Rumors of the Southern Sword Coast

[yyj]

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Ytarya marveled at the Fist's work, impressed. Both on the field and in the mind. The scout watched that Fist sortie return triumphant - to expend all of your ammunition in a close fight with gnolls and bring everyone home safe was grand indeed. It truly spoke of their capabilities. The scout also saw how the communities of nature despised her.

She'd become incredibly strong. A goddess of mischief. A force of nature wielding magic and cunning to strike at the very heart of the force meant to save the Cloakwood. And she had used that status to shatter the will of the Flaming Fist with mere nuisance. Despite aggressive and effective countermeasures the Fist was humbled before her powerful onslaught. So much so that they had no choice but to regretfully retreat from the forest. Even leaving a note resigning it and its inhabitants to fate. Not their fault of course - their will was indominable but they couldn't possibly stand in the face of such a terrifying villain. The wild elf rolled her eyes.

Yet she'd remained utterly weak. A misguided idiot. A fly in the ointment. An individual mortal whose efforts had met aggressive and effective countermeasures. Who certainly hadn't stopped the Fist from razing acres of forest nor murdering all of those druids. A silly elf who couldn't even bring herself to fight the Flaming Fist directly. Her mischief was many things, but it wasn't murder or combat. And, looking at the sortie's return, it hadn't actually inconvenienced their efforts in the least. If, stripped of their will and fortifications, the Flaming Fist still sent soldiers on nigh-flawless jaunts into the forest they'd supposedly abandoned because of her, well her efforts hadn't actually had any impact had they?

It was a strange sensation, being cast as too strong and too weak at the same time. It was cunning! It demanded gratitude and sympathy from followers and let the Fist prop her up as an immediate and juicy target. When they continued their efforts she would inevitably be treated with scorn, dismissed as a harmless naysayer in the face of the victorious Fist that had mustered so much bravery and strength to oppose her. If only she had sided with the Fist. Don't be like her. Timed right and with a little help from fate, they would be present at the inevitable defeat of the gnolls to wreath themselves in glory and divide nature's defenders more.

Ytarya marveled at the Fist's work, impressed. She'd done many terrible things but this sort of evil was one she'd never managed to be proficient at. And she wondered how she would respond to it.

An elf dressed in green camouflaged outfit would attempt to follow the talassian unseen, from bushes, trees and shadows, she tries to keep her distance, keen elven eyes of a hunter dedicated to the task, would just be watching and waiting for some mischief to happen.

[Penwize]

Would attempt? Then it happened! Ytarya's own stalking was unconventional. Erratic. While the elf knew the basics of stealth most of her actions benefited from misdirection. Where she walked the forest changed. It became easy to see her fondness for illusion magic and her incredible plethora of scrolls, wands, and elixirs in use. Never did there seem to be an instance of her own magical talent in effect.

The magic to unfold from paper, poker, and potion took all sorts of forms, however. Invisibility frequently overcame her. Sometimes her appearance changed dramatically, adopting the visage of different soldiers, druids, and more. Occasionally there were even duplicate Ytarya's walking beside herself or sent sprinting into the woods, they themselves disguised or genuine. Combinations of these magics were hardly beyond her and trackers might have been watching her trail when it suddenly vanished, the real elf reappearing off in the distance. Mix it all with concealment spells and sprinkle in a few instances of actual outdoor tradecraft and Ytarya's goals while traveling in the Cloakwood became clear: Always keep them guessing.

Striking as well was her silence. A spell that almost always enshrouded her was just that: Silence. And within the muffled sphere her lips were always moving, her fingers swinging as if in time with music, and there were occasional stops where she just stood and minced in place like in dance. Something was happening to let her cast spells from scrolls as well.

With one opponent conspiring outside the forest and managing to behave itself a bit better, Ytarya's walks turned inward and past the river. There was mischief to bring to more gnollish invaders.

As with her actions against the Flaming Fist, the wild elf elected to cause chaos at the expense of the wildfolk. To try to draw out any ambushes with her inconsistent movement, aggravate wandering raiders, and humiliate incautious hunters. Disguises (mundane and magical) were only going to be so useful against these savage folk. The elf employed them but used other techniques to try to complete her work. Distractions, patience, and merciless opportunism. Whether via the stream, treetops, or game trails, things threatened to go wrong for the gnolls. Her eyes sought empty camps to demolish, unattended gear to steal, and lone gnolls to bamboozle. Annoyances and inconveniences were sent direct these last sort in particular.

