Baldur's Gate : The Sword Coast Chronicles : NWN2 Persistent World

Following some events that transpired at the campfire near the Friendly Arms, Erzebet Lunevin posted flyers that warned of a creature that resembled a flesh golem as the cause for maggot-bloated animal corpses in the forests. Additionally, she reported that said 'maggots' carry with them a divine trace - most likely the curse that was being spread lately. She urged caution when traveling (especially in the forests), and for anyone with relevant information to share with the public.

Chalk marks...?

In the outskirts of the Friendly Arm Inn as well as Baldur's Gate, you can find chalk marks or are they markings? Probably nothing most would pay attention to, as the marks aren't really conspicuous. But those who are frequently and especially observant in the outskirts might notice these peculiar signs. If one is proficient in the numbers and letters of Thorass, they can recognize a number and a letter each.

What they mean and who they come from would initially remain a mystery.

While the Fellowship of Unravellers coalesces in the south, rumors fly hotly and swiftly of a different tragedy unfolding in the north. One far more personal, and perhaps, far more preventable... yet all but inevitable once it started.



Under the prodding of those she thought her allies, and with the (un)timely aid of the god Talos, the young servant of Mystra, Aela Lathyaan, sundered the elaborate tapestry of rationalizations and self-deceptions she had woven around her broken heart. It is all too late that they realize, if they ever do, the true purpose of the knot binding her grief and passions: Not to conceal her inner darkness, not to enable some terrible act of betrayal, some great service to Shar as some might have feared... but to master it, to buy herself time to banish it once and for all.

It began with an outburst: The raw energy of twenty-five years of resentment, absorbed from her surroundings and held until it became her own. Fury so violent it drew the eye of the Thunderer, so powerful that he needed only to give it focus, to gather it and turn it from its (mostly) harmless destination in the clouds and narrow it into a single point in order to utterly destroy and defile the druidic circle near Candlekeep. With enough spells cast to set a whole town ablaze, is it any wonder it could have needed only this small act of divine influence to destroy the grove, instead?

Yet this was not the end. Seeking atonement for her role in this unforgivable sin, she is said to have returned to the grove again the next night. Seeking respite from the crushing weight of her own guilt, she gave into her anger again. Words were uttered, as predictable as they were ill-considered. And whether she had spied the seeds of some new catastrophe in this hateful moment, or simply opted to add her voice to the chorus of those calling the young half-elf unworthy of her power... Mystra herself intervened, forsaking her once-chosen emissary. Stripping her of her talents, her sacred mission, her very identity.

Is this the latest folly of a stumbling newborn goddess, or does the Lady of Mysteries have a deeper purpose for the troubled girl now sleeping in the Friendly Arm? Only time will tell...

In the clam and the quiet, the grave of Ser William "Billy" Williams is graced with a ritual of care. A ragged woman, under the watch of the Ilmatari Guardian Nathan Goldenmane and Hinzel, performs consecrative blessings upon the resting place. Bathed in positive energy, and under the lights of the candle, the young child's last cradle is soothed by a hummed lullaby.

Sister Ashenie spends some time in prayer, quietly kneeling. A flower of angelica is left among the other tulip flowers that already adorned the shrine. Hope is cherished that it might allow light and peace to returned upon the too often defiled and disturbed child's grave.

Earlier that day, on the 24th of Tarsakh a crazed, armed and bloody gnome approached near the gates of the Friendly Arms Inn. After an exchange with a few adventurers present and being accused of following some Mole God, those present proceeded to eradicated them with magic. Prominently, the masked wych that is often seen outside of the walls but never inside took the lead. Further, the ground loosed under the body of the broken, assumedly dead gnome, and was taken below by some unseen force.

The Lavender Knight sat alone at a table in the inn, nursing a stein of Luskan Black Ale. Nostalgia of the North. Bitterly beautiful. He partook in his growing hobby. Sketching strangers with charcoal. He focused intently on a half-elf woman across the room, trying to render her expression. Perhaps this time he could get it right. He could draw truth.

