This page has descriptions of the major towns which The Black Company has passed or will pass through on their mission.
Waterdeep is the most
important and influential city of the North, and perhaps of all
Faerun.
Waterdeep is named for its outstanding natural deepwater harbour,
and the city that grew up at this site has become the commercial
crossroads of the Northern Realms.
More than 100,000 people make their home in Waterdeep, more than
all in the cities of Cormyr itself.
This self-styled city
is really a town of about 300 folk that stands in the shadow of
the castle of the Duke of Daggerford. Daggerford is named for a
brave boy, Tyndal, sent ahead of his family wagon to find a place
to ford the Shining River one evening some 400 summers ago. He
was set upon by lizard men, and - armed only with a dagger--slew
six of them and held off the rest until reinforcements arrived.
The dukes of Daggerford claim direct descent from Tyndal, and
their arms display a bloody silver dagger on a deep blue field.
The walled town is the largest stop on the Trade Way between
Waterdeep and Soubar. Its largely wooden buildings huddle in the
lee of a hill crowned by Daggerford Castle, which is surrounded
by a grassy commons and guards a bridge across the Shining River.
(The old ford's still there, beside the bridge.) It is home to
human craftfolk, a few halflings, and a handful of folk of other
races.
The townsfolk have a charter· from the duke that allows their
own Council of Guilds, a masked council styled after the Lords of
Waterdeep, to govern the town. All able-bodied townsfolk must
serve in the militia, although only a small number are normally
on duty. They spend most of their time on road patrols, though a
close watch is kept on Lizard Marsh.
The local militia, under the stonefaced Sherlen Spearslayer, is
always hiring fighting folk, because their best swords are always
being hired away by caravan masters, going off to the mercenary
hiring fairs of Waterdeep, or trying their hands at adventuring.
The militia is always busy patrolling the claimed ducal lands,
and many youths and adventurers down on their luck have spent a
season fighting brigands, lizard men, and the occasional
predatory monster.
A lot of travellers will probably stop in Daggerford at one time
or another, using it as a base to explore Waterdeep from, so a
few mentions of local establishments may prove useful. There's
one tavern worthy of a visit, the Lady Luck, dealt with after the
rest.
This isolated stone inn
has been a famous landmark for many years, starting from when it
was the last inn along the way south from Waterdeep for many days
of hard and dangerous riding (hence its name). In recent years,
as evil grew in ruined Dragonspear Castle, the Way Inn became
ever more important as a base for mercenary armies raised by the
Waterdeep Lords' Alliance to keep the Trade Way clear and as a
haven for merchants hurrying along that long and perilous
overland road.
Recently, an
ancient black dragon destroyed the inn while the armies based
there were afield battling legions of baatezu. The dangers of the
High Moor never sleep for long. Trolls and yuan-ti from the
Serpent Hills have been seen in growing numbers, but the
otherplanar evil centred in ruined Dragonspear seems to have been
broken - for now.
Several
Waterdhavian merchant families sponsored a rebuilding of the Way
Inn on the same site (an elevated, defensible site with a deep
well) as before its destruction, but larger and stronger than
ever. The rebuilt Way Inn stands on the western side of the Trade
Way two days' hard ride (about a hundred miles) south of
Daggerford. It is a walled compound atop a flat, grassy plateau
about three acres in extent that overlooks a loop of road that
leaves and rejoins the main trade road, giving caravans plenty of
room to camp.
However, this
elaborate fortress is still the same good, clean, friendly refuge
it used to be, and it remains under the capable hands of Dauravyn
Redbeard, once an adventurer of note. He's seen evil rise in
Dragonspear Castle and be shattered-only to rise again, several
times over. He is taking no chances. He lives today only by the
magic of a priest of Tempus who restored him to life after the
last confrontation. He has a hired standing guard of 21 warriors
at the inn, 10 of whom are always on patrol along the edges of
the High Moor, looking for trouble. As Dauravyn often says,
looking east, "If it isn't ores, it's trolls, and if it
isn't trolls, it's baatezu. If it isn't baatezu, it's
dragons--and if it isn't dragons, it's something worse."
This bridge over the
Winding Water was first built by the famous adventurer Boareskyr.
Over the centuries, several bridges have stood here, the most
recent built after the Time of Troubles. For most of those years,
a "temporary" tent trading city has stood hard by the
river crossing.
