Category Archives: Age of Turmoil

Age of Turmoil, Byzola, Cazic-Thule, Developer Interviews, Dymetreas, Dymetreax, EverQuest 2 Lore, Plane of Fear, Twins of Torment, Uncategorized

Byzola and Dymetreax

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There are quite a few unknown planar entities that have some relation to Norrathians in one way or another. These lesser planar entities made themselves known to a small select few. This interaction occurred throughout time, but may have only recently been uncovered. Look around Norrath in the Age of Destiny, you may find hints of these agents of greater entities. I know there are at least a few others you have yet to mention. We may never see them, but their tales may give you more planar lore.

In the case of Byzola and Dymetreax (a.k.a. Dymetreas), these entities have been recorded as far back as the Age of Turmoil and had dealings with Norrathians even further back.

Byzola is the conjoined twin of her brother, Dymetreax. Together they are known as the Twins of Torment. They exist upon the Plane of Fear and work as agents to the ruler of that plane- Cazic-Thule. They have ventured far and wide in the name of fear. They bring about pain, both physical and mental, to any creature they see fit.

In a time long past, they encountered a champion of mortal worlds who ventured to the Plane of Fear to do battle with the Twins of Torment. During that battle, Byzola was slain by the magical brass weapon being wielded by the mortal. Byzola now lies as a fetid corpse still attached to her still living conjoined brother. They were being bred by the Faceless to seize control of a quasi plane from an agent of the Plane of Hate. It has not been validated, but some accounts hint that Byzola is now an undead entity.

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I was made aware of this by the lore lovers over at Oscuris! Check them out! https://discord.com/channels/228604818057330688/641332324956373012/862412110595620915

Original reference:

https://forums.daybreakgames.com/eq2/index.php?threads/gods-of-everquest.197162/page-2#post-2166215

Age of Turmoil, Book, Faydwer, mobile, Teir'Dal, Tunaria

War of Fay: The Eve of Battle

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This book tells the story of a young sailor aboard a ship bound for Faydwer on the eve of the War of Fay, during Norrath’s Age of Turmoil.
The young Teir’Dal who wrote this wanted to preserve a record of the eve of a battle.
It seems the tale is not yet finished in this volume.
I hope to someday find the rest of it.

We have been preparing for this night for as long as I can remember.
When first I sought to join the Teir’Dal forces, I was told there were no openings for someone of my stature. You see, one of my legs is shorter than the other which makes me appear smaller than I am, I convinced the commander to allow me to join and now here we are: the eve of battle.

I will set this down for future generations, for while the invasion by the Teir’Dal will live on in history forever, the memories of this last night will surely fade.
Whatever happens when the sun rises, I am sure that we will be thinking of the future then and not living in this moment in time, when the possibilities are set before us.

Long has my unit trained in secret. Lest this fall into unfriendly hands, I will not name the place. The training was long and difficult, for not only did we need to learn the management of our new warships, we also needed to build our strength as the journey from Tunaria to Faydwer is not a short one.

Speed is to be our ally in this, so that the Dwarves, upon whose shores we will first land, will see the strength of our force and be overwhelmed.
The Feir’Dal will be simple to overcome, as they are simpleminded.
Once we have made landfall, there is nothing that will stop us.

The new ships are deadly.
They are low and lean, powered both by air and by the strength of our rowers.
When the winds are favorable, a large sail is hoisted and the Cantor will stand behind it and call up further winds with her songs.
Each ship has its own Cantor, to increase the advantage of the winds.

When the winds are still and the sea like glass, the oars are put into the water.
The galleys of the new ships can hold 50 ogres to the oars, In my ship, we have 30 ogres plus 20 of my unit.
Of course, my unit’s mission is simple and straight-forward; we are not pulling alongside the ogres. We are to conserve our strength to cover the ground swift as wolves, silent as the owl.

The Cantor is checking the winds now. She wears a robe of silver belted with a rope of pearls and rubies.
I do not know who she is. When she was assigned to our ship, I asked her name and in response received a look so sharp that her eyes burned into me like a venomous bite.
The sail, which fluttered in the slightest of breezes, is now filling and pulling at its lines.
We are underway.