--

Thoughts swirled around of the events of yesterday. The robed figure approaching the campfire in the morning, complaining of an ogre threatening him down the road. A suspicious robed figure, clearly up to no good. One must give another the benefit of the doubt. The presumption of innocence, but one remains vigilant nonetheless. A spilled bucket of what turned out to be blood by the tomb of the child, Billy. And this ogre... a guardian? The ogre's name is Ungo. He wanted to protect the tomb, so that Billy could grow big. Tragic; the ogre lacked the mental faculties to know the child was dead.

And this robed figure's story unravelled under interrogation. A nineteen year old man, sorting scrolls. And tasked by some unknown group to deface this tomb. But why? The group convinced the ogre not to squash him, and for a moment this robed man thought they might fight the ogre. Such pointless bloodshed for a pitiful protector of the tomb.

The interrogation continued. Who was this man, and what was he doing here? The Black Sun. As of late, it's always the Black Sun. Arrogant, attention-seeking, agents of chaos. A stain on the realms. The robed figure tried to obfuscate and distract. One more chance to speak truth, or I shall have to resort to...

'Tis inevitable. Vhaan casts a Zone of Truth. One feels like they are doing what they were meant to do as one channels the spell. The circle expands from the shape drawn in the air, and the robed figure's tongue loosens. He was sent to deface the tomb, to show the power of the Black Sun. Arrogance. Power.

And the truth is too much for the cult of lies. The cultist screamed mine bloody death - unlikely to be the last time I hear that - and that his patron would find me, that He would find us all. As negative energy crackled at his fingers, and emerging from shadows, Erze's blade struck true, and he fell, bloodied and lifeless.

A suitable punishment in a land of no law. And yet... one cannot help but pity the circumstances. What captures such a drive to follow... this? Could things have been otherwise? The Broken God urges mercy, but acknowledges the limits. And the order of things is better off without another mad cultist. ... Misguided cultist? Or maybe pressed him too hard with an extraction of truth. ... Nay - the truth is order and freedom.

Zel reminds of the scroll of Speak with Dead she gave. But what to ask, when there's limited options? Isabella advised, and so ritual channelled from mine, and the lifeless body artificially stirred.

"What is your name?"

Brennan Varrister.

A name could help to find out more.

"Who gives your orders?"

The man in the mask. He changes his name every tenday.

Useful to know.
Erze and Zeila swap harsh words over... what exactly? Have to concentrate on the spell. The task at hand.

"Where do you meet to receive your orders?"

He finds us. He will find you too. It does not matter where we go. He will take us to Him. All will be taken to Him. We were promised.

Chilling.

Another question - but the spell and body gives up. The cult of the Black Sun continues to torment. But one ought to show no fear - for that is what they want! And they shan't have that. They deserve naught but a merciful blade. Vhaan carries the body to the temple at the Friendly Arm Inn to be prepared for burial.

--

The sketch finished. He looked up at the half-elf woman, and back to his sketch. Again. Yet again. Flipping through his previous sketches. Improved skill, and yet every face sombre. No matter the attempts at otherwise, the product... unrelentingly sad. Cursed? Does thou hand betray mine control? A swig, and the bitter taste swirled. Thoughts of Ander. What would he think of mine art? If I could see him... paint him. Preserve his image in mine eyes. Memories emblazoned. But are they still crisp? He seems less real... everything before the Godswar unreal. Blinded. A sigh. Feckless melancholy. And a lofty problem to have. 'Tis simply art. Maybe one is just not good at it.

The gentle Tyrran closed his book of sketches and left.

-------
//OOC: covering DM event last night - very likely that rumours of the above with the ogre and cultist by Billy's tombstone have circulated - and other parts personal to character.

The peace of patrons of the Friendly Arm Inn was disturbed this night by a remarkable and rather dangerous incident. When a duo of Eowarion and Merenia made a new acquaintance, a monk from the Far East known under the name Bodhi, they also discovered that he wasn’t the only peculiarity at the Inn that evening. As the monk was about to show Eowarion sacred texts of his faith, he was unfortunate enough to drop them under a bench the elf was sitting on. What was even more unfortunate, all attempts to get the book from under it were to no avail. And what was the most unfortunate for the heroes of this story, the bench appeared to be a mimic.

As the brave hero Eowarion swiftly dispatched the monstrosity that got into the tavern through means unknown, the patrons of the Inn grew suspicious of other benches and the furniture around them in general, too. An innocent-looking bench, an innocuous one and a rather inviting one… Or were they?

