Rumors of Beregost

[Cinta]

Since a few days now, a slender figure clad in white leathers frequents a barren field on the farmlands of Beregost. Eyes held on a spot opposite her, rythmic steps led her into a dance, lunging forward daggers in hands, though her partner is invisible to anyone but her. Her moves shadow a fight, quick and ruthless, often stopping to drop her arms down in defeat, just to try again, differently than before. As the severalth of the imagined tactics fails, frustration distorting her face, she sets out to walk a large circle around the field. Returning to the same spot, she continues where she let off.

[gotesu]

After the arrival of a certain hooded woman and a Lathandrite clergyman to the Song of the Morning temple in Beregost, and apparently due to the application of a mysterious treatment - the wounded warrior’s condition seemed to greatly improve, his leave from the temple’s care was soon to follow but not before his gratitude was paid by the delivery of an unlikely clerical relic.

[GaretAthran]

From the Tradeway marches a somewhat familiar colossal armored figure, her face ruined on one side by what appear to be fresh claw marks, her left eye covered by an eyepatch packed with bandages that are caked with the dark crimson-brown of dried blood. She makes her way to the Risen Phoenix Inn and rents herself a room before collapsing into a chair in the Inn's common room.

[GaretAthran]

The following morning a notice is left on the bulletin board outside of the Town Hall:

SCOUTING REPORTS WANTED

Seeking up-to-date reports of the areas and threats (both real and potential) surrounding the town of Beregost. Scouts whose reports are found reliable can expect more work of similar fashion.

Written reports will receive five bags per report. Leave these reports, sealed, at the Risen Phoenix Inn for Kamine Waynn.

[Anrilor]

Fliers appear throughout Beregost.

The Halls of Inner Light Presents:
The Grand Revel of Lliira

The Halls of Inner Light welcomes one and all to the Grand Revel of Lliira, a litany on the Joybringer's dogma followed by celebration, feasts, drinks. All are welcome, be you rich or poor, Lost or lonely souls, the shunned or even a foe! Both the litany and the celebration will be held in the Heartfire Tavern located below the Halls in the evening of the 25th of Eleint 1357. This is one party you don't want to miss! I hope to see you there!

Heartwarder Alyssia Leonhart
High Lady of the Halls of Inner Light

(((26th of September, 1700 EST 2100 GMT

[zhevrun]

There have been an increasing number of rumours that a golden-scaled dragon has been seeing in the areas around Beregost - most reliably, in the cliffs near the wyvern nesting grounds. A few adventurers have been in direct contact with this creature, that takes both fully draconic form and the form of an elven dragonblood. The most common sightings seem to indicate an increasing effort to bring materials to some location within the region, most likely for nesting or lairing purposes. Any who venture into the abandoned mines beneath the cliffs might even catch sight of tents, lanterns, and various signs of recent activity.

[artemitavik]

A parchment is posted in several places for easy reading

Hello Everyone

Thank you for taking the time to read this. I am putting ink to parchment to address a few issues I have heard of lately and want to put to rest. These issues are brought to me by my staff and members of the Bladestone Foundation and Warrior's Rest on multiple occasions of late but never has anyone simply come to me to ask for clarification directly as the Headmaster.

1) The Bladestone Foundation is NOT part of, a subsidiary of, owned by, ruled by, controlled by, or influenced by the Whitewood Vanguard.

Yes, a member of the Vanguard currently owns part of the shares of the Bladestone Foundation and Warrior's Rest and the Vanguard members are often there.
They are there as paying patrons as is a lot of people. We see traffic ((NPC, DM vetted)) from multiple places and people such as the Merchant League and the local farmers and villages as well as Beregost. However, that does not make the Foundation part of, owned by, ruled by, or controlled by those individuals or groups. This is the same silliness that has been rotating through for years in regards to the Foundation for whatever reason. Last year we were supposedly owned or controlled by the Blackroses because some of them stayed in the inn. Before that, because we didn't immediately throw them out, it was the Black Abby or the Zhentarim. Before that, we were supposed to be an extension of Candlekeep and an expanding militant arm of the Library. Prior to that we were a Ducal Military Outpost there to impose Baldurian rule upon the surrounding land.