The Cantor stops beside me.
“You want to know my name?” she asks softly. She is the only one who may walk when the ship is underway, but she pulls me to my feet nonetheless.
“Come with me,” she says, leading me to the deck at the stern.
The winds swirled around us as we stood side by side, the ship slicing through the black waters.
She leans toward me, and I thought she meant to kiss me.
Her lips barely touching my ear, she whispers, “My name is Death.”

Her breath is warm though the wind is billowing the sail is icy.
Laughing then, the Cantor pushes me away, her dark eyes glinting.
I did not stumble, for my training has made me able to navigate quite easily in the dark even upon the uncertain footing of a ship.
I could feel her eyes taking measure of me as I sit down to continue with my writing.
She is looking at me still, I can feel it.

The ships will reach the transport area very shortly. I hope to continue this once we have crossed to the other side.
We are making excellent time; the Cantors have done a good job.
I see the swirling mist ahead of us. It crosses the ship’s prow and coils along its length.
I turn to look over my shoulder; Death is watching me.

Age of Turmoil, Book, Lizardmen, mobile, Rathe Mountains, Whistling Fists

The Tale of Brother Zephyl

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by Brother Nusad, Clan Historian
Among the many members of the Whistling Fists Clan who safeguarded the lands of Norrath over the centuries since its founding, one of the most renowned was Brother Zephyl. Though he traveled far and wide, he followed of his order and sought to draw very little attention to himself. Despite these efforts, Brother Zephyl would become known for his great deeds during the Age of Turmoil.

For many years, Brother Zephyl safeguarded the Rathe Mountains, which at that time was a dangerous landscape fought over by many warring factions. Though remaining on the outside of any political conflicts, Brother Zephyl ensured the safety of those who traveled the roadways.

This rocky region held many dangers, one of the most troublesome of which was a tribe of lizardmen that called the valleys of the Rathe Mountains home. These deadly creatures despised all warm-blooded beings and frequently attacked unsuspecting travelers. The cowardly beasts were known to avoid a fair fight, preferring instead to gang up on small groups of adventurers and try to overwhelm them with superior numbers.

One day the lizardmen ambushed a small trade caravan bound for Lake Rathe, and it seemed the merchants faced a certain doom. Suddenly, springing from the rocks above, a dark robed figure arrived to defend the hapless merchants! Brother Zephyl struck the scaled attackers with fists of blazing speed, singing a song of battle as he drove the fiends away. The merchants wished to reward the brave monk, but the modest Zephyl would accept no reward and simply went about his way.

Many more tales like this were soon to be told by other travelers that were saved by the mysterious monk who defended the weak without any care for his own safety. Despite his best efforts, Brother Zephyl’s name and reputation became known, and soon curious travelers from afar came seeking acceptance into the Whistling Fists Clan. It is said that some who were worthy even earned the right to wear their own robes of dark crimson.

But it wasn’t only Norrathians who took notice of the monk’s skill and power. From within the ranks of the lizardmen rose a terrible champion who vowed to slay the monk and devour his flesh. This fearsome reptilian shaman, known as Mortificator Syythrak, set a trap to lure Brother Zephyl out by attacking a group of travelers. When the monk arrived, Syythrak summoned forth the powers of disease to try to weaken the noble defender. Brother Zephyl counterattacked, using his Whistling Fists style to strike a multitude of blows against the wicked fiend.

Some say the battle lasted hours; others claim it went on for days. What is known for certain is that at the end, the mighty Brother Zephyl was victorious. He fashioned a fine vest out of the creature’s mystical hide, offering the tunic to a young monk passing through the region.

Brother Zephyl eventually left the Rathe Mountains and had many other adventures. But he never forgot the lands he safeguarded for so long, and it is said that he even requested that his remains be laid to rest there in an unmarked grave. For this reason, the Rathe Mountains have always been held sacred by members of the Whistling Fists Clan.

Age of Turmoil, Book, Karana, mobile, Plains of Karana, Whistling Fists

The Tale of Brother Qwinn

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by Brother Nusad, Clan Historian
Another member of the Whistling Fists Clan who became known to outsiders during the Age of Turmoil was the brave and just Brother Qwinn. He traveled the lands in search of the Code of the Whistling Fists, a tome that was taken from him during his journeys.

