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The Illustrated Adventures of Balduran [This book is packed full of tales of adventure. The monsters are ferocious, the men are muscled, the women are buxom and the clothing is easily torn. Something is 'cleft in twain' on every other page, although you do find a passage that's a little less bloody.] The woman's eyes were dusky, filled with mystery and promise. Balduran was intrigued. 'Anything?' he asked. 'Anything,' she said. 'Just name it, and it can be yours.' 'And what do you want in return?' 'Oh, just a small thing,' she smiled. Balduran laughed. NOTHING about him was small. 'I want your soul, Balduran,' she sighed. 'Give me your spirit, and whatever you desire shall be yours.' Balduran considered this for a moment. 'Very well. I want a turnip.' She hesitated. 'Your soul in exchange for a turnip?' 'A nice turnip,' nodded Balduran. 'Very well,' dark smoke swirled around the woman, whose skin was turning red, 'then you shall- [The next couple of pages have been torn out. When the story resumes, the woman - now fully revealed as a devil - is kneeling at Balduran's feet.] 'Curse you, Balduran! I am bound to you - yours to call upon when you need me - and your soul is your own once more.' 'Let that be a lesson to you,' laughed Balduran. 'Never underestimate the power of a turnip.'

The Hunter's Piercing Gaze [This pamphlet is a transcript of an increasingly feral debate between two admirers on whether the colour of Drizzt Do’Urden’s eye colour is aquamarine, cerulean, vermilion or amber.]

The House of Wonders The High House of Wonders! Temple to Gond, the Gearsmith and the Wonderbringer, the House is at the same time an elaborate collection of workshops, laboratories, and magicomanufactories - for what better way to worship the Lord of All Smiths than by making mechanisms in his name? Here in the Upper City, all manner of enchanted clockwork devices are forged and crafted, powered by spells, by steam, by conjured micromodrons - even, some say, by hellfire! However, these Gondian creations are not wonders for the sake of wonder, but practical contrivances built to enchance the lives of Faerûn's mortals and help them work beyond the limits of their physical bodies. Take, for example, the mighty cranes that line Baldur's Gates' docks, loading and unloading ship cargo with speed and strength far beyond the capacity of ordinary stevedores. These cranes originated in the workshops of the High House of Wonders, and are Gond's gift to the trade and prosperity of the city!

The Hound and the Hand The lawful God Tyr lost his right hand to Kezef the Chaos Hound, a devourer of souls and one of the primordial evils. A coalition of Gods hell-bent on taking down Kezef chased the hound to the Barrens of Doom and Despair, and offered him a compact. If the hound could break chains made by the smith God, Gond, the Gods would dissolve their union and leave Kezef be. Kezef was skeptical, but he agreed... so long as Tyr put his hand in the hound's mouth. Tyr looked upon the slavering jaws, each tooth as long as a spear, and he agreed at once. Of course Kezef had not accounted for the strength of the chain, which was rooted in hellish Cocytus and blessed by the Goddess of magic, Mystra. Unable to break free, he bit Tyr's hand clean off, and Tyr sealed the bleeding stump, and walked one-handed forevermore, as if it were a badge of honour, which indeed it was, and boldness and courage besides.

The Hells Unleashed ['Nine Steps To His Infernal Throne': this chapter lists each of the Hells' nine layers, their rulers, and the character of the associated ritual item required to scry but a glimpse of it.] Avernus - Archduchess Zariel - Heliotrope, encasing shard of bone Dis - Archduke Dispater - Ore of infernal iron Minauros - Archduke Mammon - Single gold coin, petrified in acrid peat Phlegethos - Archduchess Fierna and her father, Archduke Belial - Everburn Ash, perfectly balanced on a scale of stone Stygia - Archduke Levistus - A single coal-black eye, frozen in a shard of its own tears Malbolge - Archduchess Glasya - A coronet, stained with blood of three rightful rulers Maladomini - Archduke Baalzebul - Gorian fly, fed fat with the petioner's blood Cania - Archduke Mephistopheles - a singular and precious text, burned Nessus - Lord Asmodeus - all known substances result in immediate disappearance of petitioner

The Harpers The Harpers are a secret organisation whose main purpose is the preservation of all things good and right in the world. They outfox evil at every turn, with shrewd fighting or cunning political manoeuvre, and though they are not well organised (how could they be, with many members utterly ignorant of the identity of those they might claim as allies?), they are united in purpose and goal. One Harper agent deployed correctly in a conflict often achieves the same results as a loosed army.

The Hag's Bane [This book seems part diary, part scientific study. Detailed diagrams of hags, from Green, to Annis, to Dune, fill the margins. This page is written in a harsh, sloping scrawl - sentences are blurred by what looks like tears.] The girl is dead. We were close, so close to perfecting it. Another day, and she would have been safe. But we were too late. It was too much for the mother - I found her swinging from the rafters this morning. Helm, forgive me for not saving her. Forgive me for not saving her child - two years old and eaten alive by a hag. What is wrong with this world? But it doesn't have to be this way. I'm onto something - I know it. Hags have powerful digestive systems - it's what allowes them to turn a child into a hag. However, their gut flora is incredibly sensitive to certain alchemical agents. With the right ingredients, and Helm on my side, I could theoretically force emesis - causing the hag to vomit up a stolen child. I both pray this works, and that I'll never have to use it. [Detailed instructions follow on how to make what the author calls the 'Hag's Bane']

The Guild: Hidden Rulers of Baldur's Gate [The book's central argument is encapsulated in a chapter devoted to Rilsa Rael, Guild Kingpin of Little Calimshan.] In another time and another place, Rilsa Rael would be celebrated as a revolutionary. In Baldur's Gate, in her own lifetime, she's known as a crime lord – a Kingpin of the Guild, ruling over the city-within-a-city that is the district of Little Calimshan. Rilsa's story began when she was orphaned at a young age. Her father was hanged by the Flaming Fist for sheltering his fugitive brother. Soon after, her mother was denounced by the jealous wife of a patriar, and imprisoned in the Seatower where she perished. Alone in the world, she had learned two valuable lessons: when the law is corrupt, it is a necessity for those without the support of its enforcers to act outside it; and when the law is brutal, it is an ethical duty to act against it. Operating from within the Calim Jewel Emporium, Rilsa knows the value of everything and everyone that moves through Baldur's Gate. She controls a wide network of agents, who observe and track the exchange of goods and information as closely as any merchant or politician. But second-hand knowledge is cheap. Rilsa's real trick is to draw those with secrets to share directly into her orbit. At her Garden of Whispers, information can be shared with the Guild anonymously. Anyone with a grudge to bear or a competitor to bring low (that is to say, anyone of importance) can ensure that the whole city knows their grievance. It is said that if somebody speaks of your weak spot in the Garden at dawn, you can expect to find a knife buried in that exact spot before night falls.

