THE WITCH-DUKE’S BRIDE

So who married the Witch-Duke? And who or what is a Witch-Duke, anyway? Well…

It’s a colorful name for a tavern, to be sure, particularly an alehouse that used to be called The High Tankard, and was known as the cleanest, most orderly alehouse in Suzail, catering to the rich and highborn, courtiers, wealthy travelers, and others who wanted to be seen in the company of the high and mighty of Cormyr.

As The High Tankard, it served only ales and cheeses, and was a “show house” for the wares of the Brewers and Cheesemakers Guild, who owned the building and had their guild offices, The Caskhouse, on the upper floor.

The Guild disbanded acrimoniously in 1472 DR, and the building was bought by Lord Artrevus Mistwind, who took it from the Guild’s clutches by offering thrice the usual price of expensive southfront Promenade buildings—a small fortune (three million gold pieces).

He promptly turned it into a cozy, rather dingy tavern akin to what many travelers expect, and hit upon the clever idea of hiring actors to stage fake “confrontations” (slapped faces, spicy insults, challenges to duels) there of evenings, to set tongues wagging and capture city-wide interest. It worked, and the nobility and wannabe-nobles embraced the place, making it the trendiest throatslake den in Suzail for the better part of a decade.

It's still a happening place, though the “bright new gathering spot” in town is now Jonstan’s Elbow on westfront the Hunt Bide, four doors north of Garth Street. Lord Mistwind is still the owner of the building, though he’s leased the tavern itself to the getting-elderly “the Master” Mastaal Gerahgen, former seacaptain and now tavernmaster—who equipped the Bride with one of the largest selections of liquors in Suzail, imported from all over the world.

Most folk in Suzail, if they think about the tavern’s name at all, believe it has something to do with the mysterious Witch Lords, who were some sort of fell necromancers who wanted to rule Cormyr, but were defeated in battle six centuries ago—and may still lurk, as hidden liches, in the shadows today.

However, that local belief is wrong.

So, what will you find in the Bride if you visit it today? Well, a lot of dark, gloss-polished wood panelling of interesting grain patterns—all sorts of wood, chosen for looks—on the walls, artfully downlit here and there with black cone-shaped wrought iron lamps that spotlight statuettes and other “elegant” adornments collected by the Master and placed on expensive-looking carved wood-and-marble plinths and sidetables. The intent is to make visitors think they’ve stepped into the lounge of a wealthy noble, an inner “relaxing room” rather than a haughty receiving room—but the cozy den of someone too wealthy to relax amid dross, when they could (and do) surround themselves with the very best. Drinkers are seated around widely-spaced round tables, in low chairs rather than stools or benches, and stained-glass oval “globe” lamps are hung from ceiling-chains not over those tables, but above the empty walking spaces between, high up so as not to imperil the heads of seven-foot-tall visitors, and situated so no drinker is spotlit or blinded, but sits in the tinted shadows between the lights.

The large glaive-fish still hangs over the double doors leading into the kitchen.

But back to that wrong belief, and the name!

So far as Elminster knows, the tavern has nothing to do with the Witch Lords. Its name derives from a (wrong) local belief that a certain Duke of Cormyr was ensorcelled by a night hag, and did her fell bidding.

Oooh! Royalty? For almost all dukes of Cormyr are royal, unless they are life peerages bestowed by the reigning monarch. Except for the Marliirs, who are Dukes and Duchesses because they once ruled Marsember, when it was independent.

Nay! For there were once more non-royal dukes in the Forest Kingdom than there are today. The heads of House Hornshield, for one.

Who?

Just over two centuries back, in the Stormhorns, on the wild borders of the ruled realm, the Hornshields briefly flourished.

They were ennobled in 1296 DR: the first Duke created was Dorlarn Hornshield, a gruff old warrior who’d established the King’s Peace in the brigand-riddled Stormhorns, and won his dukedom from King Rhigaerd II for doing so. Dorlarn died two years after being named Duke, of his wounds and previous illnesses, and late in 1298 DR, his son Pelandurask became the second Duke.

Pelandurask was slain by magic in the summer of 1304 DR. Local legend in Hornshield claims his folly was to wed a night hag, Aghahandrur, disguised in beautiful human form (going by the name Lhauryl Arndrake, and purporting to be from Easting), and she slew him with magic.

So she was the Witch-Duke’s Bride, and he was the Witch-Duke (charmed by her, and she used her nightmare haunting to guide his decisions by sending him specific dreadful visions in his dreams).

When he wouldn’t do what she wanted him to, which was to give her governing powers over all of the Storm Horns he patrolled, she slew him, hoping their son Halaunt (the last Duke Hornshield, popularly thought to be insane, and certainly an eccentric) would be utterly under her control—but he had already taken up with adventurers (Gormaur’s Gallants, out of Selgaunt) to prepare to break her powers, and when they couldn’t magically force her to abandon her attempts to mind-control Halaunt (and his guardcaptains and seneschal) they slew her (in Uktar of 1304 DR).

Not before she’d terrorized the region for years, mind you, riding a nightmare (most tellings say she did so in the nude, of course, save for a long black cloak that streamed out behind her) to attack local folk and their beasts for sport, in passing. Her eerie laughter echoing off the mountains in her wake, as a sort of trademark or calling card.

Or so runs the creepy, alluring, and still stoutly believed local tale.

However, there’s another version of events that Elminster caustically refers to as “the less colorful—and so, dismissed—truth.”

He says that Lhauryl Arndrake was just who she claimed to be: a beautiful adventurer from Easting with some minor mastery of magic (she was a self-taught sorceress). She did her best with her feeble magic to defend her lord husband Pelandurask, and her son Halaunt against the night hag Aghahandrur. Overmatched and struggling, she did her best—until Gormaur’s Gallants, hired by her husband to help him fight the hag, fell under the hag’s control thanks to her dark spells, and they killed first the Duke and then his duchess, Lhauryl.

It was Halaunt who in turn slew the hag. “With my help,” El says grimly, “though I came too late to save his parents, and Halaunt’s sanity.”

Halaunt died childless years later; local legend insists he was old and mad, but El disputes the “old,” pointing out that the dukedom was extinct by 1309 DR.

So that’s the story of the Witch-Duke’s Bride. And to those who stoutly maintain that it is a haunt of the Witch-Lords, Elminster says this: Keep watch for them, right vigilantly. For this old wizard may be wrong, and in that case…the fate of Cormyr rests in thy hands.