Rumors & Events of Baldur's Gate

[selhan]

"It is LAW!"

*During the riots, and angry mobs of citizens, one City Watchman known by many as the recruit Norin Brows would be near by his fellow Watchmen. He would be raising his voice to remind the citizens of the Laws of the City in a stern but respectful way. Loud enough to ensure may heard him, respectful enough to avoid anyone trying to claim any sort of abuse of authority, but stern enough to show, that if any one neglected the law, he wouldnt hesitate to bring forth a higher ranking Watchmen to have those arrested and he himself would help escort the arrestees to the City Watch holding cells.*

"Violence involving harm to persons, murder, and all-but-Lawful Dueling, will result in imprisonment and possible banishment from the Lands residing under Duchal Law (as has been decreed). Violence in self-defense will be judged by the appropriate authority. Violence against the Grand Dukes, Officers of the Court and the City Watch and Flaming Fist, shall be punishable up to death!

Disorderly Conduct, including disobedience, brandishing a weapon, disruption of official business, harmful spell casting, and summoning creatures, will result in fines or jail time depending on the severity, as determined by a Captain of the Flaming Fist!

Damage to Property, including registered personal property, livestock, dwellings and objects determined as owned by any said individual, will result in incarceration and possibly further punishment!"



*But for those that surely decided to engage in violence against his fellow City Watchmen or even the Flaming Fist, Norin would be MORE than willing to subdue them and see that they were locked up in the City Watch holding cells back in the Citadel. All the while keeping an eye out of the physical descriptions of the three wanted for questioning. ((Assuming)) The City Watch Head Quarters would provided such details to their personnel. The Red heads he surely has not seen before but the thought of capturing a pair of "suspected" pirates would be appealing, but the purple haired tiefling who was known as the director of the Mask Theater would be more familiar having seen the person a few times lingering in the Eastside District of Baldur's. Brows would say to himself..*

"Officer Marrick Bright was right, those damn tieflings should never be trusted..ever.."

[DaloLorn]

As tensions flare up again in the Gate, Duchess Jannath does not find herself alone in trying to calm people. Wandering away from her near-habitual perch at the crossroads campfire, Virin is quick to come to the defense of the accused trio: She points out that it was Oona who first warned the Commons about the demonic saboteur in their midst, and while she can offer no such argument in the Wintertals' favor, she nonetheless expresses skepticism about the notion that they're working with the demons.

Now more than ever, the young Militia lieutenant finds herself aligning with the City Watch: Though she is careful and reluctant - wary both of causing unnecessary harm and of getting herself arrested by mistake - she nonetheless tries to subdue those who resort to violence in this affair, and helps the wounded withdraw to the Shrine of Suffering afterwards.

After her recent tribulations, does she have the appetite - or even the ability - to do more than help keep the peace? Only time will tell...

[toolongusername]

A young squire in full plate sat outside Blunt’s blacksmithy, his armor still dusted from the road. Tousled ginger hair peeked out from beneath his helm, and in his hands lay a book—His Hoard, My Heart —its cover depicting a wizardess clinging to a brooding dragon-man. His gauntleted fingers gripped the edges a little too tightly, his gaze fixed on the pages as if they held some profound truth. Every so often, he sniffed—short, uneven breaths, the kind that came when a story pressed too hard against the heart. His lip quivered once, but he bit it down, turning the page with a reverence reserved for sacred texts.

When passersby stopped to chat, asking if he had heard the latest about the mists, the riots, or the wanted posters, he waved them off without looking up, his voice tight. “No time for rumor—I’m busy learning about dragons.”

It wasn’t until the names Wintertal and Oona were spoken that he paused mid-page turn. His purple eyes flicked up—past the gathered talkers, past the murmur of the street—then drifted over his shoulder to the wanted poster nailed to the caravan behind him. ". . . ." Blank stare.

With a slow, deliberate motion, he shut the book with a decisive thwack.