The Great Furnace of Grymforge [The pages, apparently copied from a master tome, describe the construction and use of a grand forge in the Underdark.] Among the Sharrans dwelled the gnome Silouv Yali, whose talents for wizardry were known from Candlekeep to Sorcere. Under his tutelage, the Sharrans built the Great Forge, which could heat mithral with such vigour as to turn it to adamantine. With this astonishing metal, they could mould the finest blades and armour. Yet the jewel of Yali's eye was not the forge itself, but the protector he conjured from the magma to guard it - a construct said to be so mighty that no blade could fell it, and no spell could pierce it. [Instructions for operating the Great Forge are listed underneath.] Ingredients: raw mithral ore and a proper mould. Place the ore and mould into their respective chambers. Pull the lever to lower the hammer and prepare the ore for smelting. Open the valve to allow lava into the crucible, and drop the hammer again to forge the product.

The Grand Design Dictated to Scribe Yanthus by Enver Gortash The Grand Design is the mind flayers' species-wide ambition to return to the days of their conquering greatness through an act of sudden mass ceremorphosis, giving the elder brain in overall command an implacable army of illithid slave warriors with which to defeat all their old enemies, human and humanoid, githyanki and ulitharid. Of course, this is delusional madness, megalomania on a cosmic scale. And I know just how to turn it to our purposes. We're going to help the mind flayers enact their Grand Design, but only in the way that suits us. The illithids shall have their crusade to enslave, but they will be acting in turn as OUR slaves, and we shall determine the how, when, and where of their great illithid outbreak. To be precise, I, Gortash, will determine these things, as commanding the Grand Design is clearly a Banite task.

The Glitter Gala - Glittering Baldur's Gate for over Twenty Years [A brochure featuring several of the city's patriars wearing Omotola's gems. On the front page is a detailed drawing of a large and ornate wedding ring. Underneath, are the words 'Designed by the Glitter Gala. Commmisioned by Lady Fireliia Jannath.']

The Genesis of Selûne and Shar [An ancient tome detailing how Selûne came into being with her sister, Shar. The silver, radiant Selûne and the dark, alluring Shar complemented each other and brought an orderly distinction between light and dark in the universe.]

The Gauntlet of Shar The Gauntlet of Shar, from where an army of Dark Justiciars shall rise, and join battle against those who shun her embrace. It is said that the name of this most sacred of sites has two meanings - firstly, it is a series of trials that Lady Shar's initiates must surpass if they are to join her most vaunted ranks. Secondly, it represents the most martial facet of the Nightsinger's embrace - the armoured fist that shall crush her foes, but gently cradle those who serve her. Initiates cannot advance to Lady Shar's final test until they have earned the right of passage. Each trial shall yield an umbral gem. Each gem shall bring the victor closer to the Nightsinger. Once the way is clear, the final sacrifice beckons, and spilled Selûnite blood shall herald the rise of a new Dark Justiciar.

The Gate's Pub Crawl Guide [This excerpt from The Gate's Pub Crawl Guide suggests that more than one drink was imbibed during its writing.] Everyone goes on about the Elfsong - how iconic it is. How 'interesting' its ghost is. Well, BOO I say! I wish to have music! DRAMA! And I can't with a spirit jealous enough to stop any but itself performing. Therefore, it is with stupendous delight that I suggest many OTHER glorious boozing establishments! Take the Blushing Mermaid, where you can watch Shimmer the Siren dazzle the crowd, or simply enjoy its swashbuckling patrons sing shanties and beat one another into oblivion. Or mayhaps you fancy a delightful venue with live music, and the most sour waitstaff you've ever met. If so, the Singing Lute is for you! Tucked away by the harbour, it's perfect for a romantic evening. If nothing else, Henk's delightful demeanour will make you grateful for your beloved. However, there remains another watering-hole. One that only the most daring, the most courageous of patrons go! Should you wish to test your mettle, and rub shoulders with the city's secret underbelly, I can only tell you this. Enjoy the Guildhall...

The Founding of Baldur's Gate [The abridged version of Plamondon's popular history of 'the Gate', written in a breezy, conversational style more accessible than that of most scholarly histories. For example:] The cosy crescent of land around Grey Harbour has been settled for at least 1500 years, favoured by bucolic fisher folk and beachcombers as well as the less savoury smugglers and outright pirates. But there wasn't really much of a permanent town there until one of its seagoing entrepreneurs, a fellow known as Balduran, returned from an expedition with a hold full of gold. And he was generous in spending it, building wharves and warehouses along the waterfront, and a great granite wall curving across the slopes to protect it all from raiders sweeping down from the Fields of the Dead...

The Forgotten Forest [A dark children's picture-book featuring a host of animal friends helping one another survive a forbidding forest. At just the moments where it seems the villains have the advantage, a childish hand has drawn a cranky old elven women beating them about the head with a stick.]

The Folly of Zerthimon [This stone disc has githyanki runes carved into it. Below them is drawn a translation into the common tongue.] The Folly of Zerthimon After Mother Gith freed us from our illithid bonds, Mother Gith traversed the planes, discovering civilisations thriving among the stars. She conquered, she colonised, she controlled. And all the while, Zerthimon questioned. He and his disciples struck with words. He claimed that because the gith had been born anew, we did not know ourselves. That in building an empire, we proved ourselves no better than our former slavers. Gith retaliated with silver. So began the War for the One Sky. Upon his inevitable defeat in the Blasted Plains, Zerthimon's faithful retreated to limbo. And there they remain, languishing in the lethargy they craved, free of inner fire, free of purpose. They call themselves the githzerai - those who spurn Mother Gith. We call them hshar'laki - the unforgiveable.

The Five Year War: A Diplomat's Record The Five Year War by Torwyn Basse The war was, in truth, nothing short of a tragedy. It began as a mild altercation between the sanguine sons of the Aelio and Vida families regarding (if you can believe it) the proper ownership of a sheep farm. Over the course of three seasons, full-blown conflict had erupted between Baldur's Gate and Victan. A pointless war, leaving both cities with nothing but a thousand youthful corpses to show for it.

The First Protocol To the Mla'ghir who freed me. To Lae'zel. T'lak'ma Ghir. My words come to you on slate, for they are immutable and eternal. You are not just liberators - you are all Warriors of the Comet, whatever land you travel, whatever sea you cross, whatever plane you grace. Vlaakith's pawns fall, one by one, at the hands of my faithful. But the City of Death stands, and the Queen sits on her vile throne at its centre. But we stand at a precipice. Lae'zel: thanks to you, we are soon to restore an old kinship, and Vlaakith will burn in the fires thus stoked. The Protocols are written anew, and to you, Mla'ghir, I dedicate the First: All who call themselves gith shall unite under one sky. Ghith'ka tavkim krash'ht. Orpheus

The Evil Eye While the number of trinkets and bargains a hag personally acquires means that her powers will be unique compared to that of her sisters, hags as a whole can still be divided into three sub-categories. Night Hags: Named as such for their ability to haunt a mortal's dreams, slowly devouring vital essence until the victim's soul can be trapped into the hag's soul bag. They are known for being petty, selfish braggarts. Sea Hags: Known for devouring their victims whole, sea hags can terrorise and kill with a single look. They reek of fish and are incapable of making a proper cup of tea. Green Hags: They are beautiful. They are powerful. Speak not a word against them.

The Elf Song O, sing a song of Balduran Who founded Baldur's Gate. Empire golden built on trade, Could not avert his fate. When three, though dead, assailed his port Transformed, he fell their thrall. Succumbed as threat from nether years Arose to conquer all. Now hope is gone, or so it seems But game's not over yet. New cards are drawn, new hands are played Newcomers place a bet. A knave, a wizard, devil, gith: The odds are cast anew And Baldur's fate now turns upon The whims of fortune's few...