None of this has been true, clearly, as they are all rather mutually exclusive. Neither is this nonsense true. The Bladestone is controlled by exactly one thing:
The Bladestone.

If another group wishes to pay to use our facilities as are publicly advertised, that is there prerogative. It does not make us "owned" by them simply because another faction visits regularly or has shared membership. That would be like saying because members of the Radiant Heart and Darkhold have had many non-violent conversations and co-habitations of the campfire on the road by Baldur's Gate, they are clearly one in the same. Further, how common is it for people to be members of more than one organization? This does not put one organization under the thumb of the other simply because someone participates in both. The Radiant Heart and Doron Amar have like members in leadership positions. Does this mean the Heart controls Doron Amar or visa versa? Of course not. Neither is this the case here.

2) We are not a militia or a mercenary company. We are a school and an inn and a trade post.

Do we have guards? Yes. We live and exist quite a ((ICly anyways, not map wise)) ways away from anywhere in a dangerous part of the Coast. Do we have patrols in the area? Yes. Part of our goal since establishment has been betterment of local community. To that end we have had several outreaches to local farms and towns such as Blueglade and South Pine ((npc towns, DM vetted and evented)). Our patrols through "no man's land" are to discourage bandit activity and make the area safer for travel for people coming to or from the area. Recently, some of our guards are taking part in helping guard caravans of refugees from the war in the North's hotter combat areas to further south away from the fighting. Are they in our "sphere of influence"? Not typically, but they are innocent people who are caught in a dangerous situation, and our people helping a community at large an in need. In the same way we also brought food into Baldur's Gate during the last year's winter famine, and the city is clearly not in our sphere of influence either.

3) We are not an exclusive club.

We welcome pretty much anyone outside of a few exclusions. All that is required or requested is follow the few very simple rules when in the property, which are clearly posted. All are welcome to come, train, enjoy a drink, whatever per the services listed at the school and inn.

4) We ARE a school, inn, and trade post.

The Foundation in the last few years has worked hard to become a community center for the "no man's land" area it is based on. We have partnered some with the Rocky Creek for a fully staffed trade station for the locals and any travelling merchant. We offer short term and long term classes in combat, combat theory, weaponry, and are working on adding some magics to that list as well. We have a fully staffed inn with couches, a hearth, plenty of seating, and a bardic stage. We have a variety of rooms for rent for long and short term, as well as other facilities that can be rented for events and meetings such as the arena and conference meeting room. We have an expansive menu of food and drink and very few rules.

I hope this puts to rest the majority of questions and rumors about what the Bladestone Foundation and the Warrior's Rest are and are not.

If you have any questions about these sorts of things, bring them to me, either in person or via letter dropped off at the Foundation ((PM)). Please stop accusing my people of being something they are not or telling them the Foundation is "clearly" doing something it isn't.

-Derik Ranloss, Headmaster, Bladestone Foundation

OOC: Honestly, yes, please if you have any ic or ooc questions about the BSF, please ping me on discord or send me a PM. This sort of thing has been going on and off for like 2 years now. I know some of it is IC driven and that's fine, but some of it isn't, and I'll be happy to clear it up either way.

[zhevrun]

The first indication that something was wrong was the unnatural chill in the air that woke Isendel from his slumber. He had already sobered up from the day's earlier revelry with a cool bath, but this was something altogether different - it bit through his scales, right down to his marrow. Emerging from the cave, his mouth fell agape to witness the starfall and icy rain slick taking over the cliffs and nearby Beregost. Instinct told him to assume dragon form, to take flight and protect as many as he could - and yet, despite his familiar call of will.... nothing. A feeling of unease filled him as he threw on his fur cloak, and trekked out into the scarlet rain.

