could be called help. The other tells us how she was elven witch who bewitched Maragwim, and how he was freed from the spell, only to lash at her and throw her off the cliffs.

“I, as always, urge the storyteller to the caution. The events can not be taken as true in their complete nature, for, though, I'm sure, some kernel of truth remains, it is, indeed, very deep and well hidden. In past three scores of years I have heard more then eighty songs and stories about prince and just this one of king Haramound. No one knows who they were, for Impiltur has always had but one king, or none. And prince Maragwim... Of all his deeds we have just legends, places where he slew monsters or human foes. If half of the songs of him were true, he should have lived at least for hundreds of years.”

Nightingale Valley

In Vlasta, there's a mention of Valley of Nightingales, Bulbulder. The only thing traveler could find there is a small valley, pleasant and quiet, except for the stream and the song of the birds that it was named for . Yet, locals would discourage anyone from staying there for long, for they say the vengeful spirit haunts the glade during the night.

Qourkutsiza

An excerpt from the "Treatise Of Impilturian Folk Lore and Tradition As Told By Folk Themselves", Scribe Emphrain Grim of Thun, Sarshel, 1351 DR:

"In the northern parts of our land, and toward Damara, along the mountains, one can often hear locals talking in hushed voices about qourkutsiza. I have heard the tales on numerous occasions while traveling and frequenting the inns that cater to weary merchants, but I could never get the clear answer what such creature is, even if it exists at all.

"In some places it has a form of giant spider, in others a malnourished man dressed in rags, in others, yet, it's a malformed child that seeks through the reeds in marshes and ponds, looking for men to haunt, and so on... Each village has it's own variation of the story.

"For some it is an evil thing, that aims to bring destruction and death upon village and men, for others it's a spirit of form, that can be seen along the roads. Thing to avoid, but that doesn't appear to be maleficent on it's own.

"I have also seen villages where people are willing to attribute any event, no matter how minor, to qourkutsiza - some sound they might hear up in the attic, slamming of the barn door, sheep that wandered away from the herd while the shepherd was sleeping... Today, especially in the lowlands of Sarshel, some people use an expression "What qourkutsiza is that?" to denote that they are amazed at something strange.

"The origin of the word and the creature it pertains to, is a mystery. I would conclude, after years of research, that it has no basis in real life. Not at the present time, at least, since the description differs from one place to another, and even through time, as we can see in written records, like the ones made by Scribe Magna Twim in "Of Impiltur". Rather it's an imaginary creature, maybe based upon such abominations like minor daemons, the memory of which survived in the folk lore until the present day, so long after Fiend Wars."

Raven's Perch & Three Kings

Those who dare venture through the shadows of the mile-wide ravine that separates central Impiltur from the Barrowlands will come across a series of unusual rock formations that once used to be part of the land around it.

One of these is a bowl-shaped peak atop a slender spire, resembling a giant avian nest. To be sure, flocks of ravens make their home here in the hundreds, nesting within the towering silverwood trees growing in this lush valley. Those who are highly attuned with nature may find a reason why the ravens favour this spot so.

Further down are three more formations that seldom go unnoticed by the passing traveller. These do not resemble anything in particular, but have been fondly named by the localfolk after Impiltur's three most influential kings before the advent of the Interregnum of 926 DR - Sarshel Elethlim, Nord Elethlim, and Beldred the First.

Vlasta

The Dagger

The solitary, high peak, sharp and battered by the winds from the mountains, rises above the western rim of the Vlasta Bog. It is forlorn place, bathed in rains and snows. Cliffs drops hundreds of feet and paths are narrow and insecure; even the sight of the bog itself is lost in the thick fog that steams from it, hiding the peak as a thick, white coat.

Local legends speak of lost treasures and crumbling castles that lie that way, and the ever present winds, from all four corners of the world fighting and screaming over the lonely peak. But shepherds avoid the road that leads into the mountains during the night, and, after Last days of Summer and before Spring equinox, even during the day. If you have enough sense to listen to them, they would tell you that nothing awaits you in the mountains, except for the grazing for the herds. Only piles of stones, odd in shape and placement, hint at the buildings that once were there, now nothing more then the headstones of the long past times. And the matters of soul walkers are theirs alone.

