DM Rumors of Baldur's Gate

[DM Mimic]

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THOSE WHO REPENT

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Credit: Erythaia

From the Seatower District, the Flaming Fist announces the fate of the Sworn on 27 Tarsakh, 1352. Rumors swirl that the tribunal's deadlock was broken only by the intercession of the Council of Four, who dispatched their trusted allies and confidants to assess the truth of the Sworn's contrition. Among the advisors are Sir Gaven Arkalis, Lady Netanya of House Divine, and Lord Florian Selmayne, scion of Siamorphe. Some note the attendance of Alexander Marshall and Maevyn Edgar as well. What they learned is a closely guarded secret, but some say it is not hard to deduce based on the sentence. For her participation in the creation of the profane curse, Divine Conversion, the Sworn is sentenced to lifetime imprisonment in the maximum security ward of the Seatower prison.

Lord Selmayne is quick to announce that this course of action was what he had advocated to Duke Entar from the beginning.

From the Temples District, leaks from the High Hall suggest an unusual rupture in the relationship between Grand Duke Liia Jannath and Lord Heldrun Tosketh. Their strong bond seems to have fractured in the wake of some offense made by Lord Tosketh, to such a degree that Liia is reported to have slapped him across the face. The nature of their dispute is shrouded in mystery; some suggest the lord failed in some task assigned to him by the Duchess. Others, however, note the timing of the announcement of the Sworn's sentence and cannot help but wonder if the political discord is somehow related.

Outside the city, about halfway between Baldur's Gate and Elturel, those who departed after the Commons' election are reported to have settled in the village of River's End. Reports suggest some brewing conflict between the local lord - who happens to be one Florian Selmayne - and the arrival of a new faction of progressive magi styling themselves as the "New Arcane Liberation Front."

[DM Mimic]

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ONE'S TRUE WAY

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Credit: wlop

"Though I fear that Cyric may be the only true god ... I cannot abandon Elisia and Afendaria. I cannot abandon Korwin. They know my heart ... and I will not let this final choice of mine to be to turn my back on them. On you. I place my faith in you, Kelemvor."
-- Mortarch Nathalie

In the Eastway District, rumors spread that Micaela Navar and Nathalie of Kelemvor have both been freed from the influence of Cyric's divine curse. It is said that many Flaming Fist battlemages and Temple of Mystra acolytes were assembled to perform the deed, in coordination with the faithful of Kelemvor and their allies. With the suggestion that a solution to Divine Conversion has been found, some breathe a sigh of relief; but the insightful would note that it took almost two moons and the cooperation of over a dozen magi to succeed.

Nathalie has been returned to the care of her fellow Kelemvorites. Meanwhile, Micaela Navar, having been detained before she could commit any crimes on the Cyricists' behalf, is freed from Fist custody and allowed to depart the city discreetly. Where she will go from here is anyone's guess.

In recognition of the contributions made by Justinian, a priest of Mystra, Lady Neela Daren assigns a small cadre of the Knights of the Mystic Fire to accompany him to River's End, where the Temple of Mystra is apparently undertaking an important mission.

[Ghost]

As a crowd gathered near the church of Mystra this day, the nearby street performer had improvised a song that now is on the lips of many of those who passed by!

They waited and waited
For the man known as Oth
His arrival was fated
A candle to their moth

Finally he came out
He claimed to be food
There was nay a pout!
A feast for their mood!

I dare not even look
For if indeed a noodle is he
Soon he will cook
And a feast he truly will be

They will serve him with fish
And chicken they say!
I pray and I wish
That he may run away!

The hater of song
Is the worst of them all
Now it won't be long
Until poor Oth will fall

Slurped and devoured
With sauce and spice
Before he had even flowered!
Why couldn't they have chosen rice?

