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

This was not her first time making herself at home in a camp awaiting a battle to come. She knew how it could wear on the nerves of those who have not yet seen battle, hells, it could weigh heavy on the souls who have seen battle before. Even some of the best trained men could grow nervous or let the wait of advancing to the battlefield could begin to weigh heavy. Many here, herself included, would loose a friend, a comrade, a brother or sister in arms. The loss of life ahead... it was not healthy or beneficial to dwell on and so she seeked out others in the camp to boost their morale... and to keep her own up.

The elf often volunteered to take watch in the late hours. The darkness was not quite a hindrance to her eyes as some of those with rounder ears, nor did she require a full nights rest as they did. When not on watch, she participated in the drills and warmups during the day. She also made it a point to share some of her hoard of supplies with a number of the soldiers.

In the off hours, she made effort to get to know the men and woman. Played games of lanceboard with a small portable set she had brought with her. She join in the songs sung in the evening and a bit of tale telling. She puts as much effort as she can to keeping the spirits up in the camp. Towards keeping her own up.

As Aaron, the Grand Knight spoke in the tent, she pounded her fist upon the table and raised her voice in a cheer to his speech. Simply playing the part of a voice and a face in a crowd, once more putting effort into aiding and raising the morale of the men and woman who would be fighting. Speeches were not her gift, the weaving of words into something that would almost magically uplift people, no, that was not were she shined. No, she could read a crowd.. observe it close.. and she could feed the energy and help it grow where it was needed most. A well timed smile, an encouraging pound on the table that encourages others to do the same, and cheer this was her task this last night.

A daughter of Corellon, here... amongst those that were not of the people, and yet she still prayed for him to be with her. To guide her blades, to aid her steps in the shadows during the battle to come. She prayed she would bring him honor... to fight well against the evil she would meet on the battlefield.

The Grand Knight enters the City and makes a delivery at the Palace and another to the Temple of Torm for the Church of the Traid's eyes.

The tower bell rings out at the Order of the Radiant Heart Keep. A celebration to welcome Lysander Goodman into their ranks.

Sister Ashenie was seen meeting with Lord Lyonaler outside the gates of the Order's Keep. The two then held a meeting inside it's walls.

The elf steps out of the Keep's gate, a crumpled piece of parchment in her left hand. As the gates close she glances back at the stone walls, till they are blocked from her sight. There is a world of thoughts swirling in her mind, wintery blues betraying only a hint as to what those might be. A quiet word is said to the guard, a nod returned to her, to which she begins to step away. Now, was the moment to let the news sink in...

The elf heads inside the walls of the city... her feet taking her to a place where Bubbly pies could solve... well not this, but they would perhaps help for a brief moment before she would have to head back to the Keep and face the coming change.

Good citizens of Baldur's Gate,

The Radiant Heart Auxiliary of Baldur's Gate has been elevated to Chapterhouse of the Most Noble Order, under the new leadership of the Prelates:

- Sir Lawrence Darvos of Tyr
- Sir Wayne Phaervok of Torm
- Dame Elianna Veltross of Helm

The newly appointed Chancellor, Athros Ravenmoor, is looking for new prospects to become Squires in training under the guidance of our Knights.

Starting tomorrow, we will be welcoming those who seek to join the apprenticeship at the Chapterhouse in the Outer City.

With a Loyal Heart and a Faithful Spirit!

---

Good people of Baldur's Gate,

It is with a heavy heart that the Order announces the passing of Sir Halvard Stonevik.

Sir Halvard found his mortal end looking at the Darkness in the eyes, unfaltering, unbending. Showing adamant Faith in the God of Justice, he chose to sacrifice his own life to repel a dark enemy.

His bravery, faith, and determination shall be honoured and remembered. The Order posthumously ordains Sir Halvard Stonevik as Knight of the Most Noble Order, to honor his sacrifice, may his example inspire our young Squires, and all of us.

May his Soul serve the Triad for eternity.

---

Secondly,

We advise caution to those travelling along the coastline, be that on land, boat or ship. Undead and foul crab-like looking creatures have been sighted along the seashore, as well as stranded waves of poisoned dead fish.