One of the regions where Brother Qwinn made his home for a time was the Southern Plains of Karana. This sprawling expanse was the home of many dangers, from the horrific outpost of Lord Grimrot to the ominous entrance of the deadly Lair of Splitpaw. Brother Qwinn roamed the area and assisted those who were beset by the forces of darkness. Many tales were told about the mysterious monk in the dark crimson drape who kept the plains safe for wayward travelers.

One of Brother Qwinn’s most epic battles was against the mighty beast known as Cracktusk. This huge bull elephant had once been docile, but it was driven to a great rage after poachers attacked him and injured one of his great tusks. The pain was so intense that the massive animal fell into madness and seemed to increase tenfold in both strength and speed.

Cracktusk was known to appear as but a speck on the horizon, only to suddenly charge toward unsuspecting travelers and gore them with his mighty tusks. Though Brother Qwinn had no desire to harm a wounded animal, he could not allow this beast’s misery to endanger innocent lives. The monk tracked the great beast for many days until he found it charging toward a group of farmers headed to trade their grain with the nearby aviaks.

As he engaged his opponent, Brother Qwinn was seized by the animal’s massive trunk and thrown high into the air, but the skilled monk landed safely. He tried to stun the animal in hopes of finding some way to relieve its pain, but the beast had descended too far into madness for there to be any hope of saving him. The kind-hearted monk summoned forth all his skill to strike with blinding speed and end Cracktusk’s suffering as quickly and mercifully as he could.

Though he had saved the lives of the farmers, Brother Qwinn felt no pride in his victory. His only solace was that he had at last ended the mighty elephant’s pain. To honor the heart of this great beast, Brother Qwinn buried him and set the massive cracked tusk into the earth to serve as a memorial to the animal’s life. Then the monk tracked down the unscrupulous poachers who had caused the elephant’s suffering and laid waste to their camp. The fate of the poachers themselves is unknown; Brother Qwinn never spoke of it.

Even for many years after the great monk recovered his tome and departed the Plains of Karana, no one dared disturb the massive ivory tusk that marked Cracktusk’s grave. Poachers whispered tales of the mighty Brother Qwinn who had vowed to return and take revenge upon any who would dare desecrate the tomb of the noble elephant whose spirit he honored.

Age of Turmoil, Age of War, Ashen Order, Book, D'lere, Faydark, Freeport, Freeport Militia, mobile, Qeynos, Quellious, Surefall Glade, The Commonlands

The Legend of Puab Closk: The End

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The Legend of Puab Closk: The End
by Rao Lin, Tenth Keeper of Knowledge

Near the end of The Age of Turmoil, after the betrayal of the followers of Marr, at the beginning of the malicious tyranny that is the reign of the Overlord Lucan D’Lere, the Ashen Order abandoned Freeport. Freeport became a den of evil and villainy where goodly men were fed to the soldiers of an oppressive dictatorship.

D’Lere strangled out every last drop of decency and good will from those he ruled. Puab Closk would not stay to be exploited and corrupted and neither would the Ashen Order. Puab and the Order left Freeport and traveled to the one place left unscathed by The Age of Turmoil. They traveled to the Desert of Ro, to the very pillar where Puab was given the knowledge of Arcane Combat. There they setup the monastery of T,Narev.

The Order spent many years in peace training and refining Arcane Combat under the tutelage of Puab. They found many ways to expand and adapt the concepts to many different styles of fighting. The Ashen Order monks rarely used metal weapons, preferring the purity of fists and feet, but they set aside this preference and also developed many weapon styles. The Ashen Order spent nearly two hundred years in peace atop their butte. These days of peace were shattered by the unstoppable insurgence of The Age of War. The goblinoid, mindless minions burned and pillaged where they pleased, killing everyone they found.

The wicked ran blades through the hearts of the pure. The wars seemed endless, like they would rage until every living thing in Norrath was obliterated. The Ashen Order could no longer stay secluded. They left T,Narev and ran to the aide of both Freeport and Qeynos. The stories of Puab’s conversation with Quellious spoke of this time. The Order felt this was what they prepared for. They knew the might of men would be shown in the great battles to come. The Order split into two large raiding parties composed of several small groups.