It might not have been escalation on the scale of murdering druids but it was low-risk. Fun as well. The elf's tactics couldn't have been successful every day and doubtless many gnolls wouldn't have to deal with her. The purpose of her actions were to bog down the invaders of the forest, to make their time in the woods intolerable in a thousand small ways.

[DM All Father]

She would find the gnolls rather calculated and empowered. Their sense of surroundings being nearly perfect the creatures seemed to always be aware of her presence long before she was of them. Even the slightest exchange of blows was clearly a suicidal attempt given the now well known prowess of the enemy.

The gnolls would continue to spread further into the outskirts of the forest and the rot would continue to fester and take hold in the depths, unabated.

[mastajabba]

With the aid of solid scouting techniques and the arcane aid of his beloved Forrest Queen. The Radiant Scout settled in a concealed listening and observation post. Somewhere in the Cloakwood in between the Flaming Fists Roadside Camp and the heart of the Cloakwood where the Red Skull Gnoll pack had made its den.

From there he would watch, in case a large group of Gnoll had decided to make their way towards the Encampment or the Friendly Arm Inn or push into the Baldur’s Gate Region. He also kept an eye for rogue Aracaine members on their saboteur campaign for Bhaalist Forces.

[DM All Father]

As the gnolls expand their influence, the depths of the forest start to take on a sickly appearance. That which is dead seems to rot much quicker and that which is alive seems to be progressing towards dead.

The gnolls seem to be targeting The Shadow Druids in particular, leaving many of the order savaged and dead upon the ground of the forest.

[LivT]

The sensation of helplessness does not stop Iolanna's efforts in the shrinking perimeter of the forest; a lone druid, or even the sprawling clan of shadow druids cannot make a significant change to the decay.

But, they may yet make a difference to the individual creature, the rare plant and seedling, the small lives being consumed by the gnoll pack. The druidess does what she can to avoid the dangers of the pack; if she is able, she would abscond through an ancient and rune-carved oak with a refugee. These tiny actions barely make a whisper around the shadow druids left populating the Cloakwood.

A different rumour, one a little too wild to be believed, is that on occasion a Bronze dragon may have appeared to fend off one of the gnolls from its victim. The fights are short; if the rumour is true it seems this dragon is more interested in evading and defending. It vanishes quickly and apparently knows to never face even a handful of these creatures alone.

All measures to hold out, to survive, until a unified push-back can be orchestrated.

[Cinta]

A lone figure clad in light leathers scouts around the Clookwood, tracking and hiding to the best of her skills, trying to avoid from far any confrontation with the beasts. If encountering any ranger or scout out there, she would ask about the situation of the enemy, saying the rapid spread of the gnollish threat made her worried about the safety of her village back in the Woods of Sharp Teeth.

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(Edit:) Seeing the threat is well contained in the forest, the elf left the area after three days.

[Cobral30]

The knights of the Order the Silver Rose have left a unit of knights to warn people of entry into the Cloakwood, and to be an early alert should anything push out of the Cloakwood. Patrols are doubled along the areas boundaries.

[LivT]

The death of the Cloakwood looked inevitable now. Perhaps irretrievable. The Eldathyn Druidess stood among the clear cut around the camp, assessing the damage, the repercussions, the loss. The woman looked long resigned to this fate.

As the sun set, some keen-eyed folk might have spied her in the distance at the crest of a hill, a silhouette against the indigo sky. A song carried on the air, then a light, a blush of flame. She lifted something aloft, a torch, or perhaps a burning tree branch.

The words were lost to the calling of the wind, just as the flames and embers were. By the time the song ended, the fire she held had died, and the torch it had lit, burned to ash.

[DM All Father]

A small patrol of Flaming Fist soldiers made the first patrol into the forest in several weeks. A small but violent skirmish was fought near the river before the soldiers again departed the forest.

