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

Once the meetings had concluded, Solomon finds the time to enter into his journal his thoughts on the day thus far.

The past few days have been busy for Solomon, not finding time to sit and write in his journal. Though today he stole a few minutes between his meal and heading out to Baldur's Gate.

As busy as he is with business, Solomon finds the time to add an entry into his journal...

After returning south from Bridgefort, Solomon finds a corner of Greenest Inn to enter into his journal. He looks to be deep in thought while he puts quill to parchment. Every so often a smile spreads across his lips.

In the middle of trying to arrange everything with the move, Solomon finds time to pen an entry into his journal. He does so quickly and over a cup of wyvern whiskey...

Solomon sits down at a table in the Greenest Inn and readies his quill and well. He orders a cup of Wyvern Whiskey from Orniff and puts his thoughts to the parchment.

Solomon retires to his room at the Blade and Stars after stopping at the Elfsong for a few drinks. Once in his room his lights a candle and writes an entry into his journal.

After all the chaos from the attack on the camp settles, Solomon finds a few minutes between talking with families to write an entry into his journal. Once finished he returns to arranging the supplies for the move to Greenest.

Once Solomon found out the move of the refugees to Greenest would be delayed, he sat and wrote an entry in to his journal.

Solomon sits at his favorite table inside the Greenest Inn with a cup of Wyvern Whiskey and his journal. As the drinking and merriment goes on around him, he puts quill to parchment.

When Emrys decided to retire to his room after cups of wyvern with Solomon, the Luckbringer found time to write an entry into his journal.

After meeting with the Lizardfolk of the High Moor, Solomon sits at the Elfsong and writes an entry into his journal...

DM Golem wrote: ↑Mon Feb 04, 2019 2:15 pm

VDub wrote: ↑Sun Feb 03, 2019 4:11 pm Some may see Solomon adding a post to the board outside of the Elfsong Tavern. He tacks it in place with a half smile and heads inside to get a drink before leaving the City.

Before getting far, a rider in Duchal livery catches up with Solomon. A letter is handed over, a letter delivering a contract with a particular set of requirements attached.

After speaking with the rider for a few moments, Solomon reads the letter. Those within the Elfsong paying attention to him notice that his face washes over with a brief flash of concern then quickly turns to determination. He takes out his journal and writes an entry before leaving the establishment and gathering supplies for this alternate trip.

A small hand made map is placed within the pages of his journal.
The sun sets over the western horizon as the train of wagons from Baldur's Gate finally make it to the northern camp. Several men can be seen patrolling the perimeter of the camp, each with the blazing fist upon their chest. Looking in further, the camp was alive with motion. Armored men moved about the camp, ensuring the safety of those within. Healers could be seen moving from tent to tent. Some clean, ready for the night. Some covered in blood, tired and near broken from a long day of seeing to a man's wounds.

“Stop! Who might ye be? State your name and business here!” One of the armored men shouted from the makeshift guardhouse at the front of the camp.

The caravan master called back, “I bring supplies for the war effort. I have the Luckbringer with us.”

“Back so soon?” The guard says with a slight chuckle. “I'll let Commander Fulgruun know you've arrived.”

Solomon offers a smile to the guard, “Please do, let him know that I've brought medical supplies, with the promise of more in the coming days.”

The guard gives him a slight nod as they pass the breach in the ramparts. The wagon came to a sudden stop once inside at yet another small tent. A man dressed in chain mail exits and approaches the wagons.

“What do you 'ave for us today, Nevel?”

The old caravan master calls back, “You know, some more supplies for the front. I bring a bit of luck with me as well.” He chuckles and Solomon jumps from the wagon, taking his pack, slinging it over his shoulder.

“See that these supplies replenish the stock.” Solomon explains to the teamsters that begin to unload the contents of the wagon.

Shuffling up from the depths of the camp is a man with a shorter female in tow. The man walks as proudly as he can after hours of healing those in need. The woman approaches with her head down, a bundle of papers tucked under her arm.

Solomon smiles as they draw close, “It is good to see you again, Merris. You as well, Tressa.”

The young woman barely in her twenties looks up, moving the tussled hair from her face and offers the Luckbringer a tired smile. “You are a sight for sore eyes, Luckbringer.”

Merris quickly cuts her off, “We still have several injured. Around a hundred wounded. They have been separated into two tents. One for those on the mend and the other for the less fortunate, whose lives still teeter in the balance.”

“Good, good. I've brought a shipment of clean bandages and healing salves and balms. They are being unloaded into the supply tents as we speak. I would ask that you show me to my tent, so that I might drop off my things and survey the camp.”

The two exchange glances and then look to Solomon with concern. “Sir Fulgrunn said you are to stay with the healers. He said that you don't need your own tent and it was taken down and moved to house some of his troops.”

Solomon releases a heavy sigh, “Very well. Lead the way.”

As they make their way though the camp they are stopped by a man in clerical robes of Tempus. Blood stains the cuffs of his robe as he exits one of the medical tents.

“Your back.” He says in a monotone voice, “I see you have the Ilmatari in tow.” The last words fell from his lips with the hint of disrespect.

“Hello Father Drenin. I've been sent back on orders of Duke Eltan to see this camp runs smoothly. Receives supplies and provisions at a steady rate.”