The patrons took turns to study the suspicious benches. The innocent-looking one suffered a mighty kick from Bodhi. By practising his kata, the monk revealed that the bench truly was innocent — for it cracked under the shuddering impact of his kick but otherwise didn’t react. Inspired by this display of his monk’s prowess, Bodhi moved to the innocuous-looking bench. With a mighty “KIYAAA” he delivered a hit of his open palm to the possibly treacherous furniture trying to split it in two. Alas, the attempt was futile, but it did leave a dent in the wooden floorboards beneath. Yet, the bench was revealed to be truly innocuous! Discouraged by the lack of his monk's prowess this time, Bodhi left the last bench to be studied by the rest of his companions.

The further inspection of the Inn’s furniture using highly questionable methods was abruptly interrupted by the proprietor of the fine establishment himself. Attracted by all the noise and commotion outside, Bentley Mirrorshade stood there in silence, staring at the people involved in what later would become known as “Bench Crisis”, and then wordlessly shoved a parchment into Bodhi’s hands. There was only one line item: “Bench damage. 2000 gold”. With a heavy sigh, the monk parted with two bags of gold, probably all of his earthly possessions. Satisfied, Bentley returned to his duties in the Inn.

The company inspecting the furniture for signs of treason was then blessed by a visit of a Bench Sage, Sirion Te’dwa himself. Using nothing less but the unparalleled wisdom of his brilliant Elven buttocks, in mere moments he unequivocally proved that all benches at the Inn were, indeed, innocent, innocuous and rather inviting. With the Bench Crisis solved, the wise Bench Sage departed and the unexpectedly eventful evening continued as normal.

Inspired by these events, the quiet monk who’d miraculously managed to save priceless texts of his faith from the chaos, got to work on a scroll. It then was presented as a gift to the hero of the evening, Eowarion, to commemorate the events of the Bench Crisis. The scroll named “On the fickle nature of things” revealed four panels of pictures, a study in black done in just a few graceful strokes of a quill. The pictures depicted the events of the turbulent evening, with the mimic killed, the benches violated, and Eowarion finally resting on the oh-so inviting bench. The panels were accompanied by wise words of the silent hermit: “People cleave to their worldly possessions so blindly as to sacrifice their own lives for them. They are like an adventurer who tries to rest a little on an inviting bench after a long journey. It’s by no means sufficient to provide him a respite, but he runs the risk of being eaten by a mimic.”

Having contemplated the meaning of these enlightening words, Eowarion felt he’d grown in wisdom. And now he also had something to remind him to be aware of treacherous furniture, innocent-looking or otherwise. The monk then departed for his nightly prayers. The Bench Crisis was successfully resolved.

From the accounts of eyewitnesses and stories circulating around the Inn, written down by a humble unnamed traveller.

_________________________
//Thanks to DM Mimic for this quick event that was born out of accidentally losing a prop to a bench.

A group of exhausted adventurers could be seen exiting Cloakwoods recently. Some of them were wounded, and most were covered in insectoid ichor. One of them would cry for help with giant spiders to nearby campfire, only to realize that all her friends have returned and help was no longer needed.

After making sure everyone is alive and well, she would come to the fire again to tell a story of the group:

They went into the woods to seek any traces of beast-that-mimics-voices. Instead they found giant spider - a broodmother, who moved out of her usual underground nest to hunt, as most of her usual prey was scared of something and fled this part of woods. Spider was recently attack and severely wounded - something big got a jump on it, something fast and fierce. But spider didn't tell them what exactly, as it was hungry. It would agree to tell them in exchange for food, but while they were trying to figure how to get food for it, the spider grew impatient and attack. It followed adventurers to Eastern Cloakwood, where they had to fight and kill it.

After telling her story, a tiefling with a pretty bow on her head left to get some rest, and a couple of those who listened to her story went back to the woods to investigate further.

((thanks to DM Verjigorm for the event!))

The morning of 9 Mirtul 1360 saw three women suddenly teleporting not too far from the gates of the Friendly Arms.
One of them was Lunaethar, a knight of Selune who was witnessed just the day before engage in a long debate about justice with a local Tyrran, the other the travelling mage Cassidy, and finally the shipwreck survivor Lykah.

