Impiltur Lore

This section covers the server history of Impiltur as relevant to the setting of The Easting Reach. Other aspects of Impilturan lore may be reviewed from the Culture page. Canonical lore of Impiltur is found in the link to George Krashos's work.

Overview

Brief Summary of History (Pre-1361 DR)

The oldest records tell that this region was once a province of the Narfell Empire, a domineering magocracy filled with those whose lust for power is said to have led to its ultimate destruction. The Narfelli withdrew during their long decline in a vain attempt to preserve their collapsing Empire. Their ruins and a provincial people whose interests were too entwined with this land are the relics of their withdrawal. Those people – the Turmrar – are those who claim descent from provincial Narfelli families or those uplifted by the customs of those people. They maintained a grip on the organs of power when the Empire disappeared from these lands over a thousand years ago, and it was from their stock that the first King of Impiltur emerged.

Following the traditions of their once-benefactors, the monarchs of the First Kingdom were greedy and cruel. Founded in the Year of Seven Loves Lost (-166 DR) this Kingdom was wracked by plague, famine and war. The native peoples – the Turami and the Vilhonese – fled westward in droves, settling in the lands that would become Sembia and the Dales. This Kingdom persisted until The Year of the Cracked Turtle (924 DR) when the last in a string of feckless dynasties came to an end with no credible heir. Centuries of poor and exploitative administration had so weakened the feudal bonds which held the Kingdom together that no single claimant could gather the support necessary to legitimize a new line. The First Kingdom had come to an end.

With the monarchy gone, Impiltur’s interior fell to local magnates and became a land of independent counts, barons, and dukes ruling petty estates and principalities from hilltop forts, many involving themselves in banditry as much as adminstration. The four cities of the coast (Lyrabar, Hlammach, Dilpur, and Sarshel) battled for commercial supremacy, at times warring over land and trade. The instability of this period of lawlessness, known to later generations as the Interregnum, led to further migrations on a scale not seen since the withdrawal of the Narfell Empire. Impiltur’s once cultivated interior reverted to an undeveloped, depopulated wilderness. Beginning in the Year of the Fearless Peasant (926 DR) local revolts of the native peoples against oppressive Turmrar lords eroded what little remained of the region’s social order and left the northern borders unprotected, encouraging goblinoid raids. This threat was fully realized in the middle of the 11th century when a hobgoblin army issued from the Giantspires to conquer and raid the divided country.

Hope for the nation came from the small castle city of Filur, ancestral home of the Imbrar family. Connected by tradition with the Church of Ilmater, the Imbrar family was led by the paladin Imphras, a man who had opened the gates of his family’s city to many peasants during the lawless Interregnum. Cleverly winning the support of the coastal cities, Imphras led a coalition against the hobgoblin army and crushed it outside the gates of Sarshel. Following the victory he was crowned King of Impiltur in the Year of the Gleaming Crown (1097 DR) in recognition of his martial prowess and persuasive agenda of promoting stability. The early monarchs of the Imbrar dynasty concerned themselves principally with good administration, and it was Imphras II, the grandson of the first king, who announced the formation of a council of 12 men – all paladins of the Triad – with whom to share power. The Lords of Imphras II, as this body is still called today, wield enormous power in the name of the crown. Individually given jurisdiction over newly devised provinces within the Kingdom, the position of these men represented a structural shift in power away from the feudal magnates and to the crown itself.

The Second Kingdom has persisted for roughly three hundred years, but there is cause for concern over the strength of the dynasty. Approximately seventy years ago the pretender Prince Thaum invaded with an army of mercenaries, intending to take the crown for himself. Sacking the city of Sarshel and moving against the capital at Filur, Thaum’s advance forced the child-king Rilimbrar to flee to neighboring Aglarond with his regent. Returning the following year with the backing of the Aglarondan crown, Rilimbrar’s forces defeated Prince Thaum, but Rilimbrar was to die without heir forty years later. The throne passed to an infant cousin, Prince Soarimbrar, in the year 1338 DR. Soarimbrar was never to rule, however, as he was murdered with his entire retinue before the ending of his regency in 1351 DR. His successor, a young cousin named Imphras V, would die of disease before succeeding to the throne. His younger brother was crowned Imbrar II under the regency of Queen-Regent Sambryl, the daughter of Rilimbrar, the last King to rule in his own right. Sambryl remains Queen-Regent of the kingdom to this date.

