Rumors of the Southern Sword Coast

[Louvaine]

Those with keen enough senses would be able to notice Tovah, the Spider of Anachaine, as he weaves his webs in Cloakwood. His presence could be betrayed by yellow eyes glimering in shades of woods or shallow, wheezing breath escaping his chest as he moves around from shadow to shadow.
As any respectable arachnid, Tovah would make sure to remain at a distance and escape under any threat of conflict. Patient observant that he is, he would wait out any patrols and more noteable figures from under various banners of the city. Once it was deemed safe to do so, Tovah would leave entangling traps around the woods. If sprung, none of the traps would leave any damage, all of them were meant to slow down, to irritate mind and not the body. Perhaps something in the forest is trying to send a message.

[DM All Father]

Posted visibly outside their camp and at the travel camp along the road.

Attention Travelers

The Flaming Fist has been dispatched to this location by Baldurs’s Gate to ensure a peaceful Tradeway and prosperity for all people of these lands. A threat arising directly from the church of Bhaal has been confirmed within The Cloakwood.

Seeing how some of you arse rags are dense and require the boot, I am placing this poster for legal reasons.

Anyone that attempts to harm my soldiers will be considered a member of bhaal’s church and branded as such.

Anyone seen dealing with this threat will be considered a member of bhaal’s church and branded as such.

Anyone intentionally hindering this effort or creating undo delays for my officers will be considered a member of bhaal’s church and branded as such.

Captain Norton

[athornforyourheart]

[mixafix]

Admorin Oakbound, Druid of Cloakwood these past many years, just not one of those shadow ones, looks towards the Flaming Fist camp, their patrols and legal posts dug in the ground, their outer allied patrols, the hangers on patrolling beyond, and those more hostile patrolling even further out.

He considers shrugging, rejects it momentarily, considering it's value in the wider circle of patrols as it would likely remain unseen. He absently traces a circle with his staff and finally just shrugs anyway. Without another word, for if was bad form to shrug when no one was there, talking to yourself would just have been too much. He gathers his meagre belongings, not a powerful magical thank you present or that special bossed it moment from history amongst them.

He settles for 3 sickles that no one else wanted and then thought of him type gifts delivered over the years. He wraps them in last decades fashionable druid wear. Some dried mushrooms, two saplings and a collection of pressed flowers not to forget half a turnip and he is ready to travel.

He buries a shield too heavy to carry, lest he return. Without a backward glance at the ever expanding camp he glides through the trees, his journey and path hidden, ever the Druid, leaving the Cloakwood and it's armies behind.

[mastajabba]

The Radiant Scout steps to the main gates of the encampment. His hood pulled low only his signature forked beard peeking out of the hoods. From underneath that cowl some of the most keen eye sight. As the half elven Scout peers into the evening. His eye catching the movement of even small mammals in the underbrush.

He takes his brow and takes an arrow from his enchanted quiver. A slight curl of his lips that his waxed curled mustache seemed to accentuate. Giving it a devilish look. In his hand that plain arrow suddenly is charged with unseen arcane energies. He can almost it through his leather gloves the pulse of ancient elven arcane archery masteries.

The guards by the gate watch him as he stands there out in the open under the moonlight. “Tally-Ho!… “ he says with that thick Comyrian accent. Which made the seasoned Flaming Fist mercenaries wonder how many damn Comyrians where in the Sword Coast. Then just like that The Radiant Scout vanished in plain sight. It was time to hunt…

[Louvaine]

Patrolling scouts and soldiers would notice far fewer traps, and none of them planted with more skill than local tribes could muster. It would seem that the posters worked. Or maybe it was something else? Whatever made the Spider pull his webs back still has him observe trespassers from safe distance. And of course, seeing Scouts of Order of the Radiant Heart Auxiliary at full display would add extra bit of paranoia to the mans approach, as every arachnid fears radiance of the light and Tovah was not an exception.

[Penwize]

A bustling busy war camp? Cooperation between disparate factions? Druids, soldiers, paladins, different soldiers, and independent adventurers? It was a gift from on high to any and all troublemakers! Chief among them was Ytarya still who salivated at all of the opportunities waltzing in and out of camp. Cooperation does not mean coordination and it was time to show it.

Ytarya had been perched in a tree since before the dawn, just watching the camp. Barely breathing as daylight filtered through the Cloakwood's canopy and she mentally tallied cliques and parties that wandered through her narrow vision. It was a carefully crafted keyhole, letting her lie concealed with a view of the camp's mess tent, with consideration paid for other important sightlines. An easy way to stay concealed if you didn't mind being stationary. Now it was paying off and she readied her tools.