The Egg-Duty Clan-Call [This anthropology treatise describes the clan unions of the dragonborn. It paints a bleak picture of an indomitable ancient duty. The dragonborn are not allowed to choose their mates: the vote for nest-mates is determined by an electoral council, and exists for the sake of political and military union alone. The concept of love is not spoken, not even named in the draconic tongue. The book then goes into vast detail about how the dragonborn genitals internally retract if exposed unnecessarily, with excessively-narrated situational descriptions.]

The Easy Life What to wear. What to say to your spouse. Who to befriend. Why are you working at your job? Why do you care about taxes, what to cook, read, pay for, sell, you know, bullshit? Why is there no end to the bullshit? I have a secret for you. There is, brothers and sisters. There. Most certainly. IS! I used to be neck-deep in bullshit. A shit buffet - an excrement parade - a crapstorm of meaninglessness. All those, you know, those little fucking decisions we have to make that aren't really there. That are basically devoid of purpose. In a shared community of thought and goal like, say, a cult (dirty dirty word, I don't like it, but I had that decided FOR me, brothers and sisters), everyday is new and exciting with none of the choices mildewing in your noggin. People say cults are about conformity. I say they break it. I say they snap conformity's rotten, scrawny neck.

The Dukes of Baldur's Gate Wealth speaks with a loud voice in a city founded and made prosperous by trade. Baldur's Gate has always been governed by its Parliament of Peers, consisting of the heads of the richest patriar families, with executive rulership by a Council of Four, the four most powerful dukes, one of whom is designated Grand Duke. That tradition has held for many centuries, with the occasional interruption in times of crisis. And a crisis is where we find ourselves again, which accounts for the recent change in our city's administration. Last year, the Council of Four was Duke Belynne Stelmane, Duke Dillard Portyr, and Duke Thalamra Vanthampur, chaired by Grand Duke Ulder Ravengard. After the death of Duke Vanthampur and the worrying dissappearance of Grand Duke Ravengard during the Fall of Elturel, the question of who would make up the Council of Four going forward was postponed pending the return, or confirmed loss, of Ravengard. Into this power vacuum rose a brash new contender, Lord Enver Gortash, who promised that his leadership would see the city through its series of crises. When Ravengard finally returned and actually endorsed Gortash for that leadership role, Baldur's Gate gratefully turned to its new Archduke to bring its citizens back to safe harbour.

The Diary of Lump the Enlightened The Triumphs and Travels of Lump the Enlightened Day 1: Now that I see truth, I can scarcely remember a time before. At first, I thought it the human's thin flesh that bestowed this gift, but I've come to believe it was the circlet she wore. There was crunch in that chew. Day 4: The goblin boss Dror Ragzlin made a tantalising proposal: spare any prey bearing his new god's brand, and feast on the rest. He offered considerable coin in return.

The Devil You Know: An Autobiography Have you ever had a god change your blood? It is a horrifying thing, even for those who may desire it. Yet few tieflings wished for Asmodeus to claim their bodies, only to be given no choice in the matter. It is not as if we were well-loved before the archdevil's gambit. Our people have always struggled against the notion of 'devilkin', as if a single drop of infernal ichor inescapably corrupts. How amusing, when so many others willingly sell their souls to fiends, yet their culture as a whole escapes the blame. By what method can we redeem ourselves, when the crime is not ours? I would drive a blade into every warlock that aided Asmodeus' damned ritual, but personal vengeance cannot undo the will of a god, much less one as slippery as the Lord of Lies. When every passer-by thinks you a thief and heretic, it is deeply tempting to become one. The only thing that has stopped me is knowing Asmodeus wants nothing more than for all of us to fall from grace.

The Demonic Crisis [An heavily footnoted tome about the invasion of the Underdark by demon lords in the late 1480s DR, and the ensuing purge of madness from the subterranean realm.]

The Curse of the Vampyr Harken close and beware the Vampyr. Beware its cold beauty. Beware its charm. Beware its curse. Above all, beware the pale noble, for the Vampyr cannot bear to be of the common folk. How doth one protect from the beast? Walk not in the blackest night, for the Vampyr loves these nights more than any other. If you must walk, do so by the light of our moon and take care. Carry the blessings and marks of your God at all times. But remember, your home is your fortress, if protected well. If you hear a knock in the night, be wary. Let no stranger into your home. If it be a friend, look upon them. Do you find them pallid and wan? See you any mark upon their neck? See you any dirt upon their clothes? Unless their need is great, turn all away but the most trusted. And if the Beast finds a way into your home, flee. Lease love and family behind. You will not save them if you fight. You will not see them again. But they will see you, pale and smiling, calling them into the night.

The Collectanea Rubrum [You turn page after page filled with strange alchemical sketches and formulae. Some are written plainly, some in runes and scripts you barely recognise. There are guides to transmutating metals and recipes for weapons of war, but more than anything else, the book is concerned with reanimating dead flesh.]

The Careful Art of Tir'su Ciphers [An engraved disc of githyanki origin containing a complex cipher that can decrypt ancient gith dialects. A useful discovery, if one should encounter such archaic writings.]

The Butler's Cane Has A Knob On The End [This comedy of errors centers around the butler, Vincent Raspington, who, though he is a silly dragonborn with stiff manners and a generally baffled attitude to goings on of fine, fair ladies and their gentlemen, ends up going arse-over-teakettle into extremely erotic situations with the local nobility. Needless to say he's unprepared for it. There's a particularly good sequence in which Vincent - a seven-foot-tall dragonborn - must pretend to be a shy little gnome named Missy Wimplesnatch during a banquet. Guffaw, fnar, hee hee, ho hum, et cetera.]

The Book of Willing Souls [A neat list of Baldurians and the deaths that befell them. Beneath, an annotation from Withers.] Souls snuffed out in the battle for the Baldur's Gate. Perhaps some might deign to return, should their city ever have need again. Savren Ortholo, crushed by a falling roof as he held the door for others to flee. Nance Dee, charged a mind flayer that entered her grand-daughter's room. Died with her second-best scissors in its eye. Bereli Quickflint, brought a nautiloid down over the bay.

The Book of Suitors [Within this plain diary are glued letters from suitors seeking Jannath's affection] Madam, Please, you mustn't leave me in suspense. Tell me you'll be mine, or tell me all is lost. One or the other, or I'll not sleep another tenday. Jonah. Milady, I was dreadfully sorry to hear about your husband's demise and hoped you'd come calling sometime this tenday that I might convey my condolences to you in person. I've just received a lovely shipment of red from the south and thought it might be some consolation to you. Lord Haventh Dearest Madame, Might I come visit you on the morrow and pay my respects to your great house? It's been so long since I've had the privilege to sup tea at your side. Horatius

The Book of Cheesomancy The Book of Cheesomancy. By Mistress Brie Kurdstreiner. If you come to this book today, I humbly request you to consider that the Wild Art of Cheese Magic is no laughing matter. Yes indeed, for while one might amuse themselves at the conjuration of fermented milk through the Veil, curds can be a most dangerous tool. A Cheezard can, of course, bludgeon his enemies with a young and vigorous wheel of Waterdhavian, but those of more subtle inclinations will learn the benefit of destroying their enemies' standing with a curse of Blue Cheese sweat. When learning the Arts, one must be able to imagine a delightful Runny Luiren and Cider pairing, as well as the gassy agony of the lactose intolerants.