The Maw

The main tributary to Lake Vlasta is Drake's river. This river is only three miles long, but it springs in great force from the cliffs of the Earthspurs, more than a hundred feet wide, at its very source.

The locals tend to explain this by a lively legend of Maragwim who had imprisoned the water dragon under the cliff, hence the source of all that water. Some say you can hear - if you come to the caves under the cliffs - the mighty breath of the captured beast. Others speculate in hushed whispers about things found on river's shores.

Nothing like this could describe more the average Impilturan's love of fanciful folktales. For a culture so reserved and polite, that the taller the tale, the better it is to pass down to generations.

Superstition

Of Breathlings

Excerpt from the "Treatise Of Impilturian Folk Lore and Tradition As Told By Folk Themselves", Scribe Emphrain Grim of Thun, Sarshel, 1351 DR:

“Often, while traveling in the region of mountains, west and north of Sarshel, I have found a reports of men referred to as breathlings or soul walkers. I even managed to find them, and quite surprising, such people were very keen to talk with me.

“Venerated in their villages, they are supposed to be able to walk, as they say – they claim that, during the sleep, or even in wake state, their soul can exit the body through the breath from the lungs and then traverse great distances. They, in great seriousness, told me that they are able, while in such form, to gather the clouds and provide the rain for their village crops, or to avert and change the winds, so the hailstorm may miss their home...

“While this supposed talent of theirs is respected and known to all in their communities, none outside, in more civilized areas, pay attention to them. They resemble wind wizards trained for our merchant marine in this respect, but lack any other arcane talent, as I could see, and even more, they claim no ability to induce any sort of phenomenon and consider their talent as part of their heritage, passed from an ancestor to successor, rather then induced by prayer or scholastically acquired. Some of them are farmers, some herders, or woodcutters, but none of them had any form of education – they are illiterate to the last.

“Each of them is highly respected and often offered food, wood and drink from other people of the village. Their task is vital to the existence of the communities high in the mountains, in the harsh climate. But it is not the task without risk. All five of breathlings I had a chance to speak to, claimed that they often fought their counterparts while walking – other breathlings, most of them from Damara, I was told, each group trying to divert rain to and avert disastrous storms and snows from their country. Wounds sustained in soul form, I was told, appeared on the bodies of the breathlings, and people are known to even die from them, all the while staying outside their bodies. Walkers whose bodies would come to harm by other people, while their souls were walking, betrayed by their own kinsmen, would stay forever imprisoned in this world, roaming the mountains as a ghosts, bringing doom and woe to their betrayers.

“It is very easy to dismiss such things as a simple superstition. Yet, how to explain that, while talking to these simple people, one of them described me a great expanses of the desert stretching all the way to the place where sun sets and the enormous, walled city, while the other went in great detail to describe lands south, over the seas. None of them had ever traveled more then ten miles outside their villages, let alone visited Waterdeep or Mulhorand, yet they described them with great precision.

“Whatever is the nature of this phenomenon, I think it is worth studying.”

Nura Khoulaal

The settlements dotting the edges of The Sea of Fallen Stars share many tales in common, deviating each from the next in small regional preferences of narrative and storytelling. A tale alike to one told in many harbours around the sea, Impiltur's people tell the tale of the unfortunate Nura Khoulaal. Unlike the maidens of many such tales, Nura's defining characteristic was her ugliness, not her beauty. It was said that men would actively turn their backs to Nura when she approached them, tentative and hopeful. Her deep, contralto tones were considered not handsome, but masculine to the point of repulsion. No style of fashion or of hair would detract enough from the decidedly unfeminine face of Sarshel-born Nura. Unable to find a man to take her, the Khoulaal family provided for Nura well past her adolescence, and so she was the accidental architect of the family's bankruptcy: just one more thing that repelled friends and alienated family.

Poor Nura was pleading, and went out to sit by the waves upon the Ford Path going south to Relgar. By the obelisk, she threw all her sadness and doubt to the wind, and pleaded with Sune to send her love, for all the light in her life was fading.

