[Lady Dragonfly]

Romuald’s Tale
Gender: Male
Race: Human
Class: Wizard

Ah, my gentle reader, do you remember those heart-stirring moments when you were riding back home for summer break? You dismount and hurry past the scores of duly overjoyed servants lined up in front of the Manor under the vigilant eye of old Perkins the Loyal Butler… The Manor itself is full of your precious childhood memories… Smiling, you recall how one of your younger cousins accidentally locked himself up in a rusty Iron Maiden while playing hide and seek in the dungeon below… You can almost hear the familiar wail of the Ghost of Great-Great-Great Uncle Osric haunting his favorite wine cellar…

…Such fond memories kept flashing through young Romuald Hackamore’s mind while he was galloping towards his ancestral abode he had just inherited...

The Hackamore family chronicles contained more than enough accounts of piracy, treason, sorcery, and insanity to secure a prominent position among the highest ranks of nobility. The Hackamores traced their pedigree back to Gutfrey the Bold who happened to be in the marauding retinue of Duke Weardfric the Conqueror when the latter disembarked at the Sword Coast during the Prohibition. Gutfrey made his fortune by plundering and pillaging, as well as by regularly selling his allegiance to the highest bidder – an occupation that eventually won him the coat of arms and grim Hackamore Tower.

Three hundred years later, the refined descendants of gallant Sir Gutfrey abandoned the leaky and drafty Tower and built comfortable Hackamore Hall surrounded by a serene park featuring romantic grottos, dazzling fountains, and a lovely lily pond where the fair Hackamore brides used to drown themselves on the wedding day after finding their pearls’ sheen disappointing or catching their grooms with a Maid of Honor. A special pavilion constructed on the opposite side of the pond afforded a fine view of the white-clad maidens gracefully flinging themselves into the pellucid waters.

Despite all the worthwhile attractions, young Romuald, who was dabbling in magic, took on the role of scholar, poring over Hackamore Hall’s collection of old manuscripts in search of anything related to wizardry. His diligent efforts were amply rewarded: Romuald came across a tattered ancient manuscript containing a few vague references to Zhambonius the Warlock. According to the manuscript, Zhambonius, concealed from all prying eyes in the dank vaults deep beneath the Tower, had been conducting arcane experiments and hoarding magical artifacts until the authorities burnt him at the stake.

Having meticulously inspected every inch of the rough-hewn stone walls adorned with moth-eaten tapestries and vapid portraits of long-faced dowagers, Romuald finally discovered a small secret door. He spent a week figuring out how to open it, until it dawned on him that perhaps he should try to cast Open. The recalcitrant door slid aside revealing a spiral staircase.

Carrying a torch and peering apprehensively into the forbidding darkness, Romuald ventured forth – downstairs and then along a short sloping passage that ended at another locked door. Careful examination of this door revealed a half-faded inscription, “No sooner spoken than broken”. A riddle? Romuald scoured the adjacent walls hoping to find the password under cobwebs. He found nothing. He squinted at the inscription and gave a random answer. He was suddenly showered with angry sparks painfully stinging his skin and burning tiny holes in his robes. Leg? Promise? Another batch of fiery sparks… He heard Osric wailing madly nearby. Silence? The door swung open.

Bolstered by a vivid mental picture of the hidden artifacts, Romuald gingerly clawed his way down a dark, decrepit passage until he came up to yet another locked door bearing the following inscription, “Mountains will crumble and temples will fall, and no man can survive its endless call”. Another ruddy riddle! This time, instead of guessing the password, Romuald attempted to pry open the lock with his dagger but began choking on the yellow-green fumes a split moment later as the deadly trap sprung. The Nine Hells! Coughing and wheezing, he crawled out of the poisonous cloud. As the noxious smoke dissipated, he once again examined the inscription. Time? The door was unlocked and Romuald dragged himself onward, feeling winded and sore all over.

He found himself in a vault littered with moldy scrolls, broken wands, and other useless junk. Unsurprisingly, there was another door across the room, and Romuald groaned. This door’s riddle read, “If you have me, you want to share me. If you share me, you haven't got me”. Romuald muttered a curse. Perhaps the door misinterpreted his words, for it erupted with lightning bolts, sending him scrambling away. He slumped onto a heap of trash and wept, mopping away his tears with a crumpled piece of parchment and wondering whether the mysterious treasure behind the riddle-warded doors was ever worth all the pain and misery. Deep in his heart, however, he knew it was, and kept dodging the searing thunderbolts until he finally guessed the right answer – Secret.

The chamber beyond the last door was unfurnished except for a small, predictably locked coffer perched on top of a rune-covered marble dais. To Romuald’s immense relief, he did not spot any riddles. Full of eager anticipation, he jimmied the lock, raised the lid, and looked inside. The coffer was empty. A fruitless dagger-aided search for secret compartments reduced the empty treasure chest to a pile of splinters.
Romuald kicked the dais. The ground violently shook and the ancient runes flared to life forming a string of flaming words:

DUDE, THOU ART SUCH A COVETOUS KNAVE, IT DOTH MAKETH ME NIGH SICK IN MINE OLDE GRAVE.

Romuald staggered and ran for his life as the suddenly engulfed in flames tower began to crumble around him.

In Baldur Gate III, you will meet dispirited Romuald wandering about the smoldering ruins.
Romuald will join your party if thou wilst givest thy worde unto him that thou wouldst ne’er e’er askest of him any riddles.