The Blood War If ever there was a conflict in the Planes of existence, a conflict that swelled up as if filled with pus, bursting, only to scarrify and atrophy and never heal, only swell up and squirt itself out again, a neverending pus carnival of pain and misery, the Blood War would be that conflict. It raged (and rages still truth be told) between the demons of the Abyss and the fiends of the Nine Hells. Cunning yugoloths may play one side against the other, but the conflict would swell and burst and swell again without much coaxing. It is in both sides' nature to fight.

The Big Book of Little Drinking Games Pain Spree Gather your pack. Capture a gnome. One by one, your chums gloat how to best maim the gnome, in alpha-bet-eye-ickle order starting with 'A'. Come up short, take a drink. Last chum standing gets to kill the gnome. Example: Arrow to the bollocks. Break its shins. Club its head with the broken shins. Stoned Get a stone. Invade an inn. Kill everyone there. Fill ten tankards with ale. Arrange them in a triangle on each side of a table. (Longways, you foll.) Or arrange them first and then fill them, I don't care. Put half your chums at one side, half at the other. Take turns throwing the stone at the opposite tankards. Get it in, drink it dry. Ten empty cups, your team loses. Winning team gets to yank a single clase of their choice out of the losers' feet. Deal-a-Drink Attack a village with your pack. Keep killing till a chum loots a deck of cards. Choose a dealer. I don't care how - shortest tail, ugliest feet, something like that. Chum on their right gets two chances to guess the card on top, and dealer-chum says if it's higher or lower. Dealer-chum chugs twice if the first try is right, and chugs once if the second try is right. If the guess-chum fails, they chug the difference between the final guess and the card. (If your last guess is a four and the card is a nine, you take five cugs. It's basic matha-sematics.) New chum-dealer when the last one fools two guess-chums. Last one standing torches the village.

The Bibliophile Recommends I won't bother making broad recommendations to my readers - the diversity of your preferences is so broad that what tickles one would offend another. Instead, let me offer my suggestions by categories: REFERENCE BOOK The Life of Gorion by E.M. Sparkes A highly detailed biography of the great arcanist of Candlekeep, which spares no details regarding the upbringing of his now-famous ward. Fungii Forever by Schwartz Schwartz A must-have reference for city foragers MYSTERIES Who Am I? by Gloria Gherkum One halfling's search to discover her family of origin, ending with a twist so unexpected I jumped out of my seat! The Girl with Sparkles in Her Hair by Saba Beibin A lvoe story turned murder mystery - equal parts heart-warming and heart-wrenching. POETRY Under These Moons by Thassidae Gatework A collection of poetry by Baldurian tieflings - the first compilation of its kind, and utterly unforgettable.

The Bhaalspawn Saga: Part II [A popular novel, thin and cheaply made, dramatizing the adventures of the Bhaalspawn in Athkatla, after the defeat of Sarevok Anchev. Early chapters have been defaced, and some even torn out.]

The Astral Prism Heist Gortash Private Memoir Notes, Number 16 The Astral Prism Heist After that dream I had about the githyanki threat to our Accelerated Grand Design, my research led me to pore through the old archives left behind in Moonrise Towers by the High Heralds. These records included some surprising early sources, both githyanki and githzerai, that mentioned a relic or artefact called the Astral Prison or Prism. Though the source of its power was unstated, this artefact was reputed to be able to project a field that disrupted illithid psionics. Such an artefact would clearly be an existential threat to both our Absolute ambitions and the Grand Design. All three of the ancient sources agreed that the Astral Prism was in the hands of the githyanki lich-queen Vlaakith. Thus was born the plan to send a tadpoled strike team in a regrown nautiloid piloted by the Emperor to steal the Astral Prism from Vlaakith.

The Approachable East, Vol. 7 Thay is beautiful. Its people are warm. Its people are kind. I am welcome here. Rashemen means nothing to me now. Kara-Tur means nothing. My travels are done. Come, my friends. I implore you. Come to Thay. Thay is beautiful. -Rian Forbeck

The Approachable East, Vol. 6 I must say, for a place with so many orcs and goblins, Thesk is a remarkably pleasant land. A true melting pot, where all are accepted (and quite a lot seems to be permitted). Alas, the crew I sailed here with were imprisoned by the harbourmaster, but I was soon on the road known as the Golden Way. And it lives up to its name. The wealth of a continent marches along this road. Furs from Neverwinter and iron from Nashkel flow in one direction, while silks and jewels flow the other. I have heard so many stories of the world. The Golden Way passes through Rashemen, through the wastes of the Hordelands, and on to the continent of Kara-Tur, a land of empires, dragons, and beasts I've never dreamt of. I am so close to Rashemen, but what was once my dream now sounds so... mundane. Last night I made camp and was joined by a charming fellow. I told him my dream of seeing Rashemen and he laughed. He claims that Rashemen is nothing compared to Thay and invited me to visit the court of the zulkirs. It seemed rude to turn down such an illustrious invitation, so I will see what this Thay has to offer. Then Rashemen. And beyond!

The Approachable East, Vol. 5 Let it be known that Sembia should be avoided at all costs. It is clearly home to an industrious sort of fellow - the sort who is quick to dismiss the country's history as a Netherese vassal state, but will steal your notes from the Dalelands and sell you to pirates all the same. Thankfully, these pirates were set upon by another group of buccaneers, who were more than happy to take a scribe on board. I was excited to document the voyage, as we are headed to Thesk: the Gateway to the East, where the road leads straight to Rashemen. Alas, I have spent almost all my time forging ship manifests.

The Approachable East, Vol. 4 What a land is Cormyr! Certainly, the geography is dramatic - edged by mountains and sea, filled with forests and swamps - but why dwell on these when the great walls of Suzail loom ahead? One sees the city's walls as one approaches, but there is no understanding them from a distance. It's only as one gets close, and they loom higher, and higher, and higher, that one appreciates the majesty of Suzail. I passed through gates the size of castles to enter this magnificent city. The streets are patrolled by elite armoured knights known as Purple Dragons and frequented by nobles in the most elegant fashions. Its port is filled with ships from across the Sea of Fallen Stars, carrying goods from lands I only knew from legends. The docks overflow with fruit, spices, silks and animal pelts. You will not see a finer market, if you have the golden lions to spend. Also, the harming of cats is strictly forbidden. A thoroughly civilised land.