One headed to Freeport and the other to Qeynos. They fought many battles on the way to besieged cities. During these battles they noticed that in small groups their power was doubled and in some cases tripled. Certain combinations of Arcane Combat Arts produced effects more powerful than anyone had ever imagined possible. They could produce the greatest of weapons.

The Ashen Order dominated all they faced with this new weapon and turned the tide of battle for each of the cities. Many monks were lost in this war, but all fought bravely for the survival of humanity. In the end with the help of the Ashen Order the sieges at both Qeynos and Freeport were ended. The heads of the Order gathered together in the burnt remains of the Surefall Glade several nights after the great battle. The stars were obscured by the smoke of the funeral pyres, Qeynos lay in near ruins.

The Faydark was believed to be lost and all around them was heavy weight of hopelessness. That night the decision was made to give the Royal Antonican Guard, who fought so bravely beside the Ashen Order, the knowledge of Arcanic Combat. It was also decided to not give this knowledge freely to the Overlord’s minions. An emissary of the Overlord Lucan D’Lere offered to give the Ashen Order a monastery in the Commonlands. The Order considered the offer with trepidation, but also believed that not all of the citizens of Freeport were evil and therefore could not reject it.

They established the monastery and used it to help those they could and also spy on the Overlord. They were betrayed by the Overlord and raided by the Freeport Militia. Every monk residing in the Commonlands monastery was taken and tortured horribly until eventually the knowledge of Arcanic Combat was squeezed from the monks.

Arcanic Combat is now the predominant form of battle used in the post-shattered Norrath. It is the weapon that Quellious and Puab Closk gave the world. Some say that Puab Closk and the Ashen Order saved humanity, that they did, but we have also unleashed the knowledge of a great power to an unenlightened world. This is the legend and legacy of Grand Master Puab Closk.

Age of Turmoil, Age of War, Ashen Order, Book, Desert of Ro, Freeport, mobile, Quellious, Ro

The Legend of Puab Closk: The Beginning

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The Legend of Paub Closk: The Beginning
by Rao Lin, Tenth Keeper of Knowledge

It is said by those outside of the Ashen Order that Paub Closk was a visionary, a prophet born of the womb of Quellious, sent to save the world from the tyranny and viciousness of the Gods. Some claim he single-handedly restored order to the world during the Age of War.

These are exaggerations of course, but the truth is sometimes seen as far more outrageous than the myth. Grand Master Paub Closk did indeed help to save the humanity of the world, but he also made life far more dangerous. He gave the world its greatest weapon.

Unlike some of the more fancify stories suggest, Paub Closk was born in the cith of Freeport. He was the child of a hard working merchant family. When he was seven years old his parents and the members of their trade expedition between Freeport and Highhold Keep were slaughtered by orcs. Knowing the expedition would be dangerous, Paub’s parents made arrangements with the monks of the Ashen Order to take and teach Paub in case they were killed.

The monks came for him the day his parents were murdered.

The monks taught Paub about life and Quellious. As he grew older he found consolation in the The Tranquil and pledged himself fully to her. He began spending any free time meditating and reading. Slowly he began to gain true inner peace and understanding.

His teachers believed that he was on the edge of true enlightenment and encouraged him to take lone trips away from the city. Paub took their advice and went out on many excursions to he Desert of Ro. He felt more at home in the desert.

In one of his earlist journals he describes one such trip to the desert, “The brush of sand across my cheek and the cold of the desert’s night only encourage my journey. The wind whispers to me and in it I hear myself. I am the vast openness of the desert waiting for the day’s light to burn me clean.”

His connection to the dunes was obvious.

At the age of twenty-five he was the youngest ever to be granted the title of Sensei. He taught all of his students the ways of the desert and encouraged them to mold themselves into its likeness. Paub was the finest martial arts instructor to ever grace the halls of the Ashen Order.

Nearly everyone he taught became a Sensei in their own right and each of them gives credit to Paub. He gave his position to his protege after only ten years as Sensei.

He spent most of his time meditating and expanding on his martial knowledge. He traveled far and wide to learn new martial styles from all those he could. He refined and polished every style he learned and taught it to the entire Ashen Order.

