Lord Lorenthil Trollskull and Lady Aeris
Love, like history itself, often leaves behind roots that shape the landscape of generations.
Long before
Trollskull Alley was a bustling corner of
Waterdeep's
North Ward, it was a sprawling private estate belonging to a
High Elf noble named
Lord Lorenthil Trollskull. Built decades before the land's official incorporation into Waterdeep in 1125 DR, the manor was a prominent fixture on the outskirts of the growing city, a testament to Lorenthil's wealth and status.
Lorenthil shared this manor with his beloved wife, Lady
Aeris Trollskull, a
wood elf whose heart belonged deeply to the natural world. Aeris was herself a talented druid novice, though she passed tragically some years before the city's expansion reached their lands.
Following her untimely death, Lorenthil was inconsolable, mourning profoundly and longing for a way to honor her memory. Thus, when Ahghairon himself sought to expand the city's borders into Lorenthil's holdings—rumored to entice him with the promise of a seat among the Masked Lords, though this remains mere historical speculation—Lorenthil agreed on the condition that one piece of land remain untouched. This was to be dedicated to Aeris's memory.
This parcel became
Ilythiir's Garden, gifted by Lorenthil to the
Emerald Enclave to preserve in perpetuity. Lady Aeris was buried directly into its soil, her hands gently clasping an acorn taken from a sacred oak. From that acorn sprang forth a
mighty oak tree, quickly growing tall and strong, its roots reaching deep and wide; a testament to the love and magic with which it was planted. Today, this very oak stands proudly as the centerpiece of Ilythiir’s Garden, sheltering
Roywyn Daergal, an Autumnweaver of the Emerald Enclave.
In 1202 DR, after watching his land gradually fill with buildings, Lorenthil found himself longing more than ever to reconnect with Aeris's spirit. Thus, he sold Trollskull Manor and departed Waterdeep to live among his wife's people—the wood elves—hoping, perhaps, that in their company, he could finally find solace and closeness to the memory of his lost love.
Lord Erdan Ilzimmer and Lady Lathariel
Ambition, much like fashion, often compels one to seek finer accommodations.
Following the departure of Lord Lorenthil Trollskull in 1202 DR, the venerable manor passed into the hands of another high elf, Lord Erdan Ilzimmer, a savvy noble whose ambitions quickly outgrew the quaint North Ward. Though Lord Ilzimmer and his wife Lady Lathariel were, at the time, only modestly known among Waterdeep's nobility, Erdan possessed a particularly keen sense of political maneuvering and mercantile prowess. It was not long before the Ilzimmer name was carried far beyond the quiet streets of Trollskull Alley.
Under Erdan's tenure, the manor underwent significant renovation and expansion, reflecting the rising ambitions and prosperity of the Ilzimmer lineage. Extravagant additions, including grand halls and ornate sitting rooms, hosted frequent social gatherings. These events drew the attention—and attendance—of Waterdeep’s elite, gradually cementing the Ilzimmer family's social status within the city's upper echelon.
However, Lord Erdan's dreams stretched well beyond the modest estate. Within a few decades, the Ilzimmers had amassed considerable wealth and influence through strategic trade ventures along the
Sword Coast, specializing notably in rare textiles, spices, and enchanted artifacts. By 1258 DR, the Ilzimmers relocated permanently to a more opulent residence in the esteemed
Sea Ward, securing their place among Waterdeep’s most distinguished families—a status they maintain even now.
Trollskull Manor was subsequently sold once again, its halls left quieter, but forever marked by the prestige of the ambitious Lord and Lady Ilzimmer.
Master Marcus Brevingar and Mistress Eleanor
Gold can purchase grandeur, but only wisdom can sustain it.
If history is a wheel, then fortune is its ever-turning spoke. Nowhere is this more evident than in the brief and ill-fated ownership of Marcus and Eleanor Brevingar, a
human couple whose aspirations outpaced their abilities.
In 1258 DR, following the Ilzimmers’ ascent to the Sea Ward, the Brevingars purchased Trollskull Manor, envisioning it as their gateway to Waterdeep’s upper echelons. A family of respectable, if not remarkable, lineage, Marcus had inherited a modest but well-regarded shipping business, while Eleanor possessed an impeccable sense of social grace and the unshakable conviction that refinement could be acquired along with property.