The Approachable East, Vol. 3 I knew the Gur as travelling folk with a reputation for fortune telling, but you only start to know a people when you sit down and share a tale. At the side of a road, over a pot of bubbling stew, they told me they were the 'Children of Selûne', and claim a history stretching back to ancient Rashemen itself. Gur legend tells of two young Wychlaran (witches!) who refused to follow the instruction of their elders. In frustration, the older witches turned the young maidens into songbirds and locked them in a golden cage, saying if they refused to learn, at least they could make music. But the Wychlaran escaped and flew across Faerûn. Eventually, exhausted, they landed in the garden of a cleric, who blessed them in the name of Selûne, breaking the curse and transforming them back into human form. Since then, they have been Selûne's children. All Gur peoples trace their line back to these young maidens - indeed, some Gur matriarchs even take 'maiden' as a title. Of course, as the beloved of Selûne they no longer practice the Wychlaran's witchcraft, but some say it remains in the blood - that it lets them catch glimpses of the future. It was a magnificent tale (and some excellent stew), but was any of it true? I shall investigate when I reach Rashemen. Perhaps they tell a different story.

The Approachable East, Vol. 2 [The pages are stained with dust and mud, but between screeds about hygiene while travelling on the road, your eyes settle on this section.] There were those that warned me against straying from the river, but I was out searching for an adventure. And where better than the 'Fields of the Dead'? Living in Baldur's Gate, one hears much about this grand, grassy plain, but one never visits. And for a place with such a desolate name, it is positively teeming with life! Well... perhaps not teeming, but there are honest farmers to be found there, and a large number of ravens. Alas, I had no time to venture near the huge hills (or 'barrows' as the locals call them), but I am told that ancient artefacts are all but bursting out of the ground. A fine spot for a little relic hunting.

The Approachable East, Vol. 1 Great Dukes and Duchesses, Lords and Ladies, and all who seek knowledge of the world: welcome! I have travelled far, seen much, and recorded all. My odyssey began in a humble tavern, where I met a Rashemi mercenary. An approachable fellow, he offered me a tale in exchange for a drink. I accepted, and was soon rapt as one ale became six. He told me the legends of his people, sharing their stories and culture. He told me of the lands he'd visited - from the Silver Marches to Calimshan, from the Moonshae Isles to the Plains of Purple Dust. The more he spoke, the more I realised I'd never travelled farther than Beregost. I felt like a fly, spending my short life buzzing about a latrine, ignorant of everything I was missing. Well, no more! The next day I packed a bag and set out, following the Chionthar east. I would travel to Rashemen, see this magnificent world, and document it all.

The Apprentice's Companion, Book the Third With regard to items, these are oft overlooked as a source of substantial power and importance in the progression of one's skills. Rings, amulets, and even pieces of appropriate armour can provide the needed boons to elevate one's practice beyond the standard. Oft times is a single item the difference between ignoble defeat and magical victory.

The Apprentice's Companion, Book the Second With regard to summons, their uses are uncountable. This mage's preferred utilisations include as intrepid scouts and what I call wasters in battle. Summon your noble friend to your side, and send them into the fray to tire your foe. Do not develop an unnatural attachment to these summons; they are magical, not actual, in form, a fiction of Weave and air and light.

The Apprentice's Companion, Book the Fourth Uses of Magic for Particular Quandaries To reveal invisible traps: Use Faerie Fire or See Invisibility. To bypass glyphs: Use Fly or Gaseous Form To block harmful spells that traps may trigger: Use Counterspell

The Apprentice's Companion, Book the First Never forget the importance of spell components for casters of every make and kind. Verbal, somatic, and material components must all be utilised correctly - meaning one much be certain not to fall victim to Silencing or Restraining, which would prohibit one from casting one's intended spell.

The Apprentice's Companion, Book the Fifth The Particulars of a Single-Entity Plane This type of alternate plane can easily be used as a trap - think, for example, the infamous djinni's lamp or Magira's Chest trick. In this type of plane, only a single entity may exist at once. If a new entity enters, the old one is quickly and forcefully removed. If no entities are inside, the plane then collapses immediately.

The Annals of Karsus [An ancient handwritten book, rebound at least twice, that purports to be notes written by the Ur-Mage Karsus himself. Much of it is in a personal wizard's cipher, but the final page is written in cleartext.] My great spell of transcendence is mine alone, not to be committed to ink and parchment, but I have also forged three supreme enchanted items that are the physical embodiments of my wizardry, and of them I shall make record. There is a Crown, an Orb, and a Sceptre, each night-alive and with its own power and purpose, and these I call the Regalia of Karsus. The Crown of Karsus: to attract and absorb magical knowledge, and give the wearer dominion over himself so that he remains his own entity apart from the Weave. The Orb of Karsus: a storage device or battery that condenses mystic power, ever-gathering so that it must be syphoned at intervals of its excess. The Sceptre of Karsus: an instrument of projection, a focusing utensil for the precise wielding of unimaginably vast forces. Know of these items you must, for if I fail to achieve immortality, they will persist, and I dare say, 'live' on beyond me.

The Annals of Baldur's Gate Preface Centuries ago, a young man sailed from the village of Grey Harbour. Where he went, what he saw, and the deeds he accomplished are simple legends today, but the wealth he returned with years later is a hard fact. Balduran made Grey Harbour rich. His gold built docks, funded businesses, and raised strong walls to protect it all. One of the gates into this flourishing city was named in his honour, but so great was the wealth that flowed through it that the name of the gate became more famous than the village that started it all. The name Grey Harbour has been relegated to dusty history books and ancient maps, but Baldur's Gate? That name is on the lips of every traveller in Faerûn.

The Amiable Art of Necromancy [Excerpt from Cherish Hollow's The Amiable Art of Necromancy] It's a lonely, lonely world for a young woman in the modern culture of necromancy. She chafes against the shibboleth. Who needs necromancy? What could such a gross thing possibly be for? These questions are very valid. I hope my answer satisfies. Necromancy is a social magic. I have a zombie (Mister Nascent Owens) under my thrall. Now he remembers absolutely nothing of his past life. He only knows this new one I've given him. He derives a large amount of pleasure from, say, getting me tea, administering a stinky but relaxing backrub, or eating the brains of my enemies. The spiritual implications are pretty profound here, right? Here's a husk imbued with purpose, given a direction, made useful in the most economic sense, and happy in the metaphysical sense. So who needs necromancy? We who demand a chance to challenge the whole 'death' thing, because we're weird, and lonely, and we like having friends as much as anyone...

The Absolute End [Underneath this book concerning the cult of the Absolute and the dangers it presents, is scrawled this response to the text:] This hastily-written drivel is, admittedly, well-intentioned. Its author is clearly fizzling with fear of the Absolute. The problem is that they conflate the rise of the cult with other things like the heat death of the universe, the resurrection of one-eyed Vecna the Lich, the proliferation of necromantic excess, and even the withering of some imported fruits from Chult. This person needs a glass of water and a lie down.

Test Mission with Gortash Enver Gortash has informed me that some of our family's ancestral torture racks we thought long lost - those of the make first crafted by Brother Eler, no less, are now on display in the Gate's Hall of Wonders for all the unwashed Baldurian public to gawp at! I shall savage the museum's guards fighting along with this Chosen of Bane, and restore the racks, along with the bones of little Brother Toop so tastelessly presented in a glass cabinet. If they think the Bhaalians are some tourist attraction, we will give them a show, and it will be the perfect test of this supposed Chosen's mettle in combat.