Upon the next month (fixed, by most, at Kythorn, coinciding with the Summer Solstice), the vestiges of the Khoulaal family's reputation earned them an invitation to a debonair function being held in the city of Nura's birth. The mannish Nura hoped that this was her sign; her mercy from Sune. Imploring her family to take her, though they were reluctant, Nura Khoulaal made a final gambit in the name of love.

For her bravery of heart, Nura gained only mockery. The ladies of the court laughed behind fans and formed cloisters away from the young hopeful. The men were repelled from her, and so it was that her only hope became the noble prince of a neighbouring land, who was yet to offer his heart to any woman, though they often got his hand. Approaching in desperation - some say bravery - Nura Khoulaal prostrated herself before the young prince, and asked that he be her salvation.

The young prince laughed her out of the ball.

It was that evening, in the year 1212 Dale Reckoning, that Nura Khoulaal made speed towards the place of her prayer, and threw herself into the sea. Sailors say now that a haunting elegy occurs beneath the waters around the city, as Nura Khoulaal travels up and down The Easting Reach in search of a man to take her hand; lift her from the water; and love her. Others speak that The Bitch Queen punished Nura for praying to Sune on the sea's porch, and now She has collared Nura's drowned body, treating the haunted virgin like a hound whose hard head She caresses possessively.

To this day people laughed and tell the tale of Nura Khoulaal. It is the common jest of baudy men that they would sooner bed Nura now, deceased longer than a century and draped in seaweed, than have been one of the unfortunate men of days gone by that were propositioned to show affection to the woman when she was living. Nura Khoulaal's story is as often a comedy as it is a tragedy. But is there any truth in it?

Sammy The Unlucky

An oft-told story in the streets of Sarshel relates how, as a young lad of seventeen, Sammy, after his older brother inherited father's farm, chased him out. This boy went looking for work in Sarshel, finally enlisting as a seaman... And the tale goes on how he enlisted on twelve ships in a row, and all of them sunk without ever leaving the harbor, some still at anchor. All this happened in the single week- it looked as if wood the ships were made from simple fell apart. In all cases, Sammy was on board and survived.

Least to say, he was promptly chased off from the city.

Only to surface again, four years later, with quite a hefty sum of coin, which bought him a house in the better part of the city, with the servants and carriage. Sudden increase of income in Sarshel was connected at the time with the rise in demand for shipping after the Sembian fleet was lost, which pushed that country into decades long crisis.

As far as is known, Sammy stayed off the ships for ever, managing his wealth and becoming one of the wealthiest wheat merchants in Sarshel. His demise came after he tripped during the stroll after the rain - he drowned at last, with his face down in the puddle.

For years, the legend goes that king has, having heard of his bad luck, took him into the service and payed him great wealth to enlist in the Sembian marine. None could explain how a poor country bumpkin could get his hands of enough gold to become one of the wealthiest merchants in the city. What is certain is that Sembians have lost over hundred ships in the single year and in that country there is still tale of "Black Year" of 1280 that persist even today, when ships came apart and sunk in the seas off the coast, with no wind in sight.

Stribog, God of the Sky

"When his shadow crossed over the roofs, and his thunder rolled off the hillsides, our grandmother would say, 'Pick one sheep, child, and wish her well.' We were youngsters the first time around; learned soon enough it meant a sacrifice, it did, to Stribog. Ahh ye'h, it did."

- Imre the Older, Vlastan shepherd

In the foothills of the Earthspur mountains lie several hamlets, largely isolated from the Easting Reach through distance, difficult terrain and sometimes harsh weather. While each may have developed their unique folktales, all mountain-bordering villages agree on one tale: that of Stribog, God of the Sky.

In the tale, Stribog - alternatively called Strzybog - was once long, long ago a lad hailing from Palitsa, a now-abandoned mining village. He had a different name back then, forgotten by all: indeed only Stribog remains, meaning "sky-god" in the old Easting tongue. The boy in the tale nurtured a rebellious heart against his father, a man prone to brutality not only within his household but unto his village as well. The son challenged his father and lost: and so exile was his fate.

