Rumors of the Northern Sword Coast

[Ashenie]

"Murder Rended, Mercy Mended"

Consistency, Diligence, Enthousiasm	Blessing, Harmony, Teamwork

"They promised me, in friendship, in faith, in kindness, in some things greater than that which even I could understand… for the good of so many, that -we- would stand."
Murder Rended... Mercy Mended... , Saint Merielle Silene, The Living Saint

As the sunset kissed the horizon upon Boareskyr Bridge, the unwelcoming water boiled in poison. A quiet trio came, a Knight of Torm, a small ranger, and a Sister of the Ilmatari Faith. Words of quiet determined exhanged, the wooden bridge was filled with white and blue flowers. The attempt was clear, where magic has been torn, where spells turned into nothingness, a prayer of hope was to seal a first stone. In a circle of painted stones, in a triangle of blue Deva Tears flowers, she knelt and prayed. Words of Celestial warmth filled the air. Her voice sounded quiet, even in the silence in which the place had been forced. "I hope peace can mend violence, in a way. Even "His" Violence."

"After some days of research, my heart was heavy with the knowledge of what now lay ahead. "
Murder Rended... Mercy Mended... , Saint Merielle Silene, The Living Saint

The prayer as it ended left sparkling diamond dust shining with the golden ray of the sunset. Darkness swallowed the place, leaving only whispers upon the tainted water. Words of care for children, quiet devotion, endurance, protection... And a strange prophecy mentioned, of old ages. The priestess seemed peaceful, yet resolute as she left. Another task to undertake, as it seems. "In a way, seeing the Lord of Murder give Life in any way could be a paradox in itself.."

[TheBorderPrince]

Sixtenth day of ninth month. The day Bhaal fell. The day Boareskyr bridge has turned into gloomy ruin filled with oppressive aura. And now, as a year to a day has passed since that event, a Cyricist priest stood upon the ruined bridge, celebrating his Master’s first grand triumph. The ceremony was all one could expect from celebration of god of murder, death and strife – blood was shed in his name, a new era of darkness was foretold, dark, ominous hymns were chanted. While not a sight for the faint hearted and clearly disturbing to many it didn’t seem as anything unexpected was to happen this day. And until the celebration was nearly at end, nothing more than a tense altercation with believers of the deposed gods happened. Until a new party arrived in the area.

As group of triadic knights approached the Bridge with apparent hostile intent, the already present tension grew. The lines consolidated, leaving between a large group of bystanders whose actions neither side could predict. But what transpired later, crossed the boundary of disturbing, yet mundane ceremony and turned into divine terror. One of the new converts to the cult of the Dark Sun, mercenary named Kathas, willingly offered himself as yet another sacrifice. As the priest slit his throat, the uneasiness grew and what initially may have looked as yet another act of violence with no meaning above simply pleasing the bloodthirsty, mercurial god soon revealed itself to be an act of much greater consequence. As the dead body risen again – in the middle of the dead magic area, nonetheless – it was soon clear that it is no mere revenant or other necromantic trick, but that the body was possessed by the divine essence of the Dark Prince, transforming the dead mercenary into his avatar. Cyric stood again on the stones of Boareskyr Bridge, now not merely as a godslayer, but a god of his own. The knights of Triel remained defiant in his presence, but the Dark Prince remained unconcerned and unimpressed. In the handful of knights he saw apparently not much more than toys to torment. Taunts and jabs were traded, but the outcome was clear from the beginning. One by one, the knights’ lives were extinguished, their bodies mangled by divine force no mortal can stand against.

Prince of Lies, Gerald Brom

Then Cyric turned his attention to those who came to witness the celebration. A crushing aura of power and superiority even intensified as he made his declaration – he is the one through whom all true power flows. One to eclipse the spectres of the past in form of the Dead Three, to crush those who oppose him and elevate those worthy of his favour. Few mustered the will to oppose his commanding aura in even a smallest way. Then, before returning to his divine realm, Black Sun made yet another declaration, proclaiming the one leading the ceremony to be his high priest in the region. And then the avatar finally disappeared, yet the impression it made in those present was to remain. The voices of many of the local smallfolk immediately turned to his worship in fright and awe. Among the powerful and mighty the enthusiasm was lesser – but even in this group a handful were impressed enough to denounce their former gods on spot and bow to the Prince of Lies.