The crowd grew more
Upon Oth they would feast
They would even eat his core!
And the song-hater was pleased

Now poor Oth is gone
Foul was his end
This song is quite long
And to Elturel, I'll send

[DM Verjigorm]

In the dead of night on the 24th of Mirtul, the outskirts of the city of Baldur's Gate was met by an unwelcome disturbance, though thankfully brief. From the sewer exit within the northern farmlands erupted a vile torrent of screeching ratmen and other rodents of wildly varying sizes, spilling forth in an immense tide as they rushed relentlessly towards the east. Before the local guard could muster and chase the horde, it would become clear in time that the unnatural rodents had sought only to flee the city in some manner of mass exodus. Indeed, those few who had tried to intercept the massive herd or simply been in the way had offered testimony that the throng of rat creatures had diverted away from them and seemingly sought to avoid them entirely.

As the final trickle of rats, were they of legs numbering four or two, had left the sewers, one singular towering specimen of a wererat had stood in distant treeline, observing the last of their kind depart the city's underground before following suit itself.

Though one farmer had lamented over their field of hollies having been vandalized by the monstrous vermin horde's stampede, there had been curiously no casualties, save for a number of smaller rats and mice simply trampled by their own kind during their frenzied emigration. Though it was uncertain where the horde had gone, it was evident that the gnawing swarm had decided Baldur's Gate was a place unfit for them to remain in.

[DM Mimic]

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THE TAKING OF SOLACE

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Credit: Michael C. Hayes

In Baldur's Gate, a young man known only as "Brother Solace" rises to prominence as a healer of the heart and the mind. Those who seek his services soon realize that what Solace provides is neither poultice nor potion, but an enchantment to modify and remove memories. To some, the act is a travesty and an affront to all that is good and natural. But to others, the enchantment is a welcome relief from the guilt, shame, or trauma that plagues their lives.

By all accounts, Solace accepts neither coin nor compensation for the succor he brings; neither does he force his enchantment upon anyone, and only offers it after lengthy discussion and confirmations from his petitioners that they truly desire his aid. His gentle demeanor and compassionate soul attracts a small following of those who seek his blessing and hail him as their savior. Even the fallen paladin Eustace, whose despair over the death of his paramour had grown all-consuming, is rumored to have been saved by Brother Solace's intervention.

It seems not all attention is good, however, for just as Brother Solace is about to become a household name around the Gate, he vanishes from the city. It is unclear under what circumstances he departed, or if he is even still alive. His cult knows only that they cannot find him anywhere within the Gate.

Solace's disappearance is the subject of much consternation, particularly for those who had hoped to benefit from his magic. Some rumors suggest he was forced to leave by those who accused him of worshipping the Lady of Loss. Others whisper that the tiefling Szarilana and the Bardess Maevyn were present in an incident involving Brother Solace's room at the Blade and Stars. Alas, the extent of their role in Brother Solace's departure from the Gate is as opaque as the memories he removed.

The Flaming Fist note the incident, as well as the potential of Sharran activity in the city.

Credit: Sara Winters

[DM Mimic]

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THE UNMAKING OF SOLACE

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Credit: Chris Rallis

14 Flamerule, 1362: Lieutenant Theodora of the Flaming Fist sets about organizing a special task force to track down and undo the magical modifications to memory performed by the one known as Brother Solace. The manipulation of the mind, willing participant or no, is strictly against Baldurian law; the risk of abuse and enslavement is too great. Such is the judgment of a local Heapside Magistrate, and it is up to Theodora to enforce it.

Having received special dispensation to dispel Solace's magical enchantments and armed with the evidence supplied to her of Solace's activities from the Temple of Ilmater, it does not take long for the task force to begin rounding up Solace's supplicants. A few are grateful for the effort, those having regretted forsaking their memories out of haste or expedience. Some seek counseling and succor from the Ilmatari in substitute. But for many, the Flaming Fist's purposeful undoing of Solace's enchantments comes as an unwelcome intrusion upon their individual autonomy.

Who are the Flaming Fist to decide what is best for them and their family members? Why should these busybodies get to decide to unearth traumatic and painful memories when they are not the ones who will have to live with them? Theodora and her task force face these questions on a daily basis, a growing sentiment of resentment and outrage fomenting among Solace's petitioners. Even some who did not agree with Solace's actions nevertheless repudiate what they view as a Fist overreach into the personal lives of Baldurian citizens, especially as fines and jail time are levied against the ignorant and the well-meaning.