Paub was well known for disappearing into the desert for weeks at a time without telling anyone when or where he was going.

One such journet came near the end of the Age of Turmoil. Paub disappeared into the desert for well over a season. It is said that the desert called to him and he answered her call, some say it was Quellious herself that called to him. So, that was where he went.

According to his students Paub walked and walked trying to find the voice that called to him. Late one night while meditating on the crest of a dune he heard the call clear. He turned around and saw a river rushing towards him followed by a great of whirlwind sand. It is said the store devoured him and spit him out atop a large red pillar.

All recounts of what happened next are the same. All the stories say that atop this pillar of stone he spoke with Quellious and she praised him for his search of enlightenment and the purity of his mind and self. She then gifted him with the greatest of martial styles, the Acanic Combat. It is said he spent many moons training atop the pillar with no food or drink. There he mastered the styles and brought them back to the Ashen Order.

Age of Turmoil, Book, Halfling, Kithicor Rangers, Misty Thicket, mobile, Rivervale

Leatherfoot Tales: The Houndslayer, Part Two

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his part of the Leatherfoot Tales relates how Gumpy Nattoo received the name “Houndslayer” during the Age of Turmoil.
After meeting up with the Kithicor ranger in the woods, Gumpy felt his luck had changed. For one thing, the ranger shared his rations generously. For another, they were heading back to Rivervale. Since the Sarge had only said the test to become a Leatherfoot Brigade scout involved finding his way home, and never mentioned whether Gumpy might take help where he found it, Gumpy knew he’d get into the scout unit without trouble. What a great day this was turning out to be!

The other Kithicor rangers were much like the lad who had found Gumpy in the woods. They dressed simply and with little adornment other than having ivy etched on every article of clothing, armor and upon the hilts of their weapons. Gumpy found that the ivy theme carried even unto their undergarments, which discovery he made entirely by mistake by stepping off the narrow path and coming across one of the rangers who was, as they said in Rivervale, “contemplating life.”

The rangers were a jolly bunch, if silent, and Gumpy felt completely at home. They treated Gumpy squarely as though he were one of them. When they encountered any enemies, Gumpy was allowed to protect the rear of the unit quite valiantly. It was during one of these times that Gumpy found himself face to face with a large hound that looked as though it hadn’t eaten in days. In fact, it looked pretty enraged.

“Nice hound. There’s a good puppy,” croaked Gumpy, trying the technique which had always worked for him in the past when he delivered mail in the Misty Thicket. The hound was not taken in by his cheerful demeanor and circled around, fangs bared. Gumpy glanced over his shoulder. It sounded like the Kithicor rangers had not finished off the undead attackers; he was on his own.

The hound pounced and Gumpy dodged. He drew his weapon (a nice, ivy-etched gladius that one of the rangers gave him) and circled around again, keeping his face toward his adversary. Between encouraging the hound to “be a good pup” Gumpy found himself dodging more and more frequently. Where were those Kithicor rangers now that he really needed them?

With a snarl, the dog lunged forward and closed his jaws around Gumpy’s left arm. Surprised and in pain, Gumpy whacked the dog on the top of its snout with the pommel of the gladius, which caused it to release its grip. Blood began to seep out of the puncture wounds the dog’s fangs had made in his arm, soaking through his leather sleeves. Gumpy growled fiercely, “No dog bites Gumpy Nattoo and lives to tell about it!”

Crying aloud, Gumpy lunged at the dog, stabbing it with his gladius. If the hound had seemed enraged earlier, its anger was nothing compared to Gumpy’s. Despite its protective cover of thick, matted fur, the hound was staggered by the force of Gumpy’s blows. As it leaned to correct its balance, Gumpy lunged again and stuck the gladius directly into the hound’s neck, slaying it instantly.

Standing over the dead dog, Gumpy was filled with remorse; this could have been some poor child’s pet simply gone astray in the woods. And now it lay lifeless before him on the narrow ranger path. Rangers! He better not have lost them! Turning quickly around, Gumpy found himself face to the ivy-etched breastplate of a Kithicor ranger.

