Rumors & Events of Baldur's Gate

[sweetlikesplenda]

Lord Lyonaler would be seen about the City. First entering the Palace for a meeting with the Council of Four. A candle mark later he exits moving with purpose for various temples within the City. If any paid attention, they would see him visit each of the temples of the Triad. At each stop he approaches the high functionary and after notifying as being on errand for the Dukes, speaks privately with them.

First visit is to the Temple of Illmater where he speaks with Mother Juna



Followed by Abbot Eldric of Tyr



Then Tia Olwyn of the temple of Torm

[doctorsimon4]

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THE TRADE SHIP OF THAY

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Image Credit: ChatGPT

For three days and nights, dockhands and harbor masters along the Gray Harbor spoke in hushed tones of a crimson-sailed vessel making its slow way up the Sea of Swords. Rumors flew faster than gulls: some said it was a warship, others a merchant vessel, and a few whispered it was a slaver ship or pirate vessel. When dawn rose on the 5th of Marpenoth, 1361, the truth—or at least part of it—was revealed.

The Scarlet Marrow, a Thayan trade galley bearing the banners of the Tharch of Bezantur, and Zulkirs, moored just past Dock Four. In sharp contrast to the bustle of local sailors and merchants, the Thayans moved with a chilling precision as the contents of the ship was unloaded and new goods from the Enclave were loaded in turn. Each crate and chest was marked with sigils denoting arcane reagents, exotic silks, or spices said to grow only in the east.

Few dared linger near the Thayan crew for long; Overseeing it all was a Red Wizard. He spoke little, but his gaze measured every motion, every whisper.

As evening fell and the last goods were loaded, the Scarlet Marrow unfurled its sails once more, ready to depart. Keen-eyed sailors and night watchmen noticed something peculiar, however: one of the vessel's passengers who had left in the morning had never returned.

[zhazz]

Having been busy preparing for a festival, and the ensuing cleanup after, Adrian finally makes it back to the Church of Tymora. After a prayer to Tymora at the altar he spends some time with other patrons in various games of chance once again to pay homage to his Lady Luck.

When he finds a proper moment Adrian once again seeks out High Lady Leeta to share more news from the organizing efforts against the Black Grass. He is happy to report that the aid of the church was well received by all in attendance. Unfortunately not all is good news, as he must also relay a request for able-bodied clergy to take to the field to aid in the ritual casting of the cleansing magic.

Like before, regardless of High Lady Leeta's answer, now or after deliberation, he thanks her for her time, and restates his previous promise of fostering new adventures.

Hidden: show

In the wake of a meeting at House Vale, and an impromptu trip to Ulgoth's Beard, Adrian makes good on his promise to Lord Osric.

Arriving at the Lady's Hall Church of Tymora, Adrian initially spends a few hours joining patrons and petitioners in games. Win or lose, Adrian maintains his soft smile, happy to simply spend some time in the halls of Lady Luck.

After speaking a private prayer to Tymora, Adrian seeks out High Lady Priestess of Tymora Leeta in the church, and shares his plea: for the church to aid in the cleansing of the fiendish grass spreading in and beyond Ulgoth's Beard.

He understands such endeavors are not typically part of what the church involves itself in. But shares a growing worry that, if not stopped, the grass will eventually spread far enough to hamper new adventures by being too dangerous to undertake except by the most seasoned and wealthy adventurers.

Regardless of High Lady Leeta's answer, now or after deliberation, he thanks her for her time, and promises to continue fostering new adventures among those he meet.

[Ashenie]

"Mercy’s gentle hand move to heal that which was sundered… Duty continues for some, and others rest peacefully in the arms of their gods."

Saint Merielle, as told in Murder Rended... Mercy Mended... , Saint Merielle Silene, The Living Saint

In the aftermath of the loud massacre in the Lower City, wounded and corpses are approached with diligence and care. To all the brave who fought the Cult of Cyric-Bhaal, healing and solace are offered. Each wound is treated with dedication, and the courage of the soldiers is honored for its just purpose.

