As days start to grow shorter and summer slowly starts to morph into autumn, ones versed with the region's recent history may become aware of a peculiar anniversary incoming. For soon it will be a year, exactly, from the day when the blood of the Lord of Murder tainted the flow of Winding Water, after, on the stones of Boareskyr Bridge, he has fallen under the blade of one who would later on take his divine crown...
...here the then-still-mortal Prince of Lies made his first major step towards the godhood...
Baldurs Gare EE: Siege of Dragonspear
...And indeed in shadier places of the Fields of the Dead, even beyond this region, passed by whispers are rumors and speculations about the meaning of this dark anniversary. Some may speak about this day as being a natural time for the festival among those converted to the young faith, and for the ruined bridge to be a perfect place for pilgrimages...
...some better informed people may even be aware of Cyricist priest in Soubar directly alluding to such event to take place...
[OOC: Saturday, 16th September, 19:00 UTC, something might be happening...]
The chosen few, the chosen knew
Spelled out in the stars His prophecy
Raise your fists, now you exist
The bell of doom strikes the thirteenth hour
"They promised me, in friendship, in faith, in kindness, in some things greater than that which even I could understand… for the good of so many, that -we- would stand." Murder Rended... Mercy Mended... , Saint Merielle Silene, The Living Saint
As the sunset kissed the horizon upon Boareskyr Bridge, the unwelcoming water boiled in poison. A quiet trio came, a Knight of Torm, a small ranger, and a Sister of the Ilmatari Faith. Words of quiet determined exhanged, the wooden bridge was filled with white and blue flowers. The attempt was clear, where magic has been torn, where spells turned into nothingness, a prayer of hope was to seal a first stone. In a circle of painted stones, in a triangle of blue Deva Tears flowers, she knelt and prayed. Words of Celestial warmth filled the air. Her voice sounded quiet, even in the silence in which the place had been forced. "I hope peace can mend violence, in a way. Even "His" Violence."
"After some days of research, my heart was heavy with the knowledge of what now lay ahead. " Murder Rended... Mercy Mended... , Saint Merielle Silene, The Living Saint
The prayer as it ended left sparkling diamond dust shining with the golden ray of the sunset. Darkness swallowed the place, leaving only whispers upon the tainted water. Words of care for children, quiet devotion, endurance, protection... And a strange prophecy mentioned, of old ages. The priestess seemed peaceful, yet resolute as she left. Another task to undertake, as it seems. "In a way, seeing the Lord of Murder give Life in any way could be a paradox in itself.."
Sixtenth day of ninth month. The day Bhaal fell. The day Boareskyr bridge has turned into gloomy ruin filled with oppressive aura. And now, as a year to a day has passed since that event, a Cyricist priest stood upon the ruined bridge, celebrating his Master’s first grand triumph. The ceremony was all one could expect from celebration of god of murder, death and strife – blood was shed in his name, a new era of darkness was foretold, dark, ominous hymns were chanted. While not a sight for the faint hearted and clearly disturbing to many it didn’t seem as anything unexpected was to happen this day. And until the celebration was nearly at end, nothing more than a tense altercation with believers of the deposed gods happened. Until a new party arrived in the area.
As group of triadic knights approached the Bridge with apparent hostile intent, the already present tension grew. The lines consolidated, leaving between a large group of bystanders whose actions neither side could predict. But what transpired later, crossed the boundary of disturbing, yet mundane ceremony and turned into divine terror. One of the new converts to the cult of the Dark Sun, mercenary named Kathas, willingly offered himself as yet another sacrifice. As the priest slit his throat, the uneasiness grew and what initially may have looked as yet another act of violence with no meaning above simply pleasing the bloodthirsty, mercurial god soon revealed itself to be an act of much greater consequence. As the dead body risen again – in the middle of the dead magic area, nonetheless – it was soon clear that it is no mere revenant or other necromantic trick, but that the body was possessed by the divine essence of the Dark Prince, transforming the dead mercenary into his avatar. Cyric stood again on the stones of Boareskyr Bridge, now not merely as a godslayer, but a god of his own. The knights of Triel remained defiant in his presence, but the Dark Prince remained unconcerned and unimpressed. In the handful of knights he saw apparently not much more than toys to torment. Taunts and jabs were traded, but the outcome was clear from the beginning. One by one, the knights’ lives were extinguished, their bodies mangled by divine force no mortal can stand against.