“What, you lot believe every scribble on a wanted poster now?” The Silver Rose squire's voice, thick from whatever emotions had clung to him moments before from his dragon novel, sharpened with irritation. He jerked a thumb toward the paper without turning. “Next, you’ll tell me we should throw tomatoes at the Selunties ‘cos some mushroom sniffing shifter said the moon looked at us funny.” A snort. “The Wintertals? You think they conjured all this mess? You lot couldn’t conjure up an original thought if Mystra herself handed you a mindblank scroll.”

With a huff, he flipped open his book once more, eyes drifting immediately back to where he left off. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have dragons to study. Romantic and smart creatures. Unlike some.”

[BattleBee47]

The streets of Baldur’s Gate were still, save for the soft whisper of dawn breaking over the rooftops. The embers of rage had burned low, leaving behind the quiet ruin of what once stood as a beacon of artistry and revelry for the townspeople.

The White Mask Theater now bore the wounds of the city's unrest. Rotten fruit and filth clung to the stone steps, hateful words scrawled in crude lettering marred the doors, and the lingering scent of last night’s fury still tainted the air.

And in the midst of it, Maevyn stood alone with a near silent huff of her own frustration. She got to work.

With a bucket of water, a cloth, and quiet resolve, she scrubbed away the marks of hatred. She wiped away the slurs, picked up the shattered glass, swept away the refuse. When the last stain was gone, when the theater stood clean again, she lingered, dusky gaze tracing across each and every passerby.
She stepped to the front of the steps, pulled her violin from its case, and let the first notes of her song drift into the quiet morning. A gentle song greeted the onlookers as they went about their groggy morning.

Hidden: show

((Soft, sorrowful, drawn-out notes))
The mist rolls in, the cold winds cry,
Shadows rise where heroes die.
Names unspoken, dreams undone,
The bells toll low for everyone.
((The violin’s tempo shifts—urgent, restless))
No banners hold against the tide,
No walls shall stand, no gates divide.
Not gold nor crown, nor blood nor creed,
Shall stem the wrath of hungering need.
((A swell of chords, the violin ringing with defiance))
But if we fall, then fall as one!
Hand in hand, till rise the sun!
Blade and spell, with voice and drum,
We stand as one! We stand as one!
((A bold melody takes shape))
Not for kingdom, nor for king,
But for the love of simple things
The fires warmth, the harvest yield,
A child’s laugh, a golden field.
((A triumphant crescendo, the violin echoing now through the streets))
So raise the cry! Let steel be drawn!
We fight for those who march at dawn!
For hearth and home, for sky and stone,
We stand as one! We stand as one!

[DaloLorn]

A campfire conversation, soon seguing into an impromptu meeting at the Phoenix Lodge, abruptly sees the end of Virin's fervent defense of the tiefling from the White Mask. Her explanations, when offered, are rambling and difficult for the average citizen to keep up with, but one thing is clear: She is no longer convinced of Oona's innocence in the matter.

Nonetheless, she would keep urging patience and caution among the Commons, emphasizing that now is the worst possible time to pick fights with their fellow citizens. In an exceptional break from her prior attitudes, she even seems willing to forget about the Chalice of Siamorphe - and even the Thieves' Guild - for the time being, preferring to call a truce of sorts while larger matters unfold.

What kind of looming catastrophe has she glimpsed that could have shaken her so? It is not clear. But there seems to be a bitter resolve to her actions now: If it is too late to stop it, then she will rise to the occasion after all, or die trying...

[DM Verjigorm]

Upon the early morning hours of the 30th of Alturiak, a decree was delivered by the city's criers.

No longer was information regarding Rose and Mathilde Wintertal or that of Oona Siofra requested by the Dukes. The three were until further notice banished from Ducal Lands, punishable by indefinite imprisonment should they return. The Dukes extend their gratitude towards their loyal subjects who aided in the gathering of information.

Though the decree was sent out, the riots continued yet for several days - a significant amount of the enraged masses remaining unsated by the news.