A few attempts to melt the ice gave way to strange abnormalities - fire that turn into smoke, snakes dancing into existance, a cascade of golden ink running down his forearm. He was thankful that no one else was around to witness this sad display, but thanked his grandsire that his body was still that of a half-dragon at this point. He began collecting as many wyvern pelts and kindling as he could - Gods knew that it would be needed soon. He made his way to town, ready to offer as much aid as a single dragonblood vagrant could...

[Izsu]

A hin woman stands alone in a state of sorrow-induced shock near a demolished and violently attacked caravan comprised of members of her race some ways south of Beregost and Gullykin, staring out over the aftermath.

A significant hole had ripped through the larger, centermost caravan. It was seemingly made by a stray meteorite which had caused an abrupt stop to their travels, as they presumably attempted to repair the damages and shelter themselves against the sudden onset of the odd blizzard. A host of strange monsters had then intercepted and ambushed the stranded halfling travellers, the immediate area telling of a gruesome fate having visited the unfortunate settlers. The scarlet blizzard had likely given the attackers an advantage of cover as they closed in on the unsuspecting hin folk.The site is littered in odd remains of monsters - lopped off tentacles and acidic blood scattered here and there - with corpses of hin all over the place, surrounding the ruins of the wagons, some having tried escaping to no avail. The animals had been picked clean, harnesses still attaching their bloodied skeletal remains to the wagons.There were no survivors.

The Homefellow cleric Wisica Weatherbee finds herself simply standing there for hours on end before finally ripping out of her despair-filled state of shock to attend to the deceased, giving them their last rites. She spends additional time over some specific fallen as she speaks in a tearful eulogy, her composure finally breaking as she addresses those few as family.

After the rites are given and the work is done, she spends an hour or so in desperate prayers to Cyrrollalee before leaving the area in a daze, cheerfullness and almost everpresent smile nowhere to be seen as she heads back north towards the settlement of Gullykin to deliver the dour news. To what will have to count as home, in whatever state it might be in.

[kersplunk]

~ Theme Music Link ~

The scenery in the city, ghastly and still, evoked the sensation of a city locked in time, an alternate, macabre reflection of another Beregost-that-might-have-been. The rising blood red sun glinted off of the pooling red ichor in the streets, dripping malevolently from the frozen spires and mounds piled high in the streets, over doorframes, weighing heavily on rooftops ill suited for the out-of-season blizzard. Not a soul moved in the streets, not a single person to be found.

The sky was clear, but the air hung over the grisly scene like a thick web, a choking invisible smog of utter stillness and silence. Only the tiniest, arhythmic drip... drip... ... ... drip... gave any impression that time itself was still passing.

...c-c-c...cr....cr-r-rra-a-a-ack!

The quick, sharp crescendo from silence to the whiplike cracking of ice echoed through the alleyways, startling a flight of confused birds from their perches in a tree near the town square, sending another red-tinged flurry to the slickened roads from its bowed, prematurely withered branches. The door to the Risen Phoenix Inn shuddered beneath the cracks forming in the ice, and lay still.

BANG.

BANG.

Another shudder. The silence around the dull thuds behind the door contrasted so sharply that, were anyone nearby to hear, the sound of a mouse scampering across the cobbles between the sounds would have been deafening.

CRUNCH.

The door flew open, sending jagged shards of ice, like that of a shattering, bloody mirror, out into the streets to explode into thousands of crystalline fragments. From the gloom of a dying fire within, a handful of the townsfolk shuffled forth, squinting and blinking in surprise at the dull red-and-ochre glow outside that greeted them, contrasting with the brilliant sheen of the morning sun they so expected. The tavernmaster and innkeeper Samuel, leading the group, surveyed the nightmare before them, stepping out of the doorframe and rubbing at his forehead worriedly. The town drunk stumbled out, Radger the badger cradled protectively in his arms, blinking and placing his footfalls carefully on the ice-slick roads. No one spoke. Barely anyone could even *breathe* for want of the words to waste it on. There were none. Nothing could have prepared these people for this.

