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

Some time before this success, the drunken monk could be seen engaging in an animated discussion with a different recurring patron of the Goblet, a wandering pickpocket with a habit of lifting items off the other patrons only to subsequently return them to their owners. Over the hours that followed, the pickpocket shared a few tall tales purportedly from her earlier adventures, with their loud and energetic conversation occasionally being punctuated by a cry of "SNEAKY!" and a fit of laughter as she made a pass at the items on the monk's belt.

Though anyone paying attention to their words would believe they've barely ever met, the energy of their interactions could easily convince a less attentive - or more suspicious - patron that they were witnessing a reunion between lifelong friends...

In the Night came weeping, presumed by sounds of whipping. A man was strung up in the center of the town, bloodied, bruised and beaten down. A masked figure came and went, leaving in his trail a man bleeding his final breath.

To his hand was nailed a note which read as follows...

"Murderer, Plunderer Rapist and Scoundrel..Beware whom you harbour in your port..The eye of Justice is not blind, run for a time but in time all I will find.."

Valiant Spirit wrote: ↑Wed Oct 19, 2022 11:31 am In the Night came weeping, presumed by sounds of whipping. A man was strung up in the center of the town, bloodied, bruised and beaten down. A masked figure came and went, leaving in his trail a man bleeding his final breath.

To his hand was nailed a note which read as follows...

"Murderer, Plunderer Rapist and Scoundrel..Beware whom you harbour in your port..The eye of Justice is not blind, run for a time but in time all I will find.."

Hearing well of the actions and the note, Feng heads to Captain Anglo and reports in.

Captain, I ave no doubt this is the work o tha Oarite named Roland, tha one I been tellin ye of tha night o tha tour. I o course leave this to ye tae decide.

Unless given orders she steps away to attend her duties with her sister Fade.

The corners of Garon's thin lips dip down and his brows slant upwards at the sight of the man's handiwork, and he elbows a Hellstorm corsair in his company with a jut of his chin up towards the swaying corpse.

Taking on supplies the ship, Seawolf, has in recent weeks seen much work done. Clean decks, new sails, fresh rope and more hands. Dock workers of Shipyard Master, Landry Kinane would certainly have taken note of the daily drilling the crew were placed under at the hands of a merciless and dead eyed man in his dark chaperon.
Slipping her moorings, rowboats filled with men pulled the brigantine out into the harbour, hauling all aboard after as the anchor drops. Word will begin to spread that this crew is ready and very hungry, for a hunt.

Seems I got noticed with my strange behaviour of seizing old crates, there at the part where sea water nearly kissed the sorrowful infrastructure slapped on the far corner of Roaringshore’s jetty. To repair my sloop I told that captain who caught me whilst committing said felony. Well, anything goes, but I figured anyone would’ve had at least a couple of questions about that. And so did he. Questions turning into answers turned into a conversation of sorts.

Just as if I were on a mission during my rookie times, I showcased myself and in different ways to see what he would make of me. At this point I’m guessing he thinks I’m some younger drowned sewer rat with a hungry stomach and empty pockets, and whoms cards he called when she mentioned some profitable mission that was on her plate, perhaps assuming he was able to see crystal clear through her cover up of a miserable life.

Whatever. I’m in a crew once more. Only have to deal with this Garon lad again. For now I’ll play the Bonnie this captain imagines I be. Plenty of actual truth in it, ironically enough, but not the entire picture. People forget that empty pockets can teach you a million things in life, whereas full pockets make you lazy. But those are things for later. Currently I’m just wondering what kind of crew I’ll be ending up with this time.

Will they like the last enrollment be a bunch of womanizers and hopheads again, cause seriously… yea those can be fun for just a while, but not what I’m looking for in the end.

Seems I have to prepare for a mission now, we’ll see if we don’ get drowned. Again.

“Open your eyes.” She commanded as her fingers squeezed the unholy artifact they were holding to as if that could stimulate the obscure magic her melody summoned.