It was the father's deep-seated cowardice, however, not his brutal nature that spelled out the doom of Palitsa - as when hobgoblins descended from the mountains, and the villagers needed his leadership the most, the father fled first and left his kinsmen to perish. Coming upon the ruins of his village after the slaughter, the exiled boy fell to his knees and cried out.

So mighty, furious and terrible was his scream that it reached the heavens, and Talos the Stormlord heard: and Talos the Stormlord was impressed; and so in His whim sent down a bolt of lightning striking the boy. It ravaged his poor form, and scorched the earth all around, as only the Stormlord could. But not without something to come in the mangled body's stead.

For the boy then grew a hide thick, not to be pierced by spears; grew fangs, not to be halted by gambisons; grew wings, not to be bound by ground ever again. The boy became wrath itself by the Stormlord's decree. And wrath he exacted upon hobgoblins and his once-father swiftly: the hobgoblins' war camp was torn apart, and the father hunted down and devoured. He was named Stribog, God of Wind and Sky.

Stribog is rarely seen but moreso heard across the mountains. When his bellow can be heard in the stormclouds without lightning, it is said that Stribog has marked someone a coward worthy of death; when his howl on the wind shakes buildings, people know Stribog hungers for hobgoblin or righteousness.

Once a year, each hamlet takes a turn in sacrificing sheep, goats or other livestock to appease Stribog, cutting the animals to bleed and sending them out into the mountains. In recent years though Stribog has been more asleep than not, his shadow not brushing rooftops, nor his roars reaching human ears. Perhaps the time for vengeance, after a hundred-and-more years, is past the King of the Mountain; the God of the Sky.

The Wrecking

It was a practice in the poor coastal communities, since the time in memorial, to salvage wrecked ships and their cargo and crew. Within Impiltur, such people are awarded a fee, one third of the cargo or it's value. The wreck of the vessel itself, if left unattended for a week, is also considered to be salvageable and the finder should get one half of it's value. If the wreck was scuttled and left unattended for a week, then the finders would have claim to every part of it, with usual one third share of the cargo, with the exception of the ship's lanterns, bell and anchor.

Even in this case, oars and boats on the vessel were still considered, as is the case with 2/3 of cargo, to belong to the original owner of the ship. If the items of the ship and cargo are found after 2 years of the scuttling, they are considered to be a fair game and belong to whomever had found them.

Apart from the vessel itself and the cargo, special awards are given to those who helped to save the lives of crew and passengers. Sarshel's naval records are full of such examples, with the rescuers getting the gold from the ship's owners, but also the land and even positions in the local councils, which propelled their families upward on the societal ladder.

The records are full of other examples, too. Rather than waiting for the inevitable storm to sink the ships, some people living in coastal parts decide to speed the process. They often set up fake lights to lure the ships onto reefs, then plunder them, killing the crew and passengers. Despite draconian measures taken by the law, and the local lords, since this behavior is considered a piracy, the practice is still alive today.

Whadril House

Along the east coast of Lake Vlasta, one can spot the remains of a burned out buildings, on the shore.

The house belonged to one Whadril family but it burned thirty five years ago during the night. No one survived, but, as the story goes, should one happen to pass the ruins during the midnight, that one can see the apparition of a young woman sobbing by the waterline, reaching her arms toward the island in the lake.

Other speak of screams they heard rising through the morning mist as they were looking for the best spot for fishing. But most people would just mention how fishermen are the most famous for their stories.

The Lone Grave

High in the mountains, by the ancient pilgrim's path that connects Vlasta and Songhall, the river winds its path, cutting through the cliff, before it plunges in the depth of the earth. It flows under the mountain, some say, to emerge again as Drake river, before joining the Vlasta lake.

But before that, on the southern cliff of the canyon, travelers say there's a grave, on a jutting rocky spur, right above the river bends. Adventurers that have found it swear that the headstone is perfectly cut, maybe dwarven work. Others speak of elves. It wears the name of Hagra Trench and some in Vlasta or even by Sarshel may remember young woman, dressed not unlike some vagrant, that wandered the wilds from the coast to the Earthfasts. Some may remember dwarven led expedition into the caves south of Vlasta, by the same river and the battle with hobgoblins there which claimed her life.

