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

In the Fields of the Dead, a contingent of the Flaming Fist Mercenary Company has began emergency evacuation from many of the farmlands scattered on the fertile lands surrounding the Winding Water. Those fleeing the incoming calamity head back to Baldur's Gate. The Fist make certain to evacuate as many people and livestock as possible. As the evacuation reaches completion, the Fist themselves start setting up patrols and a perimeter to monitor activity in the area. They settle into the area along the Trade Way just west of the Troll Claws.

Upon hearing the news of the deploying troops, Thedran would come running down the road after the men. Upon arrival, he would immediately present himself to the senior sergeant and request permission to join the company on the task.
Given a task, he would set to it no different than any of the other soldiers, though his long experience and bag of bardic tricks would be of no small use to the soldiers. During evacuations, he would help ensure the people have the proper route and join in any escort details that are lacking or if he was directed to do so. As things would naturally settle and the patrols and watches start to drag by he would volunteer for any of the farthest reaching and thus riskier assignments.
Though the experience and lore of The Baldurian Bard would be seen around the camp during twilight and the fall of night. He would visit most campfires each night, always approaching with a welcoming grin and offer of his nearly endless supply of honey cakes. He would share tales with the men of battles past and heroes remembered. He'd speak often and passionately about the history of "The Glorious Flaming Fist" and their battles against the trolls and giants the past, he would point out that this would hardly be the last time they would be called out to fight on behalf of the city. He shared advice where it was asked and a calming assurance when some of the green soldiers seemed unsure. As the days would go on, many of the senior soldiers would recognize the lute music within the camp, when not otherwise engaged, the bard would find a suitable location to perch himself and share his songs with the gathered men.
Thedran's bedroll would little different than any other soldier present. While of a bit finer quality and slightly enchanted against the cold, he rolled it each morning just at the other men and stowed his belongings just the same. He lived as the other soldiers, taking only their company, and sharing any of his belongings or equipment that added in preparing, healing minor hurts or comforting the soldiers deployed so close to The Fields of The Dead.
A man here to share the fate of Flaming Fist Soldiers.

The Selunite Songmaiden and Candlekeep Acolyte quickly begins to gather as much healing supplies, linens and food stocks to dispatch out for those heading out, before spending time each night to bless numerous vials of greater holy water under the silvery light of her beloved goddess Selune.

In the Fields of the Dead, a contingent of the Flaming Fist Mercenary Company has began emergency evacuation from many of the farmlands scattered on the fertile lands surrounding the Winding Water. Those fleeing the incoming calamity head back to Baldur's Gate. The Fist make certain to evacuate as many people and livestock as possible. As the evacuation reaches completion, the Fist themselves start setting up patrols and a perimeter to monitor activity in the area. They settle into the area along the Trade Way just west of the Troll Claws.

Upon hearing of deployment of Flaming Fist Soldiers, local barfly turned barman turned merchant turned sorcerer Cosimo Delucca heads onto the fields to try and present himself to one of the patrols. He asks to be directed to the commanding officer or one of his aides with a proposal.

His Mystran star hangs very much in evidence on his chest.

DM Theophanies wrote:

Imminent Calamity

Survivors from those travelling the Northern Trade Way and it's outlying villages quickly spill south reporting that the Army of the Troll Kingdoms has began it's march south. In less than 3 days time it will reach it's target. It is still unknown where this army will head but the Farmlands in the Fields of the Dead, Kraak Helzak, and Soubar are all prime candidates for attack.

In response to the dire news, the lawless town of Soubar, normally scattered with the many tents of it's transient denizens experiences a mass exodus, like cockroaches before calamity. Many head to Scornubel while others scatter like dust in the wind, finding a place to weather the storm. While the rallying of the Ebon Blades gave a moment of hope, it was surely not enough to convince any of the brigands and outlaws to stay and defend the town. Only a very few brave souls remain in Soubar, though Mag remains at the center. Making her own preparations, the liquor stores of the Winding Way have all but dried up, a sign of her plan and foresight of events. Still she remains, though quiet, in the eye of the storm.

[...]

Malign Ashmeddai is seen heading towards the Ebon Blade fortress. The tiefling seems to want to talk with the Baron. Apparently, Malign has a plan to help defend the town.

DM Soulcatcher wrote:

SOUBAR DESERTED!