Tenants of the Broken God [This prayerbook is blotted with tearstains, and a few of the pages bear the mark of frequent consultations.] Adage 27 In the face of aversion? Persevere. In the face of aggression? Endure. In the face of one who is suffering? Comfort. Adage 33 The Broken God must shed his tears, for without he would be heartless. Likewise you will cry, you will weep, you will feel the lamentations cutting upon your shoulderblades. Adage 92 [This entire entry has been scratched out in frustration.]

Teachings of Loss: The Nightsinger What can silence the Nightsong? Only the Nightsinger herself - Shar. Mistress of the Night. Lady of Loss. Her names are many, but her purpose is simplicity itself: light was a mistake, and life is an illusion - a discordant song composed of lies, breaking the peace of oblivion. Put your faith in Shar as your champion; allow her to silence the false song in your heart and return you to her embrace. Nothingness is all you need. The eternal womb, where you are safe in the darkness, with Mother Shar.

Teachings of Loss: Own Secret Lady Shar knows what you bury, deep inside your spirit. She knows what pains you, and gnaws away at your very being. Be open with her about your failings. Let her place the soothing hands of oblivion upon your wounds. Let her know you utterly, so she can release you from your shackles.

Teachings of Loss: Oblivion Emptiness is a holy state - one to be pursued and admired. To void oneself of all feeling, all attachment, is to approach the purity of Lady Shar's embrace. We each must struggle in our own way to turn from the temptations of light and life. Remember that all those false comforts will betray you in the end. Only the sacred nothingness will endure.

Teachings of Loss: Light's Love Love is the cruellest of all the lies used by Lady Shar's foes. It is a disease - one that can ensnare hearts for a lifetime over something as slight as a passing glimpse. Love is arsony - a destructive flame, offering fleeting light and comfort to the one who feeds it, while insulting Lady Shar's cold, infinite darkness. Extinguish the fires of love - they shall burn you with their heat, choke you with their acrid smoke, and, in the end, leave you with nothing but cold ashes and a hungry heart.

Teachings of Loss: Forgetting and Loss [A dense tome, written in an elegant script, outlining the teachings of Shar.] Loss teaches us the truth. In its void are we our purest expressions of ourselves. There is nothing nobler than to forget, and to surrender oneself to the darkness. For that little grief that gets us there, the Dark Lady rewards us with night's eternal embrace.

Teachings of Loss: Endless Dark Breathe in and out. Look inward. What, in the deepest reaches of yourself, do you see? A bright and blinding light? A harsh, exacting sun? Or, instead, do you find a comforting, velvet darkness? A womb-like place where all you are, exactly as you are, can find repose? This is the darkness Shar promises: A darkness free from judgement, free from scrutiny, in which we are invited to exist in our purest essence, our most essential selves.

Teachings of Loss: Dark Justiciar None can match the fervour and dedication with which the Dark Justiciars serve Lady Shar. They are her most loyal, most ruthless warriors - trained in her methods and imbued with her sacred doctrine. Each initiate must take the life of a Selûnite before they can call themselves a Dark Justiciar. That way, it can be said that every member of their ranks has already wetted their blade with the blood of Lady Shar's foes.

Teachings of Ilmater [A series of behavioural lessons, as derived from a devotee’s interpretation of the ascendancy of the God of Suffering, Life, and Endurance, Ilmater. Some of it is wholesome, with an emphasis on gentleness and the alleviation of hardship. Some of it is a bit more dubious, such as the veneration of martyrs above all living saints. Some of it is flatly weird, including some stuff about self-flagellation, which is not most people’s idea of a good time.]

Tattered Notes This place is dark, but the Lady's Light shines yet. Just as the drow had almost broken through, Jarrus rallied the last of the initiates and charged forth. For a moment, the cavern shone with Selûne's own brilliance. I'd have gladly gone with them, wound or no, but Jarrus bade me stay and hold the gate until his return. I am to keep the records, too - I'll save space to write of his victory. ———- It's been days (hours?) since we collapsed the tunnel. They were supposed to return after the battle - I cannot dig it out on my own. ——-- My eyes won't get used to this darkness, but I can hear them stripping the dead. I'm sorry. I haven't learned the death rites yet, but I will hold the gate. I promise. [This final entry is barely visible - more faint scratches than legible writing.] sorry

Tattered Journal [A journal filled with hastily sketched diagrams of spiders and various spell runes. The captions are largely written in code, save for a few passages near the end that are penned in shaky Common.] They can sense my devotion. It draws them. I hear them in the shadows, whispers from the dark mother. ... I woke to a gift wrapped in spider's silk: a pair of boots, taken from a heretic's corpse. Lolth sends her daughters to reward my faith, to let me know I am on the right path. Another gift: the corpse of a drow, sigils scarred upon his face. An arachnomancer - one with the power to inhabit the spider's form. It is a message, a calling. My blood already dries upon the dagger, her blessed image carved into my skin.

Tarbell's Guide to Distractions [A comprehensive and practical guide to the craft of stage magic called Tarbell's Guide to Distractions. Creased pages indicate a much-read excerpt entitled 'Making Money with Magic'.] The wise magician knows never to perform for free. Too many already rush to call our craft cheap or second-rate, and point to archwizards as true masters of the arcane. Indeed, should any of those fine personages ever descend from their lofty towers to catch a show, they too think to lecture humble practitioners on matters of the Art. The wise magician nods, smiles, and gently reminds such luminaries that true magic does not derive from staffs, grimoires, or very fine hats, but from hard work and persistence to the craft. This ought to inspire a response of such animated and gesticulated proportion that your assistant will have ample time to rifle through overburdened pockets. Thus the wise magician demonstrates the importance of a good distraction, and the archwizard learns a valuable lesson in humility.

Tamia Domina [A handwritten journal, a sort of diary recounting sexual relations over the last month between 'TH' and 'BD'. Each entry notes a new position checked off from the 'Quarta Sune', with 'TH' always in the dominant position.

Talis: Divination without Magic [Each page in this illustrated book describes the meaning of a different Talis card. A message has been penned down on the title page:] My dearest Quelenna, While you were sleeping, I did another Talis reading. I half expected to draw the fool, because that is what I feel like, and what is your venture if not reckless? Instead, I drew these: The Ten of Waves - meaning divine love, bliss, or illusions The Comet - meaning riches found, or fulfilled wishes Death - meaning new beginnings The suit of Waves resembles love, and I know what we have is still frail, but... can you blame my heart for beating faster when I saw these cards? I've been staring at them for an hour, and I need to go (the cups aren't going to clean themselves), but I know that when I come back home tonight, you will be gone. But when you return, will you tell me if you feel the same, or if this was all just a blissful illusion? I love you, Alys

Talis Tactics - Ultimate Trick Book [A concise guide to winning at the card game Talis, including a robust appendix detailing methods of cheating. This latter appendix appears well-thumbed, with certain specific methods starred or underlined.]

Talis [Featuring a deck of 70-78 cards, Talis occupies a place alongside chess and draughts as one of those games that carbuncular gentlemen play over warming mugs of ale at the back of taverns, or over vile flavourless biscuits in the dining room corner at every major familial celebration, including birthdays. It is a deck allowing the player access to games of vast strategic depth involving four suits and one trump suit called the Major Arcana. These games include whist, poker, elemental empires, old wizard, and let's-just- make-a-card-tower-I-can-hardly-see-I've-had-that-many-pints-lads.]

