The Silver Dawn Camp - A sprout at the Chiontar [RP]

[Labradorit]

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OOC: Please have patience with my placeholders and problems with sizing’s. . Texts and Screenshots by Labradorit and more.

((Badgerfigurine-Image: AI by Labradorit, edited by Blackhorizon, Ingame creation (A badger of silver wood) by Gaven Arkalis -> not "the signs of change"-talisman))

Past days of the camp.



Past days of the camp.



Past days of the camp.



Past days of the camp.

*in the vast vicinity of the Radiant Crossing, on the nothern shore of the chiontar...

If you look from the forest of Sharp-Teeth, following the trail east from the Fort of Lord Lyontaler. There one would find a Camp sorounded by wires and chimes. With an entrance between bushes and trees, footfall and horsehoofe have made yet open a trail. First rumors begunn to sprout around midwinter. Now, new rumors spread that after the firy destruction of triel, that first aid was given to people from there. A white haired elf with his painted horse would guide survivors to the Fort. And known people, the ones that actually fought and worked in the derbis left, had a first aid in this camp between the underwood and trees. Rules would fast be named for life with each other and in respect with nature, this was one important rule, not to gorget. A sprout was easily walked over, this should happen here. This was the aid for the restless helpers, because without charging up, they would break and no hero nor herione would live to be of aid, if not mended and sheltered once in a while themselves. It is said the first signs of camplife began here passing midwinter. After the fiery ruin of Triel, wanderers whispered of more than a white-haired elf and a painted horse, guiding and mending, others were seen aiding here and then walking onward to the Fort. Those who had fought among the debris and ashes were tended here in this refuge woven between underwood and tree.

Rules soon took root, spoken calm but firm: to live with one another, and with the forest, the land and the spring near. To harm neither leaf nor limb without need. For a sprout unnoticed would be easily trampled and such was aimed not to happen here.

The camp lays not so quietly anymore beneath those words, a place born by from care it was still. Tramahsthas and Nevarra worked as if side by side, threading paths and shelters between old trunks that seemed to breathe with the rhythm of the spirits of day and night. Together with all joined hands, the camp became part of the woods, a heartbeat between roots and wind, as good as possible for those who where not known that deep into natures realms. Thok, the most experienced in farm life and strongest protector with the "basic" needs inside the camp, tools and aid with the soil, not against it.

Three to four days after the loss of Triel, the Fort opened once smore is Gates and Lord Aaron Lyontaler himself found way to the camp. The common refugees are to find food and rest in the Fort because they had planty, was his start. Words where exchanched and in the end, Lord Lyontaler and Tramahsthas had met the first time in personal chat. Lord Lyontaler offered help, as did Tramahthas in exchange. The Fort's protection, Rangers and Scout to look out for the camp. In return the Camp would help with herbs and healing aid, tranquil in spiritual guidance perhaps was unspoken but visable.

Beyond the tents, the stream wound its peaceful curve down to the Chiontar, hailing from the spring's pond. Where fresh water could be fetched. Though every camper got asked not to use the spring's pond, it shall remained untouched. Some say the spring’s voice could still be heard in the quiet evenings, mingling with soft chatters. The stream down towards the chiontar shall be the fresh water supplie to drink. And if something needs to be cleaned, dishes or dirty clothes, an inlet should be created at the chiontars shallow etrance of the stream. With nature, not against. This mantra was heared a lot, and in best wishes. Because...

It is a small place. Humble. Yet here, among wires and chimes, among weary hands now steady again, a sprout began to grow towards a new dawn, it began to rise against what was. Music would be heared almost every day at dawn and at dusk. The white haired elf would play. In gentle persistence, as life so often does.*

Hidden: show

Music inspiration 1:

Music inspiration 2:
Music by Lord Pecalon (Youtube)

[Sundown]

Since midwinter, when the camp was small and the dream came to life - blessed by the stars and whispers in the winter wind - Naer’eanque had joined the company of the camp almost regularly.

She was a wanderer, like other who had found rest and a meal there. Stories were exchanged, serious topics discussed and the calm time beneath the stars enjoyed. Music and laughter were also not running short.


After the tragedy at Triel, the situation changed. The camp was filled, with those who sought for shelter and company. The druidess felt deeply the depressing mood, lingering over the camp. Even if she was not attending as it had happened, she had seen how the village was affected by the catastrophe;
Even if she was hardly knowing, what had led to this situation:

She wanted to spend time with the survivors. Quietly she was only there, listening...feeling.
Searching for a way to ease the weight, so far possible. But perhaps it was, as first step, enough to humbly soak up some of the atmosphere to hopefully dissolve the fog at the end.