The lawless tent town of Soubar these days is devoid of life. A light fog slowly settles around the Winding Way inn each evening, only to be swapped for morning dew- undisturbed by anything. There are no tents around anymore. The ruins seem to be abandoned. No merchant is making their way or even staying here. At the growing rumours of approaching hostile forces from the Troll Kingdoms, Soubar did what it always did the best.

Scattered like leaves on the wind.

Only very few brave souls remained, including the mysterious Mag, although she is quiet and speaks no words. Whether she has a plan or is going to try to weather the storm is anyone's guess.

"Damn their cowardess" Greil mutters under his breath he ,his men and a handful all that remain within the ghost town. *A fire lit in the mans eyes he looks to his men then in the direction of the Boarskyre bridge* We shall show them. The trolls will fall every damn on of them. *He is then seen headed in the direction of Boarskyre bridge preperations must be made.*

*An Elven figured woman is carrying two large bags of valuables with her. She enter sthe Ebon Blade compound, and comes out one bag shorter. She sighs as she looks at the gates of Soubar* "I thought I was retired from this life...." *With a groan, she starts off on a journey to seek out a most unlikely of ally in the coming times.*

The Northern Watch's commander scans over a letter received by a Dwarven runner. She gives a firm nod, and pens a hasty reply for the dwarf to carry back.

She heaves a sigh and fingers rake through silver hair as eyes scan first the hills surrounding Boareskyr, then toward the Tradeway that leads to Dragonspear. The pensive moment passed, and she sends out word via sendings, calling to the Watchmen to gather.

Also the Foxy Four were preparing. Even if some of them would be not able to join the battle. At least they did something to help others, who would be there, on that short notice.

Yesterday two of them could be seen, setting up stalls in the Farmlands. It was a short and simple event, Ronja and Freya held there. But it was a success as they got to sell healing kits and other supplies for good prices that might help in the battle.
Also a game could be seen and a song could be heard to lift the spririts.

Rumours say, the coins earned with it will be donated for the people in need the war might leave behind. Widows and orphants for example if needed.

((Sadly not all of us can make it. Saturday eurpean evening is pretty impossible for people with RL and family. But maybe we can join another event another day. ))

A Selunite Songmaiden would be often seen teleporting between the various anticipated battle grounds, giving out cases of moonlight blessed holy water and inquiring about healing plans for the area before teleporting out again.

The Northern Watch makes preparations for their own mission, but those who are able are instructed to uphold the Watch's sworn fealty and join the Fist in the Fields of the Dead.


//Alas for real life and wonky work schedules! Good luck to all the fighters!

A certain dwarf, a patch over one eye, is seen kicking around the Ebon Blade Fortress in Soubar. Looking around the devastation he turns to his commander, the Baron Greil Nightingale. "Oi Boss, tinkin it's time ta move on, eh?", he states more so than queries. He continues, "Ain't much ere' namore and how we gonna get ale, wit all da roads Troll controlled?". "Bah, an don't even get meh started on da damn devils!", he declares, the octaves in his tone clearly rising. "How dem basterds got behind on ranks, ye got any Tieflings, or Warlocks in da ranks, tinkin it's time ta purge dem, purge dem real good!!", he says with a glare in his one good eye.

The sighting of a robed figure astride a skeletal warhorse is reported by multiple farmhands plying the fields of the dead in the aftermath of the conflict, when twilight had begun to set in. This event seems to coincide with rumors of powerful risen revenants armed with the gear of the vanquished, unerringly seeking out and destroying troll stragglers in the area. These sapient undead bear the brand of the Lord of Bones and seem to avoid all other living creatures, unless they happen to stand between them and their quarry.

In the desolation of the aftermath, a lone figure observes the battlefield that had once been Soubar as the wind blows through cracked walls, blood-soaked patches of ground and devastated buildings. His dark robes billowing, his long cape flapping like a black flag in the brewing storm, just like his silver-streaked, long hair. The wanderer's emerald gaze is fixed on the Ebon Stronghold, the last building standing, defiant among the ruins surrounding it.

"It seems as though I have missed all the fun..."

There is no sarcasm in his tone, nor sardonicism his the thin-lipped grin. If anything, eventual onlookers might detect a tangible tension, as if impending violence. A threat. A promise.