Amidst the group, an auburn-haired, hazel-eyed young woman came forth, guiding an aged woman into the air with an arm about her waist, holding her hand. The poor old thing looked to be in distress, holding a thick blanket tightly about her shoulders, clutching the young woman's hand with her free one and wailing softly about her children. The younger woman spoke in soft, but harried reassurances to her, patting her hand, guiding her steps. A taller Ffolk man in an overcoat and a wide-brimmed, feathered hat walked just before her, leading their way. He was not four steps beyond the door before stopping to stare in a slow pan about what had become of the town in horrified disbelief.

"Carah..."

Carah looked.

And she stared as well.

============

It had begun as a single, excited cry.

Carah sat at the desk in her and Emrys's rented room in Beregost, slumped with head resting in tented fingers as she pored over yet another ream of paperwork for the land purchase in town. The fading light from the window had necessitated a candle to be lit, and she rubbed at her eyes. That's when she heard it.

"Look, Mother... it's snowing!"

She was certain she'd heard that wrong. She was getting tired, and besides, it wasn't in her to eavesdrop even on conversations just outside of her window, particularly not those shouted by excitable children. But then she heard it again. And the gasps of wonder that followed, many of which were adult voices.

And then had come the screams.

When Carah had run to the window, slamming her palms against the sill to watch slack jawed and wide-eyed at the sight of red snow, in Flamerule, no less, an icy chill ran up her spine. And then she had felt the draft on her fingers, the harsh winter wind blasting in from the cracks in the window frame. A horrible, profound sense of wrongness wormed its way into her very core, eating away at her insides where she was powerless to get at it. Distant peals that sounded like thunder... or like collisions... echoed deep in the distance, the blood red sky permeating everything with an unmistakable stain of dread.
Horrible, unsettling memories locked deep within her mind clanged away at their prisons, like unseen beasts banging rhythmically against iron cellar doors behind which they had been sealed, slumbering away until awoken just now.

Scrambling with fumbling, shaking fingers amongst the myriad trinkets hanging by various small chains and leather throngs about her neck, she turned from the window, holding one amulet's medallion before her lips. She whispered the command to activate it... and nothing happened. She closed her eyes, drew in a calming breath, and tried again. Still nothing.

Desperately railing against panic, she steeled herself, trying to block out the confused shouting and screaming that came from the terrified townsfolk without, concentrating deeply on the magic of the Sending amulet. There was a tickle, a tingle not unlike the feeling of an insect crawling across the back of your hand just in that gray moment the instant before you fell asleep, pulled back into your waking mind without truly knowing for sure if the sensation was real or imagined. Either way, however, the connection was not established, the magic didn't burn, the familiar echo in her mind never came. It wasn't the amulet, she could sense... it was as if the Weave were not even there.

A sharp rapping on the door startled her so badly she clipped off a shriek, whirling to face it before swallowing hard, annoyed at herself for being so jumpy. Marching to it, she flung it open, and looked hopefully past the innkeeper's face when she saw him standing there.

"Miss Kerr, everything all right up here?" the man asked, insistently. And though he was doing his best to appear put together and in control, Carah could see it written all over his face that the poor man was just as confused, harrowed, and lacking in explanations as she was.

She nodded. "I'm fine, Samuel. What's going on?"

"Nobody rightly knows," the man replied, running a hand through his hair, nervously. "It's right panic out there right now, ma'am. Red snow and freezin' winds in the middle of summer? Strange empty feelings by everyone sensitive to the Weave? Bloody hells, even the priests across the way look like they're panicking."

Carah's eyes widened further, feeling a cold iron hand tightening around the pit of her stomach. This was sounding worse and worse by the second. She flicked her hazel eyes beyond the man once more and down the hall, hoping against hope to see her husband running up behind him, and again, she found herself met with disappointment.