The dead are offered blessings of resurrection, rest, and peace. Among all those who are cared for, only one soldier of the Flaming Fist returns among the living. The rumor says the others had been given the choice to return, still, and preferred to continue into another form of existence, in the afterlife. Their families are cared for, and helped, especially those who might find themselves in misery and poverty after such a tragedy. The word is spread that rites of remembrance and solemn prayers will be shared with their loved ones.

Proper burials and funeral rites are offered within the Ossuary of the Shrine of the Suffering. While the dead are cared for, the living that remain in their absence are also cherished, and helped.

Even to the cultists that were devoted to the Power of Cyric-Bhaal, the same dignity is offered. Dignity knows no name, no face, no race and no color, and has no restriction, it is said. Even without anyone to cry for them, their remains are properly offered funeral rites, if only - the rumor says - to protect from illnesses from spreading, and prevent undead from rising from the corpses if they were left untended. So does their cycle of violence find an end : in peace.

The Revered Sister Ashenie of the Shrine of the Suffering is seen, once the bodies and injured have safely been removed from the warehouse, offering blessings of consecration, sprinkling holy water and silver dust where the fight claimed so many lives. "Death and destruction shall not be the end. Solace, healing and care shall restore peace."

[Published with DM Smile's approval]

Hidden: show

Everything Dies...

The Flaming Fist

Cory Strong walked out of the Flaming Fist cells a free man. Someone helped him out and paid for his freedom, someone from the higher-ups, and that night the air in Baldur's Gate felt different: it was cleaner somehow, like he could actually breathe again without iron weighing down his wrists.
He didn't wait around, he just couldn't: he had too much work to do, and he had to continue with the Commons Militia.
That same evening he headed straight back to the warehouse where the Commons Militia still gathered, the same place they'd drawn up their plans, made their oaths to take down the Thieves' Guild for good, and finally take a place for themselves to finally find the freedom they deserved from the tyranny. When he walked through the door there was laughter, a few claps on the back, familiar faces passing drinks around... It felt really damn good, it felt like home.

Then the door opened again.

Figures slipped in from the shadows outside, moving silently toward him. Cory turned, confused at first, then watched as some of his own people lowered their hoods... Gods, the look in their eyes wasn't... right! They were not his men!

"For the glory of Cyric-Bhaal!"

The warehouse exploded into chaos: steel met flesh, screams echoed off the walls as they were butchered and killed and massacred. Cory fought, gods know he fought hard, but the betrayal was too sudden and he couldn't imagine this would happen. His brothers and sisters were being cut down like animals... People he knew, people he trusted, people he'll mourn. Their faces were twisted in horror as they fell one by one: blood and smoke filled the air, and before long Cory was on the ground too, feeling his life spill out into the dirt beneath him.

The Flaming Fist showed up, drawn by all the noise and screaming, but by then the battle was already ended. The cultists fought like rabid dogs, shrieking about treachery even as they were being cut down. Not one of them surrendered, and Each one of them chose death, laughing or weeping as they bled out on the warehouse floor.

At the same time, citizens in the City looked up to the skies in confusion as the sun was still shining, but the whole Baldur's Gate was wrapped by a mantle of darkness. In the temples scattered throughout the city, clerics of a dozen different faiths stopped what they were doing, feeling the unmistakable divine power radiating around them, outside of their Temples. Something was happening, and they knew it was the work of a God...
But which one?

But when the assault of the Flaming Fist ended, the darkness receded: it was finished. Bodies everywhere, those of the Commons Militia mixed with their killers. The Flaming Fist had won, the cult of Cyric-Bhaal was finally wiped out, and another victory was for the Gate's mercenaries.... but at what cost? Still, something was out of the ordinary.

