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

A half-Elf in blue attire who seems to be carrying far more books than a man of his modest stature should, has been asking around the Inn and hanging around the fires asking about a man named Osric Vale. Some have said that this half-elf is the author S. Ravenpath, but others are not so sure. Either way it seems he is trying to find folk to tell them stories of this Osric fellow.

At the inn of the Friendly Arm a simple notice can be found.
Obviosly posted under the cover of night.

Truth is peeled out of the skin of false rumors,
spreaded by the criminal Leader of Coppersnakes.

Venom Viper was never a viper and never poisenous.
I am in truth Silverpaw - Leader of the Mooncats.

We will fight against falsehood and defending the harmony of nature.
We are the roar under the moonlight.
We are the paw of bringing aid for those, who needed.

~ Lady Silverpaw

Small unsigned pamphlets are passed around and nailed to trees and posts around the Tradeway and within Baldurs Gate and the Friendly Arms, it seems to be a simple piece of poetry:

Lady Oona, once star upon the Gate’s grand stage,
With horns like crowns and grace that shamed the skies,
Now walks the wilds, betrayed by jealous rage,
The White Mask weeps where empty curtains lie.
The Dukes declared her guilt with whispered lies,
Their courts a cage, their justice cold and blind.
Though innocence shone clearly in her eyes,
They cast her out—no mercy, none to find.
Yet Duke Belt, though loud in vote and sharp of tongue,
Still shifts in court with thoughts he dares not name.
For though he claimed her traitorous among,
His gaze betrays a far more wicked flame.
He damned her name with politics and class—
But dreams each night of that infernal a$$.

The inn was alive again, more so now that winters chill grip on the realm was finally starting to fade. The air thick with the aroma of hearty stew and the chatter of familiar faces. Patrons leaned over their mugs, laughter spilling forth like the warm ale they sipped. In the far corner, the hearth crackled, throwing golden light that danced along the walls, illuminating the well-worn faces of those who had gathered once more.

Out of the corner of one patron's eye, a familiar presence was noticed. "Presence" would be the right word, as the figure, much as before, was still garbed in a dark robe with her visage obscured. Perhaps the familiarity came from the way the figure sat alone, away from the throng, or it may have been another spy, such as the subtle turn of a head, the silent draw of breath, or the stillness like a statue. Whatever vague tale gave it away, the patron called to the figure for a song.

There was a pause at the request as the figure contemplated. Then her delicate hands once more withdrew a lute from the folds of her cloak. Any lingering doubts about the figure's identity would fade at the appearance of the beautiful instrument. Like all bards who carried their favored tool of trade, the subtle decorations and careworn age of its fibers were as distinguishing as the contours of a fully exposed face. More so was the music that was elicited from the strands of silk and the voice that carried the lyrics.

At first, the bard began with a tale that some recognized from before, the Prologue Of Mice & Gods. For some, it was new and a delight in both the first hearing and the retelling. For others, as before, it was a childish tale of whimsy that they rolled their eyes at and ignored. However, some might be drawn back, as unlike last time, the tale did not end, and a new chapter began to unfold with its own style.



Unlike the whimsical ballad of the prologue, this chapter was told in the oral tradition, with music added for atmosphere. The occasional verse of a song would slip in, brief and used to summarize what had transpired or foretell what was to come. Moreover, the darker and grimmer nature of the story carried a different sort of whimsy and perhaps a sense of nostalgia, especially with the recent end of winter. As the tale reached the conclusion of this part, the lyrics that had been briefly sung were now repeated as a haunting song accompanied by the melodic strumming of the strings.

*A night in the Friendly Arms Inn had a change of atmosphere, when a well dressed man with hoop earrings entered the tavern and walked over to Bentley Mirrorshade. The man might have been seen prior, talking to several people just outside to include the Inn's strict guards. However his approach the famous Bentley seemed to be of men that knew each other for many years spanning a decade.*

*In the background a frustrated was slapping his own forehead repeatedly, and he was heard saying ..* "Why was I so stupid!..."

Sel: *The well dressed man with hoop earrings ignored the frustrated man quite rudely and approached the bar* "Oi Bentley! I'm wonder'n if any ones come in here talk'n about caravan's be'n raided, or any mention of a Ambrosious?"