[DaloLorn]

Although many strange and frightening things took place west of the city over the past night, likely only a scant few occurred in plain view of the general population.

One of those that might be memorable, however, is the return of one of the only members of the Commons Militia to have ventured into battle. Farmers near the Black Dragon Gate could have seen the battle-worn redhead getting in an altercation with a band of assorted knights, with the most astute noticing her withdrawing a twisted, oversized mace from an enchanted pouch and immediately swinging it at the first knight in sight. Hopelessly outclassed, and promptly tackled to the ground, she was then subdued by some kind of spell and her weapon destroyed with holy power before the knights carried her into the city.

But the confusion would not stop there. Those who hadn't witnessed her return from the battlefield would have then seen her battered form carried by one of the knights, badly bloodied, unbreathing, and motionless, and could have thought her among the casualties of the battle. With the abundance of healers accompanying the army, one could reason, surely there would be no need to resurrect her at the Shrine of Suffering: Was she being taken there for burial, instead?

The knights, and those at the Shrine of Suffering, would know better. But those caught at the intersection of these two strange tales might very well have helped them morph into a tale of treachery and bloody murder: Of the Militia betraying, or being betrayed by, the knightly orders that stood in the city's defense, and paying the ultimate price for it. And the timing could not be worse: The memory of Felix Fassaway, or of the protester murdered by the Flaming Fist just the night before, may very well be fresh in the people's minds.

Time and effort would dispel some of these misconceptions soon enough, but for now, the girl sleeping in the Ilmatari infirmary had no idea of the mess she'd contributed to...

[ShadowFox13]

11th Ches, 1361

Sister Carys, Afendaria, and others of the Shrine of the Suffering are seen traveling the Lower City over the next few days, accompanied by a horse and cart, filled with things like medicines, clothes, firewood, and foodstuffs - baked pies, treats, and other things. They make stops at the homes and families of those who have been affected by the Demon Army at Ulgoth's Beard - suffering losses of homes, or family members, or livelihoods, and they offers prayers and other tangible comforts for the aggrieved, helping to life the burdens of the home somewhat through gifts of these donations. Squires too, accompany the Sister and the penitent, their strong arms offered to perform various labors for the homes, such as repairs or chores that burden them in the wake of their losses.

It's an effort to remind the people of their community - the kindness of Ilmater and their own neighbors. The solace that can be found in helping one another in dark times such as these. While they travel, SIster Carys silently offers out flyers, all over the Lower City and beyond, speaking of a festival of Hope, to come....

A Festival of Hope

A call to all Community members, Performers, Vendors, and Artists, for your participation in a festival to be sponsored by the Shrine of the Suffering with assistance from the White Mask Theatre for the benefit of Mercy's Orphanage - a festival of Hope, to be hosted on the 19 Ches ((March 21st, 14:00 ET - 18:00 ET /18:00 GMT - 22:00 GMT)), in the Wide.

A tentative listing of planned events/features:

Pie Contest - Ribbons and Prizes to be won for Best Tasting, Most Unique, and Prettiest Pies, among others! Participants to sign up with Afendaria the day of or prior to the event.

Bake Sale - Community Members invited to sell their favorite baked goods, the proceeds to go to Mercy's Orphanage - Needs Volunteers! Speak to Afendaria to arrange a stall.

A Shrine to the Lost - a candle and flower decorated Shrine, to all those lost to the Demon Army of Ulgoth's Beard and to honor those past.

A Maypole - to be decorated with ribbons and prayers of Hope, for the future of the Children and the City.

Performances - Street Magic, Music, and Comedy most encouraged- child audience appropriate - Needs Volunteers

Artist's Alley - for face painting, portraits, or other visual artists to display wares and crafts for sale - Needs Volunteers

Assorted Vendors - other vendors who might agree to donate a portion of proceeds from the event to the Orphanage - Needs Volunteers

The theme of course to be new beginnings, comfort and support in community, sharing of joy and mirth, honoring those who have lost in the recent conflicts, and fostering Hope in the people of Baldur's Gate.