“Well done, Gumpy!” the ranger said in amazement, calling for his comrades. They crowded around Gumpy and the dead dog, patting him on the back and honoring his achievement. “Tweren’t nothing but an angry hound,” muttered Gumpy in embarassment, “Any halfling could’ve done it in.”

“Listen to his modesty; he calls the enraged dread wolf a mere hound!” cried the ranger squad leader. “Brave are the halfling warriors with whom we shall work!” Patting Gumpy on the shoulder, the leader continued, “I name you ‘Houndslayer’ for you have single-handedly killed a beast of great power.” “Houndslayer,” said Gumpy thoughtfully. “I like the sound of that.”

Age of Turmoil, Book, mobile, Rivervale

Leatherfoot Tales: The Houndslayer, Part One

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This book is a retrospective of Leatherfoot Brigade scout Gumpy Nattoo’s earliest adventures during the Age of Turmoil.
History is written after something happens and tells future folk about the past. That’s what this is about: the past. When you’re walking through any village, look to the elders to remember the stories of how different things are now from when they were young. No matter their age, they’ll remember things that shouldn’t be forgotten. This is the beginning of one such tale.

Way back afore time began, the halflings lived in and around Rivervale, the most beautiful place in the world. Generations lived amongst the forested surrounds and didn’t think much on what lay outside the borders. Some folk ventured out and came back with all sorts of outlandish tales. They were generally scoffed at, but over time, some of the most outlandish tales turned out to be true. Rivervale wasn’t as isolated anymore.

As things became more turbulent, the Leatherfoot Brigade beefed up its ranks. Most young halflings associated with the Leatherfeet in some way or other, mostly because there were good discounts for the soldiers at the local taverns. When Gumpy Nattoo joined up, that was his primary concern: could he sleep in his own bed each night, and how much of a discount did he get at the Weary Foot Rest?

Gumpy’s first assignment was to accompany the old Sarge out to Kithicor Forest, which had been a pretty place in the old days, but was now overrun with some of those outlandish things that folks didn’t talk about after dark. Parts of the Forest still held the mysterious dark that made it a beauty spot; in some places, folks couldn’t see the sky for the trees.

“It’s lunch-time!” exclaimed the Sarge as they paused on the edge of a clearing. “How can you tell?” asked Gumpy. “By the rumble in my belly, son,” said the Sarge, “Let’s sit a spell and I’ll tell you the real reason I brung you out here.” They sat on a couple of burnt tree stumps and snacked on some dried fruit, crusty bread spread with butter and jum-jum, a few apples, a jug of honeywine and a half a dozen types of cheese. It was a light meal, for they were a days’ journey from Rivervale.

“Son, you’ve heard the rumors of all what’s going on in the lands,” the Sarge said. “You’re taller than most halflings, every bit as sneaky as the next fellow, and crafty besides. I need you in the Leatherfoot Brigade’s scout unit.” Gumpy was flattered and said so. The Sarge nodded, “Yep. So I’m going to up and leave now, and you find your way home. That’ll be the test. Good luck.” Before Gumpy could protest, the Sarge disappeared into the trees and what’s more, he took the rest of the food with him.

Gumpy was kerflummoxed, but only for a moment. He had heard rumors of an elite unit of scouts, but no one ever came out and said who they really were. Any talk of them at the taverns always ended with someone singing a boisterous song that made idle chatter impossible. Gumpy stood up, measured the direction of the wind, observed the slant of the shadows and light, then headed off. In the wrong direction.

Hours later, Gumpy stood scratching his head industriously and wondering where in Norrath he had landed. He was pretty sure he was still in Kithicor, but in the name of Bristlebane, what were all those dark elf dragoons doing all over the place? He’d been used to the sight of the undead, but the dragoons were something new. Furrowing his brow, Gumpy retraced his steps, wishing fervently the Sarge had left some of their provisions with him.

He was surprised to find how much easier it was to follow the tracks this time. Though some of them seemed to lead in circles (no doubt to confuse the enemy), there was one clear set that trampled through the underbrush directly to the place where he and the Sarge had had lunch. Pleased with his progress, Gumpy was ready to follow the trail again when a Kithicor ranger melted out of the woods and nearly gave Gumpy a heart attack. “At last!” said the ranger, grasping Gumpy by the shoulder and marching him off into the dark.

