Rumors & Events of Baldur's Gate

[mixafix]

Sutton Dykes on one of his circuits about Baldur's Gate and the surrounds chances upon the Flaming Fist fanned out out behind a General no less, and their Thayan counterparts, who also seem to be pulsing. He organises a collection of cushions and orders some Ice and instructs a hired help to keep the cold ale coming. "This ought to be good." He considers "I should be selling seats."

He jumps up and organises more cushions, ice and ales. "What was I thinking where there is people there is profit!"

"GET YOUR ARENA SIDE CUSHIONS HERE!" the hired help was last heard shouting.

[Mursey]

Such parchments as the one below begin to find there way to noticeboards and wooden poles all over Baldurs Gate, and in places most commonly associated with adventurers:

OOC: A player-driven quest consisting of an IC raid on the kobold infested ruins just south of the city. Participating characters should be levels 3-5 (preferably) with allowances made for characters just slightly outside that character range who might still find the challenge and limited financial remuneration appealing.

Send me a PM on the forums to record your interest. Please list your timezone and general availability for scheduling purposes. Every attempt will be made to find a time that will accommodate as many interested players as possible.

[Balthomer]

in the farmlands, outside of Baldur's Gate, there is a man dressed in white robes and a turban, he stands close to the fire, apparently advertising some kind of service: "Step right up, step right up, Big Al transportation services is now open for business, for the low fee of 1 bag of gold, Aland takes you faster than any boat in the realm to where you need to go, of course, within reason"

[Mursey]

The posters that once decorated bulletin boards and walls around the city have been torn down. Instead, word spreads of the exploits of a brave band of adventurers who, having driven kobolds and diverse creatures of unknown providence from the ruins south of the bridge, have rendered the roads safer. Safer, that is, until the beasts make their inevitable return.


Knowledge Local DC10: Those wishing to know the identify of the heroes concerned can find out readily enough from the staff and patrons of the Elfsong tavern:

* Jarl Dahlskald
* Hard Kenner
* Uist Maulswinger
* Marie
* Wyn
* Zeeta Thulkist

Such parchments as the one below begin to find there way to noticeboards and wooden poles all over Baldurs Gate, and in places most commonly associated with adventurers:

OOC: A player-driven quest consisting of an IC raid on the kobold infested ruins just south of the city. Participating characters should be levels 3-5 (preferably) with allowances made for characters just slightly outside that character range who might still find the challenge and limited financial remuneration appealing.

Send me a PM on the forums to record your interest. Please list your timezone and general availability for scheduling purposes. Every attempt will be made to find a time that will accommodate as many interested players as possible.

[Darradarljod]

At news of the arrival, the large Thayan was roused out of dictating his letters to the scribe.

"Mercenaries," he muttered contemptuously.

Taloned gauntlets seized the armrests of his chair to heave his armored body up from his desk where he had rest himself in the shade of the pavilion. Bueroza took a certain rolled parchment from his desk and moved outside slowly. It was needful that he bowed his dark head of hair to clear the tent entrance to present himself standing in the light of day. The knight might have struck an imposing figure, for his abominable physique and the proportionately grand burnished and ornate full plate-mail that dressed the herculean man. Muscles of his pit-bull jaw were clenched, pulsing with naked irritation, as the kohl-lined eyes of a primitive and warrior-like face located those of the master-tactician, Scar.

"Problem, General Harold Loggerson?"

General Scar's nostrils flared. He squared his shoulders, puffed out his chest and drew up his fingers into implacable fists. With a slanted gaze, the man stared Bueroza full in the face. The line of his jaw was more than firm; it was etched in stone. "Yes. We do have a problem," he drawled. "You lot must be thicker than the skin on a bugbear's arse to think a bleeding recruitment drive would fly without Ducal permission. Since when does the Black Network beg forgiveness instead of asking for permission outright?" Scar sneered. "You the one in charge of all this, boy?"

"I am, General, and I would ask you reciprocate my decorum. Now pray tell what law of the land or clause of treaty we are in direct violation of by accepting volunteers here today." a black gauntlet put forward the rolled scroll to Scar, which, if unfurled, should detail a copy of the treaty between the Zhentarim and the city-state.

[Truthiness]

A man with antlers and white hair could be seen speaking with town criers Baldur's Gate and handing them some gold, spreading word of a capture of a druid that has been attacking travelers and to check the bulletin board for more information. Upon the bulletin board would be a new message reading...

The man calling himself Larfleeze Hamoa that has been attacking travelers up and down the coast is currently in custody of the Fist, but only for a day if witnesses don't come forward. If you or anyone you know of has been attacked or threatened by the man, go to the Fist and tell them what you have seen. The more the better. With any luck he'll find his end.