Everyone agree, however, that the gravesite is peculiar one. An collection of differently patterned feathers are tied to this piece of vine string, above the headstone, hung with wooden beads and occasionally the small fang of a humanoid creature, possibly a goblin. Below this offering, a rough symbol of a cloud and a bird within is sketched upon a rock, a paste-like substance made from dried grass, sand and mud, readily washed away at the next rainfall only to be renewed once again. By whom, none can tell.

The air around the grave is uncommonly calm, untouched by winds and filled with myriad of birds that chirp and feast on offerings left by occasional traveler. Many adventurer had felt calm and safe here.

Legend

Saints of the Ilmateri Faith

The Ilmatari faith venerates saints, unlike most other Faerûnian religions. There are hundreds of Ilmatari saints, but only two are very familiar to the commonfolk of the Easting Reach. St. Dionysus was an important figure in the early history of the Ilmatari faith - and he was also a native of the first kingdom of Impiltur. St. Selimbrar is well known as a hero from the Narfelli empire.

St. Dionysus

St. Dionysus was a force in the Bloodstone Lands about 500 to 600 years ago. He was the opposite of the standard Ilmatari, being both forceful and martial. Dionysus gathered and organized the Ilmatari of Easting Reach, the Vast, the Great Dale and the lands around Lake Ashane. He was born a peasant near the city-state of Lyrabar in the first kingdom of Impiltur.

In time, Dionysus joined the militia and served well for nearly a decade. His military experiences made him respect the power of nobility and learning. These would be important later in his illustrious life. While searching for an escaped slaver, he entered an overgrown shrine in the foothills of the Earthspur Mountains.

Here, he was given visions of Ilmater's glory and immediately was consecrated by the Broken God as one of his clerics. Dionysus found a poorly handwritten account of Ilmater's dogma that he kept ever after. This ancient text is called Dionysus' Chapbook, although Dionysus did not actually pen it himself.

After resigning his commission, he proselytized to the peoples of the Impilturian city-states and beyond into the Unapproachable East. Quickly, he rose to prominence and developed a devout following that he organized into walled and defended cloisters, unlike the other faithful of Ilmater. While still caring for the downtrodden and sick, his followers also could defend themselves against those who wished to harm their charges and themselves.

It was one thing to die a martyr's death; it was another to be slain for herb lore and coppers or by wild beasts. Dionysus also stressed reading and writing among his flock, preaching that the passing on of dogma or lore orally, as was often the case, was not adequate to give the faith its necessary pillars.

Dionysus formed a loose alliance with the clerics of Deneir in Impiltur and was often permitted to visit the secret Masters Library beneath Iron Dragon Mountain in the Earthfasts. At the Council of Keltar in the Year of the Alarmed Merchants (828 DR), Dionysus brought forth his ideas of defense and literacy to the Faerûnian church.

Since this time, the Ilmatari have kept accurate records and have learned medicinal lore. They teach reading, writing, and weapons training as a rule now rather than as an exception.

Dionysus was still a soldier at heart. He stressed that the Ilmatari owed fealty to their rightful lords as long as the nobles fulfilled their obligations to their folk. He argued that the Ilmatari should be spiritual aids and advisors, helping rulers to make the right decisions. The Ilmatari paladin Lords of Imphras II govern Impiltur to this date, and King Gareth of Damara also is an Ilmatari paladin.

The tale of Dionysus' death is still retold in Impilturian legends. In the Year of the Wondrous Sea (863 DR), a small island appeared in the middle of the Easting Reach. The first explorers who went to the island never returned, but nothing else of note occurred for a season. When a tower appeared overnight on the island, Impiltur began to worry.

Still, nothing happened. A group of Thayan Red Wizards then hired Impilturian servants to explore the mysterious island. Only two of the servants returned; all of the others, they said, had perished in magical traps or at the hands of extraplanar and undead horrors. The two survivors fled when a bloated monstrosity hurling black bolts of lightning attacked the Red Wizards. The two snatched a bloodstone-encrusted crown off a waterlogged seat cushion and fled.

