Among the common folk of Baldur's Gate

[Blackhorizon]

Slender figure makes her way through the gates into the city just like all those times before. The blue clad elven priestess pauses some distance from the gate, looking around slowly. Instead of merely conducting her business in the various stores and establishments in the city, she steers away from the usual route.

She wanders around the city offering a few kind words of encouragement or simple kindness here and there, perhaps even a few smiles, to the common folk working or crossing paths with her. She does not seem to mind those who shy away from her giving them room and moving elsewhere. Should there be those seemingly in need of healing or other clerical treatments, she would offer to take a look and do what she can for them if they allow but never pressing the matter. Choice, after all, is theirs.

She is not in a hurry. Taking her time as she walks the crisscrossing streets. She leaves the darkest allies alone as she is without an escort. Better part of the day is already gone when she finally sets her foots on the steps of Aello's establishment of fine clothes and vanishes within.

[Blackhorizon]

Some days later the elven priestess purposely approaches the city. She pays a short visit to the market corner on the way to the city. Small, empty basket dangles on her arm. Her steps lead to the market area within the city. There she pauses, looking around slowly as if searching for someone or something.

After a moment she continues on looking over the displayed items in each stall. One with baked goods seems to attract her attention and she fills her basket with fresh loaves of bread and some pastries. She carefully covers the products with a piece of clean cloth. From another stall she finds a decent looking, clean, ordinary robe in shades of blue that she tugs under her free arm.

She hurries off then returns sometime later wearing the recent purchase. She circles around the market area for a while longer before settling down on a bench to wait, cradling the basket in her arms.



The elven priestess observes the comings and goings of the market for some time before getting up with a sigh. She gives one last glance around the area then chooses a way to go.

Her route is different from last time in order to reach more people. She walks slowly, pausing here and there to speak with people – asking how they are and offering warm wishes for the day ahead if they do not seem interested or willing to speak further. She gives away the loaves of bread and pastries to different people, one of each, to those whom seem in need.

She even makes a small circle around the harbor district, though avoids the busiest section as well as the many dark alleys. She meets a colorful selection of individuals during her round – not all happy to see her but not all opposed either.

Sun has already set when she returns to the Helm and Cloak.

[Blackhorizon]

After almost a full moon cycle of absence the slender figure returns to the market in the city accompanied by a human. The elven priestess is dressed in a mundane, blue robe and she’s equipped with a leather satchel, a sizeable basket filled with clothes and a backpack. The basket would soon be offered to the man with a quizzical arch of a brow.

The man, clad in black mail, meets the woman’s gesture with a small smile and a just-as-small shake of his head. His hood lays gathered upon his shoulders, blonde hair and gold-flecked gaze bared to the sun. He bears the arms of a man ready for war, but he walks near the elven priestess with the careless ease of one who’s never known it.

Once ready the pair pays a visit to some of the poorer folks who were willing to let the priestess aid them and whom she got to know during the previous rounds. They leave some clean clothes and pouches containing herbs and simple remedies to aid with everyday aches behind. Healing and curative prayers are offered to those in need and willing to accept them from the elven priestess. Where they find the diseased, the man in black cups a feverish cheek with an uncalloused hand, and the ill find themselves well moments after the odd pair moves on.

They continue towards the harbour. The sun has passed its apex and is steadily descending towards the horizon, yet the harbour is still bustling with people eager to get their chores and business done. A group of children in patched clothing chase each other through the street, running past the pair and leaving dust and laughter in their wake. The last of them, a small boy, crashes into a cart as it’s drawn into the street. He caroms off the solid wagon and bounces down to the paved street, his ragged clothes poor shelter against the solid ground. He sits up with a whimper, hissing away broken breath as he fights off welling tears. The child starts to scramble to his feet, but a thin and delicate hand alights on his shoulder, giving way to a deeply blue sleeve dressing the arm of a thin and delicate elven woman, her wide, light-blue eyes and kind smile holding the boy still, and the taller, dark-armored form slowly approaching behind her begging his further patience.