The Tempuran healer raises a brow, “The Commander sees to the operation of the camp. Don't overstep yourself, Luckbringer. Settle in. You are to report to the Commander in the morning. He isn't to be disturbed tonight.”

With that the stoic man makes his way toward the Commander's tent with a slight smile upon his pursed lips.

“This way.” Comes a small voice from Tressa. “I've prepared you a small area in the back of the housing tent. It's not private by any sense of the word, but I've managed to get you a small desk to work at.”

Solomon offers the young woman a smile, “I thank you for the effort, Tressa. I will make due with what is provided. Though I appreciate you going the extra mile.”

“Tressa will se you settled in, Solomon.” Merris says with a small sigh, “I need to go on my rounds, see to the men.”

“Of course. Luck be with you, Merris.” Solomon says as he places a hand on the young man's shoulder. “Come see me later and we'll discuss our plans to see these men well again.”

Merris shuffles off toward the tents containing the many wounded. Tressa motions Solomon to follow her to the back of the camp. She shows him into the tent and to the small corner she had prepared for him the night prior.

“This will do nicely. Thank you.” Solomon says with a warm smile.

“I'm glad it pleases you, Luckbringer. If you'll excuse me, I need to catch up with Merris. Duty calls.” She smiles and offers a slight bow as she backs out of the tent.

Solomon looks around with a heavy heart. So much good can be done here, yet in the wake of the terrible. He drops his pack on the cot made up for him and sits at the desk, writing an entry into his journal.
(approved by DM Golem)

"Solomon...."

Solomon's arm is grabbed in the middle of the night by Tressa. With a raspy voice and groggy eyes he responds to her voice.

“Yes, Tressa, what is it?”

“Sir Wilmington has taken a turn for the worse.” She says with a soft voice. “We have exhausted all mundane and magical means. I don't believe he will survive the night.”

Solomon sat on his cot in the corner of the tent and rubbed his eyes. He reaches for his things. Before he can move Treesa stops him.

“Have you brought anything that might ease his passing. The wound suffered by the devil has festered and now grows as if alive.”

The Luckbringer leans for the small nightstand beside his cot and pulls out a small vial with a thick cloudy liquid inside.

“Give him this. It will dull the pain to almost nothing if he takes but a sip. If he swallows the entirety of it he will sleep and never awaken.”

He looks to her with sadness in his eyes, handing her the vial.

“What is it?” She asked as she turned the container over in her hand.

“Milk of the Poppy. A strong sedative used for putting the patient to sleep while things such as amputation are preformed. Too much though... It will kill a person. So, give Sir Wilmington what is necessary.”

He says the mans name aloud as to remember him, and what he has sacrificed for the free peoples of the Sword Coast.

“I've only brought a few vials with me. I'll need to send for more. Now go and see to the man. I have work to do.”

As Tressa goes to leave she stops and lights the candle upon Solomon's desk with her candle. As she does a small drop of blood falls to his open journal from her hands that had seen too much of it that day.

“Ilmater keep you.”

“Luck be with you, Tressa.”

She offers him a tired smile and makes her way to the medical tent.

Solomon lets out a small sigh and wakes himself with a slap to the face.

“You can sleep when this is all over.” He says reassuring himself.

He then sits at his desk and fills out paperwork for the remainder of the evening. List of supplies and contacts for acquisition. He blows out the candle at his desk as sunlight breaks the evening sky and makes his way to the tent of Commander Fulgruun.

As he approaches the tent he is met by two guards standing at attention. He shakes his head slightly as the guards stop him at the entrance. The Commander is visible from within the tent, eating his breakfast.

“What do you need, Luckbringer?” One of the guards asked, last word slung out like a whip.

“I'm here to see Commander Fulgruun at his request.”

“Are you now? Well, the Commander is busy. Important things to do and all.”

Solomon could plainly see the man eating, a small smile creeping at the edges of his lips.

“Perhaps you can return later in the...” The guard is cut off by a loud voice from within.

“Let the priest in. I will talk, he will listen. It will all be over soon enough and I can get back to my breakfast.”

With that the guards step to the side allowing Solomon to enter the tent. Once inside he looks around taking it all in. The tent was filled with comforts. Furs and blankets abound and a large bed, big enough for three. A rack with polished weapons and an armor stand with the regalia if the Flaming Fist emblazoned upon the breastplate.

“You summoned me, Commander?” Solomon asked quickly.

The large man held out a hand in front of him. “As I said, I'll do the talking.” He took another bite of ham and as he chewed the mouthful, he appraised the Luckbringer. As he did so, Solomon reached up with both hands and twisted the ends of his mustache.

“You've been sent back. Fine. Here is what I need from you. Keep them on task. I want those men made well enough to fight then returned to duty. I didn't say “well”, I said “well enough”. Do you know the difference?”

Solomon just stared at the man. “I belie..”

Once again the hand shot up to stop him. “Keep them on task.” His voice louder this time, “You will keep us supplied and the healers on task. Father Drenin will report to me thrice a day. You keep them on task and we won't have any issue. We are at war, Luckbringer. These devils are ever pushing. I need those men back out there pushing back! Understood?”

Before Solomon could even breathe an answer, Commander Fulgruun bellows, “I know you do. Now go do your job so I can do mine.”

Solomon then feels a tug at his arm as one of the guards practically drag him from the tent. Once out, Solomon brushes himself off and sets off for the mess hall to grab some food and jot an entry into his journal.

(approved by DM Golem)