House of the Rising Phoenix - Great Library - Lore

Thingul Manor

Recorded by Mayflash, from input by Silvean Rashere and Enegue of Silvergate Inn

About 200 years ago, Wehnimer's Landing was founded, when Rone Wehnimer established a Wayside Inn on the road from the Darkstone bay to the heart of the human empire. It lies on the very edge of the human empire, and the town has become a center for trade between the humans, elves and other races. The Landing has always attracted a large share of adventurers, who come to the edge of civilization to make their fortunes. The town was a different place then, a different feel to it, a real sense of adventure. And so this is where master enchanter Thingul and his beautiful wife decided to settle down. They moved in a huge Manor behind tall iron gates located at Taarna road.

Thingul was a dedicated man, once settled he began to spend a great deal of time focusing on the nature of his work. Enchanting was important to him, he would settle for no less than being the greatest.

He would spend upwards of half the day or more locked away in the basements of that manor working and studying, dreaming of great wizards and legendary swords. But magic is not something that comes quickly, and he wasn't advancing at the rate he desired. And so he would study harder and work longer hours at it, convinced that this was the fault, a lack of effort. Needless to say that his wife was not pleased, and they would argue from time to time. This just making him edgy and more stubborn about his work. And perhaps this is what sparked what happened next. What changed his life forever.

One night as Thingul had gone without sleep for many an hour and was forcing himself awake to finish reading a book on his arts yet another time he heard them for the first. It was a whisper of a whisper at first. Quiet as snow falling. "Thingul...", came the whisper. "You fool, Thingul, what sort of Wizard is this wrecked man? "Thingul, listen to us...""Thingul...", they whispered, "We can help you." "Look at your pitiful work, do you think you can become anything more than an apprentice with this mortal craftsmanship?" But he wanted it. He wanted power and fame so badly. This was what he had always wanted, what he was meant for, this was for him and him alone. The path to his destined glory. And soon he could not continue to deny them. Soon.. he accepted their temptations. These voices, these whispers from the shadows, they would guide him. They would speak and Thingul listened. Thingul's enchanting ability increased by vast amounts. People actually spent two or three days of travel just to come see the famous Thingul and his remarkable swords. They could own a legend, how could any wizard make such blades, and so fast..

And Thingul was satisfied, he was truly a rich man now. And more importantly, he was very famous in this area. He would give parties, have famous guests at his manor, and he spent much more time in the company of his lovely wife. Picnics, boat rides, and romance. Whatever she wanted, now that he was happy. The voices were quiet Until one evening nearly a month later. In his bed he was reflecting on his good fortune when once again he heard the whisper. The poetic insults, the very voice of the damned. "Thingul, even for a mere mortal, you are pitiful. "Such petty little dreams and hopes you have. All shattered like glass." He did not sleep well for the rest of that night and early in the morning when the first of the knocks at his door came he was unable to even look at what occurred.

One by one the nobles of Wehnimer's came to Thingul manor until a mob had formed. And with them was a pile of shattered metal at the door of Thingul manor. First it was one, then another, and then all of his famous swords. The finely enchanted and legendary blades. All broken. And the nobles demanded repayment. They wanted new swords and they were not prepared to wait. While his wife defended him by calming the crowds he retreated into his cellar. For three days he worked without sleep before falling apart and allowing himself some rest. Day after day he worked and worked as the voices sang to him for more. Finally, he had repaired or replaced every damaged blade in half the time it had taken to craft them originally. And furthermore, they were nearly twice as powerful. The beauty of these swords was remarkable.