The boy wipes his nose on his own tattered sleeve as the elven woman tends his scrapes, scarce moments gone before she shoos him with a playful swat, and he darts out into the street and after his friends. The elven priestess stands with a soft sigh and a light shake of her head, smoothing the face of her robes with two splayed palms. The uneven pair press further into the harbor district, the man protectively near the slighter woman as she makes her way here and there, her footprints a smattering of small and solemn kindnesses. A man’s voice cries out for help, clear above the din of the harbor’s mass, and the armored man darts off, ably hurdling a winding set of rails before he disappears around a corner and into a twisting alleyway. The priestess hurries after, but her foot catches on the same rail the man had vaulted, and she clumsily stumbles and falters to her hands and knees. She gets to her feet, wiping the dirt from her palms on the robe at her knees, sweeping the dirt from her knees away to the ground. She trots to the corner her guardian had rounded and peers down the alleyway.

It’s empty, save for the odd vagrant. A few men and women lean in its shadows, hands empty but for half-drunk bottles. The priestess clutches at her own sleeves, fingers curling the simple blue fabric into her palms as she quickly pads down the side street. The salt-sour air of the harbor has turned merely sour, thick with waste and cheap liquor. The elven woman’s slender nose twists as she passes two men in particular, and they wordlessly fall in two, steps heavy and obvious as they trail the errant priestess. One fumbles at the small of his back as they give slow chase. The elven woman’s steps quicken, but no path she sees shows the road: only more alleys, turning darker as the evening wears on. The steps behind her fall more heavily, plodding their way to her pace, and she gathers her robe near her thigh and jogs toward the next bend in her alley, toward a din of voices growing loud.

She pitches around the corner, and there is her guardian, crouched over a man bleeding and desperate. There is a flash of white light as her guardian’s black-gloved palm presses over the other man’s forehead, and the latter’s bleeding ceases. He mumbles his thanks, the words slick with booze, and he stands and totters away. The guardian stands himself, and he turns a small smile upon the priestess. The elven woman ducks around him, and she points whence she ran with a sharp turn of her chin. The armored man looks just there, and two slovenly men round the spot, their heavy run broken into a disinterested amble. One scratches at his scalp as he turns around, his knife still clutched in his thick fingers. The guardian leans toward them, his right heel lifting from the street to mark his first step, but a feminine hand rests lightly upon his bracer. He looks for the eyes of the woman it belongs to, and they close away from his gaze, to better weight the gentle shake of her head.

They turn up the alley together, the priestess breathing out a heavy, laden breath before she straightens, though her steps come a touch slower, her shoulders rolled with some weariness. They soon come to the main road again, its face coming lit with flickering light as the evening’s torches flare, and the guardian offers the women his plated arm as they turn into the street.

The darkness is near full when they reach the gate for the palace district, only a few strokes of twilight yet painting the sky. The long walk has demanded its tax, and the elven woman passes the threshold with haggard steps.

((Huge thanks to RedLancer for the collaboration and additional text + edits.))

[Blackhorizon]

((Placeholder, 5000 given to poorer people of the city, coins collected by DM Soulcatcher.))

[Miyuki]

Beginnings

As a woman was talking to the elf or the other tenday ago, it might not have been in the city, but at the friendly arm they met. By Ameris Freyas was informed that Fierleth would be tending to the sick and less lucky in the Gate as well. She didn't need to think very long as that was exactly what she wanted to do, what the godess wanted her to do. Offer healing, protection and hope for the ones in need. So she did and agreed to help the priestess as the patient were getting too many for only one healer.

"...too otherwordly...", the words from Fierleths letter were still ringing in Freyas head. Yes, she thought maybe an elf might seem too otherwordly to some people. Or even not to mention the racism among some folks. Sometimes Freya felt otherwordly herself with her heritage, so she understood in some way. At a first look peple might only see a human in her, so she used that. Barely someone of the common folk knew the tales of human having children with other beenings, not even hailing from this world.

One day, the list that was promised, came and Freya worked it through. Even some kind of system was in it. She looked at the patients Fierleth gave to her. She looked around in the city, where they live. She wandered through all the districts and not even the poorest stoped her. She did not care when someone said "Lass, your ruining your dress." Then she turned around, smiled accompanied by a shrug and said: "I have others..." In fact the dresses where healer robes.
On her way she noted the houses and places and made a route and a plan when it made most sense to visit them individually. She did not know or care if anyone would see it, she just helped those who needed it. She began by introducing herself and talking to the patients. What where there diseases? What were their needs? What would she need to do to help them fullfill little wishes for them at least? All that she also noted, sorting it to the names on her list.