It was, in their minds, a perfect match—the grandeur of a noble elven estate repurposed as a human success story. The Brevingars spared no expense in modernizing the manor to reflect the latest trends of the time, hosting lavish gatherings in an effort to ingratiate themselves among the city’s elite. Yet, as any seasoned merchant will attest, appearances alone do not sustain an empire.
Within eight short years, mismanagement, excessive spending, and a series of unfortunate investments rendered their fortunes unsalvageable. By 1266 DR, creditors had circled like vultures, and the Brevingars were left with no choice but to liquidate their holdings—Trollskull Manor chief among them. Their final departure from the estate was notably unceremonious, marked not by farewell parties, but by the swift and efficient work of debt collectors cataloging every remaining asset.
With little left but their name, the Brevingars relocated to the
Trades Ward, where they found far more company among Waterdeep’s working class than they had ever managed among its nobility. History does not record whether they viewed their fall from grace as a humbling lesson or an unbearable disgrace.
Landmaster Edvin Husteem.
Buildings, like people, must adapt to survive—or risk becoming little more than forgotten echoes in the stone.
If the Brevingars were a testament to ambition’s folly, their successor proved a masterclass in pragmatism. In 1266 DR, with the manor stripped of its last remnants of grandeur, it was acquired not by another would-be aristocrat, but by Edvin Husteem, a shrewd and calculating landlord who saw in Trollskull Manor not a legacy, but an investment.
A
half-elf of practical sensibilities, Edvin had no interest in preserving the estate’s elven refinement or indulging in ostentatious social climbing. Instead, he turned his attention to efficiency. Recognizing that the Ilzimmers' expansions had rendered the property impractically vast for a single family, he severed the grand additions from the main structure, repurposing them into a collection of properties—rented, subdivided, and maintained for profit. It was no longer a home, but a ledger entry in the book of Waterdeep’s ever-churning commerce. The heart of Trollskull Manor, once the pride of elven lords and the ambition of social climbers, became something more mundane: an asset, held until it was no longer profitable to do so."
Over the next 143 years, tenants came and went. During this time, Trollskull Manor became a revolving door of purpose, adapting to the needs of the city:
1271 DR - 1303 DR: A politician’s manor, hosting an ambitious minor lord who sought to make a name for himself in Waterdeep’s governance. (His name is largely forgotten, which suggests how well that went.)
1303 DR - 1341 DR: A meeting hall with office space above, serving various trade guilds and factions seeking neutral ground for negotiation. (The neutrality was often tested, as records of no fewer than six brawls and one regrettable fire attest.)
1341 DR - 1409 DR: A modest orphanage, known as The Hearth of Many Paths, providing shelter for Waterdeep’s abandoned and wayward youth. While its caretakers were dedicated, funding was unreliable, and the institution eventually closed its doors.
Though its purpose changed with time, Trollskull Manor remained a functional, if somewhat unremarkable, part of the North Ward. It is a peculiar irony that, after its time as an orphanage, the manor itself would once again become abandoned, awaiting the next chapter in its long and winding history.
Master Rolan Thandriel
A wise man does not merely seek fortune—he seeks a legacy.
Trollskull Manor stood in silence for three years. The building, once filled with laughter, footfalls, and the constant motion of daily life, became little more than an empty husk—a relic of a time when it had been a home, a workspace, and a refuge. It was a structure waiting for purpose. That purpose arrived in 1412 DR, in the form of
Rolan Thandriel.
A businessman of humble origins, Rolan was unlike the noble-born figures who had once called the manor home. A high elf of keen intellect and keener eyes, he saw potential where others saw decay.
Where his predecessor sought only profit, he sought community—a place where the people of the North Ward could gather, celebrate, and build something greater than themselves. He chose to bring life back to its halls in a way it had never seen before—by transforming it into a tavern, the first of its kind to be housed within the old estate.
The tavern was more than a business; it was a meeting place, a cultural hub, a shared hearth for those who lived and worked in the Trollskull Alley. It welcomed merchants and masons, adventurers and artisans, scholars and common folk alike—a stark contrast to the exclusivity of its past owners. Under Rolan’s careful management, Trollskull Manor became something it had never truly been before: open.
It was during the restoration of the manor that Rolan met Aldan "Thorn" Thornshade, a poor
Tiefling laborer whose talent and quiet determination caught his attention. Thorn was more than just a worker; he treated the tavern’s future as if it were his own. Rolan, who had fought to carve out his own place in the world, saw in Thorn a kindred spirit—someone who understood the importance of belonging.