Current History (Post-1361 DR)

1361 DR -

Impiltur has barely managed to recover from a hard winter, the first of many since a decade ago. But while the chill winds still blow, the people of Impiltur are a resilient lot, living this far north. They prepare themselves for Highharvestide, but the year's diligent sowing would give way to a less than mediocre harvest. To compensate, food has been imported from Telflamm and Sembia, and with it, travellers of all occupations and intent have also arrived. Drawing stares and mumbled greetings, foreigners to this insular nation should quickly learn that while the locals are reserved and sometimes brusque in their ways for good reasons, their love of national folktales is only surpassed by their long and jagged history. Whilst the seeds of unrest have already been planted years ago by several royal deaths, some none too accidental, tensions between royalists and republicans are inevitably coming to a head. The infant King Imbrar II lies sick in his cot from a lung infection that never seems to go away. Prematured at birth, it was a blessing that the child survived when even his older brother, Imphras V, is plagued by a wasting disease with ever-slimming signs of recovery. It seems as though the royal line would be cursed with a weak constitution, but who can tell? Queen-Regent Sambryl wields the scepter in his stead, though much of the day-to-day administration is left to her Lords of Council and their Heralds. A scholar and patron of the fine arts; the Queen, while being no great beauty, is admired by her people for her wisdom and foresight. More is the pity that she prefers to rule away from the public eye, but many attribute this to her old age. It is said that the unenviable task of finding a cure for Imbrar II's sickness has fallen to the hands of Council Lord Idriane, a female paladin of Ilmater, a most gentle and soft-spoken of Triadic Knights. The search is still in its early stages, with a few select wizards pulled in on an advisory counsel. One of them has suggested that a cure component could be found in the ruins of the Citadel of Conjurers - an anti-toxin that could be gleaned from the corrupted wastes. Still others claim that the same component could be gathered from the higher reaches of the Earthspurs, where flora and fauna have adapted to the icy cold. Impiltur's crowning jewel, the historic city of Sarshel - once built on the prosperity of Damaran bloodstone trade, is now a shade of its former glory. But while enthusiasts of the city's rich history and architecture proclaim its eternal beauty, shops and homes with their facades barred and locked have been appearing more frequently. Those who leave, make their way south for the newer, larger city of Dilpur or neighbouring Hlammach, touted the nation's financial capital - where the waters bring in warmer winds, food from the sea and a greater chance to mingle with society at large. Others prefer to remain, these would be the families who can claim ancestries going all the way back to the royal line. Eager to fill in the gaps are the new wealth - merchants, scholars and every sort for whom money can afford them a place in Impilturan society.

The dwarven trade wagons have always been a welcome, if an occasional sight, to Impiltur. The ones who descend from the mountains make it a habit to do so during peak trading seasons, carrying with them precious ores and minerals that would bring in profits to warrant the arduous journeys. These clans are different from those of Torg mac Cei's, whose reputation for cruelty and a narrow-minded, distrustful view of non-dwarven peoples have been the reason for his clan's increasing isolated rule in the Earthfast Mountains. A rumour runs rife among the dwarves that a new tunnel in the Earthspurs has recently collapsed, revealing the telltale greenish veins of raw bloodstone. Whoever gets their hands on these would see the kind of fortune that once built half of the human northern empire, and bring fame and fortune to that lucky dwarven clan. Whether or not this is true - for the two dwarven scouts that returned were somewhat delirious with their find, raving unintelligibly - remains to be seen, and what would happen if this word reaches human ears?

1362 DR - Year of the Helm

News has fallen over the court that Imphras V of the Heltharn Dynasty has finally given his last breath. Poor wretched man, some say, for such is the disease which wracked the former King that left him bedridden and a great liability to any visitor to his chambers. Much must be said for the man himself that even his footmen would flout orders to bring him his nourishments in hopes that it would make a difference. But it is a dreary and rain-filled morning on the 21st of Eleasias that a procession set out on its journey to the Hill of Tombs located in the rocky slopes north of Hlammach. A few scholars have noted this unusual request laid out by the King before the weakening began; known as Thatchskull by the local farmers, the site marks the burial grounds of some of Impiltur's earliest kings. Beginning with the death of King Tharaun I in the Year of the Wild Roses (269 DR), the southern side of this peak saw the construction of the first of a dozen hidden tombs that over the following two-and-a-half centuries would house the remains of the last monarchs of the ruling Mirandor Dynasty, Impiltur's first. The subject of many a tale and superstition, the name Thatchskull is enough to deter many a treasure-seeker who refuse to parlay with the vicious and malevolent hauntings that have kept the Hill of Tombs intact of its riches.

The Merchant's Council in the city of Phsant in nearby Thesk sends 100 orc-kin warriors to meet the Tuigan horde led by the barbarian Yamun Khahan. Remnants of an army left by the Zhentarim, some question King Azoun of Cormyr's decision to initiate allied forces which include the dwarves of the Earthfasts, known for their secrecy and isolation, the Dalesfolk, the Sembians, and the Centaurs of forest Léthyr convinced by Princess Alusair. The war effort is a success, in which the orc-kin emerge as heroes for their savagery against the Tuigan. In Sarshel, the year seems to welcome even more new wealth despite the withdrawal of a prominent Thayan magnate, judging by the opening of several establishments in town in a space of no more than a year - a master locksmith's shop run by a courteous halfling named Perry Quietfoot together with his business partner dubbed the 'Master of Illusions', Noal Dagar; the Sailor's Star, run by a young prince-of-the-sea whose roguish looks have set tongues wagging of who the next fair maiden shall be to win his heart (and some say, his riches); Raledem's Antiques, whose owner is as eccentric as the location in which the shop resides in. By the end of Uktar, the Heltharn Theater has seen a sudden revival of interest by the recent arrival of a new producer from the Vast, who has already secured a lucrative opportunity with Averyn Thainn of Midrikaul along with the Pale Bard - a moon-elf named Dhovainithil - and a young Chessentan harpist Marcellus Heldeion.