Even the darkest clouds will pass away with the gentle breeze of life. Maybe....

Lost in thought, she gently stroked the squirrel in her lap that had begun to accompanie her in the last months.

[JustAnotherGirl]

The High Ranger stopped by the camp just before twilight. She brought with her fresh venison and some furs. She'd visit quietly with anyone who wanted to speak. Before leaving, she promised to bring more meat in the coming tenday.

[Alaric!]

During one evening a woman in a dress and a giant man with no shirt visit the camp. At a big campfire they met Tramahsthas and Fierlith who could easily identify the pair as Mathilde Wintertal and Alaric. After sharing a few drinks and stories at the fire the barbarian decided to pitch his tent and spend the night at the camp.
The next morning he wordlessly left his tent and disappeared into the woods. Hours later he returned with a big boar over his shoulders.



After skinning the boar and preparing some meat, the Uthgardt stomped out into the woods again. The sun stood high already when he returned with a pile of wooden twigs and dead tree branches that he dragged after him bound together by a rope. Later he would ask around if anyone in the camp was sick or ate something poisonous. If that was the case he would offer herbs from the three herb pouches he carries on his belt. Maybe someone is sick or brave enough to trust the barbarian with his herbs...

[Riddance]

Some day after the tragedy at Triel, two rangers accompained by mature grey and teen arctic wolfs appeared in the camp all of the sudden. Couple didn't spend much of time there - but they ensured to left for those who were present a bag with various herbs and herbal medicines, as well as some hand-written notes about usage and preparing them. Soon after that they trailed off in the wilderness

To those who would try to examine the bag closely would easily find a small wax seal with insignia of butterfly on it

[Labradorit]

The Suitable supplies escorted to Elturel

*So, it came to the moment, that people reached out and help. The camp had opened up to those of the heroes and heroines of Triel, who lost home and perhaps even hope. All other unknown Persons of similar fate, whereas rumour became evidence, in Elturel or where ever their path had led them.

And still... people had come to reach out and help. Even if just for bringing supplies which could now be transported to Elturel. The way was long. And thus, the camp was an ideal place – for the moment – to be the point of rest and return. The camp was no refuge for large groups of displaced folks, but a waypoint for known faces and helpers on the road.
Tramahsthas and others would lead the supplies they don’t need or they gathered themselves onwards to Elturel. This was for sure the way to follow and thus several Supplies would be escorted to Elturel or where they were needed in the vicinity of the Town. Perhaps this was something, that was more happening “backstage” as in “on stage”, as a Bard would phrase it. Yet… it was help and so it shall reach those of heroes and heroines or common folk and noble refugee. Being on the run, makes same in some nuances… very alike.*

((https://forgottenrealms.fandom.com/wiki/Elturel))

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Then there was the time. Dusk fell over the realm of the land and living, and somone had something to be done.

The walk of the Spiritsinger

((Inspirational Picture by Ai, base Ingame Screenshots.))



A walk needs do be done.

At a certain point, Tramashthas headed out of the camp, dusk was near. At least it would be, if he had reached his destination. As if he heard a inner call to do … not just something. But something that need to be done. “They” needed to be honoured. And “they” needed to be soothed eventually.
But he was not alone. At Radiant crossing, Thok and Tramahthas pathed crossed by chance and after a short exchange, the badger masked elf had company towards triel. The only request was, at a certain point to give Tramahthas space to act. A rite that needed room and space, and somehow solemness. Yet he had allowed Thok to watch, even though … it was to doubt that Thok would witness what would be unseen.

Hear, Hear, the chimes, oh spirits, the chimes.

First Dusk followed by night had fallen over the realm. Triels derbies, Castle and Village. Flamed and burned. What was it that the Elf wanted to do? Why was he wandering towards the lost place, with his companion? Not much time had past after their arrival, a soft nod told Thok to slowly give the elf space, but he had priorly said, that the real part would be in triel village to fulfil.
Tramashtahs took out his Silver Branch, a shamanic tool. A wooden branch with, in this case, five antlers and on each a silver crown bell. The badgermask sat on his face. His wander staff in one hand, the silver branch in the other… a deep breath taken. The walk of the spirit singer began, as his throat produced a deep vibrating chant and the first swing of the silver branch chimed into the night. Nothing happened for the eyes of Thok or other watchers who did not own the second sight nor the third eye.


A flicker at night. Unseen and bright.

