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

Corpses have begun to wash ashore of late, their insides churned into unrecognizable ruins by what appears to have been the single, titanic strokes of a savage weapon. Most of the bifurcated victims bear ink marking them out as corsairs of lesser crews, and have in their possession, almost without exception, religious trinkets of a nautical nature.

*Rumors spread from the market of Roaringshore of how some local pirates were in a grim discussion. Besides some antics, a few words stood out *


"The Mother of Demons is coming this way again"

"Eh? When was it not coming this way ?!!"

"It was heading North, but it's coming back this way"

A well-known Dwarven skald, tipped off by a no less famous pirate captain, arrived at Roaringshore looking for a rare musical instrument to purchase and expand his repertoire. He visited a local shop where the tool of his questionable craft was supposed to be found. Regrettably, the dwarf had been misled, and his efforts to acquire a certain flute that had been evading him for so long were fruitless. Not discouraged by his quest failed yet again, the rowdy skald purchased a fancy umbrella instead as a memento of this journey and headed to one place he certainly was a good fit for to drown his sorrows in a pint of ale. Or a dozen, for that matter. The Broken Goblet.

Later that night, pirates, enforcers and the rest of the folk at the Roaringshore’s docks, who I believe had already seen quite their share of peculiar and unfortunate events at that unruly village, were nonetheless somewhat bewildered by what transpired before their eyes. The notorious dwarf, dead-drunk, rowed to one of the ships anchored in the harbour and tried to commandeer it for his epic quest — his faith in it fiercely rekindled both by his indomitable spirit and the unholy amounts of beverages consumed.

Put out tis bloody cockleboat to sea, ye buggers! We’ll board and plunder every wench along em Coasts till I found meself a proper flute tae blow!

Alas, no one was on the vessel that night, and the drunken skald’s attempts to hijack the watercraft on his own, armed with nothing but his stylish umbrella, a mug of ale, and an inexhaustible supply of courage and stupidity, were proven to be rather futile. Eventually, while trying to set sail, the dwarf managed to fall overboard. Between his inebriated state, impressively heavy armour and the natural lack of Dwarven disposition to swimming, he was destined to finally face his doom. Yet, at that moment of dire need his newly-acquired fashion accessory happened to be quite handy! Lifesaving, even. To utter amazement of all the observers, onlookers and loiterers at the docks our hero deftly grabbed a piece of flotsam and used the umbrella as an improvised sail to catch the ever-changing rough winds of the Roaringshore's harbour and get back to the beach. For good or for ill, his story continues...

Written down by a humble unnamed traveller, unfortunate enough to be pressured into accompanying the dwarf to keep a record of his wild and disorderly adventures

A clique of well dressed drow took up brief residence at the Broken Goblet over the weekend, enjoying the sea breeze and the establishment’s many attractions.

Conversation ranged across various topics familiar to vacationers: music and the eternal search for talented musicians, the prospect of purchasing a pleasure yacht and finding a dependable surfacer to captain it, and the excitement of risking one’s hard earned coin at table games or in the fighting pits.

The lone male among them happily identified himself as Miirszyx, a patron and financier of opportunities and those who know what to do with them. What exactly he meant by that, or any of the many other exotic claims he made, remains unclear.

The storm had been raging since dawn.
Thunder rolling over the waves, as the wind howled like a banshee.
At "Pestil's Pawn Shop", a handful of pirates were haggling over trinkets and daggers, because their stuff was better, when... out of nowhere...




It smashed straight through the roof, sending splinters everywhere and letting the rain pour right into the attic. Chaos followed, of course: curses, laughter, and someone shouting that it must be a sign from Umberlee herself!
An old man might or might not have just shook his head and muttered something similar to... "It rains cats and dogs… and now stools, apparently."
Nobody ever found out where the stool came from: some might have said it was tossed by a drunken wizard aboard a passing ship with a ballista, while others might have suggested it fell from another dimensional plane entirely.

Either way, it was just another perfectly normal day in Roaringshore!