And if all that was not yet enough, another divine intervention, even if of much lower scale followed. As the Dark Sun left, and the newly converted Cyricists, on their priests request, attempted to feed the corpses of slain paladins to the murky, poisonous waters of Winding Water, the corpses were taken up by a radiant force assumed by many to be sent by Torm himself.

One remains sure – Godswalk may be long over, but the tremors it caused in the cosmic fabric have not yet ended, and in this time of upheaval, nothing is certain anymore.

[Alex Vaine]

Residents of the Darkhold Valley may have noticed light resonating from the newly built tower. As time passed and morning approached, the light became dimmer and dimmer until it no longer resonated. If anyone were brave enough to come closer and see what was happening, they would feel the cold air and wild energy surrounding the tower, and their ears could hear the wolf howling until morning.

[DaloLorn]

A half-sun elf could be seen sitting against a boulder just beyond the perimeter of the Eldathyn shrine in the Reaching Woods. Although she is still and quiet, she is not peaceful: There is a heaviness around her, a tension so strong it radiates into the air around her. Removed from the tranquil calm of the sacred grove, anger and anxiety permeate her surroundings, restrained but not contained by their bearer; too strong to ever be contained. If the young sorceress could once have been likened to a flame, beautiful but dangerous, now she might seem more as a storm on the horizon: Inevitable, devastating, and not here... yet.

Those able and willing to query the shrine's guardians about her presence would easily learn she has breached its boundary several times, but only briefly: Visiting the fey at its heart, she inquired in Sylvan about the whereabouts of the priestess known as "Runa", or any other who might have authority over the grove, before promptly returning to her vigil at the outskirts. If she is even capable of finding any rest here, she seems unwilling to make the attempt, though her motives for this are left only to the guardians' imaginations...

[RoseMiriel]

*a wild Rose swinging her dolly Molly in hand “the lunatic one” skips bye the half sun elf lady singing a song before walking into a tree* “itty bits itty bits chop them into itty bits that way in the box they fit!” *giggles as she treestides away and seemed oblivious to the other elf lady *

[DaloLorn]

After a lengthy argument, a frantic search through the grove, and a brief altercation with the local druids, the half-elf could no longer be seen in the Reaching Woods. Instead, she would mostly have been known to travel between the Friendly Arm and the Mystran temple of Baldur's Gate.

Those who saw her passing to and from the two locations might note that the emotional whirlwind she previously displayed has focused into a cold determination. To what end, perhaps only a handful of people can say for certain...

[Anrilor]

As dusk begins to settle across the northern Heartlands, A lone agent garbed in local flora gently creeps around the Orc taken keep, crawling slowly through tall grass and shrubery until posted in front of the Keep. He takes notes of an estimated guard force, their patrol routes, how many fights break out inside, and who tends to instigate them. He remains in the area for a few days, before crawling back out of the area and returning from whence he came.

[Titania_1]

On the 13th of Marpenoth, in a secluded patch of Reaching Woods, a quiet ceremony took place. Soft orange and red lights illuminated the area, giving the shrine of Eldath a warm, autumn glow. Before the shrine stood a couple, adorned in formal clothing of reds, oranges, and golds.

"Today we come to celebrate a new beginning. The ceremony that outwardly shows to others what two hearts have known for a time. An intertwining of lives."

Placing items around the couple, they were soon surrounded by a rose, a lemon, honey, and flour. The officiator eloquently spoke of the beautiful, the bitter, the sweet, and the mundane that would be experienced in life, a reminder of what was to come. The couple then exchanged their vows.

"Foxy. Do you promise to take Teris as your mate? To keep his heart in your hands, acting as both supporter and protector?"

She looked to Teris and nodded eagerly. "Yes! Always and... forever."

"Teris. Do you promise to take Foxy as your mate? To hold her in the good and bad, acting as both supporter and advisor?"

" Yes! Forever!" He said with complete joy and eagerness.

The couple exchanged gifts to each other, beautiful gems and confessions of love and devotion. It was then after the exchange, that the two were pronounced mates and allowed to complete the ceremony with a kiss. The moment was a surprising one, bringing both shock and pure joy as a few in the audience were heard emitting gasps. Those present would know of what transpired at the ceremony, both Teris and Foxy taking monumental steps forward as people... and now happy newlyweds!