Tramahthas chanted. Without haste and without … Rhythm? There was no clear cadence. Nor a defined “anything” he would follow. As he would be a night warden protecting the lanterns in a village, he walked through the burned houses, where ever he could step in safety. Outmost if needed else.
It was Alexander who had told him about the many souls that had found their end over the years and _here_. And … even though all people and the baroness went to Elturel or where ever. What about those souls who had died here… the soldiers who had lost their lives in the hellish fire of the hellscaled.

Chimes sang anew as the Silver Branch was waved.
To chastise a spirit, a soul, doesn’t mean inevitable to destroy it. No! He was certain, that precise control and guiding intention could free a soul if stuck in the mortal realm… even more so, if died under such circumstances. Every time he swung the branch he had opened his spirit sighted eyes. He would chant for the blessing of the souls and … every time needed he would carefully chastise the souls with his energy to free them and guide them into the realm beyond the veil.

Selûne and the Aegis-Church.

The Chant echoed through the night. A night warden with no lanterns bright walked many steps ahead of the companion who had followed. Sometimes the chant was companioned by the crown bells song. Till the point, they came to the centre of triel village. Thok remained at the lake up front. In sight of the Selûne Shrine, with the Aegis Church in the background. Both still standing. So many other things around… destroyed. And it was that moment, silence fell over the elf. He placed his wander staff before the shrine of the moon maiden… swung the silver branch three times towards her. And then he began to dance in circles, a rite without words had started way before. A dance as round as Sehanines silver disc.

At the end the pumpkin was gone.


He had searched for each … and feared for the fey-frog and the fey mushroom… but in the end… there was no pond nor pumping to return to.

Though steady but slowly Thok and Tramahsthas returned to the camp. The Silver Branch in silence at Tramahthas belt.

[Labradorit]

And no body spoke about the smashed chicken?

Pain. Horror. Mortifician malice. What all had awaited the brave people of Baldurs Gate’s defenders. Those keen or foolish people, that either dared to fly on a dragons back into battle, or followed the protector wardens call and teleport … Or yet unknown way of transport towards: Ulgoths Beard.
Anew this spot of earth became stage to a grand battle midair and on the very earth beneath… Humans, Elves, Halfmen and Halfwomen of diverse colors and … Dragons.

A blink before Tramahsthas remembered being flashed by the bronze haired man … those eyes, those metallic shimmering hair… that smile….

“Snap out of it! There are dragons fighting in the air! Three!!!”

The badger spirit yelled at his elven companion who was slipped into thought for … a moment to long? Things flashed … Hellfire. A Burned fallen silver. The bronze! That … smile? Geee, that are a lot fangs… and the Pitfiend?! Everything went that fast that …

“Gaaack?!”

A mortified burning monstrous chicken stood in front of all who protected the ritual to banish the hell scaled. Death extinguished the fiendish flames it was made of.



A shadow came unnoticed. The women that was centre of the ritual was also Tramashthas point of orientation, but everything in this battle bended so differently to his senses, that the shadow stayed unseen until it became flesh and a dark justiciar became threat to the ritual caster.

Spell hammered along his senses. Roars blinded his ears. Eyes got ill by all the smells around him. Only to…

“Buh-Gaaaack!”

He unleashed a cursed song, not fast enough to act, to at least gift ruptured eardrums to all enemy’s around …

But as he saw over his shoulder, there was no Enemy who threatened the ritual caster. There was Mathilde… holding her weapon gleaming down on another chicken. A smaller one. And her eyes told the badgermasked elf one thing for sure. This stare she only had, if someone earned her furie.
And all left to say way….




“Go, smash it Mattie!”.


This fight … the cost where way higher and more valued than chicken pieces, fried and golden brown, on a Sunday noon. With tuber wedges… Why wasn’t there a tavern "to the golden seagull" anywhere in Baldurs Gate yet?

“Tramahsthas!”

Paw scolded the spirit singer deep within his soul with quite more words that should not be named here. And.. Paw was right. No time to dillydally!
Not now. Not in this moment.

People needed to get first aid. A dragon had fallen to hellfire. And one… to their forces.


But to what cost? Way later, Tramahsthas got told, that the Vale estate was eradicated. Completely.
By this ... thoughts of Lord Osric blue shimmering planetar skin came to his mind. Uncanny and… yet ever so shimmery?
He should find Osric at some point later, after his rest… a rest… yes. All needed a rest. He didn’t made it to the Camp. He brought Naer’eanque and himself to the outer city of baldurs gate… to rest… and still, he missed the round ups and was surely late at best to catch up with every one… before returning in deep thought to the silver dawn camp… though he didn’t knew how late or early it was …

... finally, as the gurgling of the spring near cleared his mind.