Tales Of The Hells [Diabolic tales collected by Greshnag the Inattentive, Impish Archivist.] Entry 18 - Smiler the Defiler If your wanders through Avernus seem to become an awful lot more scenic - luscious woods, big bushes and the like - you may have wandered into a wily trap set by a creature named Smiler. None of us hellfolk know exactly what he is, where he's from, or how he got here, but he's a nasty piece of work. Well, he's called the Defiler, ain't he. He's not just nasty, plenty folk are nasty here, but he's weird. Something's not right. [The book continues in a similarly unenlightening fashion.]

Sword Coast Songbook [Dozens upon dozens of songs grace the pages of this book. The full list is printed on the very first page, and include:] The Ballad of the Dream Weaver Blades and Bardings Drums of Daggerford Lost and Away Nine Stars Around a Silver Moon Peredus the Great Tears of the Sea Waiting Grave When Mages Go to War

Suspended Ceremorphosis Ceremorphosis, illithid larval transformations of a host humanoid into a mind flayer, typically occurs in less than a tenday after infection, but the tadpoles 'laid' by our captive elder brain are enhanced due to the powerful Netherese magic of the Crown of Karsus. Our enhanced tadpoles induce in their hosts a sort of 'suspended' ceremorphosis, a state in which the host becomes susceptible to telepathic influence and even coercion from the Absolute, our elder brain. For our purposes, there are two key aspects of this influence. First, the conversion of the host into a mental lackey of the Absolute occurs entirely without the host's awareness - its servility feels comfortable and natural, and is never consciously questioned. Second, the servile state persists even when the host is far beyond the usual range of an elder brain's psionic control. This phenomenon is spectacularly useful, given our ambitions.

Surveillance Notes The city's Harpers appear to operate independently, each separate cell feeding into a ranking member who oversees the larger network. It's an effective method, distributing their efforts and ensuring that each unit is safe-guarded against the infiltration of the others. But once already compromised, this structure is their greatest weakness - with no individual Harper being able to tell where the contamination began, and how far it has spread. And so while they scramble to rebuild themselves, we carry on with the Chosen's work.

Surgery and Physiology: A Sharran's Primer [Every page of this medical text is crisp and umblemished, and every quill-stroke precise. Sharran aphorisms and general philosophies accompany the explicit diagrams and surgical guidelines.] Only with sacrifice is mastery gained. So has our Lady said, and so I say to you, dearest reader. The darkness is infinite, but a master's teachings are not. When his wisdom is exhausted and his pupils fully versed, there shall come time for one final lesson. He will become the subject, fully laid bare for his students to consult, examine - and dissect. The sisters shall one day know me, first in whole, last in part. Only then will they be masters.

Surgeon's Research Notes I discovered all too late that I was making things much harder on myself than necessary. There was no need for such complex chemical experimentation; no, foolish me! I ought to have turned to that which has already been perfected by nature. Fortunately my research led me to the carapace of the carrion crawler, which contains a paralytic agent so powerful I must be quite cautious not to breathe it in during the refinement process, lest I fall asleep at my workbench.

Supplications to Umberlee Queen Umberlee, the sea Herself, I dash myself upon the rocks of your favour, Let me drink the brine of your glory deep into my lungs, Turn my skull to shell, my ribs to reef, To earn your blessing, And to spare me the wrath of your sahuagin.

Supplication Scrapbook [This is a scrapbook collecting supplications, notes and letters from mortals to Raphael begging for boons, help, and assistance. Margin notes call out the devil’s favourites, as in this example.] Says she wants her siblings out of the way so she can take full control of the family business only so their late mother will be properly honoured by its efficiency and profitability! How utterly disingenuous! One has to admire it. There’s no profit for me in taking her gnarly little soul, helping her would be sheer indulgence – but if I’m not indulging myself, why bother with any of this?

Superior Potion of Healing Recipe So much for gentler days. Hard to write with trembling through limbs and fingers. Pain incredible. Astonishingly acute. Seen by a physician, they declared me past my sell-by-date, and laughed. I've never met a doctor who laughed at their patient, and in the public forum of his hospital tent, the sound took on the quality of a wartime sawbones whose sanity has been s napped by horrors recently glimpsed. My condition - in which the scales of my dragonborn body naturally regrow only to slough painfully off before reaching their carapace-hardening stage - is immensely rare and apparently immensely funny. My recent friendship-crafting had numbed me, but the pain is back oh yes. I must try the following decoction with my alchemy, or else risk going nights with no sleep, and more paranoid fevers in the fugue of agony. Salts of Musk Creeper added to any Suspension produces a potion of Superior Healing. Very potent and curative, and my last hope! it did not work it didn't and I hurt so bad so badly

Suelto's Ethic of War The Ethic of War by Cristina Suelto My colleague Amaps proposes fair rules of engagement in times of war - and forgiveness upon victory. Are we to spare our enemies, then, once they have fallen to our might? Are we to put all hatred behind us when surrender is offered? Indeed not. For what shall we do, once our opponent gathers new armies and masses them once again along our borders? We shall wage another war, and count the lives snuffed out by our own magnanimity. Once an enemy kingdom is conquered, it must be razed to the ground. Only then can we be free of its spectre.

Submersible Maintenance [This handwritten ledger appears to be a meticulous record of the Steel Foundry's production cycle.] Update: Mechanical parts of the submersible that had passed their Gondian function warranty date were removed on Threesday and replaced with new pieces. Used pieces were brought from the dock warehouse back to the shop so points of wear can be noted and preventive measures can be taken to avoid fault or failure.

Study of the Sword Coast [A scrap of a larger map, fasted to the page with fragrant sap. Someone has written 'TAINTED BY CURSE' above the lands to east - beyond the mountains, on the road to Baldur's Gate.]

Studies of the Elder Brains A report for Lord Gortash by Scribe Yanthus An illithid elder brain is many things: absolute ruler of its mind flayer colony, fount of procreation through its production of illithid larvae, the so-called 'tadpoles', but most of all an elder brain is a supremely powerful organic calculator, a mental machine able to process a vast number of simultaneous thought processes. It is always a hundred moves ahead, and cannot be surprised except by a sudden confluence of unexpected variables. Mortal genius and innovation are no match for its sheer computational power. [Below this, a note is appended in Gortash's precise handwriting.] No weakness but the unexpected. It seems I shall need unexpected allies.

Stone Inscription Treasured in Light. Lost in Dark.

Stock Haul For Armoury [This is a list of items required by the quartermaster to keep the guards of Wyrm's Rock in tip-top shape. Scanning it, you note a surplus of scrolls of invisibility, sleep, and armour designed the dampen the searing effects of fire.]

Stock Display: A Primer, by Sana Aeran [This extensive primer guides shop owners on how to best display their various products. The pages related to jewellery are earmarked for easy referral.] Maxim 1: Space out your wares appropriately. Leave no less than the width of a hand between pieces so as not to crowd the eye. Maxim 2: Use light to your advantage. Place gemstones where light shines brightest. The shinier the jewel, the more luxurious it looks. Maxim 3: Group complementary items together. If customers are interested in a ruby ring, they will be tempted by the ruby amulet you display next to it.