The corpse on the table, more of a skeleton actually, opened its mystical eyes and stared up blankly at the cave’s ceiling.

More energy… more…

She closed her eyes, enforcing the hum with an unsympathetic, disturbing interval. Minor chords mixed with nonlinear dissonant sounds reveberated throughout the subterranean area.

Suddenly… a chest rose, like when drawing in air, … like when trying to ‘breath’. But it had forgotten what it was now. Regardless, the wheezing, almost asthmatic sound, under normal circumstances an indication of a nearly life-threatening situation, caused her to open her eyes. She smiled.

It works again… finally.

A groan rattled from a fleshless throat, a bony arm moved up, uncoordinated. In spite of the absence of muscles, a single limb and then another spasmed and twitched violently.

Likely only the most basic things it can do. It’ll be enough though… for now…

All of a sudden the skeleton sat up, and it happened so swift that it even startled Bonnie. Especially with the way how it looked at her.

Regardless she smiled satisfied and offered the animated a cold stare back.

“Welcome back among the Drowned…mmm…,” Briefly hesitating she squinted at its bald skull and grinned devilish. “... I think I’ll call you… Garon.”

A jaw moved uselessly, like as if the unnatural appearance was trying to object.

“Good, I see you retained some instinct and perhaps even a tad more. Too bad you’ll be a mute ey? Finding yourself constantly trapped in your own mind… or whatever is left of it, unable to voice any opinion or expression. Well, it’s your own bloody fault. If you fools would have listened to your first class navigator, you wouldn’t be in this situation right now. I got some good news as well though. You won be feeling any physical pain as from now. I guess that works too, aye?”

The skeleton swung its bony legs round, causing them to hang off the sinister table. Rapidly it shoved itself off of the surface to stand on its own feet in an almost threatening pose. Nevertheless, it couldn’t stop itself from ridiculously swaying a little…

Bonnie’s eyes widened in slight panic before she regained her composure again. Some.

“Easy there, sailor. If you don’t listen properly, I might just as well hand you over to Re’Drix. The lad is a real natural talent when it comes to playing with skulls.”

Skeleton feet were planted even a bit wider apart, arms crossing over a bare rib cage.

To her considerable relief Bonnie noticed it waited. Her breath was steady again.

“Perfect, now that you have decided to not fall back into decay, and appreciate the little bit I’ve given you of myself, we can get to work.”

She turned around and started to walk out of the watery cavern, motioning the large skeleton to follow her. “Protect me, cause when I die, you die… along with whatever is left of you inside.”

As they descended down rocky steps to a weathered looking sloop moored near the almost pitch black exit, Bonnie wrapped the cloth more tightly around her arm from where blood trickled.

Another pair of skeletons were waiting near the small vessel. She motioned her 'men' to man the oars and sat down at the rudder.

Her voice was in contrast to the peaceful ocean sounds inside the cave lovely sloshing and crashing about. “Now,... fockin’ row…”

As she spent some time steering whilst trying to decipher spidery handwriting on scrolls of long lost times, mechanical and rhythmic rowing strokes brought them to open water.

She overviewed musing the immense open plain. Something was still missing though.

Then, as if it hit on her, she snapped her fingers while looking at her servants. “Hm!… maybe I should consider to research magic that helps you to sing. Perhaps something about… faded glamourous glory, hmm? I may have just the song fitting that.”

Stumbling and staggering it took a step towards her as it produced a spine-chilling cry of frustration.

“Oh, be good. This time I may not be controlling the money, but I am definitely in control of the looks.”

It looked like a sick clownesque appearance with that wedding dress over its cadaverous body, the piece of garment once made for nobility and stolen from a chest on board of a vessel a long time ago.

“Don’t worry, it’s just a little program I’m running on how to show I’m in charge. And admit it, you like being used. That is something I can’t help.”