The man, seemingly a druid, wears a mask and goggles, carrying around a shield as well. He shifts into different forms, ranging from a spider to a gargoyle and many more. He's been known to cast an acidic storm spell among others while shifted. He steals blood from and leaves poisons and diseases within whoever he leaves alive.

- Fenix Wandersoul

[DaloLorn]

According to Hesper, the young woman connected to the recent incidents at the Blade and Stars inn has checked out of his inn. She was last seen heading towards the Harbor District, accompanied by Felino and Pearl - who have reportedly left a note for Isabella.

OOC: The plot has been shifted out of Baldur's Gate and into the rest of the Sword Coast.

[DM Chant]

"I am, General, and I would ask you reciprocate my decorum. Now pray tell what law of the land or clause of treaty we are in direct violation of by accepting volunteers here today." a black gauntlet put forward the rolled scroll to Scar, which, if unfurled, should detail a copy of the treaty between the Zhentarim and the city-state.

The contingent of Fist took formation at key points upon the scene. Their discipline and professionalism were just as apparent as that of the Zhentarim. They stood watchful while the two men faced up to one another, planted solid upon the field. A canary-eating grin split the general's sharp features, displaying the laugh lines about his eyes even though there was not an ounce of humor to be found in his hard gaze where it fixed on Bueroza. "The thing is, boy, that treaty allows you to trade and engage in diplomatic relations - nothing less, nothing more. That includes clumsy, underhanded pushes for rutting recruits. So pack up this circus," Scar waved his hand in a dismissive gesture, "then go back to the hole you crawled out of. And when your leader demands your head for causing this festering cesspool of a diplomatic incident, remember to bend the knee like a good little lackey," the General's tone carried his words with the snap of cold finality.

[Kingmaker]

After the recent disruption of the smuggling ring operating in the Northern Farmlands by local adventurers Carrie, Yohann Lawstar, and Zeeta Thulkist, the Zhentarim wasted no time in raising a pavilion in the very same area. Advertisement of a Zhentarim recruitment drive came by criers in the Harbor district and posters near taverns and sewer entrances throughout the city at large. Travelers might have noticed identical posters recently nailed to trees on the Trade Way.

Zhentarim agents, quills at ready, sat at desks with printed contracts. They primed their tongues in small-talk among themselves, readying to recite expectations and persuade prospective interest into commitments of service. Handpicked foot-soldiers of matching height in impeccably polished steel armor were present. Some stood guard of the agents, and others patrolled to keep order, prevent any interruptions by dissenters and, most importantly, keep orderly lines of interest.

Seen to be seated within the pavilion itself was the herculean knight Bueroza - a wolf among dogs - clearly in command of the initiative. He poured over several scrolls on a table, preoccupied by writing letters.

As quickly as the fliers appeared, they began disappearing. Some torn, their pieces floating in the air; others swiped and tossed into the sewers or rolled-up for a smoke by the workmen of the Docks. They are gone with the trash, as the locals would say. Besides, those in the Docks knew better than to show even a glimmer of interest in Zhentarim business.

In one particularly shabby and shaded corner of the district, a crier sustained a swift blow to the head from behind, and a shiv to the shoulder blade that pinned a note to his tunic, where written in the man's blood was a straightforward sentiment.

"HELLS no."

The other messengers quickly gathered that their presence was not welcomed and dipped out with tails between their legs, making the Docks great again.

The district life returns to normal next evening. Dockworkers, sailors both honest and unscrupulous, swindlers, street merchants and urchins, the kind of folk respectable citizens would look down upon, go about their business. Their drunken songs, arguments and shouts spread a murmur across the docks with no watchmen in sight to rein them in. Lone figure stands at the end of a darkened alley by one of the warehouses on a wide street, his gaze observes the nightlife with satisfaction upon his features, shrouded by the shadows evading Selune's grace. Time passes as he takes the scenery in, his gloved hand then lifts one of the posters to meet his gaze. He turns and heads back into the alley, a match meets the stone then sets the parchment ablaze, letting it fall to the cobbled street. It disturbs the shadows for but a moment before it vanishes in ashes.