But not all is fortuituous, as hill scouts from Songhall have reported summer stirrings of a hobgoblin menace that has gathered over a valley deep in the mountains where the source of a great river known as the 'Dragon's Maw' can be found. Reports say that a mining expedition led by an aged Dwarf known only to some as Hroin was responsible for this disturbance. Not a twentyday later, a flight of white-throated needletail swallows were seen rising in haste from their cave-borne nests, flying high towards the east, heralding an upset of nature's balance in the very hills where the expedition took place. A tale around the fire of a legendary shield created by the Felimar dwarves has scholars at Songhall and bards at every tavern scrambling to rewrite history - for word has come from that sacred place of learning that the Shield is no longer fiction but truth, unearthed by Jerek, a paladin of Sune, along with the Sharaan bard Nathaniel Askovar and the halfling locksmith Perry Quietfoot, under direction from notable scholar Orin Tyrson who has since then made waves in the Songhall community for this discovery. Significant indeed is this find, for if the Shield's ability to fend against the Weave then everything that is known thus far about the Felimar clan must be more than meets the eye.

In secret enclaves and hushed corners, the 'Year of the Sun', as some call it now draws to a close. Fortune-tellers are quick to array their gems in an effort to ward off what is foreseen for the new year... though some would welcome its fate with open arms. As surely as the sun rises to fill each day with warmth, so does it fall - to give way to the moon's ascent: only in darkness will the light of the moon be seen truly, where far below the starlit skies of Selune, Impiltur must prepare for the inevitable fading.

1363 DR - Year of the Wyvern

It was the evening of 7th Mirtul; The Melting, 1363 Dale Reckoning, when Sarshel became the epicentre of a new Daemon presence in the kingdom of Impiltur. It was an event that would change Sarshel forever. So too would the actions of those who would rise up when the rest had fallen to their knees - these people would change Sarshel's fortunes, their own fortunes, and perhaps the fortunes of an even greater portion of the nation. And, if they were wise, they would be vigilant, and frightened, and ever-watchful for the return of the Daemon that was the harbinger of this dark hour.

1364 DR - Year of the Wave

In Tarsakh, it is peacetime in Impiltur, for a nation bound in such secular traditions the past months of Spring seemed like an apt time for its citizens to bury the arrow that was shot in its heart during the EverWinter. It is with relief that the people return to their daily routine, even as work continues on the restoration of the Triadic Temple in Sarshel - an effort partly funded by Mother Kelda Adler and her husband, the paladin Ser Jerek of Ilmater.

The Dawnlord's Halls, led by one Artemis d'Assanthe, has also seen prosperity among its ranks as many flock to the city in hopes of new opportunities, and amongst them a number of distinguished folk from Telflamm whose pockets seek refuge from the Evgruth the Red, infamous commander of the pirate-fleet known as Sharkjaws, as word spreads that his threats have upended the merchant's council.

Rumours from the Dalelands have arrived via a merchant cartel entering Sarshel, who speak of the discovery of a lone, half-blind dwarf who had 'ambushed' them on the way to the city. He spoke in riddles and stank of dung, and bore a terrible wound that had eaten into the flesh of his face. When questioned further, he grew violent, such that none dared pursue him further.

1365 DR - Year of the Sword

History being recovered...

1366 DR - Year of the Staff

History being recovered...

In Ches, lone Impiltur has settled in its quiet for some time. The mountains of the land still prove ever treacherous, providing threats known and not - the ails of any kingdom still bereave its roads and its darker underbelly, though there is no Tuigan horde on the realm's doorstep, or hellish menace threatening to entomb the people in ice and fire. No, the fears shared now are much more mundane in nature, of a much smaller scale, but perhaps just as frightening to those in the know.

A long caravan escort has been seen traveling down the roads from Ilmwatch, adorned with the Cormyrian coat of arms and that of other noble houses of the region. Some form of entourage is descending, headed on its way to Sarshel. People gossip and chatter, claiming it is an offer of royal marriage, or a call to arms against another outstanding threat to the Faerunian way of life, or perhaps just a friendly visit. Yet none that know the meaning of it confirm the suspicions.

From all along the Laviguer, from Outentown to Vlasta, reports have been coming in of a variety of incidents in just a short span of days, each as exaggerated as the other, but all sharing common denominators; corpses torn through as if by a preternatural force, with only chunks of sagging, dismembered flesh left on their disjointed bones. The howls of the wolves grow ever the more incessant, and among the common folk, there is only cold agreement as to what the final truth is...

