Sylvanwroth
Sel'adreallarion (sell-adree-a-LAIR-ion) Inasnuyreth (In-as-NOY-rith) (a.k.a. Sylvanwroth)
Sylvanwroth is a Drow Lich, as evidenced by his faded charcoal skin and long white hair tinted purple. Understanding the longevity of Elves, that Sylvanwroth was a Drow and is now a Lich suggests he may be one of the oldest entities on the entire world of Tergaith. His legends date far back before the Realm's wars with the Empires of Spice and Silk, before the misty ages of the time of Elves and Dragons, perhaps as far back as the Savage Empires of the Yuan-ti; regardless, the lonely Halls Beneath have evidently always been his home, originally as a Drow, and much later, as a deathless lich.
While assuredly an evil entity, Sylvanwroth has no affinity for other evil creatures, and seeks the utter annihilation of anything that threatens his triangular patch of the Arborvast known as the Haunted Wood. Most recently that rage was directed at the troops of the Empires of Spice and Silk who dared to attempt to build a pike fort out of Elder Trees, leading to the disappearance and presumed death of as many as fifteen thousand soldiers, and in turn the battle of Seki Gahan which saw the complete rout of the invaders - though thousands of soldiers of the realm who crossed into the wood were also lost. For decades priests and scholars feared that Sylvanwroth might come forth from the wood at the head of an unstoppable undead army made from the dead of the battle, but a hundred years later that threat still has yet to be realized. Prevailing thought now is that those soldiers were put to use in some other way, in the Halls Beneath. Surely as a Drow his interests might still lie more below ground than on it - but his vigorous defense of the Haunted Wood suggests he hasn't renounced quite all his interest in the surface. He has also defeated Paladin Thalion of the Dawn, a folkloric hero of the realms centuries ago, and the Blue Dragon Ephialtes, whose effects adorn his trophy room, as well as a parade of adventurers, clerics and interlopers across the alignment spectrum.
While encounters might occur anywhere in the wood, he is never too far from the Tomb of Sylvanwroth, an exceedingly ancient structure mostly reclaimed by nature and of interest to the fey, from which the lich derives his name; his actual name is not widely known, and presumably something Drow and unpronounceable regardless. "Sylvan Wroth" or the retribution of the forest is a fitting name, in any case, and he is on very good terms with the Hag entities known as the Three Sisters, whose domain is the whole of the Arborvast.
The Tomb of Sylvanwroth is a multi-level crypt with strange features at the surface including a conservatory with unbreakable glass panes and a noticeable harmonic resonance that amplifies the sound of singing, music, or musical instruments but seems to have no affect on normal speech or other sounds. Stories conflict regarding the nature of its features below the ground, and it's entirely possible that they change on their own or that the lich, who has all the time and plenty of the power to do so, changes them himself from time to time. His interest in the breeding of poisonous plants is evidenced not only by the odd strains of plover's cup, argentansy, nightshade orchid and venomthorn roses, which are just what they sound like - roses with venom in their thorns. His age is unknown, but even a normal Drow lives three thousand years or so, so to become a lich thereafter, he may be far older than anything else sentient on this world.
Introduction:
As they enter the conservatory, the adventurers would first notice the strange and beautiful plant life thriving under the mystical light. Amongst this surreal sight, Sylvanwroth slowly materializes, his spectral form solidifying from the dim, ethereal glow. His ageless, glowing eyes study the group with a calm and patient gaze. His voice, when it comes, echoes around the room, a soft, chilling, yet oddly soothing whisper, like a night breeze rustling leaves through a long-forgotten crypt. "Greetings, travelers," he begins, his tone polite yet distant, the practiced cadence of a being long accustomed to the weight of words. "I trust you have found your journey to my humble abode enlightening." His voice pauses as the black pits of his skull gaze at the party, his eyes flickering with an unreadable ancient wisdom. "I am aware of your purpose here. Word travels swiftly, even to these depths. Cataclysms, despite their... damaging nature, have a way of creating interesting ripples in the grand tapestry of existence. And you have already done more, I think, than you realize, to create ripples of your own." His form drifts closer to the adventurers, the air growing colder as he approaches. "However, destruction for destruction's sake... it lacks elegance, wouldn't you agree? Uncontrolled, it threatens what I've cultivated throughout centuries. My precious specimens here," he gestures grandly at the lush greenery around them, "would not appreciate such a rude interruption." Sylvanwroth then folds his hands together, seeming almost like a polite, albeit spectral, host. "Let's not dally then, shall we? Please, share your plan, and we might find how our interests align. Knowledge, after all, is the most potent weapon and the most treasured shield." His speaking style would be very formal and composed, filled with sophisticated vocabulary and a touch of archaic terms. Despite his cold demeanor, there's an undercurrent of fascination and curiosity in his words, as if each sentence is a puzzle waiting to be deciphered. He would speak in riddles and metaphors at times, making the conversation an intellectual challenge for the party.On Aot Solorex:
