The wind blew in from the North, opposite the Moonsea.

It was called the Moonsea even

though it was the largest lake in Faerun. Guragth reached up and pulled the ragged fur-trimmed

collar on his cloak a little tighter. The early morning air smelled of a few scattered hearths

cooking breakfast. His stomach murmured to him even though he had eaten earlier. He ate what

he had in the larder, but his stomach’s protests made him question whether it was enough. He

had been buying groceries from Podol Plaza. The labyrinthine rows of stalls were filled with

lower quality goods and more than a few pickpockets. Fewer ships were travelling to Phlan in

last six months. While there were always less ships in winter, fewer than previous years were

arriving. Fewer ships meant few things to load and unload from the docks. He disliked/ hated

the life of longshoreman, but he was born into the house of washer woman and his father had

been slain by ogres from the Thar when he was a toddler.

His mother had left already to walk across the bridge into the Nobles Quarter, where she

washed clothes for House Jannarsk. He began his walk to the docks where he would report to

load and unload ships. He could see the 30-foot-tall walls that were city of Phlan’s best known

feature and defense. The row houses between the walls and him were old and in various states of

decay. States of decay indicated the social status of the families located within. Old Phlan was

on an island in the Stojanow River just shy of where it flowed into Bay of Phlan. It had been

rebuilt four times and walled off. The ruins of previous incarnations of the older incarnations of

the city were scattered throughout Old Phlan and the sewers under more than one street were a

previous incarnation of the town.

He looked Northwest to where he knew the looming silhouette of Valjevo Castle stood. It

was not light enough to see the old castle set behind two rows of protective walls and corner

towers. Phlan had grown by leaps and bounds, since the Castle had been constructed over an 18-
year period, some 7 centuries before. It had survived three different monster infestations since.

Despite the moniker “Old Phlan” most of the buildings were less than 100 years old. Successive

waves of refugees had swelled the city population to 20,000 souls.

Guragth passed by an alleyway here a group of six cloaked figures huddled whispering

among themselves. He scratched his bearded chin up and toward the longer, sharper canine teeth

which poked out from his lower lip. Welcomers. The local thieves’ guild was called the

Welcomers. They preyed on the newer people to the city. He imagined the telltale mark of

initiation into the thieves’ guild, a missing ear, under each cloak as they stopped whispering and

peered his direction. He ran a hand over the courser than most humans’ hair and thought how it

was lighter than orcs. He had grown up beside Welcomers his entire life and knew a group of

one-eared thugs, cloaked or not. It was usually cold enough in Phlan everyone wore cloaks,

most with fur trim. His had seen better days and its fur was of questionable quality.

He thought of how he had not seen any Knights of the Black Fist, or known as Fists by

the locals, since he was roughly two blocks from the ramshackle home he shared with his

mother. She was his human parent. He towered over her now that she stooped more from her

physically-laborious life. Her hands had gnarled over the years from scrubbing so much house

linens and garments. He doubted the Jannarsk family would recognize her in the street if they

passed her in the street. He had only been in the Old Hawk’s presence once or twice. “Old

Hawk” Jannarsk was the patriarch of the House and had a very high (or low) reputation in Phlan.

He was always surrounded by a cadre of house guards, one of whom did his speaking for him to

anyone the proud man of some 70 or 80 winters deemed unworthy. Down on the docks, the only

worthy person seemed to be a High Fist Jhessail Greycastle. Greycastle stood out from the
brown to black haired Damarans who were native to the Moonsea area. She usually kept her

blonde hair loose and cascading down her black armor and red tabard with a black fist inscribed.

Guragth realized as he was daydreaming about the past when he realized he was passing

into Scholar’s Square. The square was dominated by Mantor’s Library. It stood over 100 feet tall

and tales of its interior and inner courtyard sounded fantastical. He had read a few books that

had come from the library, but never been in the library itself. It cost a few glories (the slang

term for gold piece) for entry. He and his mother never seemed to have the money available.

Despite two previous periods of monster infestations, the library had stayed. Ultimately it and

the Castle were the lone constant features in Old Phlan. Only Gur knew he desired to be scholar

rather than a dockworker. He was often the man the other dockworkers went to problem-solve

some fix for a problem. This quality had brought him some acquaintances outside dockworkers.

He knew a couple of scholars. He usually borrowed books from them, if they could get the

privilege to take them out of the library. tone

His mother was usually busy trying to work, struggling through the aches and pains of

her body’s wearing down. She might cook when he got home, might not. If she was in a bad

mood, she may only cook for herself. Since he had aged past 17 winters, they were more like

roommates in their rundown single room home. Thatched reeds from the shores of the Moonsea

made up the roof. It might keep the rain out, might not. They were piled steeply in the middle

so the snow would slide off, then again it might not. His job since he was 9 winters was to get

up there somehow without a ladder and knock the snow off before it could pile up high enough

the roof would cave-in. If it leaked, he had to head out along the Iron Route to the area west of

town. The Grass Sea lie to the north of the scattered flagstone road for three days ride to mostly
ruined Zhentil Keep. In better times, it had been road, but was more trail now Stojanow River

ran northwest along the Quivering Forest for about two days ride.

