Imperial archmage of Celdanna; follower and friend of Marshal Tozin.

Unlike his friend and superior officer, Arcanum General Javid cannot be called a singular genius. He was, however, a highly competent practitioner—experienced and clever, careful and insightful. Without a doubt he was among the most skilled wizards of his generation.

Javid came from a long tradition of disciplined and powerful arcanists. He saw himself as just another in a long line of servants of the Empire; the title of Imperial archmage, he earned while leading troops (and not for any feat of solitary wizardry, as many others did).

Like Tozin, Javid left no memoirs and had no biographer; what is known of his life comes from the writings of his allies, his subordinates, and his enemies. These paint a picture of a loyal, no-nonsense commander, who saw his work as that of using his considerable magical talents in the service of his superior, his sovereign, and his country.¹ Javid seems to have had little time or patience for the eccentricities which, even then, were still considered de rigeuer for a wizard of his power.

The one exception to this latter quality is Javid’s Tomb.

Throughout history, many notable (and some not-so-notable) sorcerers, wizards, priests, and other mighty wielders of magic, have built extravagant dungeon-tombs for themselves. These are, traditionally, filled with animate guardians (typically undead, or golems, or other long-lasting forms of life), elaborate traps for the unwary, and, of course, treasure—the better to invite adventurers of later generations to invade and plunder. Some who have built such places did it out of vanity, hoping to be remembered thus, long after they were gone.² Others built such tombs as intricate mechanisms for their own resurrection. Others yet were motivated by spite—their goal being nothing more than to entrap the greedy and the curious, there to subject the would-be delvers to all manner of gruesome fates.

Javid himself left only cryptic notes concerning his post-mortem plans, but from the reports of his contemporaries—those who were close to the archmage, in his final days, in Asvidere—a clear enough picture emerges of his motivations. Javid believed that the Celdic Empire’s days were numbered. He had spent the latter part of his life working hard to establish, in newly-founded Asvidere, the sort of magical tradition which had made the Empire great; but he didn’t have high hopes for the project. The Arcanum was an institution which had taken centuries to build; there was little chance of re-creating it—especially in so short a time—in a nation which still had to deal with banditry and poverty and a population fully half illiterate. The Empire’s eventual collapse would thus mean the loss of a thousand years of accumulated knowledge.

To Arcanum General Javid, Imperial archmage of the Empire of the Most Holy Dawn, this prospect was intolerable. The tomb he built was thus to be a vault in which the knowledge of the Arcanum would be collected, and preserved, until such time as Asvidere had grown powerful and stable enough to once again make use of it.³

That Javid built his Tomb, and was interred there, cannot be doubted. What is not known is where he built it. The archmage worked in secret; he left no clues about the tomb’s location (indeed, he seeded false clues in the notes he left, and things he said before his death). To this day it has not been found—though many have looked for it, both in Asvidere, and across all the lands that were, or are, part of the Celdic Empire. One thing may be said with confidence: discovering the Tomb of Arcanum General Javid would be the find of a lifetime.