Rumors of the Southern Sword Coast

[Penwize]

With the aid of her duties to the forest and solid scouting techniques, Ytarya the Talassan kept moving, stayed active. Harassing and baiting. If a bunch of bumbling, rank-and-file mercenaries equipped for combat outside of the wilderness could dive into the Cloakwood against these empowered and terrifying gnolls (and come out the other side with no casualties), so too could a single scout with centuries of experience in evasion and small-scale tactics. She hadn't been receiving memos but was quickly brought up-to-date on the now well-known prowess of the enemy.

Turns out not everyone was quite on the same side. That bit had been wishful thinking. Obviously the Flaming Fist wouldn't be pleased to see her in their exhausting slogs into the wilderness, and the druids of the forest probably weren't going to forget how eagerly the Fist and Fist-allies had murdered (and probably still was murdering) them. Still, it was the vague basis of unity and Ytarya was eager to work around it! If calculated and empowered gnolls with nearly perfect situational awareness couldn't scratch Flaming Fist troops, Ytarya planned to be near those conflicts. Whenever this absurdly powerful enemy wandered anywhere close to a Fist sortie, the scout sprang into action. Illusions of weakened foes or cries of distress wafted towards advancing opportunistic gnolls, eagerly attempting to draw them mercilessly towards the only beings that seemed capable of fighting some gnolls.

The illusions and bait didn't even have to be that obvious! Wherever a Fist sortie paused little signs began to appear in the forest. Sprinkled trails of blood, discarded supplies, and the clink of metal was really all it would take to catch the senses of preternaturally grand and aggressive dire-predators like these gnolls. Somehow furious and feral and still calculated. If a direct encounter was a clearly suicidal matter for the powerful elf, she would let the Flaming Fist field those direct encounters instead. It seemed the least she could do.

She kept happily at her work. Every feint and bait and mistake was a part of the greater effort. Every overextended gnoll was one the Fist could murder for her. Every gnoll she could carry on a wild goose chase was one that wasn't slavering over the destruction of this land.

[DaloLorn]

A number of beetles were sliced open with a peculiar blade near the Lion's Way quarry yesterday. From the look of the wounds, the blade was more magic than metal, though no less deadly for it. Three dead bandits could also be found splayed across the road, their bodies broken by what might easily have been mistaken for an immense fall. One bore wounds similar to the beetles; the other two most likely perished when they landed.

In a possibly related incident, a trail of dead orcs and beasts could be seen leading through the Wood of Sharp Teeth to a ford on the Chionthar. Most of these were mauled by powerful claws, or burned to death. Some were struck by forces that could only be attributed to powerful magical attacks, and the last of the orcs seemed to have been crushed by an arm of colossal proportions.

The mayhem - and the bootprints woven through it - abruptly stopped at the river, too far from the water to have been merely washed away. However, just as there was no sign of someone entering the water, so, too, was there no sign of them exiting it on the other side. The trail simply continued, and a nearby caravan master might attest to seeing a brass half-dragon in a red vest, white tunic and brown pants accompanied by a huge hand pass by on her way north. The young woman's claws were bloodied, though she seemed to bear no wounds of her own; as imposing as she was, she seemed in good spirits and not particularly hostile. Very little obvious magic was upon her: Careful questioning by one familiar with magical wards would only identify some form of mage armor spell, and a glowing magical sword strapped to her belt.

After the magical hand disintegrated, the woman reportedly continued northward.

[kham]

A silvered haired, possible mental unstable woman, bearing the sigil of Auril would approach the Fist encampment at the edge of the Cloakwood, with her companion of faith, to offer her strategic and tactical expertise on improving the defense of the camp. Should any Commander or hapless private grant her an audience she would offer the following recommendations:

- Digging a wide and deep moat around the parameter of the camp and filling it with flesh eating fish
- The installation of poisoned tipped spike traps just beyond the parameter of the moat
- Poison Gas Traps beyond the ring the spike traps (and giant bellows positioned in the camp to ensure the gas is blown away from the fortress).
- Releasing diseased squirrels. Nothing wreaks havoc better than deranged diseased squirrels nipping at Bhaalist Gnolls

After offering her recommendations she would walk away quite proud of herself.

[DaloLorn]

Over the coming days, a subtle, yet profound change may become apparent in the day-to-day life of the Sword Coast. To the inattentive, this is nothing more than a sense of reduced frustration, of not being as easily annoyed as before. For the fortunate, there is no change, for their luck kept them away from the irritant in the first place. But to those unfortunate enough to know him, and alert enough to notice his disappearance, the bard styling himself "Estro the Magnificient Maestro" would seem to have vanished into thin air.

Or perhaps not.

A scantily-clad, redheaded tiefling would have been seen grudgingly accompanying the bard once again on one of his adventures, heading south past the Friendly Arm Inn yesterday. Magical sword in hand, the moderately-warded sorceress seemed none too pleased to be in his company once again... but when she later returned, alone and encumbered, she seemed distinctly satisfied with the outcome of the adventure.

