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

*Residence in Neshkal would see a familiar face of the man known as Sel whos been rumored to hunt for criminal mages. He makes for the outpost asking to meet the High Inquisition. While lingering in Amn, he's notice to been keeping a watchful eye on the Adjutant Marcus.*

Prep For Battle? Or Prep for Impeding Doom?



“War must be, while we defend our lives against a destroyer who would devour all,
but I do not love the bright sword for its sharpness, nor the arrow for its swiftness,
nor the warrior for his glory. I love only that which they defend.”

=RUMORS IN AMN=

Those that either live in the town of Neskhal or travelers passing through, would see a large force of Helm Guards and Priests listening to orders of the Watchpriest. And across the main road many of Amnish soldiers along side a larger force of Mage Hunters and the Inquisition listening to words by the High Inquisitor. The Mayor Ghaskill and Adjutant Marcus was also present. Even for a town that knows war, there were two questions in the mind of one passerby.

Are they preparing for Battle?


Or were they awaiting an Impeding doom?


"A large scale battle is not something I have ever experienced. I'm no soldier nor have I ever been to a war. I've heard tales and read many books that would describe large battlefields painted with blood. My battles were never on a large scale, but I have had my experience with the ground painted with blood. My fights are normally concluded quickly, and never in the open. But as I look up to the dark sinister floating tower that I had recently scouted, I will say this surely will be one of the most interesting battles I may have ever have to experience. And as much as I rather not get involved, Lockheart is up there somewhere and I need her alive by any means necessary."

The tension in the air was thick, dust danced all around from marching soldiers. The Sun gazed down over the town of Neskhal except from the very large shadow from the floating tower that shrouded areas like a dreadful omen. Will the Floating Tower cause the destruction of Neskhal? Will the town see bodies plummeting to their deaths? One can only wonder just how many will die before the end of a tenday.

At the trial's onset, a ghastly sight,
A beaten man alight, the crowd in fright.
Stripped of all dignity, engulfed in flames,
His agonized screams echoing his shames.

Yet amidst this horror, the Helmite's voice,
Singing of glory, as if by choice.
In such disgrace, they claimed a righteous deed,
As the stench of charred flesh did their chants feed.

In the crooked courts of Nashkel, where lies are the law,
A farcical trial unfolds, riddled with flaw.
Tyrelius the mage, a butcher unbound,
Stood smiling in chains, with darkness around.

Advocate Eloy, a Rhonmark snake,
His duty forsaken, for corruption’s sake.
A theater of justice, so vile and so crude,
Where the guilty are sheltered, and the truth is subdued.

The Inquisition, poor at hunting mages,
Excelled only in their torturous rages.
Their case, thin and feeble, a pitiful sight,
They could only show Lockheart, who prolonged the night.

Dhaerys Lockheart, with a tale so grand,
Claimed she fought a Wyvern, with bare hands.
Her voice, a weak tremble, her story bizarre,
Only a drooling pirate in the front row could believe her char.

And when the judgment like darkness fell,
The Inquisition stood, their efforts to quell.
"House arrest!" the Tribunal jest,
Under Rhonmark's wing, a nest of theft.

Like fish out of water, gasping for creed,
In a court that mocks justice, where the corrupt lead.
The court’s vile nature then fully swelled,
A mockery of justice, unabashedly upheld.

But Castus, his wrath could not be tamed,
With axe in hand, his justice claimed.
He aimed at Tyrelius, to cleave his fate,
In the court of shadows, amid deceit's bait.

First, a fiend stepped forth, dark kin to save,
Thwarting the blow, so cunning and grave.
Then a Hoarite corrupt, against his own creed,
Stood to obstruct, as the fiend did lead.

Together they blocked, a sinister pair,
Yet Castus swung true, through the foul air.
But in this den of deceit and spite,
Only corruption could quench the fight.

Enraged, Hieron Ampbel commanded the chase,
Led by the fiend, yet none could match the pace.
Only the giant, Magnus, with forceful blow,
Wrenched the axe, halting Castus’ flow.

Outnumbered, yet undaunted by the vast host,
Castus made his escape, his spirit engrossed.
His weapon shattered, his path a bold veer,
He vanished into the night, leaving shadows to mourn.

Behind him, the Helmite shook her fist in rage,
Angry that justice had escaped her cage.
Her cries of fury filled the air,
As Castus fled, her schemes laid bare.

In Nashkel’s halls, a joke so vile,
Where liars parade and thieves beguile.
This bard’s bitter tale ends, where the vilest jest,
In a town so foul, where even the pure are defiled.
Justice weeps silently, forever exiled.