Twenty Winters a War Wizard
By Estimyra in the in the Year of the Dragon, 1352 DR
Excerpt: The Invisible Keep
“Service to the Crown rarely brings certainty, save the certainty of finding trouble where you least expect it. Trouble, as I’ve learned, is both my eternal nemesis and my greatest teacher.”
It was during my eleventh winter as a War Wizard that I first encountered the oddities of the Storm Horns. Oh, the mountains are always odd, you might say—haunted by goblins, trolls, and dragons alike - but the peculiarities I speak of were far more insidious. For the sake of posterity (or whomever happens to steal this tome from Candlekeep), let me set the scene.
We were tasked with a routine patrol near The Warm Waterfall, one of the more serene locations in the Storm Horns, its waters heated by some natural phenomenon beneath the earth. That serenity, of course, belied the reality of the assignment. Brigands were known to stalk the roads in those parts, hiding their ill-gotten gains deep within the crags. I won’t bore you with the mundane details - suffice it to say, we dispatched a band of particularly stupid thieves on the first day, reclaiming a caravan's worth of silks and spices. I thought our task nearly done.
It wasn’t.
The following morning, I woke to an unsettling quiet. Our campfire had burned low, and the horses—steadfast creatures though they were-stamped and snorted at shadows unseen. There was a tension in the air, palpable and clinging like mist. Swordcaptain Gorran, the grumpiest soldier I have ever had the misfortune of commanding, grumbled something about the cursed heat of the falls muddling the air.
“If you don’t like the heat, Gorran, I could always conjure a blizzard,” I said, though in truth, I was just as irritable as he was. Something about the place gnawed at my nerves.
That was when we saw it, or rather, didn’t see it.
To the west of the falls, atop a sheer cliff face, the light shimmered. It was faint at first, like a mirage. Gorran dismissed it as heat haze, but I knew better. Magic has a way of making itself known to those who listen, and this magic practically screamed at me.
We approached cautiously, climbing the cliff with as much stealth as four bickering soldiers and a battlemage can muster. At the top, we found nothing. No brigands, no treasure, not even so much as a curious deer. Yet the magic was unmistakable.
And then, there was the shield.
I can’t describe it perfectly, for I only glimpsed its edges; a faint ripple in the air, like the surface of a pond disturbed by wind. The shield stretched across the horizon, vast and unyielding. When I reached out to touch it, my fingers met resistance, solid and unbreakable, though there was nothing visible before me.
Swordcaptain Gorran, ever the skeptic, decided it was time to leave. He was halfway through a grumble about not messing with magic glowing things (not entirely unreasonable advice in fairness) and not wasting his time when the shield shimmered and a shadow flickered beyond it. A keep, dark, fairly small, but forbidding, appeared for the briefest of moments. Its towers spiked towards the sky, and its walls were dull and black.
“I’ll be damned,” Gorran muttered. “It’s floating.”
I didn’t believe him at first. But as I watched, the keep seemed to float above the top of the mountain, it had no supports holding up the ground below it, its edges blurring with the sky. Just as quickly as it appeared, it vanished, swallowed by the shield.
We should have stayed to investigate further, but fate, or these damned mountains had other plans.
It started with Gorran. He turned on Blade Arlin with a snarl, accusing him of shirking his duties. Arlin, usually the most level-headed of us all, responded with a string of curses that would make a sailor blush. Within moments, the entire group was at each other’s throats, shouting and bickering over nothing. It was as if the air itself had poisoned our minds.
I managed to cast Calm Emotions before anyone drew steel, but the damage was done. Gorran refused to climb back up the cliff, and Arlin threatened to quit on the spot. The mission was aborted, and we retreated to the base of the falls, where tempers cooled and the strange tension lifted.
To this day, I don’t know what we encountered. The keep has never appeared again, and every attempt to locate it has ended in failure. Perhaps it was an illusion, a trick of the Queen of Air and Darkness herself. Or perhaps, as Gorran suggests, I’ve simply lost my mind.
Still, if you find yourself near the Warm Waterfall, keep your wits about you. And if you happen to see a shimmer in the air, do send word. I’d like to know if I’m not the only fool who’s glimpsed that accursed place.
Other Musings on the Storm Horns
“Brigands are like rats: kill one, and three more take its place. But rats, at least, have the decency to scurry when you light a torch.”
The Storm Horns are as beautiful as they are treacherous. It’s a shame, really. Were it not for the endless parade of goblins, trolls, and thieving louts, I might consider retiring there. Then again, I doubt the locals would appreciate my company; War Wizards have a way of making enemies wherever we go.
For instance, casting Mass Suggestion on a particularly stubborn bandit camp, compelling them all to form a traveling choir. It worked brilliantly—no one can hold a sword when they’re too busy perfecting their harmonies. Unfortunately, my superiors felt that such 'creative tactics' undermined the dignity of the War Wizards (at least thats what the sending stone appeared to be saying amongst the Boom boppa Boom instrumental solo they just worked in). I had to disband the choir and spend the next week writing a formal apology to the Crown, which included a footnote on the unexpected benefits of synchronised morale-building exercises through choir. I hear they still tour near the Hullack Forest villages.
“Dragons are the bane of the Northern Stormhorns. Give me a goblin any day—they’re easier to kill, and they don’t leave scorch marks on your favorite robe.”
The one dragon I encountered in the Storm Horns was a white-scaled brute with a penchant for eating horses. It was a quick battle, not because of my brilliance (though I’d like to think that helped), but because the beast made the mistake of landing too close to Gorran. Never underestimate an angry swordcaptain with an immovable rod.
On Tithe Collectors and Besieging Armies
It’s usually around bath time that the tithe collectors come to call. Besieging warriors, on the other hand—now they generally have consideration enough to come early so you know how best to plan your day. I once had to fend off a siege with soap in my hair and a towel wrapped around me. Gorran still claims it’s the most dignified I’ve ever looked.
“Service to the Crown is a privilege,” they tell us. And it is, truly. But it’s also a series of small indignities, from the lack of decent food to the endless parade of bureaucrats demanding reports on why you turned a bandit into a chicken. (For the record, it was an accident. Mostly.)
It is noted, that the floating keep Estimyra found is not the infamous Citadel of Melkerech that crashed near Minroe, and potentially an earlier test, however it has not been found again since.
It has long been noted that the Warm Waterfall, always has a negative effect on those nearby, however this has gotten quite out of hand recently - Greengrass, 1489DR
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