One thing is certain; the clarion call that every extraordinary individual would heed is heard soundly throughout the Forgotten Kingdom.

The Cormyrian Mission arrived in Sarshel during the first tenday of Tarsakh.

On the 24th of Tarsakh, Impilturan forces were seen moving up Laviguer Road in great numbers. A mixed group of soldiers, knights and Warwands had ridden out from Sarshel at dawn. According to onlookers, this unusal party was fully armed and making haste inland. Perhaps it was time for a spring exercise, but some whispered they respond to a more real and immediate threat. Travelers spoke of a war camp growing at the Serpent's Bridge. Bands of mercenaries had begun to gather for an unnamed campaign.

On the 3rd of Mirtul, more troubling rumors circulate around the land of Impiltur. A new group of Warswords has been seen moving up headed north-west from Sarshel in numbers greater than the last one and with much more horses, supplies and armaments. Murmurs tell the group contained many members of the Most Holy Order of the Sacred Shrike as well as many other Triadic Knights.

Meanwhile, in the last week, around fifty between farmers and villagers moved like refugees along the Lavinguer road headed to Sarshel with much of their belongings with them or on a mule back. The few who are willing to share details about their retreat blather about a strange mist which engulfed Midrikaul and the surrounding bogs.

It's now clear that, whatver is occurring on the north-western Earthspur mountains, is something the Kingdom is not underestimating.

On the 19th, terrifying news comes down from the Lavinguer Road, along with dozens of refugees fleeing from Vlasta and the surrounding settlements. It seems the mysterious mist many were talking about, until then just considered a fruit of local folklore, has reached the small village shores. The survivors tell stories about the unliving populate the fog, led by a certain Khar, and the most superstitious predict it'll soon swallow all the Kingdom if the dead are not stopped. Certain is that the Warswords sent in Vlasta to fight this threat suffered heavy losses and many murmur even the leader of the expedition, Alorn Rardarum, was killed. Panic is starting to spread as a disease as the battle approaches, as more Warswords, Knights, Triadic priests, mercernaries in search for glory and brave adventurers have been seen leaving for the Earthspur Mountains, but people are seriously starting to fear another Seventh Mirtul is upon Impiltur.

In Kythorn, after more than a week from the troubling rumors, a flicker of light seems to raise along with the sun on the Earthspur mountains. Villagers and travellers along the Lavinguer Road murmur the Warswords won their battle against the unliving and the threat was vanquished, also thanks to the help of some mercenaries. Finally some peace seems to have arrived to soothe Impiltur sufferings, but many wonder if it will last and for how long, considering the many troublesome events lived in the last years.

Slowly the various Warsword troops are moving back to Sarshel, but in number much inferior to the one they left.

Priests and clerics are starting to spread the word a religious service will be held at the Temple of the Triad to honor the victory of the Warswords and to remember the one who lost their lives defending Impiltur.

The holy funerals took place a few days later, when the corpses of the dead soldiers were returned to Sarshel with all the due honors. Many attented the entrance of the procession and threw some flowers over the simple coffins containing the mortal remains of the valiant heroes that sacrified their lives for the Kingdom, among which were Alorn Radraum and Hance Carshall, warden of Vlasta. The hearse was followed by many Warswords and Knights in holy vestments; Alorn Jerek Adler, Warwand Danika Sokolov and many other of the heroic survivors of the battle were among those who were later celebrated, along with all the brave adventurers and mercenaries who took part in the action.

1367 DR - Year of the Shield

In early Uktar, gossip spreads of tensions in the settlements from Outentown as far north as Vlasta being high lately. An unusually large number of brawls have broken out amongst the populace. Several people have been severely wounded in these eruptions of unwarranted violence.

A man was even arrested for setting fire to the homestead of a family of five on the outskirts and when questioned by the local lords men the rumor is he claimed a voice in his head made him do it.

Farmers everywhere complain of ruined crops and lost harvests that are being destroyed by the plague of crows sweeping the lands.

Talk near Thelnam was of a 'demon boar' rampaging the country-side at night. A group of three adventurers passing through took on the task of slaying it and were found dead, mauled and mangled to bits in the morning.

In late-Uktar, there were whispers spoken in hushed tones that the Temple of the Triad has taken an interest in the unnatural plague of crows.

An elf woman, a halfling woman, and a well known human male priest of the Foehammer were the talk of the square. They were seen hauling an enormous black boar hog-tied on a small tree into Sarshel, alive, taking it to the barracks. People described the boar in awe and fear saying it had a disgusting bristled black hide almost completely ruined by a lattice of crisscrossing scars with tusks four feet long. Some who work the docks say it was the demon boar of Thelnam while others claim they were commissioned to hunt it for the upcoming Feast of the Moon at the end of Uktar.

1368 DR - Year of the Banner

In late-Mirtul and early-Kythorn, a strange beast had been roaming the plains of Impiltur leaving bodies near the road and destruction in the nearby environment. A Warsword patrol from Filur eventually located the terrorizing beast, which turned out to be a chimera, and the Warswords dispatched it to prevent further harm to travelers on the road and beyond.