One of the dead cultists was massive, bigger than the others, and his face was scarred on his chin. When the Fist turned his head to get a better look... they saw his eyes. They were slit like a snake's, with scales glinting faintly in the light.

In the end, the Commons Militia was gone, erased from the city like they'd never existed... and the Commons were once more on their own. But what more threats await Baldur's Gate? Maybe something far worse had just slithered in, as the Cult of Cyric-Bhaal was now finally destroyed.

If only the adventurers who hunted down the Cult, some time ago, investigated further, if only they opted to pursue or investigate a little better, maybe all this wouldn't have happened. Many lives would have been spared. But who are we, to judge with hindsight? Maybe something new was born...

...or maybe, just maybe, it's the end of a story.


[END OF CYRIC-BHAAL CAMPAIGN]

[Obvious_Illusion]

On the cobblestones in the Temples District, stray ivory white feathers of a remarkable size could again be found.

For nearly two seasons, the priest Vhaan de Luca, Sword of Tyr, had been absent from Baldur's Gate. Now, there was talk amongst the common folk of spectacled sightings of the winged man yet again; and errant word that he returned from travel to the North.

[Obvious_Illusion]

Regulars of the Three Old Kegs tavern may have witnessed a minor commotion.

It was a usual night at the tavern, except for the sight of a winged man conversing with a tiefling woman at the bar by the entrance. The conversation had begun politely, but gradually turned sour.

The man's feathers bristled, and he stood abruptly, bewilderment and repulsion etched upon his features. "Truly? Thou terrorize the folk of this fair city, and then dare to walk and talk amongst us?!" He exclaimed.

Their heated conversation continuing. A particular revelation led the barmaid behind the counter to hide, cowering in fear. Some more words were exchanged, and then he pointed towards the door, "Begone from this place, foul creature! Thou shan't taint this eve with thy fanciful tongue or presence any further."

The tiefling woman smiled. "Don't worry, I already planned to. Like I said, I do not kill without reason. Besides, if I wanted to, the whole city would be cinder already."

She left the tavern, and the winged man rushed to comfort the barmaid. When she was well, he went on his way.

[wangxiuming]

On Uktar 13, Osric of House Vale can be seen visiting various temples throughout the Temples and Manorborn Districts.

His first stop is the Temple of Tymora. Aftering paying respects to the High Lady Leeta, Osric would offer a large donation to the goddess and her temple, along with a simple prayer to Tymora:

Fortune favor us, the bold, the brave.

If the odds are against us in our righteous endeavor, my humble plea: tilt them toward us and away from the evil that lurks.

Fortune favor us, the steady, the stalwart.

If the odds are with us in this momentous task, my sincere request: shield them from the interlopers, the trespassers.

Fortune favor us, the compassionate, the kind.

If the odds are even in our holy aspiration, my earnest petition: let luck be that which inspires hope.

A copper to the lady returns tenfold in gold. May this prayer to the lady return tenfold in blessings.

Next, Osric visits the Temple of Tyr. As the patron of Neverwinter, the lord's native born city, he has always felt an affinity for the God of Justice. Here, he offers a substantial tithing and another prayer:

Let us be your eyes, Blind One, and cast your justice upon the world.

A great evil has befallen Ulgoth's Beard, borne of demons and the abyss. Yours is the virtuous justice that is needed to strike it down. Yours is the righteous indignation that shall see it purged. Yours is the oath that will see the defenders of the land unite against a common foe.

In your name, we shall reveal the truth, punish the guilty, right the wrong, and be always true and just.

His last stop at a holy site is, of course, the shrine of Siamorphe - or rather, a quiet alcove atop the roof of the Vale estate where a smaller facsimile of the noblewoman goddess presides over all of the manor. Here, he offers a final prayer and tithing:

Lady Siamorphe, lead us. We who aspire to nobility, we who answer the call for aid, we who fight for the people of the coast - we beseech the gentle but firm hand that bears your chalice. For the innocents who have lost their homes, for the survivors of the tragedy at Ulgoth's Beard, show us the way to bring them light and hope anew.