It growled like no ordinary predator can, the sound resonating from unnatural depths.

Bonnie wiped some blood of her pale arm. “I came to you like a sister, and I gave and would have given you everything… my labour, my devotion, my last breath. And what did you do? Just when it mattered you wrapped me in iron and beat the hell out of me with your cane. Well… who is even more cripple now than he already was?”

The walking corpse breathed, polluting the very spot where it was standing with foul-smelling body fluids.

“You deemed yourself a master of the seas, while in truth you were nothing but master of some highly implausible fairytale. Whereas I now am the master of your hell in this plane of existence. After what you did to me, I think I still am merciful. You get to exist, of sorts… and to wear pretty clothes. So unlike…”

She glanced over her shoulder at where another zombie was seated all tied up and backwards on a mule that was ready to flip out.

“You both will need to realize that under my dusty boots you are nothing more than useless bones and puddles of rotting flesh. And if you think I cannot touch your spirit, I might as well fully resurrect you and prove you otherwise.”

The eyes of the zombie in wedding dress dimmed. Bonnie doubted it was highly intelligent. If any. But it was a nice thought to think of that she was able to torment those who had disgraced her.

“So, what do you think of my skin?” Bonnie turned around and showed off her perfect flawless back. “I’m no longer bearing a single mark of your whip…”

The zombie growled.

“Oh, shoo, your growl means less than the bark of a dog… captain…”

If there is anything good to be said of pirates, they are not quiet folk, especially when drunk. They run their mouth and noisily toast at anything seen as a triumph. And so, whether it is being at the right place at the right time or wrong place at a wrong time, words are heard. As a result the noisy and crowded Goblet is left behind and the small, dark glad figure, cloaked and hooded, slips into the night. "Thrice cursed pirates and the their Bitch," she mutters as she goes.

She chooses a quiet corner in the shadows and waits for a later hour to wander around the Shore, looking for something. The docks are a lot more quiet when the rowdy folk are celebrating in the tavern or passed out by now. The power of the burning liquid is such. Who would care about a lone figure that looks like they have nothing on them worth taking.

Stumbling on a bone she picks it up, taking a closer look then tosses it aside. Maybe she's a scavenger, a bonepicker? Who knows. But what had taken place a few nights prior doesn't seem to yield results. We are dealing with the Bitch Queen, drowning seems a fitting way to go for the majority of casualties.

In the end the lone figure makes her way to a pier, maneuvering past and between the piles of crates. Pausing at the end of the pier she looks around slowly, perhaps making sure the crates are blocking the field of vision or perhaps that there's no soul close by. Small and dressed appropriately, she blends well with the clutter of the pier in the dark of the night.

She stands there a long while staring into the sea then takes something out of the pocket, sprinkling into the water from left to right. Whatever it is, it sparkles in the moonlight like specks of stars, even when the stuff sinks into the water until it is out of sight. It seems like a ritual of sorts. One could say there were words but they wouldn't have been loud enough to be heard at the docks.

Perhaps she was there to soothe the anger of the Bitch Queen or, gods forbid, to curse her? But if anyone knew her at all, and there were perhaps only one or two who might have had an inkling of who she really was, she was there for the sacrificed elves.

On the seventh of Nightal 1358, a couple was seen walking through Roaringshore hand in hand. She stood tall, her amber eyes alert, and wore her best "city" clothes for the cool weather. She carried a bag that seemed very full, though not heavy. Holding her hand was a much taller man in fewer clothes. They spoke in quiet tones as they walked, but it didn't seem to settle the worry in her eyes. They paused at the door of the Broken Goblet and she took a deep breath before entering the building.

The couple wouldn't be seen again for some time, but when they stepped back out into the pirate town her bag seemed emptier, her steps not quite as heavy, and her eyes no longer held worry. She seemed to be almost celebrating a victory and couldn't keep the corners of her mouth from turning up as the couple again walked hand in hand through Roaringshore.