In mid-Kythorn, The Swordhall completed its construction. After months of paperwork and physical labor, Entheo Genesthe had established a place of residence that also served as a public training facility on its ground floor. He made it known to the locals that he was searching for certain types of individuals to train and to prepare for the future, hoping to make a group that resided within The Swordhall for a certain purpose only known to him.

In the months of Kythorn and Flamerule, Sarshel was shaken by a few events: the slaughter at the docks, another attack on the temple, and the incident at Sayildi's. All three events potentially connected but never formally affirmed. Those who committed the crimes still remain at large.

In mid-Eleasis, a shadowy group tried to gain a foothold in Impiltur, but their efforts were halted after being defeated by some notable individuals. Around the same time, crows once again started appearing from western Impiltur and were suspected of causing nightmares and violence. A high priest in the Temple in Sarshel came under the effects of nightmares

In mid-Elient, The Stalwart Guard, tasked by a Sembian Merchant, hunted and killed a remorhaz lurking in the shadow of the Earthspur mountains.

Between Elient and Uktar, some notable individuals were tasked by the Temple to work against the Crow King and his co-conspirator.

In early-Marpenoth, the very same high priest stole valuable items belonging to the Temple in Sarshel and disappears.

In early-Uktar, Lady Kharmina gathered Warswords, and notable individuals, to march on a stronghold of the Crow King in the mountains. Lady Kharmina died after being overwhelmed by enemies; the Warsword contingent slaughtered, and only the notable individuals returned to Sarshel emptyhanded despite hindering Crow King's progress. Talia Reaver and Sal Polani, members of The Stalwart Guard, were arrested under the suspicion of conspiring with Crow King.

In mid-Uktar, the Office of Public Affairs, headed by Chancellor Eldaereth Sharantar, formed in response to the on-going national crisis involving the Crow King, and Chancellor Eldaereth began his campaign to enforce taxes and licenses.

1369 DR - Year of the Gauntlet

In early-Hammer, Royal Constable Nelra Silverstar sentenced Talia Reaver and Sal Polani of The Stalwart Guard into exile due to the insurmountable evidence for both charges of demon conjuration and conspiring with an enemy of the Crown, and it made it publicly clear, once again, that demons and demons conjurers are never welcomed in Impiltur. She raised the spirits of Impilturans up momentarily with this small victory against Crow King.

Warsword rotations are not an uncommon sight in the forgotten kingdom, yet seldom do they occur seemingly abruptly and way past the witching hour, least something's afoot. Sometime during the last days of Ches, Sarshellans were disturbed by a sudden shift and departure of a patrol squad led by a Sword, four Blades strong. Rumour spread by the few sleepless individuals would have it that this rotation appeared as one both anxious, stiff and shrouded by air of uncertainty. The squadron left, journeying the road to Outentown.

The first weeks of Tarsakh boasted an increase in seafood stalls, as more fishmongers have settled themselves upon the markets of Sarshel and Outentown, offering a selection of fresh catch almost every other day. This catch, being seemingly an effect of a generous tide and likely to be just a seasonal affair, would primarily be delivered by Thelnam's youth, eager to try hand at some business outside of their small community. Even the local Inns and Taverns would sometimes offer a side of chowder, rich in flavour of fish and herbs. Sadly, the city of Sarshel also bared witness to further Warsword rotations, as more patrols have been dispatched to oversee the coastal roads. Disgruntled and worried gossips among the local merchants would have one believe that various cargo ships travelling from, or towards, Dilpur have been ambushed by pirating scum. Most recently, a cargo of precious finery failed to make port and some folk overheard that it went up in flames.To counter this blazing appraisal in sea-faring brigandage, a representative of easting's local Trading Guilds have been seen hiring adventurers to deal with this issue alongside Warsword efforts. A measure of success was achieved not long after, when a small group lead by a striking, tall blonde warrioress and a spear-man of chessentan descent, had delivered some ruffians to cells.

A mournful and nervous atmosphere slowly made its way through Outentown when the break of dawn saw the return of a local patrol. Several corpses of fallen Blades were brought to the Ilmateri shelter and word of Warsword Dumar's death ruffled both documents and thoughts. In their attempts to justify the cause of this tragedy, the common-folk gossips, filled with disbelief, remarked on recent rumours of some suspicious goblinoid figures lurking out there in the dark, allegedly clad in smoke and being most fiendish in nature. None were too sure whom had actually seen such a creature, but something of similar ghastliness must've been around for surely no mere goblin grunt could've taken down a Warsword squad... The burial ceremonies would soon be underway, whilst comforting of the families occurred with dignity and solemnity. The Constable was seen breaking words of both gratitude and future planning with those whom recovered the bodies, especially with a Warsword recently appointed to lead patrolling missions across local wilds.