Perhaps a tragic figure, if you are given to sentiment. He truly adored, and was truly blessed by, the Sun God Aot, but Aot was never the wordy type. He left too much up to his fire giant's interpretation and fire giants are - not clever. In the end he became the love letter from the sun to Tergaith, and you - four of you, but I think not these four - delivered it. Where once Tergaith's heart was merely warm, and cooling slowly - the seed descends still, to her core. The wisdom it contains is this - the fires at the heart of the world had gone out, and now they shall be rekindled. The skin of the world will be supple again, the continents flowing once more, mountains rising, lava flowing. Volcanoes will no longer be a rarer myth than dragons. And all that energy will well up through these vents and feed the seas and the lowest places, anew. Tergaith is no longer the old doddering world, to be victim to her own moon. Tenma may yet be pulled apart, but such are the sacrifices made to undo the past.On Quindarin:
Some dragons are clever, some worthy of friendship. Some seek out knowledge to help ease the sufferings of others. Quindarin - though much beloved in his home town - was never one of these. It's not his fault - the influence of the Far Realm poisons the Amethyst Dragons. He delved, impatiently, into things he didn't understand, and in his blundering, might have killed us all. The road to oblivion is paved with such good intentions as his; but his affection for the Stardonyx - not as equals, but as slaves, or perhaps pets - he too learned of plasmatic essence, stolen from Slaad Lords; but he never learned how to tune it, finely, over the course of a millennia. He infused it with his own soul and then, somehow, managed to miscalculate everything. instead of restoring the sickly race of Stardonyx, he awakened the Boiling Lake of Murk, Borem, using the essence, which the Slaad Lords call Gorgasuul.On the Conjunction:
I have lost track, quite frankly, but at least eight, or perhaps ten, have come to pass while I was here or there on the world. A clever alignment of the stars conforming to the procession of this system through its constellation, and while occasionally cataclysmic, usually the effects are subtle, psychological, driven by mortal fears and psychoses. Your destiny is not in your stars unless you believe it is, because your stars are thousands of years away from wherever it is you see them in the sky. This time, however, Quindarin has really pooched it, allowing the Far Realm to bleed into Tergaith, threatening everything. And I didn't even see it coming until very recently myself. So; we have a choice, and that choice presents us with four alternatives. We can kill - or disassemble, as it were, Borem. Separating his boiling lake into a thousand glasses of hot muddy water will remove his ability to bring about the planar merge. Secondly, we can Kill Quindarin - difficult surely but not impossible; this only solves the problem on the assumption that if killing Borem will kill Quindarin, then killing Quindarin will kill Borem. There is some probability it doesn't that doesn't work that way, so there's a risk. Our third alternative is to complete what Aot set out to do, and turn the threatening moon into a much less threatening ring of tiny stones; but this will be messy and destructive for hundreds of years as the orbits of the meteors stabilize. The fourth alternative, conforming to the beliefs of the unharmists - long gone but I do miss them - is to do nothing, accept what comes and ride out the storm on the other side. Unfortunately in this case, it's not just an impact, or a lot of impacts - it's the Far Realm which will consume reality itself.On Borem:
The curious thing about Borem's Awakening is that the real evil entities are his cultists, swayed by the influences of the Star Spawn of the far Realm. They control his heart, meaning they control him, utterly. If the connection of the Far Realm could be severed, Borem might turn on his own worshippers, or simply go back to being a lake, though a much smarter than average lake. His heart, though, may contain greater power still, the power of ascendency into godhood for the one who can hold it and master it.Physical Description
General Physical Condition
Dessicated
Identifying Characteristics
Long white hair tinged with lavender
Social
Contacts & Relations
- Minchin: Sylvanwroth's steward and main guy. He's an undead gnome mummy lord, technically, but a snappy dresser who gave up the wrappings long ago. Talks like the narrator guy from The Neverhood, is a lot smarter than he might seem.
- Morvain the Tomekeeper: The Allip that manages Sylvanwroth's library.
- Eldon and Zilvrae, restless undead who in life, perished for love, that Sylvanwroth took in after learning they had come to the Haunted wood to meet illicitly away from the eyes of their own kind. Sylvanwroth knows little of Zilvrae's Drow lineage as his forked off from hers millennia before she was born.
Ex-rivals
- Tiabbar, his queen and rival from his living days, a long-dead Drow Matriarch from whom he learned there was such a thing as unliving after death.