Unfortunately for Theodora, careful magical analyses of Solace's memory modifications reveal nothing suspicious, untoward, or inappropriate hidden within his enchantments. His efforts are exactly as he documented in his journal, which seems to reflect a genuine intention to help those suffering. If the Flaming Fist could show some attempt at subtle manipulation or control, they might at least have persuaded some to their side. As things stand, the battlemagi's standing in the public eye suffers a self-inflicted wound.

In the end, many of those who sought Solace's aid choose to flee the city rather than subject themselves or their loved ones to what they view as the undoing of solace for them and their loved ones.

Still, at least one family is glad for the aid offered. The Sims in the Outer City welcome back a son they thought to be lost. Despite their father having to perform some community service for his transgression, their family has never been more hopeful.

Credit: Bogna Gawrońska

[DM Cowboy]

"Gossip" - Thomas Sully

Gossip continues to spread around the city that something is wrong in the Steeps District. More and more folks are keeping their doors sealed, particular those whose homes are located on the stretch by the well. Nobody wants to say why out loud. Ask around and you’ll get a shrug, or a name muttered too quiet to catch. Whatever is out there, it doesn’t seem to be finished yet.

[DM Faith]

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BATTLE AT ULGOTHS BEARD

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A few ships had set out to Ulgoths Beard. First, the Flaming Fist on board of the Flame of Balduran, armed for naval battle. Then, adventurers on board of a small merchants convoi, eager to jump into the depths to fight the last remnants of what plagued the lands. It went far different than expected. Just as the ships came close to the tainted waters, something stirred in the depths. The sea boiled, as a monstrous entity rose from the depths, attacking the ships with maw and and tentacle, beset with many eyes. Undead and demons followed, spewed forth against the passengers and ships.
The battle was short, but intense. The ships of the convoi suffered, planks splintered, broke apart, and finally sank. The Flaming Fist and adventurers sent barrage after barrage against the entity, ballista bolts and projectiles slicing through everwarping flesh, as divine magic seared its flesh. As it finally fell, however, this was not the last of the vileness. A portal, hidden in the entity, source of the demons puked throughout the battle on the ships, imploded. Some adventurers, who had decided to attack the entity from the inside, passed it and crossed over. Others, who had been to close at its death, were sucked inside, away from the realms. Hushed voices even spoke of one horned figure jumping into the collapsing portal. The unleashed energies ripped the body, which had housed it before, apart and pulled it through, before nothing remained but the wrecks of the battle and the survivors.
As for those who had disappeared, stories emerged of them emerging from nearby woods and farmlands of Baldurs Gate again, accompanied by those who had not gone missing. What had happened to them, this would be a tale from their tongues to be told. Some voices mentioned the Wintertals, some Lord Osric Vale, others Gaven Arkalis, elves from the woods led by a red haired druidess called Naer'eanque, members of the Bladestone foundation led by Derik Ranloss, a seer wearing ashen robes, the horned Tiefling with the creepy eyes and voice Szarilana, and many more.

Their memories would be long with them, telling haunting stories of what had been fought. Luckily, for them, the profane words the entity had spewn during the fight, which had resonated in their very blood and bones, faded from memory, buried and forgotten.
In the harbor, the Flaming Fist docked the next day. Battle mages, priests of Tempus, Tymora and Helm, and champions left. This was not all, as general Moruene, as well as Duke Eltan personally were seen leaving the ship, with wounded carried forward to the citadel. As he was escorted back to the upper city, under the applause of nearby citizens, an assassin sought to have tried their luck in a moment of perceived opening. Who had sent them was not revealed to the public, as they were quickly dealt with and dragged off the streets by the nearby Flaming Fist mercenaries.
Meanwhile, in Ulgoths Beard, the land continued to heal. Rot and mold, mushrooms and insects had done great work during the hot summer months, breaking down the dead and corrupted wood and flesh, sign of previous battles. The work of druids and other friends of nature was visible in the center of the village, where a small field of bushes, saplings, flowers and grasses grew, among many other plants, thriving in fertilized soil. The song of birds echoed through the ruins, nesting in makeshift bird houses, feasting on the thick swarms of buzzing flies and other insects drawn to the healing lands. Certainty sung in the hearts of the villagers, holding out in Baldurs Gate. They would return, soon. If it would be before the next, harsh winter, or with the gentle breeze of spring, or during the season of autumn, shrouded by leafs of many colors, would be a decision of their own. . .