Upon their arrival, the knight was already locked in a struggle to keep a seemingly rabid Lykah from escaping. Before the two silver-hairs could fully explain what was going on to the Archmage Maraav -who happened to be nearby-, Lykah tried to take a bite out of Lunaethar's face, which proved to be a sufficient distraction to break the knight's hold.



The Amnesiac rushed away from the inn, aiming for the Cloakwood, but, due to her state of distress, she was stopped in her tracks by one of the mage's spells and tackled by the Selunite before making it too deep in the forest. Tied down and unconscious, the woman was carried back to the clearing outside the inn, and placed under further examination by the Archmage.

The group, which was joined by the Ilmateri knight Nathan Goldenmane, discussed for a while the potential origin of the woman's outburst. Curses, food poisoning and odd-looking bugs were brought up during the conversation, and the Selunite teleported briefly back to the Everwinter Estate to recover supposed evidence, which revealed itself to be just a bag full of puked foodstuff.



Eventually, the woman seemed to briefly regain her senses, enough for her caretakers to feel confident enough to undo her bindings. Far too weak and confused to be of any help, Lykah fell back into sleep soon after, and was carried into a room of the inn by the Selunite.

Those who rested at the Friendly Arms for the day would notice that muffled screams of anguish could be heard coming from her locked room on a few occasions.

The Friendly Arm Inn was packed with guests from miles around on the 8th of Mirtul 1360. This fine evening attracted many curious visitors and passers-by as performers from all over the Coast gathered for the show, both from the well-known The White Mask theatre of Baldur's Gate and those with more... questionable talents. Under the patronage of Rose Wintertal and on her word alone the infamous skald Einar Madbeard was allowed on the stage as an exception this one time. Rowdy ballads were sung, poems were read, songs of friendship, struggle and loss performed by Rose herself and other bards and poets present. As the show concluded, a certain dwarf by the name Reorx Bonebreaker was welcomed into the theatre's troupe much to the pleasure of everyone in the room. The evening was a huge success and nearly tripled Bentley's income on that night and he warmly thanked Cass for organising this joyful event.

From the accounts of those present at the Inn during the show

A large number of wagons and strong looking men move past the Friendly Arm Inn. The wagons bear the heraldry of House Darius, and turn into the forest. Days pass, and eventually they return to the roads, their faces somber.

Rumor is they carry a large number of dead.

The wagons return to the city, stopping at Ilmater's Sanctuary before heading back to the company Warehouse in the Steeps district.

A gathering of people could be seen trying to communicate with a large, plant based golem of some kind down by the pond. Once a peaceful resolution seemed no longer an option, the large being was dispatched, but immediately exploded in a shower of gore and corpse rot that covered most of the grounds of the FAI. Upon being asked to intervene, the Guardian of the Cloakwoods supplicated his deities for rain to wash away the stench and gore, and they granted his request.

A peculiar creature could be seen by the Inn recently. Some adventurers stumbled upon a rather imposing cow snoozing in the middle of the road. Attempts to lead it away into the fields were met with fierce resistance as the cow had an agenda of its own! So a certain Sylvanor was met with several mighty headbutts and a defiant “Moo” that sounded more like a lion’s roar for his unceremonious behaviour.

Later, the cow was calmed down by travellers with a more gentle approach. It was given headpats and some grass as an offering. However, with its belly full and its need for companionship fulfilled, the cow’s adventurous spirit started to grow restless. With a triumphant “Moo” proclaimed, the cow bravely ventured into the unknown down the Lion’s Way.

Two kind souls known as Cassidy and Tifabi, rather worried about the cow’s fate, followed it to make sure its reckless actions would not cost this strikingly vigorous beast its life. Alas, the cow was nowhere to be seen as if it had disappeared without a trace. For a moment, the pair speculated that it might have been kidnapped by a dragon or had left the Material Plane entirely. Yet, one final victorious “Moo” could be heard in the distance with the adventurous cow set out on an epic and undoubtedly exciting quest of its own. Whether it was to be met again for a few more affectionate headpats and playful headbutts was only for Gods themselves to know.

From the accounts of eyewitnesses and stories circulating around the Inn, written down by a humble unnamed traveller