Samuel noticed. "Emrys should be back before nightfall, ma'am," he reassured her. "He always is, you know that."

Returning her gaze to the innkeeper, she managed a single, tight nod, exhaling sharply. And although she found suppressing her raging worry to be impossible, the face she put on must have been satisfactory enough for the older man. "Tell me what you need help with, Samuel," she asked, insistently. She knew her husband to know he had the good sense to come straight away if anything like this was happening elsewhere, and she wasn't going to do something so useless as pace back and forth by the fire in the meantime. Not while there were people right here, right now who were lost, afraid, and ill-prepared for an out-of-nowhere winter blizzard.

[kersplunk]

Carah spends much of her time of late helping the locals of Beregost in cleaning up the damage from the recent disastrous meteorological phenomena, burning dead crops and livestock, helping clear away the lingering stains and smell of blood, repairing roofs and window shutters, as well as assisting in any way she can in sheltering and feeding those who have lost their homes and livelihoods. She also reaches out as possible to anyone with agricultural experience in helping the area's food production capabilities to recover as quickly as is possible ahead of the onset of winter while the weather remains favorable.

She spends her evenings letting her aching body recover from the demanding physical labor she fills her days with, only to get up again the next morning without complaint to anyone (save her poor Emrys, that is, who bears the brunt of her stockpiled complaining from throughout the day).

With the disruption of magic and the unreliability of Sendings in recent days, getting in touch with her outside of travelling directly to Beregost proper remains difficult.

[kersplunk]

More activity takes place at the building down the block from the Risen Phoenix Inn as wagons arrive bearing trunks and furniture, crates of clinking bottles and tin canisters. The occasional day laborer paid from amongst those still out of consistent work in the town assist Carah and Emrys Kerr in carrying effects into the building, and hanging a sign bearing the name "William's Well" alongside a likeness of a flagon over a wooden plate.

[JustAnotherGuy]

One night shortly after the sign is raised, a note is pinned with sticky sap to the sign. The note would be easily removed, and the sap causing no damage to the sign whatsoever. It would be clear this was a good natured prank, and not vandalism.

The parchment would be pinned underneath the name of the establishment "William's Well", and would read, "Home of the Druid's Oasis."

[kersplunk]

Carah's assistance with the farmhands and laborers toiling to restore the town has diminished in the last couple of days as she spends more of her time unpacking and setting up the new establishment in town, occasionally stopping in her (albeit bedraggled and exhausted) endless running about to receive and converse with people who poke their heads in.

Upon seeing the note stuck to her sign, however, she smirks, shaking her head with a theatrical huff as she climbs up on a bench, stretching as hard as she can to try to pluck it down... but to no avail. She grumbles something through a snicker about the effort someone must have gone through for this little jape, and puts the bench back along the building's edifice where it belongs, going on about her business, and perhaps to get a ladder.

Talk about the town is that the new tavern William's Well will be opening for business soon, although accounts seem to disagree on exactly when.

[Deragnost]

There's rumors in Beregost of a bardess, matching with the same description of the bardess singing her songs in Baldur's Gate, made her stop in the City, singing a song to cheer people up and to try to increase the people's faith. She wasn't alone, escorted by two adventurers or mercenaries. While her stay was relatively brief, she clearly did her best to bring morale up for all the people there. The bardess, with the curious feathered orange hat, would have eventually followed the path directed to Gullykin after a suggestion received by a hin, a couple of days before.

If asked, she would have replied exactly like in Baldur's Gate and at the Friendly Arm: "The Gods are among us and they can't be everywhere. They always helped us when They could, it's our turn to help Them now. Let's sing, and let's make our song reach the ears of the Overgod. Let's make Him hear our love for Them and for our own souls."

Hidden: show

For those not knowing the songs above, these are the songs I inspired myself to. I changed a few fitting words (for the Dr. Who song at least... The other Credits go to the awesome singer Jillian Aversa!) to the setting and the time the players are living on. Enjoy!

Music starts at 0:21 for the first song.