If you are interested in participating, or assisting in planning or coordination - please contact Sister Carys or Afendaria at the Shrine of the Suffering

A Festival of Hope

A call to all Community members, Performers, Vendors, and Artists, for your participation in a festival to be sponsored by the Shrine of the Suffering with assistance from the White Mask Theatre, for the benefit of Mercy's Orphanage - a festival of Hope, to be hosted on the 19 Ches ((March 21st, 14:00 ET - 18:00 ET /18:00 GMT - 22:00 GMT)), in the Wide.

A tentative listing of planned events/features:

Pie Contest - Ribbons and Prizes to be won for Best Tasting, Most Unique, and Prettiest Pies, among others! Participants to sign up with Afendaria the day of or prior to the event.

Bake Sale - Community Members invited to sell their favorite baked goods, the proceeds to go to Mercy's Orphanage - Needs Volunteers! Speak to Afendaria to arrange a stall.

A Shrine to the Lost - a candle and flower decorated Shrine, to all those lost to the Demon Army of Ulgoth's Beard and to honor those past.

A Maypole - to be decorated with ribbons and prayers of Hope, for the future of the Children and the City.

Performances - Street Magic, Music, and Comedy most encouraged- child audience appropriate - Needs Volunteers

Artist's Alley - for face painting, portraits, or other visual artists to display wares and crafts for sale - Needs Volunteers

Assorted Vendors - other vendors who might agree to donate a portion of proceeds from the event to the Orphanage - Needs Volunteers

The theme of course to be new beginnings, comfort and support in community, sharing of joy and mirth, honoring those who have lost in the recent conflicts, and fostering Hope in the people of Baldur's Gate.

If you are interested in participating, or assisting in planning or coordination - please contact Sister Carys or Afendaria at the Shrine of the Suffering.

[selhan]

Lockdown of Ulgoths Beard

After the demonic threat in Ulgoths Beard had ended, the Flaming Fist marched in. Guarding the perimeter of the once village, barrikades were erected, scouts kept their eyes open. Any who approached Ulgoths Beard were denied entry and asked to return to where they had come from.

Hidden: show

The expectation is that you cannot enter Ulgoth’s Beard map without a DM present.

*The Recruit Norin Brows from the City Watch was given special orders to assist the Flaming Fist in guarding the perimeter of Ulgoth's Beard, ensuring any traveler's are denied entry*

[BattleBee47]

Announcements go up in the early hours of the morning of the 21st of Ches.

Respect the Beard

A Festival of Whimsy, Wonder, and Community
All proceeds go toward the restoration of Ulgoth’s Beard including but not limited to:

• Removing lingering Abyssal taint
• Rebuilding homes
• Supporting displaced families
• Supporting families of loved ones who gave the ultimate sacrifice to see Ulgoth's Free

Duke Belt has Generously offered to match each coin donation 1:1. Will today be the day we Break the Belt??

Ulgoth’s Beard, now cleansed and rising again
30 Ches 1361 | Festivities begin at highsun

Hidden: show

March 30th, Starting around: 1pm CST / 1800GMT
Event will start at the Northern Farmlands then move to House Caldwell in the Noble District for ball/auction!

Games & Mischief to keep you busy!
Join us for a lively day of merriment featuring:

• The Tankard Sprint!
• Pin the Beard on the Dragon!
• Beard Toss!
• Raffle drawings throughout the day for Bonus prizes!

Win handcrafted prizes, tokens, and treasures all day long!

The Creature Crawl – Grand Costume Ball
As night falls, don your finest whimsy!
From elegant monsters to moon-touched myths, step into the evening with charm and mystery.
Formal attire or creature costumes encouraged.
Auction for the best adventuring wares and wonders! (Thank you DM Mimic!)
Live music Dancing, and a toast to rebuilding Ulgoth’s spirit!
Best costume wins a special Grand Prize! (and the crowd’s applause)!

Hosted by Maevyn Edgar & the Hunter’s Moon Lodge
Volunteers Welcome!

