My only real problem with this book is the fact that the middle of my personal wavelength is probably just slightly beyond the most extreme thing it's willing to do. Like, in the section on gems with magical properties, it tells us about the Rogue Stone. They're rainbow-colored with an almost liquid, iridescent sheen and have the curious trait of always being found alone. They can be found in a wide variety of mineral deposits, but it's always just one rogue stone that happens to be trapped in a fissure. Furthermore, "some primitive human tribes believe rogue stones to be the sentient essences of dragons or mighty heroes, but sages hold this view to be folk nonsense."
And here is where Forgotten Realms really starts to task me, because I love everything about rogue stones. They sound pretty. It would be fun to explain to a group of player characters what these things are and why they're valuable. The low-key strangeness of their origin implies that the world has this ongoing background magic - no mundane geological process could explain the existence of these things, but that's all right because there's no reason to think that all of the world's geological processes are mundane. However, instead of just leaving it an inconsequential mystery, they had to add on that last little bit for me to get mad about.
Why the fuck would you do this to your own fantasy setting? You must realize that "the sentient essence of a mighty hero gets stuck in the rock and becomes a unique, beautiful gemstone" is just something you can decide to be true . . . right? Like, I didn't mind when rogue stones were just a weird phenomenon with no explanation, but I also think this new thing would be pretty cool to have in an rpg. I would have been fine with that explanation. Now, I have to wonder - who are these "primitive tribes" who are these "sages" and why did you decide that the sages know so much more than the tribes (by enough that you're comfortable labeling a cool fantasy idea "folk nonsense" even)?
Walk me through this. You're a sage in the city of Waterdeep. Actual wizards are fucking everywhere. There's a damned prestige class for just the ones in your hometown. Some merchant comes in with a remarkable, shiny rock that looks like nothing you've ever seen. Tells you they traded it from a tribe who says gems like this are always found by themselves, nestled in ordinary rock, because they contain the essence of a dragon or mighty hero. What part of your regular life experience causes you to dismiss this as "folk nonsense?"
And to bring things back to a Doylist perspective - what part of your training or instincts as a writer prompts you to imply that sage is correct for thinking this?
Although, I should perhaps not rant so much about this. It's only one sentence in a throwaway entry in a relatively unimportant part of the book. It's just a personal pet peeve. I do think it's emblematic of my ambivalence to the setting as a whole though. Forgotten Realms is capable of doing interesting things (I refuse to believe the butterfly-riders are no longer canon). You might even infer that it's pretty weird in its outline (high-level wizards in this world are so common that the Silverymoon arcane guild restricts itself to non-evil wizards who can cast 5th level or higher spells, and apparently this is more than just three or four people) but it so often refuses to stick the landing. Isolated ideas (whether they're weird fantasy or vanilla D&D) get maybe a sentence or two before moving on to the next thing and the social, philosophical, and cultural implications of its big ideas are never even slightly explored. Like, logically speaking, items with the continual light spell must be absolutely fucking ubiquitous, giving the Realms-folk a practically modern relationship to the concept of "nighttime" despite otherwise sharing so many traits with medieval Europeans. How does this manifest, culturally? The books are never going to say.
And it's not so much that I want them to (oh, who am I kidding? I definitely do) but when they don't, it gives me the impression that the Forgotten Realms takes itself completely for granted. It grew up in parallel with the primordial D&D, incorporating, from the very beginning, the oral tradition in-jokes, poorly-compensated magazine articles, and general 70s/80s nerd culture osmosis that would become the bedrock of "D&D lore." Hell, it spawned a lot of that lore itself. So I think by the time the setting's twentieth birthday starts coming around (and I'm counting from the first batch of Dragon magazine articles because while the Realms existed in some form since the 1960s, I doubt they were the D&D realms prior to the existence of D&D) it's kind of burdened by the weight of its own success. It only really needs to be "the world of Dungeons & Dragons" and never quite realizes that should be a floor, not a ceiling.
Magic of Faerun, by virtue of being about magic, is slightly less like that than some of the other Realms books I've read (though, if I'm picking a favorite, it's got to be Moonshae - it has lower lows, but higher highs, and I'm the sort of person who can forgive a low for the sake of a good high). Since it's fundamentally about More Stuff For Wizards to Do, it has to at least make a case for why the stuff wizards were already doing wasn't enough. And that shows through in the writing. It's one of the few Forgotten Realms books where I feel like I'm being pitched to. Why yes, I will be interested in this weird enemies-to-frenemies dynamic between Azuth the God of Wizards and Savras, the patron of oracles and diviners. Savras used to want Azuth's job, was turned into a magic scepter for awhile, and now that he's back to human form, the two deities have a somewhat cordial working relationship. Now, if you could maintain that exact level of focusing on the personalities and motivations of significant actors in all your future history sections, I think I could actually begin to like you, Forgotten Realms.
Aside from having more-digestible-than-average lore, this book is also crammed with a bunch of doodads and trinkets for spellcasting characters. And spellcasters get a lot of love here. All of the prestige classes (with the exception of the technically non-magical Gnome Artificer and the spell-absorbing Spellfire Shaper) gets 10 caster levels, on top of their special abilities. Which make them a pure power boost for any caster who takes them. There's a long chapter crammed with new spells, many of which are bland, but functional, though there are a few standouts - like silverbeard, which either transforms an existing beard into metallic silver or causes you to grow a metallic silver beard, thereby increasing your Armor Class and giving you a Diplomacy bonus with dwarves. And the non-casters are not entirely left out. The magic item chapter contains plenty of new treasure including airships and contraceptive potions, a dagger that can transform into a viper, and regenerating rope made of troll guts (it's gross, I hate it, but I respect it for being so unabashedly gross and hateable).
Twenty years ago, when I was still actively playing D&D 3rd edition, I mostly ignored this book's lore and used it only as a source of bits and bobs for my unrelated campaign settings. Now . . . I still think that's probably the best use for it. It adds a bit to the dense tapestry that is Faerun lore, but it's also mastered the trick of moving past "vanilla" to become truly generic (or, at least, as generic as implied-setting D&D ever really gets) and that gives it a lot of versatility.
Ukss Contribution: Rogue stones, but I'm giving them the "primitive tribes'" backstory, damnit!
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