[DaloLorn]

Fire and thunder rage through the night as a battle unfolds somewhere within the Reaching Woods.

Nobody civilized likely bears witness to these events, but its marks linger until the dawn, and perhaps after. In a glade between a deep pond and an overgrown ancient ruin, patches of grass are burnt or frozen, dissolved or torn apart; the corpses of gnolls and flinds lay upon some of them, perhaps, surrounded by broken arms, arrows, and armor until reclaimed by their kin or the forest. Only a powerful and diverse array of destructive spells could cause such destruction, yet the purpose, identity, and subsequent fate of this spellcaster remains in question.

There are clues, however, near the pond. Items and other traces of their passing, strewn across the shore closest to (and arguably within) the battleground: A few scraps of tattered blue fabric; a severed belt holding a few enchanted pouches; one of a pair of silver bracers imbued with healing magic; and a staff of elven make, a conduit of arcane power not functionally unlike those sold by the mages of Baldur's Gate or Blue Lantern Keep. All of these, and the grass in which they are found, are stained with humanoid blood, yet there is not enough of it: If the owner has indeed perished, it was not on the banks of this pond, or it was not blood loss that killed them.

Code: Select all

Whether you come to investigate, or merely to loot what was left behind: Contact me first.
Your character's capabilities, and how you use them, will have an impact on what you find...

[metaquad4]

Fire and thunder rage through the night as a battle unfolds somewhere within the Reaching Woods.

Nobody civilized likely bears witness to these events, but its marks linger until the dawn, and perhaps after. In a glade between a deep pond and an overgrown ancient ruin, patches of grass are burnt or frozen, dissolved or torn apart; the corpses of gnolls and flinds lay upon some of them, perhaps, surrounded by broken arms, arrows, and armor until reclaimed by their kin or the forest. Only a powerful and diverse array of destructive spells could cause such destruction, yet the purpose, identity, and subsequent fate of this spellcaster remains in question.

There are clues, however, near the pond. Items and other traces of their passing, strewn across the shore closest to (and arguably within) the battleground: A few scraps of tattered blue fabric; a severed belt holding a few enchanted pouches; one of a pair of silver bracers imbued with healing magic; and a staff of elven make, a conduit of arcane power not functionally unlike those sold by the mages of Baldur's Gate or Blue Lantern Keep. All of these, and the grass in which they are found, are stained with humanoid blood, yet there is not enough of it: If the owner has indeed perished, it was not on the banks of this pond, or it was not blood loss that killed them.

Code: Select all

Whether you come to investigate, or merely to loot what was left behind: Contact me first.
Your character's capabilities, and how you use them, will have an impact on what you find...

A brown-clad humanoid stumbled upon the scene. He gazed around, channelling several different forms of divination - some common, some utterly foreign and alien.

After communing with a created ghost of a near-by gnoll, releasing said ghost, and then staying by the pond to meditate a brief moment - he departs back to Soubar. In his hand, he clutches a staff found at the wreckage site.

He curls up next to the staff in his tent, closing his eyes and preparing to rest for exactly two candlemarks.

[predrag]

Fire and thunder rage through the night as a battle unfolds somewhere within the Reaching Woods.

Nobody civilized likely bears witness to these events, but its marks linger until the dawn, and perhaps after. In a glade between a deep pond and an overgrown ancient ruin, patches of grass are burnt or frozen, dissolved or torn apart; the corpses of gnolls and flinds lay upon some of them, perhaps, surrounded by broken arms, arrows, and armor until reclaimed by their kin or the forest. Only a powerful and diverse array of destructive spells could cause such destruction, yet the purpose, identity, and subsequent fate of this spellcaster remains in question.

There are clues, however, near the pond. Items and other traces of their passing, strewn across the shore closest to (and arguably within) the battleground: A few scraps of tattered blue fabric; a severed belt holding a few enchanted pouches; one of a pair of silver bracers imbued with healing magic; and a staff of elven make, a conduit of arcane power not functionally unlike those sold by the mages of Baldur's Gate or Blue Lantern Keep. All of these, and the grass in which they are found, are stained with humanoid blood, yet there is not enough of it: If the owner has indeed perished, it was not on the banks of this pond, or it was not blood loss that killed them.

