Ashcroft the Strange, also known as Ashcroft the Lech, Ashcroft the Weird, Ashcroft the Arrogant, Ashcroft the Bold, Ashcroft the Prying, and Ashcroft the Many-titled. While sitting at a local tavern pondering the complexities of his many appellations he stumbled upon a a most curious verse in his tome, it read “in the southern steppes stands a tower wreathed in darkness, where the infernal realm pierces through and the powers of corruption bathe the lands in unholy glory” Interest piqued, Ashcroft opens to the last page of his hand-me-down
magical tome and ponders at the last and only name to have signed it – Balthazar Bloodcloud.

“Balthazar Bloodcloud, never heard of him” He says to himself.

Aschroft begins to ponder about the complexities of personal monikers again and wonders why wizards always turn to histrionics and self aggrandizement whenever it comes to insignia. Also why they never seem to want to provide new books for their students…
regardless, he looks at the hand scrolled passage on the page and can’t help to wonder if such a place exists or why a student of the arcane arts would be so haphazard as to write something
of such gravity in his first year book on evocation and magical theory. He should know the repercussions of such brazen announcement. The last wizard he knew that openly commented about the scrying pool he
found in his garden was Alpheous the Impetuous who later became know as Alpheus the Apprentice Laden, and Alpheus the Annoyed. Theres a reason wizards and witches keep magical information secret, we’re a cadging bunch.

Interest still piqued, he looks out the smoke filled window of the tavern to the south and counts his coin in hopes he has enough for a wagon and an entourage of large men he can throw to the fire incase
things get hairy.

“Hmmm, only enough for a a few more rounds of ale, I better find some work”