Throughout all of Western Elanith the name of Thingul was heard. His name was in books, his portrait on walls, he was inspiration to all enchanters. And amidst all of this glory, hardly anyone noticed that the serving staff of Thingul manor had gone missing. The voices were now silent forever, Thingul thought. He had shown them who the master was. And so he thought for nearly two months of joy. Until one evening from the darkest of shadows in his bedroom they came upon him in fury. They taunted and insulted him and his wizardry. And then they were gone. Peaceful silence once again. Until the knocks started. Lords, Ladies, Mayors, and Princes all shared weaponry inscribed with the name of Thingul. And so they all shared the pile as each one was thrown down in pieces. Every single one of the "most powerful swords in the world" had broken. Some without even leaving the sheath, they were weaker than thin ice. And the crowd was vast. They filled his yard with taunts and yelling. They burned torches and nearly beat his door down. Thingul remained sealed there for days without food or drink. In the darkest hour of the evening voices set down upon him. The very shadows of the room darkened and danced around this shattered man. They screamed with the fury of a thousand banshees and they called out his name in insult. "Thingul, you are the weakest of the weak".

You are not worthy of any magic, you are not worthy to even draw breath!" He cried out in response, "No! I am a master of my arts! I am a God!" With him he had what he had referred to for nearly a year as his masterpiece - a sword forged by the masters, the perfect blade. A beauty, a warrior's dream. And so he had his masterpiece with him as he walked through the long empty halls of his manor set with their dust and cobwebs. A ragged man, near starving and covered with filth. His hair tangled and grey too soon, his eyes black. His image was that of a prisoner. A prisoner of his own mind. And so he walked slowly up the stairs of his manor, step by step he went carrying that blade with him. And with each hesitation the voiced swooped in twice as loud as ever before in a chorus of singing, urging him onward. And so was his state as he opened the doors to his bedchamber where his wife was laying asleep and quiet. With a single blow he used the hilt of that blade to knock her cold.

And with that he grabbed her feet and dragged her forward from the bed and back down the stairs behind him as he carried that sword. With a thud at each step he moved her motionless but breathing body down and down further until he reached the cellar. There he laid her out upon his worktable and set about his rituals. With the gestures he had learned from the darkness he worked with great speed and power. Magic swirled about him and pure power rushed through him. And so he laid that weapon upon her, the perfect weapon, his masterpiece, his love, he laid it upon her and finished his recitations. And so it began to glow with power, a glow stronger than any I can describe and quietly the body of his wife turned to dust. And so Thingul lifted the masterpiece upon to the heavens as the dust swirled about and he cried out, "See, I am truly great, look at what I have done, what I have created!" And the voices came upon in response.. And they laughed. A furious laughter, one that never ends. And in this moment perhaps finally it was clear to him what he had done now and for so many years. And in that glimpse of clarity he leaned forward and without words he became the second victim of the sword as he fell upon its blade. And so his body was dust as well.

The nobles burst into the place a few minutes too late. What they found was the spirit of Thingul's once loved wife waiting for them to tell them about Thingul’s family death and the powerful blade. People searched the manor and Enegue was the one that found a locked safe deep down in the basement, using his magic he was able to see that inside the safe was hidden an exotic rune covered cutlass. Enegue tried to unlock the safe, but all was fruitless. It was some time later, when people found the key, tangled in a spiderweb upstairs, that opened the safe. But after finding out blade’s powers, people that found the cutlass decided that it would be better for all if the blade will stay in Enegue’s hands. He still carries it - the exotic rune covered cutlass. Reading the runes on the rune covered cutlass you discover that it is named "Life Stealer". The potent runes evoke sinister dark forces that are called upon to somehow effect the very life force of living things. It is easy to see that in order to invoke the power of the weapon, the wielder must rub it before striking. Powerful blade with tragic past and horrifying abilities, the blade that needs to draw but one drop of blood for the victim to decay immediately, the blade that exacts a price from a wielder as well, drawing from his spirit.

As for the voices, there are many possibilities. Those voices could be unlife, or the could be an extension of Thingul’s own greed and ego. Perhaps his evil was so strong that it actually grew into its own being. Or it could be the part of the Thingul’s family curse that followed that family for many generations. There is more then one demonic realm, more then one Veil between the worlds and what lies beyond some of them - no man knows, no can know in some cases.