As of this hour it would seem that the Office of Public Affairs is bustling with activity with a new clerk set to review the latest posters upon the Noticeboard of Sarshel, as well as the active presence of the Chancellor back in the Census Office. With this advent comes the call for new visitors to the realm to sign in with Office where they might also receive guidance and counsel in finding their place in the realm of Impiltur. Also upon the date, the 15th day of Tarsakh in the year 1369 by the reckoning of the Dales, a new mercenary company is established and recognised by the Crown, named the Red Vipers of Impiltur, led by none other than the exotic sworddancer known as Amira Abass'bara. But there is no great deed or accomplishment attributed to the company as of yet, as it is said to have only just begun recruitment from the most recent arrivals to the realm. Time will yet tell what derring-do, accomplishments, or even mischief this company will be known for in the lands of the Forgotten Kingdom.

Following an elusive, but disturbing rumour of goblins and brigands being in possession of highly flammable and potentially toxic concoctions of unknown origins, a curious request would've tickled the curiosity of some of the adventurers whom frequent Sarshel. As made evident by a notice pinned to the board upon the square, the Easting Trader's Guild would seek to acquire samples of said hazardous oils. Joining efforts with the Warsword to thoroughly examine and evaluate this threat, they ask of adventurers to bring intact vials to the City Watch barracks, where the samples would be examined, validated and payed for in silvers as well as gratitude and trader's tokens.

News of a fire in one of Sarshel's alleys would spread as fast as the flame itself. At night, on the 18th of Tarsakh, year of the Gauntlet, a loud and earth-shattering sound bellowed across the alleyways when an explosion had occurred in one of the buildings.

Alongside a group of healers, with quick aid of common folk whom were roused to action by their own sense of duty and unity, the flames have been extinguished, preventing adjacent households from being damaged. Rumours have it that a number of people managed to make it out from the building, carrying wounded upon their shoulders and escorting those to the temple.

The cause of the explosion remains unknown, though some citizens would claim it's the local smugglers trying to smoke out good and faithful folk from their homes in the alleys. Allegedly, the building belonged to one of local antiquities merchants whom treated it as his meeting place for business.

With the rising concerns regarding recent attacks on vessels travelling the Sea of the Fallen Stars along the Easting Coast, some eyes were drawn to settle upon a peculiar vessel frequenting the docks of Sarshel.

This caravel, named Bicentan Sail and flying Sembian colours, has been known to have made port good many months ago and so far its voyages have not exceeded beyond anchoring at sea mere mile away from the city.

A passing rumour would suggest that shady business is being had upon this foreign vessel from Prespur and already a few interested parties, the Whitesword and Easting Trade's Guild included, have come looking to see this alleged matter resolved.

As the fires at the coastline continue being an active threat of consuming both cargo and sailor alike, the tension at the docks had only been further escalated when word of one of the more known, beloved and skilled Warblades gone missing began to spread.

In early Mirtul, the crack of dawn had the shutters of Outentown come aflutter for the sleepy common-folk to peek out and observe a valiant return of a Warsword patrol, assisted by a Tormblade's faithful of fiery hair.

Covered in dark, rotting clay, the stained uniforms of the Blades yet presented themselves with a hopeful sheen of prestigious truth, though rumours had it that one of them seemed in far worse condition than the rest ; It clad a man, near seven feet tall, of bald scalp and sunken features. This individual, escorted by fellow Blades, was briefly aided by father Garrmin before the Leger's welcomed him and the squad for a good-day and night's rest.

The crack of dawn had the yawning citizens of Sarshel gasp in awe as they witnessed a number of severely wounded, tied-up men, one of whom were clad in urbane, fine clothing, being escorted across the streets and the plaza towards the Barracks by a band of bloodied travellers.

A quivering murmur regarding this event would, amidst many others, note that the group in charge carried self with a most gloom and tense disposition, allegedly cradling a woman's corpse that was to be carried to the temple.

Mere few hours later, in effort to cull unnecessary misunderstandings and calm the grimaces of the disturbed populis, the militia announced publicly that this incident was related to the last month's burning-down of one of the buildings in the alleys. The seen captives were accused of being involved in said tragedy and are now being officially questioned.

This investigation was announced to rest in capable hands of one Whitesword Keani Sivvar whom, as some understand, does not shy from using intelligence provided by the Easting Trader's Guild.

"Good riddance", - some would say, for as far as 7th of Mirtul is concerned, that's all seemingly good news..

1370 DR - Year of the Tankard

In late Hammer, a restive and humbled word around Outentown would suggest that a number of bones have been found along the Pilgrim's Path. These partial remains were apparently completely frozen, inhabited by eerie cold which bit the very air around them with unrelenting rime.Quickly brought before father Garrmin of Ilmater, the frigid ashes were piously cleansed of whatever chilling malady or hex resided within them and thus prepared for burial rites. However, rumour has it that these remains belonged to one of the stout folk of the mountain depths and, as to not deprive them of their ancestral ceremonies and potentially rekindle the grudging ire, by Triadic wisdom and Crown's understanding they were given to a group of Dwarves whom have recently arrived to the region and taken by them to fulfil the necessary services. Whilst everyone hopes that this occurrence was but a singular event, the recent days of Hammer have been rich in suddenly whipping winds and snowing clouds. The Earthspur's peaks stand gleaming like sharpened dagger's points and wintry mists crawl to shroud the view. Prayers for Resilience and Hearths Warmth are spoken true, with incidents of quietly wishful uttering that lady Icekiss won't be too active.

