That renowned gathering of the finest minds of the wizardly elite, where the most impressive magical inventions of the past year are put on display, and where Mauvin the High Critic will declare the greatest of arcanopoetic artefact of the year. A fine occasion for camaraderie and collegiality. Yes, it is admittedly true that the salon often attracts base sorts who attempt to steal these great works of art from their rightful owners. Shameful! Such behavior is beneath the attention of true wizards, who would deign neither to engage in it or show concern about it. Let the Salon begin!
The Critical Trivium of the Grand Salon, Arbiters of Taste
Mauvin, the High Critic: His discernment is so far beyond that of the next man that it should be no surprise that his judgments are at times incomprehensible! What will he select this year as the greatest item of power and art? Last year it was Hyperion the Hated's fantastic Crystal Ovoid. This year? While Hyperion the Hated's entry has the advantage of not having been purloined, and it is hardly the case that Hyperion could have planned for the competitors' items to have been stolen, it would set a bad precedent.
Musca the Censor: A mysterious wizard who roams the sump in a tattered uniform, Musca the Censor decides! It is he who decides which topics of conversation are to be approved and which rejected. It is he who decides which ales from which taverns are to be approved and which rejected. He only need taste a pint of each to be sure! Musca ventures up to the Parliament House only for the Salon, at the request of the wise and unquestionable Mauvin the High Critic. For Musca can find flaw in any thing put before him -- a sure sign of his vast intellectual prowess.
Mirk the Dull: Not dull of mind -- dull of sheen! Mauvin's very presence drains the luster from everything and everyone around him. Yet his discernment must be sharp -- for he often agrees with Mauvin the High Critic, a sign that he too can see the true greatness in any thing that Mauvin has declared to be great.
Wizard Lords, High Necromancers, and True Magi with Work on Display in the Grand Hall
Dominian the Proscriptor: His entry in the Salon is a wand of many and divers wonders! Stinking clouds, flaming spheres, and more will be cast about the Grand Salon in Parliament House before the day is out! He comes with a crew of servants and apprentices fashionably dressed with masks of his very likeness. And he has some words for these, his trusted confederates and servants: His lifestyle requires money. I think you all know what he's saying. Make him proud!
Habitus Helveticus: Master of the fastest messenger service in the city, dashing through rain slicked streets without falter! Everyone knows what he will bring to the Salon, his newly minted boots of sprinting, striding, and springing. A bit crass, of course, to bring to the salon an invention he has already revealed to the public and used for base profit. His class is questionable.
Hyperion the Hated: A wizard of fire and flame, it is said. A rare gift in the rainy city! His entry in the Salon? A tattered cloak hanging within a magical case. Watch as he rudely raps the case! The cloak turns, and within it is full of eyes and teeth! A valuable security measure against thieves and theft. And who else among the wizards has actually created life! It is no matter that the cloak is wholly unlike the enchanted girdle he left in the vaults, where the magics were supposed to have been kept over night. And a good thing, for some scoundrel has stolen that girdle in the night.
Iambic Pentacular: The greatest wizard of the tower cliffs, by some estimations, not least by his own! His entry? The bowl! Peering into its waters calls forth a watery double of the wizard, to do his bidding about town in his absence. Why should a wizard of Iambic Pentacular's standing go outside and get his head wet. His watery double can do so! Its head is already wet!
Oculam the Oracular: He knows all. He sees all! Tonight at dinner, there will be potatoes! His invention? The "Tarpaulin of the Starry Sky." It is no wonder that Oculam is the greatest Astrologer in the city!
Petticroft Grue: No great wizard, good Petticroft, but the Grue family has been invited to the Salon since its earliest days. He could not in good taste be uninvited. And his entry in the Salon? A work of no little interest: a portable shadow! Truly it is a thing of wonder, albeit it of dubious utility.
Pizarro: A broken man since the fall of his steam baths at the hands of some petty rival who would certainly not have the gall to enter the salon himself. Pizarro's entry in the Salon this year? A scroll. Upon the scroll, the true name of a powerful demonic spirit of fire and flame, a salamander! A certain salamander, perhaps? But it is a shame that Pizarro forgot to lock up the scroll securely in the vaults, having absentmindedly left the door unlocked! Thieves and dangerous men may have stolen the scroll. How unfortunate for Pizarro! And how much more unfortunate for the salamander's current master!