Bentley Mirrorshade: "Caravans go missing on the Trade Way all the time. Rueful it is, but true. I did catch a snippet in past tendays of one caravan held up by a bunch of adventuring folk and treemen down by the Way of the Lion, hard to say what's tall tales and what isn't these days though. As for Ambrosius...."

*The man and Bentley shared talks seeming to skip pleasantries. But the rest of their conversations wasn't heard due to the lowered hushed tones that followed. Soon after they appeared to be finished talking, a Wyvern Whiskey was left as a parting gift to the well dressed man with hoop earrings.*

Over a month had passed before the wandering bard found herself in the tavern once more. The Spring season was steadily marching closer to Summer with the sun now beginning to threaten with its steady, growing might. It was a hot afternoon, just after the sun's peak but not late enough for the air to cool. Travelers and merchants happily took shelter within the sanctuary of the inn to escape the blazing sun. As the throng gathered, there was a call for entertainment, and the bard did not delay in answering.

Once more, she began with the harmonic telling of the tale's beginning (Prologue Of Mice & Gods), then seamlessly transitioned to the next part of the story (Chapter One The Fringe Tunnels) for those that had not been present before. With a pause to gather her voice, she slowly begins her newest inspiration, far longer than the prior parts combined. She now relays the history of these odd mice that seemingly dwelt below the docks of a city while introducing more characters to this queer rodent play.

After some time away from the coast, a certain Tiefling Flamesister of Kossuth returned to the Inn's Conference room. Already the Blackboard of the room was filled with what looked like Military battle plans for a location, along with a faint list of means, allies, and predictions for what could happen and what might go wrong. Every so often though, the board would be erased by the tiefling before she paced in front of it. Murmuring under her breath as she did so.

A notice is posted to the Friendly Arms Inn. The large, green haired man posting seemed to do so with a heavy heart.

---

---

Performer in question categorically denies rumors that wine served during his performances is watered to prevent fights! (He loves fights!)

Apparently free concerts are form of advertising for anyone looking for adding some music to weddings, balls or funeral. Judging from the composition tho bard might need to write some new songs for the last one but any Kelemvorites are still welcome!

Spread the Cure

*As illness can spread, so too should the cure. Knowledge can preserve life, and it is no surprise that notes and parchments of warning will find their way where they are most needed. In this case, it is in the name of cure and care, against the sickness born of the black grass and its taint. This parchment shall be given to the Friendly Arm and its inhabitants, and carried further still. Written in pine-green ink, in the hand of an artist of elvish origin.*

Yesterday, the wizard Maraav and the Priestess Naer’eanque had meet each other at the Friendly Arm. The Black Grass was once more a topic. It leaded to a walk around the area surrounding the Inn. Well protect by a circle against evil-forces.

As they found one of the dark plants, Naer’eanque began a prayer to the harmony of nature.
She tried to perform to use a druidic technique called „Blight”

*Sylvan*
Be gone, wither away, plant that does not belong in our world. Listen to the harmony and know that there is no place for you here.

After her words of faith were fading she poured (Perfected) holy water, blessed in the name of Rillifane, over it.


As they ended their round, they reached the place at the pond. After a short conversation, the idea came up to ask the nearby tree.

Carefully and with respect Naer’eanque laid her hand at the bark. With the other hand she touched the amber, which was hanging down from her neck. She speaks a prayer for giving her the favour of speaking with plants.

Venerable one, who welcomes the wind in your branches and hears the splashing of the pond.
May I ask you, if you had heard about plants, who should not be here? Alien ones.
And where we can find them?

She gave the tree, the time it would need for pondering.

And so it came to past that on the 4th of Eleint 1361, before a crowd of witnesses gathered in front of the Friendly Arm Inn, Her Majesty - Queen Veronica [a.k.a Larael] would ordain Master Strategist and Tactician -Solaris Cult as Lady Knight Solaris Cult of The Kingdom of Laurels ... in the Scrubbery Woods ... right past Herring Lake. As contrived as the titles and ceremony were, this event would nonetheless serve as a key milestone in the annals of Faerun history.