At first, this will surely not be too suspicious. The comings and goings and the wanderings of adventurers are unpredictable, and an abundance of treasure awaits those willing to take it - plenty to please all but the most avaricious of individuals. But, as time passes, one might wonder... Is there more to her satisfaction, and his departure from the Coast, than meets the eye...?

[DaloLorn]

Something peculiar happened in the Cloakwood last night.

The Flaming Fist guards at the entrance to the woods might have seen a statuesque sun elven woman with a bow, a red-eyed mercenary, and a scantily-clad, shapeshifting woman ostensibly of elven heritage, fight their way to the goblin-infested mines in the Eastern Cloakwood. However, when the mercenary and elven shapeshifter rushed back out of the mines, the former was seen carrying an unconscious, seemingly unharmed human woman, with no sign of the sun elven archer. Along the way, the human spontaneously turned into a fat mountain orc, before just as spontaneously becoming a sun elf again.

The sun elf would not change forms again until moments before her awakening at the temple, when she turned into a redheaded, poorly-dressed tiefling. The tiefling, in turn, quickly became a gargoyle - apparently in response to the smelling salts used to wake her - before eventually managing to return to her natural form. If any of them know what happened to the tiefling in the mines, they don't seem to have discussed it much before she retired to a room for the night.

[Penwize]

Inspiration! Ytarya had been trying her hand at art but it hadn't occurred to apply her craft to the scenario at hand. Rose's ingenuity struck again. The elven scout had nobody to report to or check in with and after her own sneaking past gnoll patrols was complete she began to devote time to canvas. Another thing she would never have guessed - painting could be a wonderful outlet for unspent fury.

It wasn't painting the oak tree that led to that discovery. No, she'd realized some hours in that she'd spent utterly too long fixating on the noble tree's details and had set about the other parts of her work. A druid hung strappado, tortured to death and suspended from the tree. The wild elf was far from adept at illustrating mortals and settled for bare details. That was when the Talassan felt her mood rising with her art. Even the rudimentary depiction made her grit her teeth at the atrocities she'd witnessed. Still, there was more to go.

Druids have companions, of the animal variety. This one received a hound, carefully put down on canvas and directing a soulful gaze at the viewer. The dog waited faithfully beneath its late master. Ytarya was surprised at being able to manage it, really. She found that as colors met her canvas the elf had to remind herself to unclench her fists. The elf avoided that gaze as she touched up the rest of the painting. There wasn't much else to do - where there would have been a forest full of trees to dedicate time to painting instead lay stumps, markers of where lumber for palisades was taken.

When Ytarya looked at the place where sky would meet canvas she hardly thought about what would go there - a grey sky with sullen stormclouds appeared, unbidden. An approaching storm, plainly visible thanks to the clear view afforded by the forest's destruction. Nobody could really accuse the elf of being subtle. And, to emphasize that point, Ytarya added a final touch - commentary on a ribbon wrapped around the insignia of the Flaming Fist. "Friends to Druids". The sort of friends who kill your friends and destroy your home.

As she set her brushes down a sense of catharsis washed over the scout. It wasn't revenge and it certainly wasn't justice, but it helped her feel better. All that was left to do was lay it against the wall of the Friendly Arm Inn. Oh, and spend time painting a few copies for when the first inevitably was destroyed.

[JustAnotherGirl]

The quiet ranger continues to patrol the Cloakwoods regularly. She remains unseen and unheard, leaving no footprints or scent of her own. She keeps an eye out, waiting and watching. She's careful to avoid getting anywhere close to the gnolls with the mark of Bhaal.

[LivT]

A few lucky Druids and a Cloakwood Dryad witnessed the Oakfather's presence at Silvanus' Shrine. They made offerings to Him, praying for guidance and receiving His blessing. After a difficult Summer this was taken to be a good omen at the turn of the season; hope, faith, and determination restored, and those friends of nature have never been more unified.

[DM Spartacus]

The quiet ranger and others previous scouting the Cloakwood notice some adventurers risking all to patrol the various caves of the forest that might turn a profit. Small desperate dashing here and there doing their very best to avoid Gnolls and spirits.

More worryingly they notice the spread of Gnoll patrols, Gnolls drafted from various groups pushing forward testing the extent of Flaming Fist operations.

The Flaming Fist camp has not been as idle as might have been thought. Armed with information from adventurers on how to defend their camp, they have been busy consolidating. However now there is a renewed sense of urgency as more troops, coastal adventurers, and mercenaries quickly swell the numbers there. Magic and supplies carefully guarded and even nearby Bently is quick to assess something is afoot and he happily tells his customers just this, after they have paid for drinks of course.

