Tethyr Before the Campaign
Since 1347 DR, the kingdom of Tethyr had been torn apart by the Interregnum. It began with the fall of Castle Tethyr and the slaughter of the royal family during the Ten Black Days of Eleint. The decades that followed brought chaos: robber barons carving out petty fiefdoms, elven partisans waging bitter war, dark forces rising unchecked, and undead horrors sweeping across the countryside. For twenty-two long years, the land bled, and the memory of that age has not faded from the hearts of its people.
In 1369 DR, the turmoil ended at last. Queen Zaranda Star Rhindaun and her King-Consort, Haedred III, were crowned in the new capital of Darromar. From this bustling city of mercenaries, adventurers, and monster hunters, the restored crown brought stability and commanded a new respect across Faerûn. For a time, it seemed as though Tethyr’s glory might return.
The Swordbelt Crisis
Peace proved fleeting. In 1370 DR, the cities of Riatavin and Trailstone broke away from Amn, igniting a border crisis across the Swordbelt. Mercenaries surged north from Darromar and east from Velen, eager for coin and conquest. Amid this clash of powers, the small county of Brost, astride the vital Tethir Road, became a theater of ambition and bloodshed.
The Long Bleeding
The decade that followed became known as the Long Bleeding, for Brost County seemed cursed to endure an unending cycle of strife, betrayal, and blood.
They say the old baron drowned in his armor, thrashing like a hooked fish. His son was the only one who stood to gain, but the Magistrate dared not name him guilty. Sometimes, in the Lord’s Chambers, you can still hear the splashing in the dead of night.”
– Unnamed Washerwoman from Lockwood Falls
It began in Lockwood Falls, where the noble line of Llannistaph collapsed into infamy. Baron Roderick Llannistaph the Elder was found drowned in his own bathtub, clad still in the armor he once wore proudly. Few doubted that his son, Roderick the Younger, had murdered him to seize the barony. Yet Junior’s grasp proved weak, and his short reign brought ruin rather than strength. With his fall, Lockwood Falls itself would pass into darker hands.
The forest burned black for seven nights. The Blighters laughed as the trees screamed. The druids buried the ash in silence, but the fire comes back every spring…”
– A traveling woodcutter, last seen on the Tethir Road heading east
In the wilds, the struggle between the druids of the Wealdath and their corrupted kin, the Blighters, raged without cease. Where the druids sought to defend the balance of nature, the Blighters carved a path of flame and ash, their power purchased through unholy bargains with abyssal forces. Forests withered and blackened, animals fell to disease and hunger, and whole villages vanished in clouds of smoke as the Blighters fed their endless hunger for destruction.
When Murann fell, the sky turned red, and the ground shook with their drums. I saw ogres in armor finer than any knight’s, and their king flew above them on wings of ice! You cannot fight such things with men and steel!”
– Anonymous Desserter from Amn
Even beyond the forest, greater shadows gathered. From the jagged peaks of the Small Teeth arose the ogre mage Sythillis and his consort, Cyrvisnea. Together, they forged the monstrous dominion known as the Sythillisian Empire, and with their armies they swept across the Swordbelt in fire and steel. Murann fell to them, Trademeet burned, and their banners cast their shadow even into Brost County, where blood ran thick along the Tethir Road.
I saw it with my own eyes: a green fire leaping into the sky, brighter than the sun at dawn! The priests said it was the Black Hand returned, and we were to kneel. Those that did not kneel were made to.”
– Former Squire, Survivor of the Banite Purge of Lockwood
But the darkest chapter of all belonged to Lockwood Falls. After the treachery of the Llannistaphs, the keep fell into the hands of the Inquisition of Helm. For a time, order was maintained beneath the watchful eyes of High Inquisitor Laticia Alvarez, whose iron faith held back chaos. Yet corruption is patient. Bit by bit, servants of Bane infiltrated the keep, whispering lies in shadowed halls. When Alvarez fell, the Emerald Flame of Bane ignited upon the battlements, a beacon announcing the Black Hand’s return to Faerûn. From then on, Lockwood Falls became a fortress of tyranny, ruled by fear and cruelty until at last the Banite lord, Clance Snyder, was slain. Only then was the keep given into the hands of the mage Rowan Moonvale, though many whisper that the Emerald Flame yet smolders in its hidden depths.
They come back, you know. Doesn’t matter if you cut them down, or bury them deep. If their killer still draws breath, the murdered rise. I’ve seen their eyes – cold lanterns in the trees.”
– A farmer’s widow on the outskirts of the Duskwood
Everywhere else, Brost fared no better. Barons rose and fell in dizzying succession, their ambitions bought in blood. Sons murdered their fathers for inheritance. Knights fought one another to the death over petty insults. The peasantry were slaughtered by those who swore to protect them, while revenants haunted the woods in search of their killers. Abyssal spawn clawed free of corrupted ruins, and nobles who dared claim those cursed places were themselves devoured by the powers they sought to master.
We sold the cows, the grain, and the children’s dowries. Still, the tax man came. Still, the soldiers marched. Still, the graves grew. If this is peace, I pray we never see war.”
– Unknown
Through it all, Tethyr poured out coin and blood in equal measure. Fortunes were spent not to conquer, but merely to preserve what little order could be held. And when the bleeding slowed, Brost County remained scarred and weary, a land that had seen too much death to ever again believe in lasting peace.
Blood is the Legacy of Brost, and so shall it ever be.”
– Unknown