[Darradarljod]

The contingent of Fist took formation at key points upon the scene. Their discipline and professionalism were just as apparent as that of the Zhentarim. They stood watchful while the two men faced up to one another, planted solid upon the field. A canary-eating grin split the general's sharp features, displaying the laugh lines about his eyes even though there was not an ounce of humor to be found in his hard gaze where it fixed on Bueroza. "The thing is, boy, that treaty allows you to trade and engage in diplomatic relations - nothing less, nothing more. That includes clumsy, underhanded pushes for rutting recruits. So pack up this circus," Scar waved his hand in a dismissive gesture, "then go back to the hole you crawled out of. And when your leader demands your head for causing this festering cesspool of a diplomatic incident, remember to bend the knee like a good little lackey," the General's tone carried his words with the snap of cold finality.

The more Scar spoke, the more the pin-prick pupils of the herculean warrior dilated. Soon his kohl-lined stare was eclipsed black like that of a shark. Throughout the railing banter he stood with the impeccable posture of a professional militant. Bull nostrils flared to take in the stench of his opponent's morning breath, his grim and primitive face remaining stone-like.

Before Scar had completely finished his address, Bueroza had moved so aggressively near to the man that there remained but a mere fraction between the steel of their breastplates. His great arm crooked out to a side, chin raising in arrogant elitism as a midnight gauntlet gesticulated once swiftly overhead in a sweep; he had signaled the team to begin to dismantle the operation, which they would have to carry out under the watch of both the armed Zhentarim and Flaming Fist soldiers.

As the unit began packing to leave, the Thayan giant did not assist them. He remained where he stood by General Scar, and bowed down from his height just enough to speak directly beside the man's ear. His breath was hot, his dark Mulanese eyes now on the horizon over that master-tacticians soldier where the colorful flag of Baldur's Gate billowed on gentle winds over the tall stone walls of the coastal city-state;

"I will see you on the battlefield, General." A promise that was perhaps as equally pregnant with ominous insinuation as it was ambiguous, for the foreshadowing devil-war in which they were in an existential sense co-operative.

When they were ready to leave Bueroza mounted his Tyranturan warhorse, Xenubat. He would lead the Zhentarim unit without ensign out of the duchal-realm, presumably under escort of the Flaming Fist. Once broken free of duchal-territory and law, the company halted. Bueroza gave the order to thenceforth raise the black banners of Tyrant Lord Bane over their company, which were put to the wind for the rest of their return to the north.

[DM Arrakeen]

The moment Bueroza invaded General's space something happened inside the ranks of the Flaming Fist flanking them. That change was near instantaneous and fluid; bodies shifted weight, hands clad in gauntlets dropped to the sword hilts, gloved fingers pulled at the arrows training their tips at the herculean Thayan.

The reaction from Scar was much less evident, only manifesting upon the steely, sharp planes of his visage in a smug, triumphant smirk. His chin lifted as Bueroza's enraged visage drew close, but in every other way and in the whole composition of his disciplined form, the General seemed an immovable statue. "And I'll see you in the depths of hell," he returned to the Zhent's parting statement.

[mixafix]

As the Flaming Fist and the Zhentarim separate Sutton Dykes is back on his feet recovering his cushions leaving his ice melting where it was left. Disappointment etched on his face that events had moved on so quickly there was barely time for a profit. He quickly recovered and turned his attention to his main priority of the day - watching corn grow. Soon it would be ready for trade to the south. He approached a farmer. "My friend, how are you this fine day?"

[Mursey]

OOC: This will be an IC expedition to the Cloakwood, with the intent of recovering the ore from the Mining Company quest giver next to the East Gate market. The expedition shall leave from the Elf-song tavern at 18:00 British Summer Time (GMT +1). Contact me here via PM or on discord to express interest. Preferred character levels are those appropriate to the dungeon.


EDIT: There hasn't been much interest in staging this event today, so I'll postpone it for a week or so.

[Chinggis Khan]

As the last vestiges of a cool evening sun drift away like discarded sparks from a blacksmith's hammer, and exceptionally stocky dwarf plods his way down a gangway onto the lively streets of the Baldur's gate docks. A battered weather-beaten leather trunk Tucked handily under one arm.

The flash and gutter of flickering light cut through the deepening gloom illuminating a heavy brow and bulldogish features. Tindertwig waving smoothly, set to an overfilled black leafed cigar.

Acrid black smoke drifting up into the pastel orange sky. Seven words drifting out into the chill spring air
"Alright Boindar, time to earn some drakes."

Hidden: show

[Wade]

16th of Tarsakh, morning.

Rumors spread about a squabble by the Farmlands campfire between a Red Wizard and some tough-looking one-eyed tiefling. Starting with mutual insults, it almost ended up in a bloodshed when the tiefling grabbed the wizard by his throat in a rush of emotions but was stopped by witnesses. Noone has died, noone was maimed, but it's in the air that it's not the end of the story.