The furthest journey begins with small steps, they say. So it began...

[Blackhorizon]

On a clear, spring morning, just after the dawning sun has crested the horizon and sent its long light spilling through the open streets of Baldur’s Gate, an armored man, adorned with a holy symbol of Ilmater and a gray skullcap, departs the temple of Ilmater with two other figures at his side. Nearest is a short, slender, elven woman garbed in a plain, blue robe, her hood drawn overhead, and a tall man cased in black armor follows just after her, his own hood gathered around his shoulders, baring his countenance to any seeking gaze.

The armored Ilmatari leads their way through the streets of the east gate, stopping at several particular homes. He is followed closely by the odd pair. The Ilmatari knocks on the door and greets those inside. Here the door is answered by an old couple, there by a young family with a sickly child. Another is a war veteran weakened by the plague.

The Ilmatari introduces his companions, speaking of one as a priestess and healer and the other as her guardian. The priestess greets the people they meet in turn, her melodic voice ringing softly when she addresses them, and her guardian lingers just beyond, patient and pensive. As they treat those they visit, the Ilmatari speaks of how the priestess seeks to aid the people in the city and has agreed to take over the care of those the Ilmatari himself once looked after – including those visited on this particular day. He answers any questions and concerns they have and speaks highly of the priestess's gentle bearing. He takes his time in bidding farewell to those they visit, his sadness and regret drawn upon his features.

The Ilmatari then leads the group into the harbor district. The cluttered streets here are already teeming with life and chaos, fishmongers shouting of their catch over the din, laborers already caked in sweat and grime pushing their way through the crowds. The delicate priestess slows her step, chancing a glance over her shoulder. Her guardian is there, his eyes already turned toward hers. She smiles and turns back toward their guide, a few quickened steps to catch up. Here, in the harbor, the souls the small company visits are poorer and bear the scars of unkind fortune and ill-made choices. One is a widower and recovering alcoholic caring for a young son. Another is a maimed dockworker. Yet another is an addled woman, victim of some disease of the mind that comes and goes.

Again the Ilmatari introduces his companions and speaks as before. The priest emphasizes the benevolence of the priestess even more while talking to the folk in the harbor, as if he felt it particularly important to convince his charges of the woman who would take his place. The elven woman appears more reserved around these people but otherwise comports with the same kindness and dignity as she ever had.

It is long day, dusk by the time the visits are done. The Ilmatari heads back toward his temple, where he heads inside for an evening meal. The priestess and her guardian take the darkening street together, winding through to the palace district, where they part company: she to an inn room and her rest, and he toward the northern gate and his road beyond.

((Thank you kleomenes for the collaboration and RedLancer for the additional text + edits.))

[Blackhorizon]

Candlelight flickers shedding dancing shadows on the small table it stands on. Heavy, thick tome lies open on the desk. Slender female face hovers above, dark sapphire blue tresses cascading down on the pages. She reaches towards one pointed ear and tugs a lock of hair behind it. Pair of light blue eyes trace the lines on the pages. “So many” she says into the empty air. “Welcome chance that Freya was willing to visit some of them.” She lets out a soft sigh and begins to pen down notes on a smaller book.

On the following morning the elven woman heads out of the inn to the palace district, a small leather book tugged under one arm. Her cloak is resting over a small backpack, creating a low bump behind her lithe form. The familiar weight of her worn leather satchel is felt against her right hip. Comfortable, simple robe flows down to keep the sometimes cool spring breeze at bay.

Upon reaching the market area of the East Gate District she pauses tugging the small leather book from beneath her arm. She takes a look inside, flipping through a few pages before continuing her way. She visits a set of people and families on the district. Every once in a while she takes a peek at her notes. The priestess spends a moment in each place she visit, remaining longer in some places – each according to their needs. A small pouch of coins is left behind discreetly to help out their daily struggles of various kinds.

