Triel
This small, stockaded way-village is located on the Trade Way north of Scornubel, where that road meets the Dusk Road that swings across country from Elturel to Hill’s Edge. To the northeast are the Trielta Hills, quiet, rolling grasslands rumored to contain gold, and home to many small, peace¬ful gnome and halfling communities.
Triel is ruled by Elvar the Grainlord, so-called because he’s obsessed with having enough food to safely survive the winters, when trade virtually ceases along the inland roads. The gates of Triel’s log-and- boulder village stockade are locked at night—and visitors are expected to be outside, camping in the fields around so they can do their part to keep thieving bugbears and worse away from Elvar’s precious grain. The stockade itself is crammed, stacked high, and dug deep15 with crates, barrels, bins and jugs of preserved vegetables and grain, all sealed, numbered, and meticulously labeled as to their contents. I happened upon a rarity: “1357—2136: Sword Coast Snails, pickled in Firewine/Gift of Baltovar of Neverwin ter/Turn every three months/Seals renewed [and then a string of several dates].” Note that the first four numerals denote the year Elvar took possession of this container.
At least Elvar’s lucid enough to hunger after news of the wider world outside his well-stocked, fanatically defended pantry. Traders who bring food, firewood, barrels, or sea salt for food preservation or the like will be honored with a feast at Elvar’s table— and the villagers are good cooks (and well fed, to boot—but then, how could they not be?).
Be warned. Triel not only lacks anything much useful to the traveler, like an inn, tavern, or decent shop— though the villagers seem to have no shortage of money with which to buy anything a merchant might want to sell—but Elvar’s also a little, er, unusual about religions. The Grain¬lord changes faiths almost by the ten- day, complete with vestments, hired priests, if he can get them, and ritu¬als. Messengers sent out to Scornubel or Boareskyr Bridge who take too long to return with a hired priest may find the clergy they bring back is already passe, professing a faith now fallen out of favor. Altar building and dismantling at the Cup of Plenty, the shrine Elvar maintains, keeps two carpenters busy day in and day out as the seasons pass.
This whole-hearted leaping from deity to deity makes things very diffi¬cult for visitors. It also makes life none too easy on the local priestess of Chauntea—a stubborn little wisp of a thing by the name of Antriera, who quietly sees to the healing needs of the garrison, farmers, and forage patrols Triel sends out. She’ll also see to the needs of travelers for very reasonable fees.
More than one adroit visiting thief seeking disguises for later has relieved Elvar of a dozen or more sets 15It’s so underdug that the doors covering cellar stairs are everywhere.
f priestly garb. (Antriera always burns the whip-and-chain vestments of Loviatar before the Grainlord real¬izes he looks ridiculous in them and gets any funny ideas about creative secondhand uses for them.) Elvar always seems puzzled as to where they go and how he could have mis-placed them when everything’s so neat. This, of course, goads him into further acts of organization, cleaning, and rearranging—activities he never seems to tire of.
For all his faults, Elvar, a simple soul at heart, is a genius at finding water, creating proper irrigation and drainage, and anticipating weather and crop problems. Folk from trou¬bled Temyr have several times tried to entice him away from Triel with much
gold to run their own farms. They are always puzzled as to why he refuses, but Elvar always does so, firmly.
He does give advice and is well paid for it—but he won’t travel, so the rest of Faerun is free of his ability to smell where buried water lies and to dig a well just deep and large enough to draw with little pumping. Triel has two deep, clear wells that have never been known to get low on water due to his skill.
His folk love him, for all his eccen¬tricity. I learned all that I tell here by talking to several of them. If you can stomach all this, or are a dealer in clerical regalia or a creator of new cults, perhaps, Triel may be the place for you—or it may not. Most will pass it by.
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