The northern sky's clouds are torn asunder by a crackling, white thunder. A tortuous line of sheer scintillation paints itself across the icy-blue dome. Not long after, the luminous event's piercing roar echoes across the lands of Impiltur and pristine flakes of snow begin to fall. Brisk winds breathe upon the mounted torchlight and neighbouring shutters, fluttering both with whistling delight. The swerving creaks freeze over and gleam, quietly stirring like crystalline chimes. The peaks of the mountains rumble and moan, shedding their crowns of ample rime. Such is the Midwinter's song, in which all seems to stop, to shudder, to die, only to crack open and breathe with crispy new life again. It is a time in which folk would store their last season's reserves, and upkeep the hearth's cherished warmth. A time of reflection of alliances that were and of alliances to come. A time of hardships being appraised and tested in full. A time in which the shimmering frost paints the Kingdom in colours of pristine, white beauty, as likely to be calm as fixedly harsh. Those present in Songhal bared witness to a bellowing avalanche conducted by an echoing sonority of a wolf's howling verse. Rumours of giant-kin walking the Earthspur and Earthfast alike have been recently piling up like mercenary licenses, from whimsical tall-tales to quivering testimonies. Some resilient folk, brave enough as to continue with their pilgrimage of wisdoms and knowledge, claim to have observed huge beings hefting axes and blades, battling each other within the misty, glacial ravines. Unlikely as an event of any such creatures breaking through Songhal's high walls would be, the good people would kindly reminisce of the bones and ashes still preceding over the tunnels beneath their homes. To bolster defences and uplift the spirits, more Warsword patrols have been dispatched towards the mountainous regions.

In early Alturiak and over the past few months, more and more visitors have been making their way to the Swordhall - labourers, builders and stonemasons along with wagons of brick and wood. It seems some plans for the expansion of the Swordhall has been finally settled between Entheo Genesthe and several other parties. Construction seems to be beginning in earnest. A casual observer might also notice a small group of masked bowsmen setting up camp on the hillock overlooking the shoreline in the area.

In mid-Alturiak, The winter continued to hold its icy grip on the land, but the people braved and endured the sporadic periods of harsh weather.

On the northern shore outside of Sarshel, several different mercenary companies were now settled around Swordhall. This great gathering of mercenaries was met with mixed reception from the Sarshellans. They deemed it to be concerning, perhaps from a bitter taste that hadn’t left them, yet reassuring due to a good number of skilled, able-bodied combatants. Some locals treated them cautiously while others embraced them with contracts that had long been unfulfilled.

The House of Many Tomes in Songhall seemed more livelier than usual. New faces from all around Impiltur and beyond had come within the past few tendays seeking knowledge and information. Some of the recent arrivals were eager to share what they were researching, leading to more discussions in the halls and lecture rooms. Certain theses being proposed and investigated were considered nothing more than conjecture, supported by misleading evidence and soundless reasoning, while other theses held some merit yet needed more substantial work before they could come to fruition.

For several tendays now, Dilpur had seen a slight increase in foreigners and rural Impilturans coming and working in and around the city. These folk took many, if not all, the opportunities that were being offered around, a majority of which were considered odd jobs for immediate relief. Some faces of the odd job opportunists were slowly becoming recognized in certain business circles, along with gossip about why any individual would do the most menial of jobs for considerably low pay without much fuss.

The plains near Filur seemingly shook on occasion, but the shaking faded as quickly as it came. However, wherever the shaking came from, or was localized, it didn’t reach Filur and its outskirts. Some travelers on the road reported movement within the tall, brown grass, but they couldn’t confirm what they saw moving about.

In Vlasta and other more rural settlements, a handful of daring mountain guides that traveled in the cold, windy mountains of the Earthspur and Earthfast had found multiple sheep and goat corpses scattered throughout the various trails. Large numbers of hobgoblins were massacred, and the white snow and clear ice chaotically painted with blood. The more superstitious of them came to their own conclusions about what may be happening around the mountains while others simply brushed it off as adventurers and mercenaries leaving behind a mess as always. Throughout Impiltur’s wilderness, there have been sightings of foreigners, dressed in heavily furred garb and toting around leather bags. They appear to be surveyors based on passing conversations with some travelers and locals, but they don’t seem to talk all too much. They supposedly keep to their job yet it would appear they do their work mostly unseen.

