Ilythiir's Garden
A Sanctuary of Memory, Devotion, and Quiet Magic
At the eastern edge of the North Ward, where the rooftops fall away toward the verdant reaches of Undercliff, lies a quiet stretch of land unlike any other in Waterdeep: Ilythiir’s Garden. Open to all, sacred to many, and silently watched over by the Emerald Enclave, the garden is a living testament to transformation—of grief into beauty, death into renewal, and silence into song.
Situated just northeast of Trollskull Alley, the garden is a favored retreat for residents across the ward. Unlike the clipped, ornamental gardens of the noble houses, Ilythiir’s Garden is not curated to impress. It is loved, not displayed—its trees allowed to grow old, its flowers to seed and return with the turning of the seasons. In the warmer months, children splash in the stream, musicians strum beneath the oak, and couples sit in companionable silence. Even in winter, the paths are clear, the air warmer than it should be, and the stillness deep.
Origins
The land once belonged to Lord Lorenthil Trollskull, who bequeathed it to the Emerald Enclave following the death of his wife, Lady Aeris, a wood elven druid of quiet renown. She was buried here, beneath the earth she loved, with a sacred acorn clutched between her hands. From that seed grew the great oak, now the garden’s central guardian.
Years later, the garden was named for Ilythiir, a fallen heroine of the Enclave—a guardian who gave her life defending the sanctity of the natural world. Her ashes were scattered at the roots of the oak, and the druids declared the space henceforth sacred to all who serve the balance of life and death.
Layout and Features
The garden follows a natural crescent shape, bordered by a wrought-iron fence grown through with ivy and flowering vines. Three arched gates mark the entrances, each carved with a gentle inscription: “For the fallen, the faithful, and the living.” Meandering footpaths of crushed shell and smooth stone weave through the grounds, flanked by beds of wildflowers and mossy roots. A spring-fed stream flows in slow bends and rivulets, its water clear by day and faintly glowing by night. Arching footbridges of weathered driftwood allow peaceful crossing, worn smooth by decades of use.
At the heart of the garden stands the great oak, vast and ancient, its branches like arms stretched in offering to the sky. Its trunk is wide enough to shelter a dozen people within its shade, and its leaves never fully fall—turning rich bronze and deep crimson in autumn but refusing to abandon their limbs entirely. Druids say the roots hum softly when one weeps beneath them. Beside the tree kneels a white granite statue of Ilythiir, her druid’s cloak unfurled into stylized roots, one hand resting against the soil. Her weathered expression watches eternally, and the base bears the inscription: “She gave herself to the green, and the green remembers.”
To the south lies a thriving community garden, enchanted to grow year-round. Locals gather vegetables, herbs, and wildflowers freely, and the Emerald Enclave maintains it without hierarchy or claim. Recently, a strange fey creature known as a cantrip cabbage has taken residence in the vegetable patch. Mischievous yet good-natured, it casts its cantrips to pester and entertain visitors.
Toward the northern edge of the garden sits Sporlun’s compost hut, a lumpy, mushroom-ringed structure. The mushrooms surrounding his hut are Sporlun's own contribution to the edible plants available in the Garden. Here, the fungri also cares for the Mirthroot, an infant-like vegetable creature of unknown magical origin.
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