As for captain Bran, whose convoi had been hit, he was determined to scramble his crew together, again. While most had survived, many were determined to make offerings to Umberlee for future voyages, just in case. A few souls even pressed the promise from their captain to keep red haired women banned from his ships.

With this, I conclude my part in Ulgoths Beard! There is a small follow up for the people involved in the events of the final battle, but if you want to do anything in Ulgoths Beard, please reach out to the DM team in general. Please give our mappers the time they need to adjust the maps, there are many actions and player initiatives that need to be considered.

[DM Mimic]

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SOLACE IN SILENCE

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Credit: Nemanja Stankovic

Much to the surprise - or perhaps chagrin - of the city's citizenry, the cultist known as Brother Solace resurfaced in Baldur's Gate on the 13th of Eleint,1362. Selunites Szarilana and Maevyn rescued Solace from sinister forces and sheltered him at the Temple of Ilmater while he recovered from his wounds, with Arion of the Knights of the Mystic Fire keeping close watch nearby. It was not long before word of Solace's return reached the Flaming Fist. The Selunites had only just begun to hear Solace's recounting of what transpired after his abduction when Lieutenant Theodora arrived with a battalion of battlemagi at the Shrine to arrest him. Convinced by the Selunites not to attempt to flee, Solace went willingly with the authorities, who assured those present that their prisoner would be held securely at the Seatower fortress of the Flaming Fist.

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Meanwhile ...

Lord Heldrun Tosketh was certain the staccato of his bootheel against the Seatower's stone floor would have rivaled the wails of the prisoners nearby, had he not forced his leg to stillness. The Flaming Fist had asked him to wait in the interrogation chamber while they retrieved his requested prisoner. Normally, the lord was satisfied with the Fist's efficiency but there was something about waiting that seemed to grow ever more excruciating these days, a discomfort that nestled in his gut like a rotten pit, an infesting obstruction that he knew would have to be removed but had no means to do so himself.

It was fitting then that when at last his quarry was brought before him, Lord Tosketh found the man's appearance not exceedingly dissimilar from that of a malignant tumor. Not a single hair sprouted from the prisoner's bulbous head, and the tightness with which the man's skin clung to his skull betrayed every single ridge and irregularity in the bone structure. The combination of the man's pallid complexion and gaunt figure made visible his veins and arteries; the sickly blues and reds were a meager attestation to the man's humanity. More disturbing was the discordance of his features: his eyes were lopsided, his ears unbalanced, his stub of a nose broken, his discolored teeth missing in inexplicable places.

But it was the man's smile that was most revolting of all.

The lord was too much of a professional to reveal his revulsion. What Tosketh felt in his gut at witnessing this truly cursed creature he held tightly behind an inscrutable gaze of appraisal. An unarmed man - however grotesque - posed no threat to him and he had faced far worse in his decades of service to the Grand Dukes.

"Milord. The prisoner you requested."

The gaoler's report was curt, something Tosketh appreciated. "Good. And our other guest?"

"Lieutenant Theodora's processing him."

"I'd like to speak with him once we're done here," the lord said. The man known as "Brother Solace" was another piece of the puzzle that he had yet to decipher, but there would be time enough for the Sharran Darkcloak afterward.

"As you say, milord." The gaoler offered a salute and left two Fist soldiers to ensure Tosketh's safety. The lord could handle himself, but the gesture was appreciated, symbolic though it may have been. Besides, Rooney had been shackled to the floor and to the table. As thin as he was, there was no strength against which to be wary.

Lord Heldrun Tosketh often spent the first few minutes of any "interview" in silence. Appraising how a prisoner comported himself in the discomfort of jail cell quietude was often revealing. More often than some might suspect, perpetrators would begin speaking of their own accord to fill the void, and the words they used to arm themselves against a quiet stare often paved the road to unwitting confessions.