- Elunaedri, a wood elf guardian who cared for the Arborvast in times past. Gifted him with the Orbs of Elunaedri when he came to her as she lay dying, refusing to take any further steps to prolong her life. She entrusted the care of the Arborvast to the Three Fae Sisters, but told him to ensure they never failed in their task, either.
- Ephialtes, a blue dragon who vied with Sylvanwroth for power millennia ago, using the Codex Umbra, and who was eventually defeated by Sylvanwroth who claimed that tome for his collection, as well as Ephialtes head.
Speech
His voice is low, soft and dry, flecked with a slight German/Berliner accent. His compelling, magic-enhanced Charisma makes his speech nearly as irresistible as a command spell to the average person.
https://www.dndbeyond.com/monsters/3598628-sylvanwroth
Two restless undead who have taken refuge under Sylvanwroth's protection are known as Zilvrae and Eldon. In life, Zilvrae was a beautiful, high-born Drow priestess and Eldon was a skillful human bard. Zilvrae, weary of the cruel politics and rigid hierarchy of the Underdark, often ventured to the surface under the guise of collecting information for her House. During one of these outings, she happened upon Eldon, who was captivated by her beauty and the melancholy she tried to conceal. He composed ballads in her honor, and over time, an unlikely bond formed between the two. Their love, forbidden and dangerous in both their worlds, was kept a secret. They met under the cover of darkness in the depths of Sylvanwroth's woods, where the Lich’s influence kept most intruders at bay. Eventually, their secret was discovered by Zilvrae's House who, seeing this as a perfect opportunity to undermine the matriarchal power structure, charged her with treachery. Meanwhile, Eldon was considered a traitor by his own people, accused of consorting with the enemy. They were both executed, their souls cursed to forever wander the world as restless spirits, eternally searching for each other. However, upon learning about their tragic fate, Sylvanwroth, ever fascinated by the complexities of love and sentiment, found a way to draw their wandering spirits back to his domain. He granted them sanctuary, enabling them to find each other once again in undeath. Their presence adds an unexpected element of tragic romance to Sylvanwroth's otherwise scholarly and isolated existence. While the Lich does not fully comprehend the concept of love as mortals do, he is intrigued by its power and the extents to which individuals will go because of it. Zilvrae and Eldon, forever bound to Sylvanwroth’s domain, contribute in their own way to the Lich's research, providing insights about the surface world and the Underdark. Despite their undead state, they have found a sense of peace in their existence, knowing they are forever united in this timeless sanctuary. Any attempt at harming them by anyone in the Tomb will be met with lethal force.
Current Location
Age
Indeterminate
Children
Current Residence
Sex
Male
Eyes
none
Hair
White, tinged with lavender
Skin Tone/Pigmentation
withered dark blue-black
Height
6'6"
Weight
96lb (unarmored)
Related Reports
Ruled Locations
Two restless undead who have taken refuge under Sylvanwroth's protection are known as Zilvrae and Eldon. In life, Zilvrae was a beautiful, high-born Drow priestess and Eldon was a skillful human bard. Zilvrae, weary of the cruel politics and rigid hierarchy of the Underdark, often ventured to the surface under the guise of collecting information for her House. During one of these outings, she happened upon Eldon, who was captivated by her beauty and the melancholy she tried to conceal. He composed ballads in her honor, and over time, an unlikely bond formed between the two. Their love, forbidden and dangerous in both their worlds, was kept a secret. They met under the cover of darkness in the depths of Sylvanwroth's woods, where the Lich’s influence kept most intruders at bay. Eventually, their secret was discovered by Zilvrae's House who, seeing this as a perfect opportunity to undermine the matriarchal power structure, charged her with treachery. Meanwhile, Eldon was considered a traitor by his own people, accused of consorting with the enemy. They were both executed, their souls cursed to forever wander the world as restless spirits, eternally searching for each other. However, upon learning about their tragic fate, Sylvanwroth, ever fascinated by the complexities of love and sentiment, found a way to draw their wandering spirits back to his domain. He granted them sanctuary, enabling them to find each other once again in undeath. Their presence adds an unexpected element of tragic romance to Sylvanwroth's otherwise scholarly and isolated existence. While the Lich does not fully comprehend the concept of love as mortals do, he is intrigued by its power and the extents to which individuals will go because of it. Zilvrae and Eldon, forever bound to Sylvanwroth’s domain, contribute in their own way to the Lich's research, providing insights about the surface world and the Underdark. Despite their undead state, they have found a sense of peace in their existence, knowing they are forever united in this timeless sanctuary. Any attempt at harming them by anyone in the Tomb will be met with lethal force.
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