Before heading down into the pyramidal Guildhall to visit the Library, Garadun escorted Cerathonil to the Mage of the Exchange who was responsible for the buying and selling of magic items, along with spell components. The mage currently holding the post was a man known as Pateris the Bard; called such by his fellow wizards because of his biting wit and talent for making up short poems and songs. He was well respected in the Guild with a good reputation, and was one of the region’s foremost diviners.
He was quite pleased to meet Cerathonil, charmed by her beauty and intelligence, and welcomed her to the Guild. But what
The ride from the Sleepy Dragon up the Processional to the Garden Gate garnered them a lot of attention because, as Thom Nockturn has said, wizards don’t do things the way normal folks do, at least not if they’ve got any sense of style. The Free City of Greyhawk sees more than its fair share of exotic mounts, but a pair of phantom steeds was noteworthy even for the Gem of the Flanaess.
It was a barefaced bit of showing off, but where’s the fun in life if you’re a wizard and you don’t show off now and then? The phantom steed was a quasi-real horse that was part conjuration, part illusion, and all
Cerathonil held the set of ivory cards gingerly in her delicate hands, examining the back of the top card with great interest. Her best friend was right – it was a seriously good bit of illusion magic that had gone into it, along with no small amount of artistic talent. Most wizards could cast illusion spells, and illusionists specialised in the craft; but even the latter didn’t necessarily have the talent to make their illusions works of art.
“You say it’s a deck of many things?” she said curiously.
Garadun nodded. “Best guess, yeah. I mean, I could be wrong. It could be something els
The Sleepy Dragon sat right along the Processional, the longest road in the Free City of Greyhawk. It ran from the Highway Gate at the southern end of the city, all the way through the Old City, and then passed under the Black Gate and through the heart of Greyhawk; until it went through the Garden Gate and stopped in the High Quarter in the north end of town, where the toffs lived. While the Silver Dragon Inn might be far more grand, and the Black Dragon Inn just up the road was the largest in Clerkburg, the Sleepy Dragon was in the middle of Greyhawk, between the Midbridge and the Low Market, and on the city’s busiest thor
The mighty oak stood larger and broader than most of its kind in the Celadon Forest, its lower branches so long that many twisted down to touch the ground. It was centuries old and weathered by time and the elements. It was also the gathering place of the Council of Owls, where the arcane talking owls met to discuss their business. There weren’t many of them in the Flanaess, very few in truth, and their rather important job was guiding and advising the champions of good causes.
“I say, anyone want some tea?” Lindhoot the barred owl asked.
Quoll the spotted owl grimaced. “It’s not that awful g