Travellers in the Fields of the Dead are warned not to drink the
waters of the Winding Water downstream of the Bridge or for about
half a day's travel upstream. They were poisoned during the Time
of Troubles in a battle between Cyric and Bhaal.
The present Bridge commemorates this event. Statues to the two
gods stand at either end of the stone span, which is wide enough
for two large wagons to pass each other and has waist-high
rampart walls as thick as three adult human males standing
together. By tradition, no toll can be charged for crossing the
bridge, and no buildings can be erected on it or so as to block a
clear road on and off it.
Today, Boareskyr Bridge numbers about 70 tents and wagons in
summer (plus those of visiting caravans), and about half that
number in winter. The community exists to provide travellers with
food, water, remounts, wagon repairs, and the like. It has
evolved into a trading center where goods are exchanged between
merchants, or wagons leave one caravan and stop over, awaiting
another bound for the same destination they're heading for.
The community
of Boareskyr Bridge lacks any permanent features except a rough
stone fort (known as Bridgefort) surrounded by a now-poisoned
moat. Inhabitants can retreat into this structure in the case of
heavy winter attacks from trolls, goblinkin, or brigands--a
frequent occurrence.
Like the
similarly makeshift city of Scornubel, wheeling and dealing is
the order of the day in Boareskyr Bridge. Law and order is
maintained by one's own sword or crossbow Several enterprising
local merchants do steady trade selling light crossbows and hand
crossbows with regular or sleep-envenomed crossbow bolts.
The law in the Bridge, such as.it is, is the word of powerful
adventurers - notably the warrior Barim Stagwinter and Theskul
Mirroreye, priest of Tyr, and their companions and allies. Barim
and Theskul seem to be working toward walling in the Bridge
community to make a proper city of it.
Rich merchants
come here seeking the sorceress Aluena Halacanter, who raises
pegasi at her estate, Heartwing, upriver of the Bridge where the
water still runs clear." Trained steeds cost 5,000 gp each,
but Aluena is reluctant to sell them to those who'll mistreat
them or who'll simply resell them quickly to someone who will.
Buyers must satisfy her under magically assisted questioning.
Aluena is rumoured to be a Harper.
This small trail town is
located on the Trade Way south of Boareskyr Bridge. Often raided
by goblinkin and bugbears, it's a summer tent town that shrinks
to an armed outpost in winter. At its heart is the old stone ruin
of a temple or abbey of Bane, known as the Black Abbey. Some folk
believe it was once sacred to another god and was only seized by
worshipers of Bane briefly. The ruins have yielded stones to
build the rest of Soubar.
What remains of the ruins are home to a mysterious woman known
only as Mag, who runs a tavern called the Winding Way in them.
The word around the Coast is that Mag was once a priestess. Some
say she abandoned her calling, others that she embraced another
faith, and others say she's a mind flayer or other horrible
creature (a beholder, perhaps, or even a neogi) who's mastered
magic enough to take human form for years at a time.
All that's certain is that Mag answers no questions, has healed
folk from time to time, wears a ring of misdirection that
conceals her true allegiances and powers, and stores broken
instruments of torture in the old abbey loft where she sometimes
lets travellers sleep. Whether she used spells or potions for
healing is a point of contention. Reports on this are confused.
All of this makes many merchants uneasy. They camp west of
Soubar; or press on past if the weather's fair and the night apt
to be moonlit, rather than stopping here.
Soubar is a
lawless town. Visitors should bring their own swords-and be
prepared to swing them. There are several coast lands fireside
tales about brigands who buried loot here and were slain before
they came back for it. Not all such tales are fanciful. The
merchant Janthool of Athkatla, a far travelled trader in
sundries, dug a latrine pit just west of Soubar a spring or two
ago and unearthed an ivory coffer crammed full of matched black
pearls--each as large as the pommel nut of a stout broad sword!
Be warned, however·. Digging in certain spots in Soubar summons
helmed horrors'" to the digger, due to an ancient guardian
spell of unknown origin!
Folk not wanted in Triel or Boareskyr Bridge find their way here.
This has made Soubar- something of a hiring fair for brigands,
evil mages, dopplegangers, wererats and other werefolk,
mercenaries down on their luck, mind flayer·s, those bearing
curses, and others not tolerated in most communities.
Fences for· stolen goods are plentiful here. Scurrilous
"bounty hunters" who kill, maim, or capture specific
beings to order- are also plentiful, as are dealers in slaves,
information, poisons, chains and cages, sleep venoms, and exotic
pets. Kill-trained pets cost twice the usual prices.
