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

Altered and weather-worn fliers are replaced around the city!




((15 FEB 2020; 16:00 EST))

((I have no idea why the broken heart stopped being transparent. How annoying.))

Little Timmy can be seen fiercely Training with a wooden Sword, with his sister fleeing cowardly from their undead daddy he is now alone in the orphanage. He seems dead set on becoming a great adventurer like his two heroes from the North, Eirik Stormbarn and his brother Sloki Stormbarn. One could think a lone orphan would be devasted but not little Timmy no!

Edelgarde, who often visits the orphanage to teach the children how to read and write, would notice little Timmy in passing and observe his relentless effort. She would then quickly take note of the two adventurers' names for the next story-time.

Whispers spread out from the Halls of Inner Light that a ritual was completed with a new member joining the Halls. Later they are confirmed that Flint, has become a member of the Halls, and is welcomed as a prospect of the Guardians of Light.

((Think I've found a way to log in without crashing now.))

A burly, grizzled old Human woman in red patchwork armour has begun making quiet inquiries among the shadier denizens of the Gate. She asks pointed questions and says much more in between the words, looking for a dealer of recreational substances. She carries out any such interactions with a resigned disdain for the entire process, her Dragon Coast drawl thick with contempt yet betraying an intimate knowledge of how these things usually go.

The woman gives no name or contact, merely encouraging any in the know to find her however they will.

This flyer is posted on the notice board in Baldur's Gate.

Late during the evening of Ches 4, at the apex of the moons ascent, and as midnight struck, an old man wearing a feathered hat and a grey-blue tunic strode wearily past the guards near the graveyard. Despite having looked as if he'd been on the road for well past a day, the old man lifted a hand to the guards before moving into the dreary area, while smiling rather cheerfully, "Good evenin' to yer, fellers."

If the guards, or anyone else for that matter, happened to watch the elderly(and, perhaps notably, unarmed) humans traversing of the massive expanse of graves, they might notice a rather peculiar ritual on the old fellows part: A slow lap was made, the wrinkled man treading carefully through the area, avoiding stepping on any graves as he moved at a walking pace, while a conglomeration of clattering skeletons and moaning zombies lurched after him. From the southern entrance, the tunic-wearing man made a long circle, counter-clockwise in direction, seemingly intent on(for whatever reason) attracting the ire of every shambling corpse in the graveyard.

After his circuit was complete, and after being whacked a half-dozen times, although ducking away from four times as many bites and blows, the feathered-hat wearing elder veered right back towards the center of the graveyard. With no less than fifteen undead on his heels, and the foul stench of rot pervading this centrifuge of the unliving, a trio of zombies blocked the old mans path, one of them gurgling hoarsely...

"Fleshhhhhh..."



The elderly man didn't so much as flinch at his predicament, surrounded on all sides as he was, and instead planted his feet apart firmly, then offered the swarm of restless souls a brief, albeit sad smile before speaking softly, "No flesh fer yers today, friends."

A gloved hand thrust upward then, a lucid calm about the old man as he spoke again, this time in a firm, yet still somehow gentle tone... a single word to reverberate through The Weave.

"Rest."



Any who wandered into the graveyard afterward would find the place eerily calm, while an array of skeletal remains would be seen wrapped neatly in fine linen cloths, soaked in holy water, and left in a row in the center of the obelisks... the immediate area left saturated by positive energy.

His work seemingly finished, the aged man shuffled back out of the graveyard wearing an almost content expression. He did, however, pause to look left and right at the guards as he exited, "This place been stirred up an' nay look'd after fer too long, fellers. Ain't right, th' way them poor souls be wanderin' endlessly, an' the fiddle-faddle only seems to be gettin' worse. Th' place sure in need o' someone more capable than ol' Arnyle at easin' them folks passin', aye?"

A light, and almost forlorn chuckle escaped the mans mouth then, and he rubbed his chin in thought, murmuring to himself as he wandered off with a wave to the guards, "P'raps I should make th' rounds. See if any o' the holy orders, or those Lathander types be willin' ter help..."

Some odd rumours have been circulating in the last day or two around the Gate, specifically within the Eastern District.

There were talks in amongst the local taverns that a group of people left the Mystran temple, a woman in the lead with an old man following her, holding a rather luxurious chair. There were also people from the new mercenary group the Iron Company flanking the procession as well as the Knight Commander Kyal from the temple or Torm taking up the rear.

No one was sure were the group were headed, only that they left the city and headed north, leaving the beautifully crafted chair behind, which later in the day was mysteriously gone.

The Grand Knight of the Order of the Radiant Heart has been making frequent visits to the Shelf of Many Books. His list of books have all been focused on Cormyr. A dozen books have been bought or borrowed over the last weeks. The books pertain to Court rtiquette, geography, the nobility, Purple Dragon Knights, War Wizards, and other things pertaining to Cormyr. He is oft seen reading in the shop itself or at the open air bar next to the Elfsong.

A red-haired tiefling woman in blue robes can be seen, like every day, approaching the orphanage at the temple of Ilmater. This time, she would approach one of the priests with a grim expression, handing him some gems as a donation for the orphanage. Those close enough would hear her saying:

This won't wash the blood on my hands, but it will at least do something good.