Anarchy in the Sword Coast

[Galaahd]

Prologue

A storm is raging on Roaringshore: violent waves sweep the docks and roaring thunders crack the sky. The Broken Goblet is full. Most sailors are enjoying drinks and warm food. By the fire, sits alone a huge man with a long and wild black beard, even longer hair and a patch on his left eye. He seems to be at least forty years old. He's holding a stein full of a dense and green grog, a little sleepy, while staring at the flames and warming his feet.

An eleven years old kid approaches him, fearful.

"Mi-mister? You are the one... they call the reverend?"
"Uh? Oh. Aye, it would be me, son."
"I have heard... you are in the crew of captain Kalma..."
"Aye, it's true. What do ye want? Ye're lookin' fer a job? What's yer name?"
The kid nods: "I'm ... Ti-Tim!"
The pirate bursts in a laughter: "Ah! Ye remember me little brother. But I was nay different back at the times. Ah, ol' Luskan! I was the son of a sailor an' me mother was a waitress at a tavern. I was eight when I sailed fer the first time. It was thirtyfour years ago, I can't believe that I've lived so much. On me first ship, the Mermaid, me mates had a sayin': "Live fast and die young!". I've lived fast, boy, but me neck has yet to meet the gallows. Aye, I've sailed all 'roun' the seas. I've been at Calimport, son, I've visited the Nelanthers. I've lived some years on the pirate isles in the Sea of Fallen Stars. I've watched the jungles of Chult and even Koryo, in the misterious east, in Karatur. Hm, I'm ramblin'. What was yer name again?"
"Tim"
"Ah, Tim, aye. Come in the morrow on the ship, we'll fin' ye somethin' to do."

The happy boy takes his leave as the reverend returns to his drinking (and quickly falls asleep) but he's stopped by a bald sailor at the door.

"Watch out, kid. He's a nasty feller. And he told you crap, by the way. His mother worked at the brothel, she was nay waitress. And I doubt that he's ever been that east. Do you know why they call him the reverend? He's a fanatical priest of the Thunderlord... ol' Bart saw him killing a guy at the docks, two weeks ago, just because he prayed to the wrong god. Be careful if you want to embark with them, be very careful."

[Galaahd]

Anarchy in the Sword Coast

In a tavern in a small, remote and insignificant village on the coast, south of Candlekeep, two happy merchants are celebrating with several cups of red wine. The only other guest is a very tall man dressed in black, sitting alone in a corner and drinking heavily. The bulky, short and almost bald bartender is sitting sleepy at the counter.
The two men are lifting up their goblets for the umpteenth time.

"To the Fist!"
"Aye, and to the Dukes!"
"FARK 'EM!", a sudden yell from the corner. The two shocked men watch the third guest, who continues: "May they die soon an' in a painful way! An' fark ta Fist too!".

The merchants are clearly embarassed and don't know what to say. Bjorn, satisfied with their reaction, stands up and goes on with his rambling:

"Those ridiculous little men who call themselves lords... dukes... kings... full of shit they are! I dun bow down ta 'em. Never, in me life, I've done it. They are ponces. I was born free an' I will die free."
"Bu-but there are rules, laws, to keep order and safety..."
"Laws made by sheeps, fer sheeps. Fark 'em too. I'm nay sheep, I'm a lion. Or a wolf. I dun give a damn, they are lords of nothin' and their laws mean nothin' ta me. Ye know what? Soon or later we boys from ta Shore will descend upon 'em, sack that brothel they call Baldur's Gate an' hang the dukes an' all those bloody nobles. Hang 'em high."
"But, sir, you are suggesting treason!" answers one of the horrified merchants.
"Ye think I care? An' I'm nay sir."

The bartender decides to interrupt his silence: "Enough of this! I won't have this kind of talk in my tavern!"

Bjorn then laughs at the intervention of the old man, and stares him menacingly.

"Or what?"

After an awkward silence the bartender lowers his eyes.

"As I thought. Ye're sheeps. But let's see if ye are rich sheeps."

After taking all the money of the three astonished men, Bjorn walks to the exit. Before leaving, though, he turns his head for the last time.

"An' consider yerself lucky: I've decided ta spare yer pathetic lives."