Spellbook and Ledger of Lord-General Brassin Castellan

The Spellbook and Ledger of Lord-General Brassin Castellan is a book recovered from within the Ashenvale.

## Description

Discovered within a chest in the remains of an Atral camp encountered a few miles into the northwestern edge of the Ashenvale, the Spellbook and Ledger was one of a few items that did not crumble into sand and dust upon touch, alongside an enchanted shield and a number of potions. After narrowly surviving an encounter with a number of vengeful Ashenwraiths, the party decided to return to the settlement of Ashenwatch Redoubt, book in hand.

### Spellbook

Contained within the spellbook are the following spells:

* Alarm *(1st-level abjuration)*
* Burning Hands *(1st-level evocation)*
* Chromatic Orb *(1st-level evocation)*
* Charm Person *(1st-level enchantment)*
* Alter Self *(2nd-level transmutation)*
* Arcane Lock *(2nd-level abjuration)*
* Continual Flame *(2nd-level evocation)*
* Darkness *(2nd-level evocation)*
* Bestow Curse *(3rd-level necromancy)*
* Fireball *(3rd-level evocation)*
* Leomund's Tiny Hut *(3rd-level evocation)*
* Arcane Eye *(4th-level divination)*
* Banishment *(4th-level abjuration)*
* Blight *(4th-level necromancy)*
* Fire Shield *(4th-level evocation)*
* Ice Storm *(4th-level evocation)*

## Research

### Completed by Anivia Reman

*...never in the history of the Golden Realm have the people of Atralran faced a threat with as much might and scope as they do now. It is only testimony to the mettle of the spellslingers and all other measure of Silvertower, the nobles and the commonfolk alike that we have managed to hold this long. When I see the steel flash upon the battlefield, my family's crest blazoned proud despite any measure of muck, mud, cruor or clag that may find itself splattered so freely upon, I give thanks to the founder of my house in his wisdom to grant the boon of his tower to the Gildhearth Throne, training the first Silvertowers as his own kin. Truly, we are all kin upon this battlefield, brothers, sisters and all else besides in-arms, a family fighting for our home, where all our neighbours have found themselves dredged deep, foundations and all, by the approaching tide. There are others that fight alongside us in truth, some former allies, others previously that may have stood across the divide, and yet here, united. Gawylthlian war priests ready their Sermon of Swords, Codornian Black Cross now fighting for shared honour in place of doubled pay, Lachosi of the Earldoms of Harthain and Lang, led by their Earls in person. And likewise, not simply the Principal Races stand at the ever-shifting lines drawn up in war, nor do these other allies find themselves bound purely by the soil and stone. Greatest amongst these are surely the Ancient Bronze Dragon Toravut, the Banneret of Mettle, who leads their own contingency of draconic allies known as the "Pilgrims of Virtue", nine amongst their number in total - three other bronze dragons, a copper, two silvers, a brass and a gold - a group that has largely served to suppress the Astedian use of their aerships. Nonetheless, the Empire's forces try all the same, though they haven't been sighted aloft for a month thus, not since Toravut once more showed the meaning of their folly, arcing though the 2nd Aerial Fleet with poise and grace in rise and fall, shattered lumber and the individuals once supported upon them screaming as they tumbled from the sky when caught in the pulse of lightning loosed from their maw. Joined in the air in formation, the Pilgrims leapt from ship to ship, sundering with claw and maw alike, wings outstretched to glide to the next, until trails of spiralling light burned across the horizon...*

*...although, let it be said that this, even with allies as esteemed as these, is not a battle, nay, a war, that I believe to truly be won. Surely it ends with the Golden Realm and the Empire grinding each other to dust, little remaining of this iron once the hammer has fallen heavy upon the anvil too many times. Each skirmish drains at both of our strength, and so both we and them act with more poise and choice. And yet, they do not find themselves needing to act with such tact, though simply seem to be doing so to match and outmanoeuvre our own. The greatest of knights, the most capable amongst our spellslingers, they need a few moments respite here and there, to regain strength, to renew resolve, to remind themselves of for what and whom they fight. Their soulless creations do not, creatures of bronze and iron, wire and cog. Whether wielding barrels that propel arcanely-jettisoned projectiles with enough might to puncture steel and scramble the flesh beneath - weapons officially termed as Knightfall rifles for obviously concerning reasons - or hidden beneath plate of adamantine intended to pummel and crush underfoot, the coghearts have found themselves forged in the theatre of war that we present to them. The ingenuity and independent-thinking gifted to us by the Dawn Matron during her gift is absent within them, and likewise they may not feel the spirit of victory breathed down from above by the Lady of the Red Mist, but they are efficient and unyielding all the same. It is the brains of the Astedian masters behind them that I offer up a begrudging respect to, so rarely encountered upon the battlefield, out of the grasp of even the most capable of our infiltrators. Do the people of Esterving look upon the soldiers on their side of the Long Divide with as much pride, as much goodwill as the Atral people do? Or perhaps the answer therein lies on their reliance on constructs to do such a deed, wherein the virtues instead guide those that fight beneath the Gildhearth Throne....*

*...their tactics are evolving, no doubt, and so we suspect that they have a means to learn from those constructs we destroy, and so I have made the order to ensure that the destruction delivered by the troops under my command is as thorough as the time permits, lest anything of use remain to them. Eventually they will surely find their veins run dry, the soil and stone of this world retaining nothing more to give. We suspect their numbers are thinning, given that the Astedians seem to be growing particularly selective with where they strike, but in doing so seem to have developed their command over all manner of Conjuration-magics further still. We assume that by means of some level of subterfuge, they have planted devices that we have taken to calling lodestars, effectively serving as moveable teleportation circles for their troops. In doing so, their placement allows them to rapidly deploy entire battalions of soldiers, crusaders and titans in a matter of moments from silos and barracks hidden afar, and thus I have commanded garrisons of spellslinger mirages to sweep our ranks in search of these lodestars as a simple act of vigilance. Already we have located a few, and in leaving them in place without obvious efforts to disturb, have managed to set a number of traps - storms of ice, thunder and flame poised to erupt into being the moment the lodestar activates, shattering dozens of troops instantaneously...*

*...darkest amongst our efforts of subterfuge and intelligence have long stirred up rumblings of a new project nearing completion amongst the High College of Claxinns and the Milltall Manufacturing Guild, suggestive of Coghearts of almighty size and scope, siege weapons capable of striding over the walls of a city without need to even leap. If such rumours are true, then the question naturally remains how the Astedians plan on transporting such creations - and in truth where they are currently constructing them. And yet even with such questions unanswered, it would be lacking in vigilance to cast aside such rumours as anything but as such. If any are capable of such a creation, then surely those that have proven their ability to defy the intents of the gods again and again will be to do so. Already they have spat in the face of the High Mother that they claim to keep in their hearts, creating their twisted sense of mechanical life in defiance of she being the only one with the right to do so, and so perhaps it will be the Principal Sixteen that brings them to their place of penance once more. Through use of illusionary and divinatory magic, we have managed to hide the absence of the Archmage of the Crimson Blossom Ealwant Besculus from our ranks for several months now, his efforts focused elsewhere - efforts that seem indeed to have come to fruition. But a day prior, reports bearing the seal of KIng Gilbert himself reached myself that report a revelation and wonder alike - that Besculus has located the Remnant Staff of the Keeper of Lost Pasts and Looming Futures. Perhaps, finally, with Ineluctara in hand, levelled at our foes upon the battlefield in the grasp of one so skilled, the path of fate may indeed turn, overcoming whatever may come pacing down the road ahead...*