In the camp breakfast was getting truly underway. Groggy soldiers trudged, milled in line, served food, gawked at adventurers, or otherwise waited for alertness to creep into their world. Expanded patrols, an absurd influx of support, and the presence of gaudy supporters made activity in the camp safe and amusing. There were difficulties on those patrols and even on the palisades, but the mess hall was a place one knew they could let their guard down. That's why the arrow went there.

Loosed from somewhere in the trees, sharp-eyed individuals could have spotted the flicker of a zipping projectile. Its flight was true. The arrow tore into the canvas of the tent and embedded itself into the main column with... silence. Those near the center of the tent were startled as all the sound of the world just ceased. Conversations were rudely cut off, the clink of cutlery against dish slain, a building argument neatly halted, and a very busy cook staff confounded. Heads jerked around in alarm. Men spun to face the threat, dropping meals and beginning to draw weapons. A soldier tread on the foot of another who tried to cry out and stumbled into that argument, delivering an accidental elbow to someone's spine. A cauldron of scalding-hot oatmeal hit the ground with an inaudible thud, inundating the tent with hot goop. And so on. And so forth.

Chaos quietly reigned there. The aura of magic around the arrow stretched about twenty feet in every direction, creating an environment of utter chaos with its silence. Within seconds men had fallen face-first in muddy oatmeal. Magically talented soldiers couldn't enunciate their panicky spells, and everyone outside that zone grappled to understand what exactly was happening. Alarm was shouted - quite a few times and exodus from the tent began. While the silence was stationary, the disorder was not and those stumbling out of the ensorcelled zone tended to come out yelling and urgent and often off-balance. Soldiers collided with sturdy tent supports and the outer canvas of the mess tent. It took longer than Ytarya expected but soon enough the confusion and alarm of suddenly-awakened soldiers coursing with adrenaline but unable to communicate or convey a threat managed to partially collapse their own mess tent. Canvas tore, poles shifted, and the structure sagged. Men continued to thrash and rage beneath. Breakfast was ruined.

The saboteur leaned forward to watch, counting down in her mind. Silence spells don't last forever and the ones woven into these arrows was predictable. The elf shifted in her perch and readied the next part of her morning action. She'd be impressed if someone was cunning or stupid enough to cast dispelling magic upon the now-enshrouded arrow. Waving arms and shouting chants at soldiers who did not know you wasn't a choice surviving adventurers did - especially at soldiers looking around for the cause of hostile magic. No, it was not to be. A few minutes in the initial wave of destruction had come to a close and soldiers sodden with breakfast were more or less extricating themselves from beneath the tent. That's when sound came back, celebrated by even more yelling when all the men still within realized their ability to communicate at the same time and decided that their messages were more important than those around them.

Naturally that was when the lightning struck. A bolt stretched from the sullen clouds above and met the trees near the camp. It had been raining all through the morning but there hadn't been even the faintest rumble of thunder before now. The crash of immediately close thunder is something to behold - especially if you're on high alert and had recently recovered from deafness. The strike shook the earth (or at least the eardrums) and sent men stunned to the ground all over again. Perhaps something in the forest is trying to send a message.

Mischief managed, Ytarya carefully extricated herself from the camp's perimeter. She'd be back with more tricks soon enough.

[DM All Father]

With the arrival of a new day there is a large change to things. First Company has returned in force to The Cloakwood and quickly set to arranging for a new camp moved much closer to the road, within sight of The Friendly Arm. The Flaming Fist takes large steps to take all their mess with them and even to move the logs that make up their walls. The newer position is quickly marked out by First Company with the sharp eyed soldiers taking positions along the edges until the walls are put in place.

The evening of their arrival a shadow druid was hauled to the road and branded by a handful of Flaming Fist First Company.

[Shamble]

Shooting at the Friendly Arm.

They noticed him too late. A volley of black arrows skewered the elf's chest faster than the crowd blinked. After the blatant assault, the orc in black disappeared in the depths of the Woods of Sharp Teeth.

[mastajabba]

”slow is smooth and smooth is fast…

Steady steps carried the Stalker through the woods. Under the concealment of his stealthy scout training and his Ranger & stalker background he moved at full speed unseen and unheard to most. Those eyes aided by clerical Magics moved across the landscape. He’d stop here and there. ‘look… listen… and feel’

He almost started again when something caught his eye. He moved deliberate. Notched arrows on his bow ready for the Multi-shot. He paused, listening to the ambient sounds of the Cloakwood. His eye going to where someone had been watching the camp. Residual webs caught on a stray branch and a very faint trail…

It was time to start stalking….