It took him less than half a minute of assessing the prisoner's gaptoothed grin for Tosketh to ascertain that such would not be the case here. There was no fear, no anxiety in those crazed eyes staring back at him. The only sound that escaped those cracked and broken lips was a lunatic's giggle.

The lord refocused on his purpose. "They tell me you've finally started speaking."

"Hee … hee hee … "

"Rooney, was it?" Tosketh pressed. "Mad Rooney?"

For a second, the lord thought he might have seen the prisoner's smile turn contemptuous. Tosketh took it as confirmation.

"Why now?" he continued. "After months of rotting in the Flaming Fist's cells, months of silence, refusing to speak to anyone … why throw all your resistance aside now?"

Heldrun watched as Rooney's eyes went wide with something akin to a murderous glee.

"Hee hee … you're not going to like it … you're not going to like it one bit …"

"Let me decide that for myself." The lord was careful to keep his voice calm. Controlled.

"Hee … decide. That's a funny word. Don't you think so, 'milord?'"

Lord Heldrun was about to respond when Rooney continued of his own accord. "Hee. Hee hee. People think they have so many decisions they can make. Not even just you fancy lords and ladies, the dukes and the barons, your graces and their highnesses and my bloody majesties. The smallfolk too. Hahaha! Can you believe it? The peasants. The slaves."

"You all think you have so much you can decide on. What to eat for breakfast. Whether to take a sh*t before the day's toil begins. Whose sh*t you're willing to eat to get through the day before coming home and wondering whether it's worth trying to trick your lover into ten minutes of rutting in a bale of hay."

"Some of you go so far as to think you get to decide what country you belong to. What house you want to serve. What guild or faction you throw your lot in. Oh … but the most egregious of all … you think you can decide to whom you offer your faith."

Heldrun's steely gaze didn't lift from Rooney even as the madman broke into an uncontrollable bout of insidious mirth.

"HEE!" Rooney gasped for air through his laughter. "CAN YOU BELIEVE IT?! YOU POOR FOOLS! HEE HEE HEE! YOU ACTUALLY THINK YOU GET TO DECIDE! AS IF YOU WEREN'T ALL SACRIFICING YOUR SOULS INTO THE EXACT SAME SYSTEM, THE ONE WHERE A SO-CALLED OVERGOD GETS TO UNMAKE YOUR DEITIES ON A WHIM."

"So you tell me … what kind of choice is that exactly? What's the point of throwing your lot in with Mystra or Helm or Tyr when we've seen … all it takes is for them to step out of line and – " Rooney snaps his fingers. "They're gone. It's a pointless one, no? A decision between the headman's axe or the hangman's noose is ultimately futile."

Heldrun didn't miss a beat as he stared back at Rooney across the table between them. "Is there a point to this rant?"

"Oh, milord, milord. Of course there is. Rather than choose any of the gods that prop up this inexorable paradigm … why not choose the one - the ONLY ONE - that can break it?"

Heldrun struggled not to roll his eyes. "Let me guess. The Black Sun?"

Rooney smiled. "Hee. Hee hee. He is inevitable. He is the One True God, the only one with a chance! The Sisters are almost done, my lord. You can welcome Him into your heart by your own free will … or you can wait and allow Divine Conversion to help you make the choice you are too afraid to make on your own."

"Either way … you really don't get to decide."

Lord Tosketh had had enough. There was nothing more he would learn discussing anything further with this madman. If there was anything more to be found in that shattered mind, his agents would forcibly extract instead. Their methods would be uncomfortable, to say the least, but if there was any knowledge of the Sisters of Strife that Rooney possessed, it would be delivered to the Dukes.

Regardless, there was no need for Tosketh to subject himself further to Rooney's delusions.

He kept his face an inscrutable mask as he stood from his seat, summoning the gaoler back with a beckon of his hand. But as he watched Rooney being led away, Heldrun couldn't help but notice that his hands were ever so slightly shaking.

He composed himself before heading toward the exit.

The gaoler caught up with him in a huff. "Milord? Did you still want to speak with the other prisoner?"

"In a candlemark, soldier. I will be back."

There was something he would have to check on before speaking with Brother Solace and it could not wait.