Prince of Lies, Gerald Brom
Then Cyric turned his attention to those who came to witness the celebration. A crushing aura of power and superiority even intensified as he made his declaration – he is the one through whom all true power flows. One to eclipse the spectres of the past in form of the Dead Three, to crush those who oppose him and elevate those worthy of his favour. Few mustered the will to oppose his commanding aura in even a smallest way. Then, before returning to his divine realm, Black Sun made yet another declaration, proclaiming the one leading the ceremony to be his high priest in the region. And then the avatar finally disappeared, yet the impression it made in those present was to remain. The voices of many of the local smallfolk immediately turned to his worship in fright and awe. Among the powerful and mighty the enthusiasm was lesser – but even in this group a handful were impressed enough to denounce their former gods on spot and bow to the Prince of Lies.
And if all that was not yet enough, another divine intervention, even if of much lower scale followed. As the Dark Sun left, and the newly converted Cyricists, on their priests request, attempted to feed the corpses of slain paladins to the murky, poisonous waters of Winding Water, the corpses were taken up by a radiant force assumed by many to be sent by Torm himself.
One remains sure – Godswalk may be long over, but the tremors it caused in the cosmic fabric have not yet ended, and in this time of upheaval, nothing is certain anymore.
The chosen few, the chosen knew
Spelled out in the stars His prophecy
Raise your fists, now you exist
The bell of doom strikes the thirteenth hour
Residents of the Darkhold Valley may have noticed light resonating from the newly built tower. As time passed and morning approached, the light became dimmer and dimmer until it no longer resonated. If anyone were brave enough to come closer and see what was happening, they would feel the cold air and wild energy surrounding the tower, and their ears could hear the wolf howling until morning.
A half-sun elf could be seen sitting against a boulder just beyond the perimeter of the Eldathyn shrine in the Reaching Woods. Although she is still and quiet, she is not peaceful: There is a heaviness around her, a tension so strong it radiates into the air around her. Removed from the tranquil calm of the sacred grove, anger and anxiety permeate her surroundings, restrained but not contained by their bearer; too strong to ever be contained. If the young sorceress could once have been likened to a flame, beautiful but dangerous, now she might seem more as a storm on the horizon: Inevitable, devastating, and not here... yet.
Those able and willing to query the shrine's guardians about her presence would easily learn she has breached its boundary several times, but only briefly: Visiting the fey at its heart, she inquired in Sylvan about the whereabouts of the priestess known as "Runa", or any other who might have authority over the grove, before promptly returning to her vigil at the outskirts. If she is even capable of finding any rest here, she seems unwilling to make the attempt, though her motives for this are left only to the guardians' imaginations...
European player, UTC+1 (+2 during DST). Fixer of random bits. Active in Discord. Notable characters:
*a wild Rose swinging her dolly Molly in hand “the lunatic one” skips bye the half sun elf lady singing a song before walking into a tree* “itty bits itty bits chop them into itty bits that way in the box they fit!” *giggles as she treestides away and seemed oblivious to the other elf lady *
Rose Rivineth
-Wands
-treasure hunter Wysteria Moon
"Nya!"=^_^= Azelia Rivineth
-Healer Priestess Alchemist Wands/Elixirs/Scrolls Zinnia Rivineth
-Wizard Alchemist Elixirs/Scrolls Lace Rivineth
-Master alchemist in training Morning Rivineth
-Merchant treasure hunter
After a lengthy argument, a frantic search through the grove, and a brief altercation with the local druids, the half-elf could no longer be seen in the Reaching Woods. Instead, she would mostly have been known to travel between the Friendly Arm and the Mystran temple of Baldur's Gate.
Those who saw her passing to and from the two locations might note that the emotional whirlwind she previously displayed has focused into a cold determination. To what end, perhaps only a handful of people can say for certain...
European player, UTC+1 (+2 during DST). Fixer of random bits. Active in Discord. Notable characters:
As dusk begins to settle across the northern Heartlands, A lone agent garbed in local flora gently creeps around the Orc taken keep, crawling slowly through tall grass and shrubery until posted in front of the Keep. He takes notes of an estimated guard force, their patrol routes, how many fights break out inside, and who tends to instigate them. He remains in the area for a few days, before crawling back out of the area and returning from whence he came.
Amora Lininlith: A shadow in the Dark, to protect the light. retired from the coast Alyssia Leonheart: Heartwarder, High Lady of the Halls of Inner Light Retired from the Coast Katli Lovric: Selunite Warrior Priestess