[JustAnotherGirl]

The High Ranger continues her patrols through the Cloakwoods, listening, watching, remaining hidden unless wishing to be seen.

[Louvaine]

Those able to read tracks could see the story unfold before their eyes. Something scared the Spider horribly. Enough to put him on the run. His steps, while still relatively light, would leave a deeper mark on foliage. Recklessly, Tovah must've made his way through the patrol of local wild folk. Their unmoving bodies spoke of quick, merciful deaths delivered with skilled hands. Killer must've moved south on the trail leading out of the forest. Droplets of blood marking his exit all the way to the stone circle on Lion's Way, where they abruptly cut the story short.

[Febriel]

A hunting horn would sound on in the dead of night with the moon at it's zenith. As she hunts for her food the naked woman with skin black as soot with crimson eyes leaps upon a gnoll that had been following her on the Lions Way. The deer meat falls from her back as her sword is driven into it's right eye socket. A noticable pop she then hears as her sword breaks through the back of its head. Breathing heavily and some what grinning as she pulls the blade from the corpse she gives thanks to her lady. As she return's to her hovel she can't help but hope the other gnolls recoil in fear when they find their dead brother. "If they have any sense they will see that as a warning" the black as night woman says calmly.

[Penwize]

One step forward, two steps back. When a road borders the Cloakwood, "much closer to the road" means still within the Cloakwood. What happens when a civilized military camp is established in a forest is all that land is cleared out for that military use. Gone. Destroyed. And when that military force leaves, some of the mess they can't clean up is the environmental devastation that makes a guardian of nature like Ytarya's heart hurt. Now a camp was about to be established a second time.

For Ytarya, it meant sightseeing those sharp-eyed soldiers who guarded acres of land they were about to pillage. Like a certain High Ranger, it mean patrolling. Listening, watching, and remaining unseen unless wishing to be seen. It meant watching as Flaming Fist soldiers dragged a druid onto the road so they could brand her for the world to see. Soldiers torturing and imprisoning protectors of the wood those soldiers said they themselves were protecting. It meant watching other druids, independent or Enclave-incorporated, traipse in and out of these ravaged miles to bring nature's bounty to invaders from the city, safe within their palisades.

Admittedly lifting entire palisades was going to be quite a consideration. Thank goodness for magic - most civilized folk would simply have left their embedded fortifications behind but the Fist seemed intent on taking their trophies with them. And they were trophies, the corpses of the Cloakwood arranged in defiance of nature. Regardless, the palisades were moving - it would make it easier to begin reclamation once the Flaming Fist ceased persecuting denizens of the forest.

Ytarya's task that day was between the camps, and the individuals moving heavy palisades. However they were getting moved, it was going to involve moving legs and likely some magic. While she wasn't ready to combat magics there were plenty of exciting ways to assail legs. Most methods ended up being simple enough. Thin line stretched between trees, tripwires and clotheslines. Concealed potholes. Bent-back branches waiting to be released into unsuspecting faces. Nothing reliable but they were easy to make and it was rewarding to hear the occasional thump of a tree hitting the forest floor, quickly followed by a commotion of unhappy soldiers.

There were a few that Ytarya tended to personally after gaining confidence in her methods. A few scrolls was all it took - to disguise oneself as a member of the Radiant Heart, to create an illusory clone of oneself, and then send it sprinting and howling at rather occupied soldiers. To pull its uniformed trousers down and flash confused passers by. Creative silly nonsense that aided any escapes as well.

[DM All Father]

*After the first childish display from a shadowdruid attempting to harm The Flaming Fist. The Lines were cut and all further problems ended by the competent and well equipped members of First Company. The 'line' that posed a risk the lives of the solders was clearly rounded up and secured after Battlecasters insured it posed no further risks. First Company moved it's entire force to protection efforts and sealed off any and all means of approaching the camp, each three soldiers was back stopped by a Battlecaster.

With First Company's arrival after the start of the problems it seemed they were simply guards. However after the continued efforts of people to harm their comrades the heavily armed scouts were dispatched into the forest. It wasn't a hour later before a shadow druid was found swinging from a tree, the line from the attempted attack wrapped around their neck and Bhaal's symbol branded on their face.

A note was staked to the tree that supported the body.

Last warning to those who support the murder of children. Stand down and we can consider peace, continued efforts will bring only violence to these forests.