“We’ve been waiting for you,” said the ranger. “You are indeed most crafty; I have been tracking you for hours.” Gumpy felt it best to say nothing and simply nodded. “Once we have met up with the other rangers, we will proceed to Rivervale to learn more of our mission,” continued the ranger, adding, “I am impressed with your skills; let us break bread together while we walk.” Those were the most welcome words Gumpy had heard all day. He followed the ranger into the woods.

Age of Turmoil, Antonica, Blackburrow, Book, Gnoll, mobile, Qeynos, Qeynos Hills

Know Your Gnolls

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My name is Pearl Honeywine and I am studying gnoll habitat and society to better understand these creatures. Through my work, “Know Your Gnolls,” I hope to increase the body of knowledge regarding these beasts and thereby also increase our ability to reduce their numbers.
“Know Your Gnolls,” by Pearl Honeywine — Being an exhaustive study into the habitat, social structure and culture of the gnolls of the Antonica region.

The gnolls of Antonica are descended from the gnolls of the Qeynos Hills and Blackburrow region of old Norrath. They look like upright canines, with an elongated snout, pointed ears high upon their heads. They are taller than the average human. It is impossible to distinguish between the male and female of the species at a distance. In order to understand the modern-day gnolls, one must first understand a bit of their history. By living amongst the gnolls, I have learned some of their secrets — secrets which were hitherto unknown outside their tribes.

A gnoll clan is a ruling regional tribe of gnoll, for example the Sabertooth Clan. A gnoll clan is comprised of a number of gnoll packs. These are more akin to large family units. A gnoll pack shares characteristics ranging from fur patterns to intellect. The Sabertooth Clan is comprised of many packs. Rarely, some gnoll clans may be comprised of a single gnoll pack of immense size. It is widely believed that the gnoll clan of yore, the Splitpaw Clan, was one such clan of albino gnolls.

As many unwary travellers can attest, gnolls will attack anything on sight, provided they feel they have the upper hand. As pack creatures, if one attacks a lone gnoll, other gnolls in the vicinity may join the fray to assist. Therefore, it is important to first gauge the proximity of gnolls to one another before attacking, unless one is certain that one’s weaponry, armor or enhancements are up to the challenge.

It is the pack mentality which makes the gnoll an occasionally formidable opponent. Several gnolls will band together and stake out territories to guard zealously, attacking all who come within range. The obvious exception the gnoll makes is toward anything larger than itself. Gnolls will gladly avoid anything that resembles either a hard battle or hard work. One might say the gnolls specialize in bullying and cowardice.

The Sabertooth Clan is comprised of many packs. Two gnoll packs within the Sabertooth Clan are the Darkpaw pack and the Timberclaw pack. A gnoll pack may specialize in a particular area such as foraging, pillaging, tunneling, etc. They are content to avoid other tribes to concentrate on maintaining their tribe’s current territories. They will make an exception to band together against non-gnolls, even when such groupings include other species entirely, such as orcs, trolls and ogres.

The main advantage the gnolls have in battle are their sheer numbers. I have been unable to discover their breeding grounds, although it is believed to still be located within the dark confines of Blackburrow. No matter how often tribes are reduced, they are able to repopulate their territory rather speedily. By continuing to replenish their tribes’ strength from a hidden, renewable resource, the gnolls are able to intimidate weaker species by overwhelming with strength in numbers rather than strategy.

This is not to imply that gnolls are unintelligent; they are cunning and sly creatures. While they place a higher value on hunters and warriors, there are gnoll shamans and mystics that practice arcane arts and rituals. These gnolls can still be formidable in battle by their strength, however it is their use of both offensive and defensive spells which can take down an enemy with an element of surprise.

No review of the gnolls is complete without mention of the most famous gnoll in history, Fippy Darkpaw, a member of the Sabertooth Clan of gnolls. Fippy Darkpaw specialized in planning elaborate attacks on the main gates of Qeynos during the Age of Turmoil. While his fate is unknown, his descendants formed the base of the numerous Darkpaw gnolls in Antonica.