Vassili, A Wizard of No Small Renown: The violent reptilian arm of doom that juts forth from the center of his chest, cruelly slashing at the air? That, it seems, is his entry. What does it do, you ask? It gets his hats back. Can it get other people's hats back? Other people's hats are of dubious quality.
Zaam the Alacritous: That business with his apprentice Jack and the sword that sent him on a killing spree? That was really all a terrible misunderstanding. The sword he is entering in the Salon this year, however, would do no such thing. It is a tiny token to be worn upon the neck as a fashionable accessory. It may grow to be a fine weapon of war, but it is certainly not as enthusiastic about war as the other blade.
Common Conjurers and Witches with Petty Displays in the Entry Hall
The Witch, Antigone Graves: No witches are allowed to enter the salon, and it is an act of great nerve to enter even the petty displays in the hall. No matter! The witch's so called "Rod of Cancellation" can hardly be an item of true power.
Phangol the Gallant: Inventor of the "purloin proof purse," he will sell you one for only the triflingest of fees.
Syntacticus the Deep: He stands before you to demonstrate a quill of inestimable mystery! It writes... but now where has the ink gone? A fine businessman such as yourself can certainly see its value. Purely for display in a frame on your office wall, of course!
Oster the Frog: His appearance? Unfortunate. His magic? Unusual! His petty display? An arrow which holds within it a single bolt of lightning he trapped by climbing the highest tree in the Sump and catching it! Why an arrow? He dropped his bottle, and was forced to improvise.
Johor the Gibbous: A silk rope, 50' in length. It coils. It uncoils. It climbs!
Garmoud, the Bloody Handed: He holds before you a stone. But not just any stone. A stone that would be the envy of many an alchemist. (Well, ok, not that stone. But it is a fine stone, nonetheless.)
Servants, Apprentices, and Ilk of Little Import
Apprentices, Servants, and Aides to the Great Wizards: A motley bunch, with shifty eyes and nimble fingers. Not at all fitting the bookish stereotype so many have of wizardly sorts. But the wizards claim them as their very own, and who would doubt the honesty of a wizard!
Vengus Ult: Alchemist-Philosopher, now turned apprentice to Dominian the Proscriptor? Truly this is a surprise! And where is the big jug of acid he always carries around? He didn't bring it with him.
Kshelek Stacks: Priest of indeterminate faith! He may not have all the answers, but he has pamphlets!
Jack: That business with the sword and the killing spree? He doesn't really like talking about it. No, he doesn't know what happened to the sword. Why do you ask?
A Nameless Wench Apprenticed to Zagyg the Eccentric: A female apprentice? One more reason to question Zagyg's judgment. Where is Zagyg the Eccentric, anyway? His apprentice assures you that he is indeed here to enter an item in the Salon. Perhaps you just missed him. She'll gladly pass your message on to him.
A Boy Apprentice to Oculam the Oracular: He is not a kid. He is fourteen years old and an apprentice. Pretty grown up.
A First Year Apprentice, Gray Haired and Bearded: Beneath his robes a fisherman's shirt. His hands rough and calloused. He assures you that his master has taught him the secrets to drawing the magic frentogram! And he is happy to share with you his smoking tobacco. It helps power the thaumatanergic energies, you know.
Sergeant Pollux: The Sergeant at Arms of Tower Cliffs. His job? Simply to keep an eye on the apprentices and other lesser servants, who are of course trustworthy, as no true wizard would bring an untrustworthy fellow into the Grand Salon. Still, he wouldn't be doing his job if he didn't keep an eye on the lot of them regardless.
Bartholomew the Bald: A most trusted and trustworthy clerk of the Grand Salon, he is here simply to accompany the Sergeant and count things. Apprentices. Load-bearers. Servants. Works to be entered into the Salon and kept securely within the vaults until they are brought out for display. Yes, yes. In his humble judgment, everything appears to be accounted for.
Jaelin, the Charmer: With as many friends as Jaelin has, one might think he too would have warranted an invitation to the Grand Salon! Well perhaps he did, but good friend that he is, he instead agreed to watch over the home of Dominian the Proscriptor in his absence. In a wizard's absence, a house could be ransacked, after all!