Code: Select all

Whether you come to investigate, or merely to loot what was left behind: Contact me first.
Your character's capabilities, and how you use them, will have an impact on what you find...

*an old druid during his regular visits to the forest come upon the scene of magic carnage and battle , later on he is seen delivering a hurt individual to the Greenest inn , what remained of her posessions left in a bag next to her bed or on her , paying for longer accomodations and a local with some medical know how to watch over for until he returns to inform her friends , the word may spread , as tree stride brings the old man to the city of Baldur's gate where he looks for friends of Aela , and notably Ashenie to inform and warn on the event .*

[DaloLorn]

Fire and thunder rage through the night as a battle unfolds somewhere within the Reaching Woods.

Nobody civilized likely bears witness to these events, but its marks linger until the dawn, and perhaps after. In a glade between a deep pond and an overgrown ancient ruin, patches of grass are burnt or frozen, dissolved or torn apart; the corpses of gnolls and flinds lay upon some of them, perhaps, surrounded by broken arms, arrows, and armor until reclaimed by their kin or the forest. Only a powerful and diverse array of destructive spells could cause such destruction, yet the purpose, identity, and subsequent fate of this spellcaster remains in question.

There are clues, however, near the pond. Items and other traces of their passing, strewn across the shore closest to (and arguably within) the battleground: A few scraps of tattered blue fabric; a severed belt holding a few enchanted pouches; one of a pair of silver bracers imbued with healing magic; and a staff of elven make, a conduit of arcane power not functionally unlike those sold by the mages of Baldur's Gate or Blue Lantern Keep. All of these, and the grass in which they are found, are stained with humanoid blood, yet there is not enough of it: If the owner has indeed perished, it was not on the banks of this pond, or it was not blood loss that killed them.

Code: Select all

Whether you come to investigate, or merely to loot what was left behind: Contact me first.
Your character's capabilities, and how you use them, will have an impact on what you find...

Humanoid, ursine, and draconic tracks; a bloody waterlogged arrow; and recent digging: By the time the sun sets, these are the only useful things left to be found at the pond. Though the scene surely continues to attract the eyes of those interested in the desolation left behind after the fighting, it will take increasingly exotic methods - or conversation with those few who have already investigated it - to discern the outcome of the battle, or to obtain anything useful at all from the battlefield...

[xEmeraldx]

*An unfamiliar face has been seen often traveling between the Vale and Corm Orp in recent days. The man seems to speak to no one but his eyes seem to be looking for someone. Sometimes he often glances up towards Darkhold or watches the the arrivals of people paying for wagon rides too and from Soubar. He browses the markets, and often makes stops to the merchants and blacksmiths but never seems to make a purchase. *

[GaretAthran]

After nearly a year, the old posters that hang upon the sign posts within the tiny land of the Northern Sunset Vale have grown beaten and battered beyond recognition. Most are gone in their entirety, ripped to shreds by wind and rain.

But one by one new posters to replace the old are put in their place. All of them emblazoned with the same call to action:

Restore Corm Orp

Hidden: show

OOC: I apologize to people who approached me concerning this plot (both Players and DMs) almost a year ago. A medical/family emergency called me away, but has since been sorted out. Understandably characters may have moved on, but any who are still interested are encouraged to contact me to plan some form of encounter.

[DaloLorn]

A band of gnolls and flinds lies scattered, sliced apart, across the northern outskirts of the Reaching Woods. The weapons that did this are crude but powerful, and there is orcish blood strewn across the woods. An orcish warband, it might seem, descended upon the forest to test its might against a worthy foe.

But there are no fallen orcs, and the cuts are too uniform. Not a warband, then: One orc. One blade.



Further north, in the village of Uruk Lurra, the young warrior Gurzhuk returns from another hunt, bloodied and beaten, but standing triumphant nonetheless as he drags along a sack of valuables plundered from the Reaching Woods. The wounds will heal soon enough, and join his vast collection of scars... what matters to Gurzhuk is that his foes cannot say the same of the wounds he has inflicted. That he has shown, yet again, and not for the last time, what it means to be ORC.