Within days, lacedons, zombies, and skeletons began to come from the sea and attack Impilturian coastal settlements. Water elementals destroyed ships sailing upon Easting Reach. The rulers of all the cities received a message on tattooed human skin. The message simply read, Return What is Mine. It was signed Sevanoq, Master of the Tower Aquiarum, Archmage of the Circle of Narfell.

The populace named this threat the Water Demon. Searches were conducted for the two survivors of the island expedition and the bloodstone crown they had stolen. The men's bodies were in an alley in Sarshel, but there was no trace of the bloodstone crown.

When creatures from beyond began to attack, the rulers called upon Dionysus to aid them. He mustered a formidable force of warriors and clerics to deal with the menaces that were attacking every day. The clerics were effective in countering the summoned elementals and lower-planar beasts.

The force landed on the island and fought through waves of undead and charmed pirates to the base of the tower itself. Sevanoq and another lich appeared to do battle with Dionysus. For an hour, Dionysus sustained grievous wounds as he dealt punishment to the physical forms of the liches. Dionysus knew he was dying. He called upon Ilmater to protect the people he had failed. At the same time, the other lich brought its magic to bear as Dionysus' last hammer blow hit Sevanoq.

Those coming to the aid of the dying patriarch heard Sevanoq gasp part of a word before he dissolved into a foul puddle. The other lich vanished leaving the survivors to collect their dead and dying. Dionysus told his men to leave him where he lay. He said that he had more tasks to accomplish, tasks only he could perform. As their ships sailed westward, a localized earthquake rocked the island, causing Sevanoq's tower to collapse. The island itself then began to sink below the waves.

The departing ships saw a flock of white doves appear and circle the site, as a stream of white light struck the water. A planetar that wept yellow roses alit on the water for a moment, then left skyward. Those witnessing the events felt their weariness vanish and their wounds to be less painful. Since that day, many have searched for the remains of the Tower Aquiarum but to no avail. To this day, Impilturian parents use the tale of the water demon to bring unruly children in line.

Dionysus' death technically was not a martyr's death, but he did sacrifice himself to ensure the destruction of a great evil. His work in life and his valiant death sowed the seeds of light and good in this region.

After the fall of Impiltur's first kingdom, Dionysus' example served as the catalyst for the proclamation of Impiltur's second kingdom as a stable regime in a chaotic and dangerous area of Faerûn. Damara too has been freed from the yoke of Zhengyi the Witch King and again is under the sway of Ilmater and his faithful. The Ilmatari paladin King Gareth Dragonsbane rules and guides the land.

St. Dionysus was very fond of the poppies that grew in the fields of the Great Dale and Impiltur, and after his death the red poppy became the flower associated with him. Since poppy juice can be used as a pain reliever, this is a good choice for an Ilmatari saint.

St. Selimbrar

St. Selimbrar was a paladin serving the Ilmatari temple in the Narfelli capital of Heligonius. He was a ranking general of the Narfelli army and a hero in many of its battles against the devastating magic of the Raumathari battle sorcerers. In the Year of the Wrongful Martyrs (-188 DR), Sir Selimbrar was ordered to lead his regiments to put down an uprising of serfs from the Great Dale who had been forced to work in the Narfelli farm belt near Milthius.

Both the ruins of this Narfelli agricultural center and the once fertile fields that surrounded it long have been buried beneath the barren wastelands of today's North Country, having vanished after the fall of Narfell and Raumathar. Narfelli parchments safeguarded in the queen's library in Impilturian Lyrabar say that Sir Selimbrar was convicted of treason and for his refusal was sentenced to die, together with more than 80 serfs who survived another commander's putdown of their rebellion.

According to the Narfelli text, Sir Selimbrar and the serfs were stripped naked and whipped as they were forced to carry wooden crosses to a temple hill dedicated to Talona above Milthius, where death sentences were executed as sacrifices, to placate the goddess of disease and poison. When the death march reached the hilltop, the arms and legs of all of the condemned were broken and they were bound with ropes to the crosses they had borne, beginning the slow and agonizing death of crucifixion.