Yours is the wisdom that guides us all. Watch over us as we strive to live your tenets. Bless us as we go into the unknown.

[ValerieJean]

In the evening hours of mid Uktar, a caravan starts to flow in to the outskirts of the ruins of Ulgoth's Beard. The early arrivals stop at the edge of any signs of rot, or corruption, favoring green grasses or cleaner clearings. The wagons and teamsters all bear similar trappings - that of the Church of the Holy Triad, Torm, Tyr, and Ilmater.

Stakes are hammered in by the laborers while knights in shining platemail stand guard. Temporary cots errected with clean linens are set up beneath the plain off-white canvas of field tents, some bearing the specific bound-hand symbol of Ilmater marking them as triage tents.

Two leaders stand out amongst the camp as it takes shape. The first, a knighted man of impressive height with an equally broad build in plate armor with a black fur mantle over his shoulders. Gaven, the knight of the Triumvirate of Triel, takes charge of the triage camp, preparing for the pending rituals' inevitable casualties. The second, a ranger in a long leather coat and signature leather hat, takes charge of setting up the watch of guardsmen over the triage camp.

Dunn, the aforementioned ranger in hat and coat, takes up first watch during the prior eve, when the camp is being set. He busies himself with walking the perimeter, setting up trip-lines and traps to thwart or early alert to any encroaching demons or undead.

After his watch his up, but before Lathander's light breaks the next day. He says two sets of prayers, the first to Shaundakul, one for forgiveness for losing his patron's shrine to the invasion, with a promise to see it made right. The second to Selune, for all the defenders of the ritual.

After, when light breaks, he sets up a campfire and gets a pot of fish stew going. A mixture of white fish, rice, brown rue, red pepper, and other spices - enough to put hair on a Glimmerboot's chest, he'd say if asked of it (and the dish is rather spicy for any that would partake). In addition to that, a pan of cathead biscuits is done, slathered with 'borrowed' honey that the caravan came across on their way to set up.

Gaven Arkalis, Knight-Commander of the Church of the Triad, takes time, with hands he was able to bring along other than his own, to set up the tents and cots, lighting, and placing supplies needed by each, such as bandages, clean water pitchers and basins, and tools required. Herbs, salves, and potions were among the supplies.

He made certain each tent was stocked well enough, the wagons that were used to carry were off to the side, and the horses were taken care of with feed and water as well. He kept an eye out for any incursions. Once satisfied with the tents and supplies he would seek his rest before taking up second watch.

When light awoke him, he sought his own prayer to the Triad, and to Selune. He would partake of the spicy fish stew, eating it heartily and quietly watched the horizon towards Ulgoths. . A calm settled as he waited for the waves to break upon those within.

[Sundown]

A gentle late-autumn breeze blew around a tree-covered spot at the edge of the northern outskirts of Baldurs Gate.
The colourful leaves were playing with the wind when a figure appeared.
It was apparently dressed in greenish leather, studded with pieces of bark. Some parts of the clothing were completely covered with wood.
Even a hollowed-out branch seemed to have been used for one upper arm.
Those knowledgeable about military things might speculate that a more true and protective armour could be hidden beneath her clothing.

The figure wore a wooden half-mask, which looked like it had been directly grown out of a tree. Blending perfectly into her face.
Small branches growed up from the mask and pierce her chaotically arranged hair.

She was accompanied by a snow leopard, who peacefully joined her side and was visibly intimidated by the surroundings.
Then there was a squirrel, unperturbed by all this, who sat in a realxing manner on the redhead's shoulder and nibbled on a nut.

In a gentle voice, the redhead inquired whether any movement had already been noticed towards Ulgoth's Beard and would finally set off there with her menagerie. A staff supported her carefully placed steps.

She willingly lifted her mask during her words to the people she met and readily identified herself when asked.

Finally, she would approach at the camp of the triad...