[Pigdog]

Sandhoq finds the strewn bodies of animals and druids on his way north from Beregost, having spent a good few days adventuring there. He plans to report his findings to the Flaming Fist only to find they have set themselves up already.

Not one to miss an opportunity, he goes to the main camping area across from the Inn to find out more and offer his services.

[Cinta]

Posters are pinned on the noticeboards all around the Friendly Arm and some of the bigger villages to the south along the Tradeway.

Looking for people for various tasks!

We are looking for able hands for an up and coming event! Be part of organizing a show that will long be remembered by all who saw it, and remorsefully missed by those who didn't!

The people we are looking for are the following:

- A stylist for interior decoration in a specific theme, the task include all the procurement of the ornamentation and other accessories, as well as setting up the scene for the special night!

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- An exceptional cook to make up the menu of the eve, fitting the exotic theme of the event! The task would include choosing the proper suppliers of the ingredients, choosing proper assisstants for a team, then prepare the food for the event!

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- Entertrainers skilled in actobatic skills, or dancing, or any else entertrainment method the organizers found fitting!

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- Bards for making the night magical with their heavenly music!

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- Magicians skilled in illusion and other fine arts to enchant our viewers!

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- Bouncers and bairmaids will be contracted later, but feel free to reach out and reserve your place beforehand!

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- Also looking for a skilled journalist to follow up and document the preparations and the event itself, in a lighthearted and comingly manner!

Be prepared to present your skills before being accepted for the jobs!

Those interested ask for Eilidale at the innkeeper of the Friendly Arm!

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((( OOC: Timeslots for the event are not fixed yet. We are mainly playing at CET times, but the event would most likely be on a weekend, adjusted to a timeframe what's the best for most of the people interested. The tasks could be broken into parts so participation in the event is not a requirement to join the preparation phase. )))

[RoseMiriel]

*Rose teleports into the tree outside of friendly arm inn she normally hangs out in only to find it missing and falls ten or so feet bewilder she looks around mortified to see how many tree's have been taken. She touches the stump of the tree she fell on remorsefully and swayed back and forth making creeks and groans like a tree blowing in the wind. Bitterly she glares at the wood walls of the fist compound pacing back and forth in the shadows, the fist seem on high alert from some other miscreant so her own vengeful pranks would likely not go unnoticed. So she takes out her book and paints pictures making illusionary copies she has these paintings just float around the fort. At the bottom it says "we hope the fist will protect us when it's time by dieing to be our wall, or you know...we could work together not just kill our friends there are plenty of gnolls to do that." *with a huff she walks into the woods of sharpteeth*

[mastajabba]

The Radiant Scout would check in Captain Norton and with the ArchDruid Emmanuel regularly. He’d then would augment himself with his best defensive and stealth related enchantments and his skills and disappear in plain sight.

He’d make his way deep into the Cloakwood past Gnoll Patrols, Orc sentry points and the other nasty critters and undead that called the Cloakwood Home. He’d observe the comings and going’s of the Gnoll’s Lair then slip back out and make a report with Captain Norton then file a routine patrol and battlefield assessment with the Most Noble Order of the Radiant Heart.

[DaloLorn]

A statuesque tiefling woman with short, red hair and badly tattered clothing would be seen shakily accompanying a blonde Tyrran paladin and a silver-haired moon elf into the Friendly Arm yesterday. While the elf talked to one of her kin by Mudd's storefront, the tiefling reluctantly followed the paladin into the temple. Soon after, she charged back out, panting and drenched in sweat as she rushed back to meet the elves.

There was talk of a "Palace District brat" cursing the tiefling, as well as being groped by a ghost and losing her lunch over an alleged healing potion. However, only those present for the events might have managed to piece any of it together into a coherent story. After a short conversation, the use of a restoration scroll outside the inn's walls, and a thorough magical rinsing, the odd quartet wandered east into the woods.

When they returned later, they were further accompanied by a second human paladin wearing ornate armor and unusual makeup. While the Tyrran and moon elf wandered off, the tiefling and the elven man seemed to find great entertainment in prodding the young human. When, to his dismay, the rain started washing the makeup off the paladin's face, the tiefling quite happily unloaded all the rinsing spells she could manage onto his head before retiring into the inn.