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

On the cobblestones in the Temples District, stray ivory white feathers of a remarkable size could again be found.

For nearly two seasons, the priest Vhaan de Luca, Sword of Tyr, had been absent from Baldur's Gate. Now, there was talk amongst the common folk of spectacled sightings of the winged man yet again; and errant word that he returned from travel to the North.

Regulars of the Three Old Kegs tavern may have witnessed a minor commotion.

It was a usual night at the tavern, except for the sight of a winged man conversing with a tiefling woman at the bar by the entrance. The conversation had begun politely, but gradually turned sour.

The man's feathers bristled, and he stood abruptly, bewilderment and repulsion etched upon his features. "Truly? Thou terrorize the folk of this fair city, and then dare to walk and talk amongst us?!" He exclaimed.

Their heated conversation continuing. A particular revelation led the barmaid behind the counter to hide, cowering in fear. Some more words were exchanged, and then he pointed towards the door, "Begone from this place, foul creature! Thou shan't taint this eve with thy fanciful tongue or presence any further."

The tiefling woman smiled. "Don't worry, I already planned to. Like I said, I do not kill without reason. Besides, if I wanted to, the whole city would be cinder already."

She left the tavern, and the winged man rushed to comfort the barmaid. When she was well, he went on his way.

Fortune favor us, the bold, the brave.

If the odds are against us in our righteous endeavor, my humble plea: tilt them toward us and away from the evil that lurks.

Fortune favor us, the steady, the stalwart.

If the odds are with us in this momentous task, my sincere request: shield them from the interlopers, the trespassers.

Fortune favor us, the compassionate, the kind.

If the odds are even in our holy aspiration, my earnest petition: let luck be that which inspires hope.

A copper to the lady returns tenfold in gold. May this prayer to the lady return tenfold in blessings.

Let us be your eyes, Blind One, and cast your justice upon the world.

A great evil has befallen Ulgoth's Beard, borne of demons and the abyss. Yours is the virtuous justice that is needed to strike it down. Yours is the righteous indignation that shall see it purged. Yours is the oath that will see the defenders of the land unite against a common foe.

In your name, we shall reveal the truth, punish the guilty, right the wrong, and be always true and just.

Lady Siamorphe, lead us. We who aspire to nobility, we who answer the call for aid, we who fight for the people of the coast - we beseech the gentle but firm hand that bears your chalice. For the innocents who have lost their homes, for the survivors of the tragedy at Ulgoth's Beard, show us the way to bring them light and hope anew.

Yours is the wisdom that guides us all. Watch over us as we strive to live your tenets. Bless us as we go into the unknown.

In the evening hours of mid Uktar, a caravan starts to flow in to the outskirts of the ruins of Ulgoth's Beard. The early arrivals stop at the edge of any signs of rot, or corruption, favoring green grasses or cleaner clearings. The wagons and teamsters all bear similar trappings - that of the Church of the Holy Triad, Torm, Tyr, and Ilmater.

Stakes are hammered in by the laborers while knights in shining platemail stand guard. Temporary cots errected with clean linens are set up beneath the plain off-white canvas of field tents, some bearing the specific bound-hand symbol of Ilmater marking them as triage tents.

Two leaders stand out amongst the camp as it takes shape. The first, a knighted man of impressive height with an equally broad build in plate armor with a black fur mantle over his shoulders. Gaven, the knight of the Triumvirate of Triel, takes charge of the triage camp, preparing for the pending rituals' inevitable casualties. The second, a ranger in a long leather coat and signature leather hat, takes charge of setting up the watch of guardsmen over the triage camp.

Dunn, the aforementioned ranger in hat and coat, takes up first watch during the prior eve, when the camp is being set. He busies himself with walking the perimeter, setting up trip-lines and traps to thwart or early alert to any encroaching demons or undead.

After his watch his up, but before Lathander's light breaks the next day. He says two sets of prayers, the first to Shaundakul, one for forgiveness for losing his patron's shrine to the invasion, with a promise to see it made right. The second to Selune, for all the defenders of the ritual.

After, when light breaks, he sets up a campfire and gets a pot of fish stew going. A mixture of white fish, rice, brown rue, red pepper, and other spices - enough to put hair on a Glimmerboot's chest, he'd say if asked of it (and the dish is rather spicy for any that would partake). In addition to that, a pan of cathead biscuits is done, slathered with 'borrowed' honey that the caravan came across on their way to set up.

Gaven Arkalis, Knight-Commander of the Church of the Triad, takes time, with hands he was able to bring along other than his own, to set up the tents and cots, lighting, and placing supplies needed by each, such as bandages, clean water pitchers and basins, and tools required. Herbs, salves, and potions were among the supplies.

He made certain each tent was stocked well enough, the wagons that were used to carry were off to the side, and the horses were taken care of with feed and water as well. He kept an eye out for any incursions. Once satisfied with the tents and supplies he would seek his rest before taking up second watch.

When light awoke him, he sought his own prayer to the Triad, and to Selune. He would partake of the spicy fish stew, eating it heartily and quietly watched the horizon towards Ulgoths. . A calm settled as he waited for the waves to break upon those within.