When Rolan’s ventures in Baldur’s Gate demanded his attention, he could not bring himself to sell the manor to just anyone. He had seen the passion Thorn poured into the place and knew there was no better steward. And so, he sold it to him—for a price so generous it felt like a gift.
In 1412 DR, for the first time in centuries, Trollskull Manor passed not into the hands of the wealthy or privileged, but to a man who had owned nothing. It was, in every way, the beginning of something new.
Aldan Thornshade, Proprietor
Not all who build legacies live to see them flourish. Some plant seeds that they will never sit in the shade of.
Aldan "Thorn" Thornshade did not seek greatness, nor did he aspire to challenge the order of things. He only wanted to build a place where folk of all kinds might find warmth, welcome, and a little respite from the weight of the world. That, as it turned out, was too much for some to bear.
In 1412 DR, when Rolan Thandriel left Waterdeep, he did something no one could have expected—he sold Trollskull Manor to Thorn at a price so generous it defied belief. And with that, a tiefling became the master of a grand elven estate in the North Ward.
For a time, Thorn’s tenure was quiet but steady. He ran his tavern well, welcomed all who came through his doors, and kept to his work. But the mere fact of his ownership was a thorn in the pride of those who believed such places were not meant for the likes of him. They taunted him. Sneered at him. Waited for him to fail. And in 1413, seven months after Thorn took ownership of Trollskull Manor, they took matters into their own hands.
His death was neither a robbery nor a drunken brawl gone too far. It was a message. A warning to others who might follow in his footsteps, a desperate attempt to stamp out something that could not be undone.
The shock of his loss rippled through Trollskull Alley. Folk who had once looked the other way found themselves unable to ignore the weight of it. The whispers, the veiled disdain, the subtle exclusions—none of that had been enough to break Thorn. So they took his life instead. And in doing so, they broke their own hold on the neighborhood.
The very people who had sought to reserve the North Ward for elves and humans alone found themselves surrounded by a growing tide of those who no longer cared for their comfort. Where once
tieflings, genasi,
dragonborn, and
firbolgs were few and far between, now they came in numbers—not with torches or steel, but with coin, community, and quiet, relentless perseverance.
Thorn’s death was meant to send a message. Instead, it started a movement.
The North Ward became something it had never been before: diverse, welcoming, unwilling to abide the small-minded clutch of the past. The old families—the ones who could not stomach such change—moved on, or faded into irrelevance.
Masters Jonnie Rames Dio, Grayson Greer, Melvin le Gronx, and Kostas Rell
With every decision, history is made. All that remains is to put ink to page.
Trollskull Manor stood empty for 79 years. Well, almost empty it would turn out. The echoes of its past inhabitants fading into dust and forgotten corners. Those who passed by whispered of ghosts, of spirits unwilling to move on. Some feared what lingered. Others, simply, mourned.
And then, as history so often dictates, change arrived in the most unexpected of ways.
An extravagant academic—one more interested in the thrill of a tale than the truth of it—purchased the manor, driven by curiosity and the hope of uncovering evidence of a haunting. Yet, for all his efforts, he found nothing—or rather, nothing he could recognize. Dissatisfied and eager to move on to his next peculiar endeavor, he bequeathed the property to a band of unlikely adventurers, offering it as payment for services rendered.
They were not the first to stand within these halls without means, nor the first to take up residence without knowing what fate would make of them. But where coin was lacking, they possessed something far greater—integrity, tenacity, and an unparalleled capacity for bringing warmth to a place long left cold.
With wit, charm, and no small measure of determination, they found the means to restore the manor—not simply as an establishment, but as a home. Yet, they did something more than any before them. Through means arcane, through will alone, through the weight of their belief in the dream of what this place could be, they brought forth the very spirit of Aldan Thornshade, the tiefling who had once lived and died for this dream.
And for the first time in decades, he saw his work continued.
But history does not end, and neither does this story. What comes next—their struggles, their triumphs, their impact on the North Ward—remains unwritten.
For Trollskull Manor is no more. In its place stands The
Frightened Ferret, a place where old ghosts find peace, where new bonds are forged, and where a history not yet told is waiting to be written.
And so, the pages turn.