[Sundown]

Three elves in almost identical leather armor were seen on the trade route towards Baldur's Gate.
Their confident steps and almost natural-looking alertness gave the impression that they were not on a simple hike:
Obviosly they transported a metal box, decorated with arcane runes.
They took turns carrying it, and always two of them made sure that any disturbance was avoided or overcome.

Finally, they reached the gates of the city, where they were stopped by skeptical guards.
A conversation ensued, during which a curious onlooker might have overheard that the Church of Mystra was the elves' target.
One of the guards left the scene and returned a short time later.

Whatever was in the box, it eventually disappeared into the halls of the Lady of Mysteries.

After they had fullfilled their mission, the elves leaved the city with fast steps.
Shortly after they reached natural environment, they were lost from view.

[dak12attack]

Ches 24-27 1361

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Funding Fireworks From Felogyr's ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

(image courtesy of Baldur's Gate 3 and Larian Studios)

The techsmith Eberc Smithman and construct companion, Cogsworth, are both seen coming to and fro from the shop of Felogyr Sonshal, famed for his candles, fireworks, and other oddities. The clickity-clack of wagon wheels down the streets of Baldur's Gate stops just outside the store, located off of Bindle Street.

A small brass bell chimes atop the door as Eberc enters the shop, immediately wide-eyed and left wondrously impressed by the colored, scented candles. His nose twitches to the acrid smell of brimstone or sulfur from the upstairs workshops, where laborers unseen assemble or otherwise keep the famed Felogyr's shop stocked with all sorts of alchemical wares. The wizard-smith seems to buy many, many dyes and other ingredients like smoke-powders and slow-fuses. He talks his ear off to the clerk about "funding fireworks for the city" and about how spectacular it should be.

Outside this four-story shop and workshop the Gondsmen, Cogsworth, loyally waits while curious citizens and children marvel at the machine as it assists its maker and loads a two-wheeled wagon full of supplies. "To the High House, Cogsworth," instructs the creator, Eberc, man and machine to travel to the Temple District. Here, he spends the next few days assembling and otherwise preparing for a celebration.

[Obvious_Illusion]

A Feathered Miracle?

Rumours echoed for a few days of a winged man spotted across the city, clad in plate. "Golden feathers, an angel it were!" one woman insisted, while others spread talk that the feathers were ivory-white. A young boy in the Steeps claimed to have plucked a feather directly from the man's wings, arguing for its value as a symbol of luck (the darker tips of the feather might indicate it originated from a seagull).

And what of this sighted man; was it an ill-fated curse, an otherwordly being, a miracle?

He took a deep breath before he stepped outside the temple; walking about the streets had increasingly filled him with some measure of trepidation. He was tall, regal, and handsome, and was no stranger to some lingering gazes; curiosity, admiration, and vigilance for what he represented. But the eyes upon him - not really him, his feathered wings - were another thing entirely.

Vhaan found himself amidst a bustling crowd on his way to The Wide, a wide berth forming between himself and a growing sea of faces. He remained stoic, his steely gaze looking for a path, an exit. Searching, but no such success. A growing chorus of murmurs; dizzying. He composed himself. An opportunity, at least. His voice boomed with his refined Neverwintan accent:

"Hark! In the name of Tyr the Just God, I speaketh, as His Sword, Vhaan de Luca. I offer the proclamation of His Justice: thou ought to seek a life of virtuous order, respecting thine kith and kin, and the laws and Dukes of Baldur's Gate."

His words had commanded silence for a time, but as his speech continued, the murmuring of others arriving had grown. He persevered:

"Thou hath weathered threats to peace and sanctity, suffered under the machinations of vile forces that sow anarchy, doubt, and evil. In seeking Truth there is salvation, and the sins of the guilty will be met with punishment. Those who hath fallen victim shall see a new dawn from which the wrongs shall be made right. Come hither to the Hallowed Halls of the Just, to learn a Just life, to confess thine sins, and to ensure a community of peace and order. The Tyrrans shall shelter thee from-- they, they shall shelter..."