It is already dark when the elven woman returns to the inn she left this morning and makes her way upstairs to her room. First she sets her things aside then makes her way to the desk – the heavy tome lying open on it. She lights a candle and takes a seat. Dipping a quill into an ink bottle she begins to pen notes on an empty page of the patients met today.

[Blackhorizon]

Rotating lists of patients – each time meeting with different faces until a full circle is made and the journey can be repeated. Tenday after another roll by. Most of the visits go by without any noteworthy incidents even if laborious for the little priestess. Familiarity with the streets and the tasks bring comfort and certainty. Yet, it is not always so. The dreaded visit to the harbour looms ahead. It is time to brave the mass of rushing people and darker parts of the city.

Fierlith stands near the Merchant League building, clutching her leather satchel tightly. Her gaze is set on the street, watching the passing people with observant eyes. She is yet to take a step forward. Why does it feel so intimidating to be here with a set purpose and wander around the streets instead of being one of the people rushing by on an errand?

She takes a hesitant step forward only to be nudged by a running courier. Slowly she makes her way towards the first apartment on her list, constantly looking around. It is not the patients that cause her heart to skip a beat at times. It’s the unkind eyes and the baleful mood of the docks.

The day grows older and as the streets become quieter, the atmosphere turns ominous. There are still a few people to see. The elven priestess glances towards the darkening sky. Clouds are gathering – it will rain soon. As if by summoned the first drops hit the filthy pavement of the street she stands on. She tugs on her hood and hurries along.

Fierlith closes a battered wooden door behind her then descends the squeaky stairs. It is raining heavily, blurring everything. She takes a few running steps but the stone paving is slippery and her foot slips. It takes her a moment to get back again. She doesn’t notice the dark figure leaning to a wall some distance away.

It takes a moment to adjust her pack and satchel to a comfortable position but soon she heads on. There is only one visit to be had. The corner of her eye catches a glint of metal in the blurry darkness. She twirls to the opposite direction then runs for it. The sharp object catches only cloak, cutting a hole into it. She reaches her destination running, banging the door desperately. After what feels like the longest of moments the door opens and she slips inside past the one who opened the door. She apologizes for the rushed entry before catching her breath.

Later she peeks out of the door looking around the dark street. She steps outside gathering her powers and makes herself inconspicuous. The journey out of the district is uneventful.

[Blackhorizon]

Wooden door closes behind her as she shuffles into the inn room. With tired hands she reaches for the silvery brooch holding the blue cape in place. The damp cloak falls off her shoulders to a bundle on the floor. She decides to deal with it a little later.

It is already late and the room is dark. What little illumination there is it comes through the small window. Pale light of the moon lingers near the opening. She tugs a loose strand of sapphire hair behind her pointed ear then moves to the small table and chair near the window. Standing by the chair, hand lightly resting on the back of it, her attention is drawn to the window. After a moment of deliberation she moves to the window reaching a delicate hand to open the latch and pushing the window open. She is met with a cool night breeze bringing the scents of the sleeping city and harbour with it. Her light blue eyes seek the stars above and the silvery shape of Selûne.

Taking a deep breath she clears her mind, concentrating. Her mind drifts, floating in the sea of nothingness, waiting. A faint blue nimbus of stars form in the vastness where distance has little meaning. Like a moth drawn to the light she goes to it, surrounded by it. She feels tranquil. Words form in her mind – a prayer to the Daughter of the Night Skies.

With the fading light the spirit lifts and reaches for the stars.
Searching for that which cannot be seen.
Seeking hope in these dark times,
twinkling stars serving as guides on the path of unknown.
I ask for strength,
so I may endure against our foes,
wisdom to outsmart them.
May the dreams be vivid and meaningful.
Guide me on the path of mysteries Lady of Dreams.

Her hands have found their way to the window frame, curled around the slim wooden edge. She remains by the window for a while staring towards the sky before pushing herself away from it. The sturdy chair feels heavy when she tries to move it aside but she manages to drag it enough to fit between it and the table edge. She light a candle and flips the heavy tome resting on the table open.

Once an empty page is found she settles down to making notes of the day’s round, adding details on patients having some form of affliction or other cause for treatment. A few candlemarks later she is finally finished. It is time to rest. The bundle on the floor remains – forgotten.