The Narfelli parchments say the condemned had been upon their crosses for less than an hour, and none had died yet, when a huge gold dragon flew in from the south and came to the hilltop. From the dragon's back stepped an emaciated man dressed in tattered rags whose body was covered by fresh wounds and the ancient scars of many whippings.

The man pointed to the Narfelli legion and said, "A curse be upon you, but of your own making, and the curse you shall suffer shall also bring the fall of your degenerate land!" With these words, the Narfelli soldiers had been bound motionless to the place where each stood. The ancient man then gestured with his right hand, and Selimbrar and the serfs were freed of their ropes, and their broken bones were healed. They descended from their crosses whole men again.

At this point, the Narfelli accounts in Lyrabar and the teachings of the Ilmatari church begin to differ. After that, the Narfelli text claims, Sir Selimbrar mounted the gold dragon's back in shining armor, flew upward upon the wyrm, and directed it to swoop down upon Milthius. The gold dragon attacked the city time and again with its fiery breath weapon until nothing remained but soot and ash.

Sir Selimbrar then directed the dragon toward the fertile fields of Milthius where the serfs had been ordered to work, and the golden wyrm bathed the fields time and again with its breath of weakening gas, according to the Narfelli parchments. After that, the fields lay fallow, and no seed would germinate in them nor would the least blade of grass take root within them, according to the Narfelli records.

The church of Ilmater claims that its painbearers were present at the mass crucifixion, bore witness to what transpired that day and passed the tale faithfully on within the church, where it is repeated correctly to this date. According to the Ilmatari, the Narfelli soldiers indeed were held motionless by the gestures of the old man, who they claim was none other than the avatar of the Broken God himself.

When St. Selimbrar, as they name him, stepped from the cross, he walked directly to the gold dragon and mounted it, then flew with the dragon southward. The avatar gestured to the freed serfs to follow, and they did so, miraculously marching through the sky behind St. Selimbrar and his wyrm. After the serfs, Ilmater's avatar followed.

Only after all had disappeared were the Narfelli soldiers freed from the magic that had held them. At first, nothing occurred to them. But in the days afterwards, the first time any of the soldiers drew his sword, he immediately broke out with the laughing plague, according to Ilmatari accounts, which led most of the warriors at the crucifixion of St. Selimbrar to refuse to ever draw steel again.

The Ilmatari deny that St. Selimbrar and his dragon did anything to destroy Milthius - an action that would have taken many innocent lives - or that he contaminated the farmland of Milthius, for it would be against the tenets of Ilmater to cause massive death, suffering or starvation.

The Ilmatari say that there indeed was plague in Milthius in the Year of the Wrongful Martyrs (-188 DR), and that the plague and famine caused the city's fall, not fire. They also acknowledge that the fields of Milthius went barren in that year, but they speculate that these things were the poisonous breath of Talona, who felt that her temple hill was desecrated through the abortive sacrificial crucifixions in her honor that the Narfelli failed to execute there.

Whatever the case may be, the Ilmatari claim that St. Selimbrar and the 80 serfs that he freed in Milthius continue to serve the Broken God and have indeed have done so seven times since the Miracle of Milthius, as they call it.

The most recent event, they say, was the appearance of an armored knight atop a golden dragon, blasting a battle call upon a silver horn and followed by 80 marching men in serfs' clothing who were armed only with scythes during the Second Battle of Bezentil in the Great Dale in the Year of the Roaring Horn (1288 DR).

According to many who witnessed that battle, the knight and his gold dragon defeated the dracolich Nargustrandir in a mighty aerial battle over the Eastern Dale, while the serfs, seemingly unstoppable, mowed down archmagi and warriors of the Cult of the Dragon and many other evildoers. Neither the knight nor the serfs are said to have uttered a single syllable on that day.

After completing their mission, the knight and his dragon flew southward, and the serfs simply marched upward into the southern sky, disappearing over the horizon behind them. The painbearers of Ilmater are certain that this was an appearance of St. Selimbrar and the freed serfs of Milthius, and few sages in the Realms doubt them.