//ooc some events will run for this story arc shortly, some increased creature presence may be run by DMs at this location so questors beware. If anyone has anything specific they wish a group to do with this plot reply to this thread (or DM Spartacus by mail, thanks)

[JustAnotherGuy]

A druid with green hair, alongside his auburn haired mate enter into the Cloakwoods. They meet with many of the gnoll patrols, fighting where they can, and fleeing when they must. After running into the one known as "Leaf", they finally have cleared a path to a tree into which they step to be transported elsewhere.

[JustAnotherGuy]

A familiar, Green haired druid appeared in the Cloakwoods with three others. Blue butterflies appeared soon after, and the quartet followed them. After following them for a time, an elder elf appeared and took the Green Haired druid off to the side.

Shortly after, a unicorn appeared, and used it's horn to place a mark upon the Green Haired Druid's chest, over his heart. After a bit more conversation, the Green Haired Druid left the Cloakwoods with his mate, a large smile on his face.

[DM Spartacus]

Barely had the green haired Druid left the forest than things developed elsewhere.

Three patrols out from the Flaming Fist Fort converged at a forest crossroads of trails. They reorganised and formed up together, now a substantial force. They picked up the pace and drove deep into the forest in a southern sweep swinging round in an apparent bid to reach the Gnoll caves. A move as it turned out to draw the Gnoll attention, a diversionary attack.

Elsewhere a small group of adventurers and mercenaries drove a more direct and silent path. Further north again other adventurers were rallying to the call and those arriving to assist or those who had pledged support were invited to this northern patrol of opportunity. Another distraction perhaps.

In the confusion a patrol from ORH was seen make a strong sweep along the tradeway but was not troubled by these events.

This is the Coast and not everything goes to plan they often say.

The Flaming Fist diversion ran into Gnoll scouts as they expected. But they misread the situation and soon found themselves in difficulty - for striking out on some equally ambitious plan was a Gnoll led army that was met far sooner than expected and sent the the Flaming Fist into a fighting retreat back towards the fort.

The Gnoll led forces appeared to follow on as if maybe the fort had been their objective all along.

The adventurers moving directly and armed with special magics to overcome the Gnolls fared little better, and vanished from sight and contact.

To the north scouts reported some gathering activity and a the sounds of music and battle ahead. They held waiting any further help.


//ooc some scene setting for events for which a pc should only attend a single place.

Hope to run something at the Fort GMT 2 pm (ish) and the north 8 pm gmt (ish) if there are those taking other actions against this background will run an event as mutually suits.

[artemitavik]

Derik Ranloss is seen moving through the Cloakwood by the Fist. Encountering a few gnoll scouting parties and one full on marauding party. He cuts through them like they were butter.

However, he doesn't kill all of them, some he lets retreat back to their masters and commanders with one simple message:

"Make sure you stay away from the Way of the Lion, and my school..."

[DM Spartacus]

Derik Ranloss confirms there are very real issues still in the Cloakwood and beyond. Notwithstanding his action previous events are slowly revealed. A mixed party of adventurers had assisted the Flaming Fist in a fighting retreat. There actions revealing the Gnolls were growing in actions and diverse corrupted followers. All concerned withdrew from the forest leaving casualties behind.

Another group of volunteers, mainly Druids from various factions, struck out to recover lost scouts. They encountered another lone hero a fey Donol McDonol who had turned back the spirits that protected the Gnoll elite. The Gnoll elite themselves it turned out protected against bane arrows provided by the Flaming Fist to mercenary adventurers. This core group were posted missing, believed destroyed. The Druids guided Donol and the scouts he saved back to safety.

It is feared other magic may be needed to thwart the power of the Cloakwood once and for all.

[DM Spartacus]

A soldier lies wounded and separated in the Cloakwood after one of the skirmishes. He has the doings of healing laid out before him. He looks up scanning the the horizon with weakened gaze. A watcher might conclude he is staring at something, but yet there is nothing to be seen. Physically he looks capable of working the healing items beside him but mentally it appears he is not. He eventually slips away, without ever reaching for the things might have saved him, another casualty in the Cloakwood.


The Flaming Fist examine their fortifications, dead and salvaged wood for the most part, and solid enough for now but not the very best. It seems they now seek the very best in defenses, and build ditches and other extras at the behest of some adventurers, while other woodland groups it seems have warned them to leave and many among the shrunken company of Fist appear to prefer that option. But for now they are dug in supported by adventurers patrolling and scouting the forest keeping Gnolls at bay, and the Tradeway safe. Even Bentley has been spotted inspecting the defenses at the Friendly Arms.

There are rumours the Gnolls have settled in for the long haul while they plan another deadly strike now the Flaming Fist have been reduced. Time will tell.

((OOC: Anyone or any group may post here with their own direction or send me a pm if planning an active move in the great game. otherwise it will move on as NPC play dictates and result in some mechanical changes.))