Rumor has it that there is another Fippy Darkpaw, a gnoll of uncommon cunning and intelligence, who used his skills as a thief to steal a part of the Clock of Ak’Anon in Qeynos and render it inoperable. This mysterious Fippy still lives by his wits, they say, constantly on the move, observing non-gnolls and using the knowledge he gains against them. As he is swift and sneaky, it is difficult to say whether I have met him in disguise or if he exists at all. Personally, I do not believe such a clever gnoll could exist!

I hope this information provides you with enough basic information about gnolls that you will be able to learn more about them on your own. To capture the spirit of the gnoll, one must go into the various tribes and seek this information first-hand. Farewell, reader, and good luck in your quest to Know Your Gnolls!

Age of Turmoil, Antonica, Bayle, Book, mobile, War of Plagues

Guide to Collecting Crypt Plates

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“A Beginner’s Guide to Crypt Plates,” by Poola Thackery. Poola has been a crypt plate collector for many years and currently owns the finest collection of these funerary relics in all Antonica.
You may be asking yourself why bother collecting crypt plates since I, Poola Thackery, have already got the largest collection in Norrath. First of all, it’s an excellent way to learn about history and genealogy. Second, if you find a rare plate, I might trade you several of mine for a single rarity! That’s a great incentive, I think.

What is crypt plate collecting? It is the collecting of the plates used to identify the tombs, coffins or sarcophagi of the deceased. These plates are made of metal, usually something soft like tin or brass, and provided some basic information, such as name and lineage of that person. In the most ancient of times, these plates were only used by the wealthy. With so many modern conveniences in Norrath, however, many folks are making and using them.

The most valuable of all crypt plates dates back to the Age of Turmoil. In those days, only the titled and the wealthy could afford ornate plates. Normal folk (like you and I) would have thin wooden tablets which, of course, disintegrate over time. The oldest plate in my collection is for Amalia Keinaira Bayle, who married Melton Bayle who was a cousin of Antonius Bayle the Third. Amalia did not have a coffin; her plate was hung from a copper chain off one of the urns in the Crypt of Betrayal. Second shelf, third from the right IF you must know.

This is not grave-robbing, the removal of the crypt plate. I want that to be plain and clear. In the old days, the families of the deceased were offered the plate before the interment. If they chose not to take the plate, then it falls into the “finders keepers” category of collecting. I am a staunch advocate of such.

The walls of urns in the Crypt of Betrayal are quite beautifully arranged. This is in contrast to the way most of this level of the catacombs is maintained. In some parts, I’ve seen coffins broken and bits scattered across the ground. There’s one place, I have no idea who it belongs to (the plate was already gone), but the doors were nearly completely destroyed. While I do not pay for the crypt plates I obtain myself, I deplore the use of force to wrest a plate from a crypt.

I arrange my collection by family name although many collectors use other methods such as in order of the deceased’s rank, or by a date on the plates, or even by the plate’s material. Since my collection is so extensive, I have found that keeping them by family name allows me to quickly locate any single plate quickly. My current collection is well over two thousand individual plates.

You can display your crypt plates any number of ways. In my house, I recreated the funerary urn walls of the Crypt of Betrayal, then placed a plate into each niche. Obviously, as I have so many more plates than there are urns in the real Crypt, my display case is scaled down some. I keep all the Bayle family plates on their own wall.

Cleaning your crypt plates will obviously depend upon their material. If it is a metal plate, be careful not to scratch the surface or you might rub off the very words that give the plate its value. Plates carved from marble or granite are somewhat sturdier, but you would not want to drop them. I dropped the plate from the tomb of Linnea Feilanna Bayle (sixth urn from the left, two rows from the bottom) and it split in half. Luckily for me, the front remained mostly intact.

You will only want to sell your crypt plates with other reputable folk. In the past couple of seasons there has been an increase in the vile practice of pretending to give the seller a bag of coin in exchange for the plate, but the seller finds she has a bag of stone chips only instead! I have noticed that this wicked behavior is much more pronounced when trading or selling relics of the Bayle family, particularly the Bayles who lived during the War of Plagues.

I truly hope this guide interests you in the fascinating practice of collecting crypt plates. There are still some out there, and as I mentioned before, I would be interested in trading for some of the rarer old pieces. Good luck on your new hobby!