This small, stockaded
way-village is located on the Trade Way north of Scornubel, where
that road meets the Dusk Road that swings across country from
Elturel to Hill's Edge. To the northeast are the Trielta Hills,
quiet, rolling grasslands rumoured to contain gold, and home to
many small, peaceful gnome and halfling communities.
Triel is ruled by Elvar the Grainlord, so-called because he's
obsessed with having enough food to safely survive the winters,
when trade: virtually ceases along the inland roads. The gates of
Triel's log and boulder village stockade are locked at night--and
visitors are expected to be outside, camping in the fields around
so they can do their part to keep thieving bugbears and worse
away from Elvar·'s precious grain. The stockade itself is
crammed, stacked high, and dug deep, with crates, barrels, bins
and jugs of preserved vegetables and grain, all sealed, numbered,
and meticulously labelled as to their contents. I happened upon a
rarity: "1357-2136: Sword Coast Snails, pickled in
Firewine/Gift of Baltovar of Neverwinter/Turn every three
months/Seals renewed [and then a string of several dates]."
Note that the first four numerals denote the year Elvar took
possession of this container
At least Elvar's lucid enough to hunger after news of the wider
world outside his well-stocked, fanatically defended pantry.
Traders who bring food, firewood, barrels, or- sea salt for food
preservation or the like will be honoured with a feast at
Elvar"s table-and the villagers are good cooks (and well
fed, to boot--but then, how could they not be?).
Be warned. Triel not only lacks anything much useful to the
traveller; like an inn, tavern, or decent shop-though the
villagers seem to have no shortage of money with which to buy
anything a merchant might want to sell--but Elvar's also a
little, er; unusual about religions. The Grainlord changes faiths
almost by the tenday, complete with vestments, hired priests, if
he can get them, and rituals. Messengers sent out to Scornubel or
Boareskyr Bridge who take too long to return with a hired priest
may find the clergy they bring back is already passe, professing
a faith now fallen out of favour. Altar building and dismantling
at the Cup of plenty, the shrine Elvar maintains, keeps two
carpenters busy day in and day out as the seasons pass.
His folk love him, for all his eccentricity. I learned all that I
tell here by talking to several of them. If you can stomach all
this, or are a dealer in clerical regalia or a creator of. new
cults, perhaps, Triel may be the place for you--or it may not.
Most will pass it by.
Hill's Edge is a small
city in Sunset Vale, close to the Goblin Marches and the
Zhentarim stronghold of Darkhold. Hill's edge economy is founding
on three things-sheep, caravans, and hunting. It is a rough and
tumble frontier town, virtually every adult in the city has at
least a modicum of combat skill. The town is ruled by a merchants
council and a Mayor. The council is composed of the richest
merchants in town, it acts as the legislative body for the town,
and controls the right to tax. The mayor is elected annually,
serving for a one year term. Usually the Mayor is an adventurer.
The Mayor enforces the few laws and defends the town in case of
need. He can deputize others to help him in these tasks, but the
Council is notoriously tightfisted. The most successful Mayors
have been those who are independently wealthy and are willing to
spend this money to defend the town.
The Zhentarim and other groups, notably the Harpers, continually
battle for control of the town. Blatantly pro-Zhent mayor
candidates have never been elected. The current Mayor is Aziz of
Dambrath, a southern with strange mental powers. Aziz is running
for his second term in office, the elections are at High
Harvesttide. A former member of the Oathbound adventuring party
Aziz succeeded his former companion Chan Legermain of Irieabor as
Mayor. The Oathbound fought two major wars, one against a
goblinoid horde and one against an undead army defending Hill's
Edge. Though it has not been proven, many say the Zhentarim were
behind both attacks.
There are two temples in Hill's Edge, one to Lliira and one to
Cyric. The Temple to Cyric is led by the Priestess Emana Gortho
and is really a fortress in the heart of the city.
There are rumours that Emana Gortho has gone increasingly mad,
dabbling in strange forbidden magics and plotting to become
Cyric's consort. She controls a large army of ruffians (of
dubious loyalty, ability, and numbers.) The Zhentarim merchants
that pass through Hill's edge have ceased to stop at the temple,
mirroring the rift that has steadily grown between the Zhentarim
and the priesthood of Cyric.