He was curious about the Quivering Forest and the tales of dark fey within the Wood. He

eavesdropped on conversations over the years about how the Lord Protector Cvaal Daoran made

a pact with the Unseelie (as he had heard a scholar call them) to protect the small city from the

threat of the Shades. It was one of Phlan’s proudest tales. Guragth had left school at 9, but he

knew the story well. The two cities fortune’s had split from the point over a century earlier. The

Shades virtually destroyed the Zhentarim and their city, while Phlan grew from a small city to e

research at Mantor’s Library, discuss the purple-hued hardwood called Morcant’s burl which

only grew in the Wood. The lure of entities with power appealed to Gur. Stories of

ghouls, invisible stalkers, spectres, werewolves, wights, wraiths, and vampire spawn lurking in

the wood filled the youth of Phlan. There was an encampment of wild elves, supposedly within

the depths of the wood. His mother had warned him with stories many stories surrounding the

fey of this forest, such as farmers being punished for not leaving an offering from the year's first

harvest or unruly children being taken away.

When he was a boy, he walked the shoreline looking for reeds with a rusty knife and a

stick as tall as he. If he could persuade some other boys to go with him. The Grass Sea was

featureless, save for some scattered stone ruins or a lone scraggly tree poking through the green-

yellow grass. About two day’s-ride along Zhentil Keep was the Giant’s Cairn. It was a great

open field dotted with giant-sized grave mounds, each of which was marked with an enormous

boulder. At the center was a lone granite spire that rose some 80 feet. Along the northern edge

of the forest were the Ticklebelly Hills. Behind the Hills were the Dragonspine Mountains. The

King’s Pyre marked the Dragonspine. The dwarves that had ran and worked the mines for ore
carved a king sitting on a throne in the side. Gur had made a pact that he would return to his

ancestor’s home in Zhentil Keep. Something always seemed to stop him from making it all the

unableway. Last time, his friends had left him about a day and half from the Keep. He just

wanted to see what was left of the city and its’ black spired walls, to imagine the strength it had

once possessed.

His mother had little to give him, but stories of how his thrice-great grandsire had left the

Zhentilar to join the 300 Brothers of the Black Fist to bring the might of Bane to rule the weak

city of Phlan. The Hatemaster Cvaal Daoran had taken over the feeble mercenaries of the

Merchant’s Council of 10. His ancestor, Ludzag Fang Hammer, climbed the ranks. His mother

told him of the stories her grandmother told of how they had a nice rowhouse in Old Phlan and

commanded respect. The Zhentarim made a pact with the Shades enemies, the Pharimm. The

strange otherworldly creatures which supposedly resembled windsocks with arms had been

unable to stop unleashing a cataclysm on Zhentil Keep with a rip in the Shadowplane destroying

virtually all of the Keep. Recently, agents of the Black Network were reported to be returning to

rebuild the Zhentarim. The Knights of the Black Fist were at least willing to ignore the Zhents.

Only worshippers of Shar, the Lady of Loss, the Shades goddess were the only peoples

prohibited from entering Phlan. Rumors of interrogations of refugees found with Shar’s holy

symbol- black disk rimmed in purple were taken by the Knights to their prison in Stojanow Gate

in the shadow of Valjevo Castle.

Urchins in Podol Plaza sold chapsheets for a fang (copper). The sheets were magic

printed stories that delivered news from abroad and local rumors and such. These and the

chapbooks were Gur’s “education”. The sheets told of the Shadar-kai. They virtually destroyed

Zhentil Keep. Brought the nation of Sembia to a civil war that nearly tore it apart. It’s capital
city, Ordulin was consumed by a great spell that opened the Plane of Shadows onto it. To the

southwest, the zenophobic city of Hillsfar tried to resist Shade hegemony and was overwhelmed

by hundreds of portals bring tanari and ba’atezu. Finally, their flying city, Thultanthar, crashed

into the rerisen multiracial city of Myth Drannor. The twelve Princes of Shade were finally all

killed. The shadar-kai had supposedly retreated to the great desert, Anauroch, to try and find

some of the Netherese artifacts in the desert to restart their conquest for power.

12 seasons ago in the Year of Deep Water Drifting, barbarians from the Ride had sent

refugees from the three area towns and cities into Phlan. The barbarians known as Eraka had

plundered the settlements of Verdegris, Whitehorn and Ilinvur. As the settlers, miners and smiths

to flee and the population of Phlan swelled past 20000. Lord Protector Anivar Daoran shut the

gates and refused to allow anymore within the city for over a year. Then in the Year of the

Nether Mountain Scrolls, Anivar mysteriously died as a crenellation stone fell on him during a

renovation on Valjevo Castle. Anivar had no heirs and head of the Knights of the Black Fist,

Ector Brahms, became Lord Protector. Ector’s power is weak. He disbanded the Black Watch

and brought all the Black Fists in to police the city. A riot over bread broke out in Podol Plaza

last week.

Guragth was sure now would be the time to make his mark. If he could find magic like

the Nether Mountain Scrolls or get access to Mantor’s Library, he could earn his destiny. Like

his great-great-great grandsire Ludzag, he would ally with the right group. The Zhentarim, the

Red Wizards of Thay, the Warlock Knights of Vaasa or someone else? Would he apprentice to a

mage or take pact like a warlock? If he could utilize otherworldly beings- Unseelie, Slaadi,

tanari, ba’atezu or even yugoloths. In Phlan, there was no evil or good. Only the powerful and

the weak. He was tired of being closer to weak. His story is now yours…