Stedd's Virtues of Unions The Virtues of Unions by Alwin Stedd It is quite obvious that larger kingdoms offer benefits to all peoples within. As a kingdom grows, so does its fields, its populace, and its economy. A few charred corpses is a worthy sacrifice, if a dragon offers to share its hoard, after all. So, too, should you seek union, however imperfect, should a powerful kingdom march its army on your borders. Some friction is inevitable, of course: citizens' rights might erode, for instance, but such lesser issues will be sanded down by the march of time. Such is the price of peace.

Stained Book (Waukeen's Rest) Greet your Inner Goliath! 'Gnat'; 'knee-grabber'; 'half-shanks' - stones cast by your enemies, designed to keep you down... or stepping stones, so you can rise above? Inside every gnome lies an inner Goliath. By setting aside doubt, negativity, and a modest subscription fee, you too can learn to grow - inside and out. Details overleaf. Don't delay! Harness your hidden height, and watch your enemies shrink before you!

Stained Book (Thorm Mausoleum) [A small note is squeezed onto the margins of a tome detailing necromantic rites.] General Thorm's orders were clear: in order to find what lies beyond this mausoleum, one must walk in his own footsteps, deed by deed. 'From splendour, to tragedy, to infamy', as he put it. B.

Stained Book (Night Orchid Cave) They heap precious pelf upon the altar as if it were nothing. The door wants gold, trinkets, baubles of Mammon.

Speak your Loss [A self-help book explaining that true happiness begins with a tidy house and well-polished floorboards.]

Spattered Diary [A badly charred diary with 'Property of Wulbren' written on the inside cover. In one of the few legible entries, the author wonders if he'll ever see his friend Barcus again, now that he's departed for the surface world.]

SOUPS OF THE REALMS BY BROTHER DONNICK [A selection of soups have been outlined in the sticky, often splattered pages of this missive.] Dippin' Soup Sometimes you've got nice bread, and nothing's better than dipped bread. 1. Mash up healthy chunks of tomatoes nice and pulpy in a pot, getting rid of the skins if you can be bothered. 2. Cut half an onion. Slap a couple garlic cloves with your palm. Grab a couple herbs if you got them, dried will do. Cut a small chunk of lard or other fat. Crack some salt and pepper. Add to the tomatoes. 3. Heat your pot forr a half hour or so until thick and dippable. Pick out your chunks of onion (lovely snack) and garlic (smelly snack) and taste for seasoning. 4. Taste for pleasure with some nice bread, a hunk of cheese, or just scoop with your hands if that's all you got. Potato Chowder Look, if all you've got is potatoes, you've got to make potato soup. This chowder makes it not horrid. 1. Put your lard in a pot - a chunky one, mind. When it stops being lard and starts beinng hot lard, add any good-smelling veggies (leeks, garlics, onions) that you've chopped all thin. Please salt this so it doesn't taste of nothing. 2. When it's soft and good-smelling, chuck in any flour you've got and stir the mixture so it don't burn (note for me - it's very important to not burn it, emphasise) 2.5 PLEASE DO NOT LET IT BURN THAT'D BE RUBBISH 3. If you're fancy and have wine (or have a generously stocked temple wine cellar nearby) add a bit of it now and cook it off. When it's gone, add some wedged potatoes and a lott more liquid (not wine this time or you'll have a headache the next morning). 4. Cook it for half an hour or so till the potatoes are nice and tender, and mash some of 'em up in the liquid. If you got any cow products - cheese, milk and the like - add them now for extra delicious results.

Soul Coins: A Treatise [Academic Disclosure: This research was funded independently and conducted at a site in Avernus, the first plane of the Nine Hells. Candlekeep does not encourage or promote the entrapment of mortal souls.] Soul coins, as a concept, are one of merciless simplicity. The sum of personal and magical essence - the soul - is bound into a minted piece of infernal iron and used as currency by devils and their cohort. They are frequently traded, for their value can purchase mercenaries, magical items, and even fuel the strange engines in the Hells. However, there is a fascinating culture surrounding soul coins as well. I spoke to a devil who admitted she has one coin that she will never sell, for it was the bargain that got her promoted out of lemure status. She connected me to a half-elf warlock who had promised his soul to a coin after death. I was able to look at his contract, which is reproduced below: [The next fifty pages appear to be a painstakingly written legal document in Infernal, with a headache-inducing number of footnotes.]

Soul Cage Research [Rambling notes in a spidery, jagged hand fill the volume. They speak of a 'soul cage' binding the lifeforce of one to that of another. A crude drawing shows two figures, side by side. The one of the left appears to have a dagger protruding from its chest, while the one on the right has a corresponding wound in its own chest.]

Soothing the Violent Heart [A self-help book, claiming to comfort those prone to hot tempers and violent urges.] Hot-bloodedness has its place within a healthy, balanced spirit. But what if the blood boils? What if a Violent heart spurs its possessor to dire thoughts, words, or even deeds? You must forgive your foe, help them up - even heal the wounds you opened upon them. For if you cannot heal them, how can you heal yourself?

Songs of the Wind [A copy of Songs of the Wind by the wizard Elminster. This edition is not annotated at all, and old enough that it might be part of the originally printed set, or perhaps just a compelling reproduction. He recalls the magical school of Windsong Tower in the elven city of Myth Drannor. One section of recollections has this for an opening] There's a pergola that lecturers gather under at the wintertime ball. Someone gets a block of oakwood from the great bough of Windsong, and they all pose as the block fetcher sculpts the image into the wood using a transmutation spell. This little ritual is so bleakly funny I can barely recall it without feeling like I need to wash my mouth out with lime juice. Anyway the lecturers talk turkey, paying especial attention to the body language of the people around them, because these are not simply colleagues. They're also rivals in the strictest sense of the word. There is no such thing as a lecturer without their foot in the competitive stirrup. They're a jockeying lot, and the way they view the world outside their tenure and status is tantamount to the way they view students; something to be tolerated and molded in the warm clay of their fantastic brains. Projected. Then sculpted. Like images in oakwood. I would know. I was the one taking the picture.

Songs for Sailors, Soldiers, and Sirens The Drunken Dwarf Em The dwarf drank once, and she beat the drum D The dwarf drank twice, and her lips went numb, The dwarf drank thrice, and she smashed her thumb, D | Em Hey-eye-diddle-eye-aye! The elf drank once, and he started moaning The elf drank twice, and his mind went roaming The elf drank thrice, and his mouth was foaming, Hey-eye-didle-eye-aye! Salty Dick the Sailor C I met him in the Elfsong F | C He had but one black eye And there he slept until he wept Gm7 | C And drained his vessel dry. He bolted to attention I saluted him in kind One lucky stroke, I shared a smoke And paid him no more mind. Love Requited Gm | Cm | Gm After some ales, alas and alck Gm | D | Gm Your eye falls upon one who won't glance back - D | D7 | G A pretty priest of Tyr. G | C | G Have heart, my friend, C | D7 | G I know it too well. Cm | Gm But tell them these few words, Cm | A7♭5 | D It works like a spell... Gm 'I'm a Paladin of Sune! A Warrior of love! C | Gm There's no better lover In all the planes above! And my act of devotion, My vow to my goddess: Both of us, in motion.'