The surplus of knowledge-seeking pilgrims flocking to Songhal's famous libraries, whilst ultimately a cherished event, has also provided a number of grim gossips and facts ;

The harsh winter's grasp, hurling mists of swift blizzards, has lead to various disappearances of those whom sought to travel the paths across the mountains. The cultural rites of ascending the peaks are cautioned against during this most frosty of seasons, yet still there are some whom appear most eager to witness first hand the miracles and curiosities that have spawned within, and above, the Earthspur and Earthfast reaches.

Speculations surrounding the sightings of giants, zigzags of flashes in northern sky, and discoveries of corpses frozen by unnaturally gelid and biting wind have become one of the 'heated' topics within the House of Many Tomes.

A rumour's been sprouted that a certain young bard, both painter and scholar, has been feverishly trying to lure even more people to visit Songhal, advocating the superiority of personal experiences within the mountains over stationary studies and book-worming.

Whether his suspicious advertising is in any way responsible for the vanishings of good folk is anyone's guess, but more and more troubling words of mist-clad giants roaming the mountains during thick blizzards had become not just a concern, but a recent call for further patrols.

It is even suggested that the giants leave behind patches of bronze-coloured blood hissing with sulphuric fumes. Stranger and stranger still...

Some merchants and traders of Sarshel exchange some words in passing with another other, a few of them being active members of the Threespires Laern. Word spreads around their own circles about certain adventurous or mercenary-like individuals that try to influence them through non-standard methods. With the influx of people coming into Sarshel and doing business, it was only a matter of time that frowned upon methods would start to increase once more with the trade

Songhal's hearth flickered darkly last night, disturbed by an arrival of a group of frostbitten and bloodied travellers whom brought with them grim news regarding fate of recently missing Blade scouts. "Dead! Frozen stiff. Covered by some unnatural, blue permafrost..." such words were uttered amongst the scholars, pilgrims and locals, whom soon witnessed another gathering of Crown's soldiers right outside the town's gates. An expedition to recover the bodies of the fallen patrol would soon be under way, whilst a sample of this peculiar 'permafrost' has been delivered for study.

In late-Alturiak, the Cold season is not all frost and dread, but a time of contemplation, hearth and renewed alliances in troubling times. After several years of uncertainty and silence, the trade between the Crown and a reclusive, though neighbouring, dwarven clan Oridak of Earthspur Deep has been restored. A cargo of various precious, refined ornamental stones, including Blue Quartz, Euclase and Orbaline, has arrived from Vlasta to Sarshel. much to rejoice of distinguished nobles and sagacious practitioners. Apparently, the Crown's Trading Guilds have offered in turn a supply of rare and finest Suthwood which it, itself, imports from across the sea. To add a morsel of nosy spice to this momentous and celebratory occasion, a rumour stemming from Vlasta would have some believe that the transaction between the Crown's guilds and the clan's representatives consisted not merely of goods, but also of a prisoner whom the dwarves have taken into their tunnels. Who exactly started this preposterous rumour is unknown.

Notes

The setting and events post-1361 DR are loosely, inspired, or based on sources about Impiltur. Not all events, setting details, and lore are "canonical" to published material. Therefore, this is the server's "canon" lore of Impiltur.

Some information may be public knowledge. Other may be private knowledge and provided here for server history. Consult your local historian for lore that is public or private!

IRL Time	In-Game Time
2014	1361
2015	1362
2016	1363
2017	1364
2018	1365
2019	1366
2020	1367
2021	1368
2022	1369
2023	1370

Server Owner's Note

Let us begin by saying that The Easting Reach isn't the best server name we could have picked out of the possible options. The Easting Reach does not only describe Impiltur, it describes the neighbouring country - Thesk - too. It was preferred over "The Uplands", as that name indicates we would focus far beyond the coast. However, this server focuses on the coastal region above the Easting Coast but still below the Farwater. Our area of focus starts at just below Dilpur, and ends at Arn's Cove.

Impiltur has a very low amount of established official content. The Faerun Campaign setting only has one page dedicated to it, and another half of a page dedicated to it in the "Unapproachable East".

Luckily, Dragon #346 supplied a healthy dose of content to the region. However, a giant, and somewhat popular fanmade expansion named "The Northern Journey" arised, published digitally (for free) by the fellows at Candlekeep. We have decided not to follow exclusively the content written in "The Northern Journey" and instead use the limited lore supplied to us.

With that in mind, it does mean we get to develop the server more towards the limitations of the NWN engine, and of course we gain the freedom to improvise more. What this means to you as a player is that you will hear new stories and will discover new places that are not written about already. We would advice to take the opportunity to relish in the fact that not everything you encounter already has a metric ton of established lore behind it which you can easily access by opening a book. Instead, take the opportunity to expect the unexpected, and welcome the strange and the new with open arms.

Sources & Inspiration

• George Krashos (August 2006). “Impiltur: The Forgotten Kingdom”. In Erik Mona ed. Dragon #346 (Paizo Publishing, LLC), pp. 56–71. https://www.realmshelps.net/faerun/impiltur.shtml