As the crowd's chatter grew, he found himself losing composure. Stopping his speech, his steely gaze followed the crowd for some moment, and he pursed his lips.

Vhaan stretched out his wings, with a single forceful beat to command silence; a molting feather flicking off and slowly descending.

"I assure thee, I am but a man, nothing more. No angel. I am simply a priest of the Just God. The answers thou seeketh can be found in the Temple of Tyr."

His wings beginning to flap, he ascended from the ground and flew up twenty feet; a chorus of gasps. The Tyrran flew back to the Temple, abandoning the task he had embarked upon for now. A miracle indeed, but an alienating one at that.

Hidden: show

Posted with approval from DM Mimic

[Steve]

It is again the time of The Breaking, where the icy harbor of Baldur's Gate breaks free from winters grip upon all movements water-born.

Upon the quiet of morning, slaps echo across the nearly exposed waterway and bounce off the silent ship hulls moored for months in stasis, as a lone figure seated within a dingy of no particular marking or origin, rows with an even, practiced pace, entering the main harbor from the direction of the Chionthar up-river.

Oddly, this lone figure is managing his boat with simply one oar...a handicap that does not seem to slow his direct approach to a specific section of the harbor reserved for ships under patronage of the City.

As the figure finally docks, and at this time more life springs to action at the wharf between the seamen and sailors, dock workers and porters, perhaps a head or two turns in recognition of a half-man that once activated this harbor in more ways than one. It could be that a few stares and whispers are passed, as the figure unloads a single sack from his moored dingy, and without much ado, heads directly to another ship within the harbor that has lingered for some time....

[DaloLorn]

As rumors start to circulate of the assassination of Dame Bettany of Tyr, the arrest of Commons Militia leader Robb Strong, and the release of Lord Vincent Hargrove, those in the know would recognize the dire blow that has been dealt to the Common Cause. With the months-long absence of the Speaker, rumored to be either hiding from Hargrove's assassins or resting after overexerting himself over the past year, such a blow could prove fatal; yet a dying beast is all the more dangerous, and may yet lash out at its killers. The recent summary execution of a protester by the Flaming Fist has likely not been forgotten, either, and could influence the Commons' reaction.

It is likely one of these two beliefs that drives a late-night outburst of fury and frustration at the crossroads campfire east of the Basilisk Gate. Though the Archon of the Myradon Vindicators remained calm as he shared the news with one of Rhaeg's lieutenants - even as he realized she'd remained blissfully oblivious of the whole affair - the young redhead most certainly did not. In an unprecedented breakdown of decorum, restraint, and nerves, almost every word she said was too loud to miss, easily overheard in the Radiant Heart chapterhouse or the nearby houses:

UGH! If the Fist don't hang him, I will!

I don't, and even if I did, she's supposed to be gone! How's she still controlling him?!

Yeah, too low to still be close enough for this!

I swear, if Vox screws us over one more time, I'm gonna make him eat his stupid spellbook and all the spells in it!

*There is a longer pause this time, punctuated by an angry scream.*

I don't! The Wintertals are gone, Rhaeg's gone, Riv and Lae are gone, *unintelligible* all I've got here and that's not a whole lot anymore!

AND HOW ARE THEY GONNA HELP FROM OUT THERE?!

With that last outburst, she charged off into the city, disappearing into the night. A few stragglers still working at the Eastway docks might have noticed a figure stomping off a pier with a loud splash; if any bothered to investigate quickly enough, they'd notice a few drops of blood rapidly fading into the sea, but no sign of its owner.

Hours later, Virin could be seen climbing out of the harbor around dawn, perhaps fleetingly mistakable for an undead creature as she marched to several locations throughout the city. With her grim expression and stark indifference to her state and surroundings, the slight shivering in the soaked woman's gait might be one of the clearest signs she was still alive as she started with a visit to the Temple of Mystra...

(PMs incoming!)