Franklin the Thaumaturge

An old wizard that lives in the hills outside St. Bishop's


At the mention of the name, the entire tavern went silent. “Franklin? Ask anyone. Everyone has heard something about him. I once saw him kill a man with a glance”, said one voice.

Another shouted, “Franklin doesn’t age.”

“Franklin cavorts with demons,” an old woman growled.

“He lives up in the hills outside of St. Bishop’s. He has a tower,” said the little girl.

“No that’s wrong, he has farm house. I’ve seen it. It sits on a stream with a waterwheel”, said her brother.

“Liar! No you haven’t,” she yelled.

A Whitehelm slammed his mug down on the table and shouted, “Shut-up all of you!”

“Listen rumors about Franklin are as common as warts on a frogs ass, but every one knows one thing for sure: Franklin is a wizard.”

The Whitehelm leaned back against the bar, took a swig from the mug, and then continued:

“Every few weeks, Franklin comes down from the hills to town. My duty shift on the Gallows Gate is usually when he comes through. He’s got this rickety cart pulled by some old nag. It’s usually over flowing with vegetables he grows to sell in the market. He’s a nice enough old guy. Sometimes people go to him for help. Sometimes he does. Sometimes he doesn’t. Never says why. Just says, “No” and that’s that.

“We’ve learned to give him wide berth. Some of the new boys tried to give him a hard time once. Thought we shouldn’t have some wizard strolling around the city. It didn’t turn out well for them. When we asked what the hells happened that sent them running like they did; all of them had a different story. No one made any sense.”

“The Vicar-Captain gave them an ass chewing you wouldn’t believe. They were told to leave him alone, and that came straight from the Grand Master. See, Franklin’s got friends in St. Bishop’s.


Franklin the Thaumaturge

The League of Prospectors and Moneylenders JonathanBreese JonathanBreese