Do not engage such an enemy on your own, do not underestimate it. The Order will appreciate any sightings to be reported to our Chapterhouse in the Outer City.

With a Loyal Heart and a Faithful Spirit.

Chancellor
Athros Ravenmoor

---

There was some knocking at the gate to the Chapterhouse, the sun wasn't even fully up in the sky yet, a messenger.

The man seemed to bring a message to the Order with the utmost urgency, for the hands of the Chancellor and Prelates alone.

The man was welcomed inside, and for about half a candlemark everything was quiet, as the outskirts of Baldur's Gate started to come alive, as every other morning.

Then suddenly, the sound of shattered glass could be heard, as a chair flies through the window of Chancellor Ravenmoor's office. A few minutes after, the messenger can be seen leaving the Chapterhouse with a rather shaken expression.

Whatever news were brought, even the stoic and cold Tethyrian Knight couldn't handle it. To the point of falling into a sudden fit of rage.

Only dire situations may pierce through the collected confidence of the Righteous.

Several days had passed since the incident, and repairs had begun on the window. The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the stone walls, when Sean returned. His steps were heavy, his jaw clenched—an unmistakable fury simmered beneath his stoic exterior.

As he approached the worksite, the sound of laborers repairing the shattered window filled the air. Without breaking stride, Sean's voice roared through the noise, clearly on the edge of rage.

“Leave it!” he barked, his tone brooking no argument.

The workers paused, tools in hand, exchanging uncertain glances. Sean’s eyes, burning with a cold fire. One by one, the laborers retreated, their unfinished work abandoned.

Once the site was cleared, Sean stood before the window, the gaping wound in the Chapterhouse's stone façade. His chest rose and fell with measured breaths as he surveyed the scene, his fury barely contained. Without hesitation, he set to work—undoing every repair, every sign of restoration, until the window was returned to its original state of disrepair. The jagged edges of the broken stone framed the hole, exposing the interior to the elements.

Sean removed the construction supplies, tossing them aside with a finality that echoed through the halls. The scar on the Chapterhouse remained, a visible testament to some unresolved torment, the gash left to fester under the open sky.

With a last, lingering look at the ruined window, Sean turned and walked into The Chapterhouse, with the stance of a man who's work had just begun.

As the sun rose over the outskirts of Baldur's Gate, the soft light of dawn began to illuminate the courtyard outside The Chapterhouse. The air was cool, and a light mist lingered from the night’s earlier drizzle. Initiates and squires, each fully armed and armored to the extent of their personal kit, gathered together. The clinking of metal and the rustle of leather straps filled the air as they donned their gear, meticulously checking their equipment for the training session ahead.

Among them was Squire Sean Asen, his tall frame moving with a purposeful stride. His stern expression and focused demeanor reflected his role as both participant and guide. Sean positioned two more training dummies, strategically blocking one of the gates to the courtyard. His work continued as he set up a chest-high sawhorse, a sturdy piece crafted with a heavy beam to simulate obstacles they might face in the field.

The group of squires watched, one by one turning their attention to Sean as the training area took shape. Their curiosity and uncertainty were palpable, each understanding the gravity of the session to come.

Finally, Sean turned to address them, his voice resonating with authority and purpose. "Brothers and Sisters, we have recently encountered a unique and difficult threat. Fighting on or near the sea demands a great deal of stamina and endurance. Many of you have been trained in formal or military conflicts, but today we begin a different kind of training—one focused on informal and irregular combat."

He paused, letting his words sink in before continuing. "At our core, we must be prepared to face battles alone, without assistance. Our training going forward will reflect this reality. You must learn to fight—on your own—often against considerable or seemingly impossible odds. You will be forced to fight without light, without sure footing, and sometimes, even without enough air to breathe. We start familiarizing ourselves with such conditions now. You must become familiar with these situations; your mind must learn to adjust to the brutality of our duties. "

Sean’s tone shifted slightly, his tone hardening noticeably. "I will offer one week for adjustment, after which all initiates will complete all tasks of morning training before breaking fast. Failure to do so will result in fasting until the midday meal. Squires, while I have no authority to enforce such penalties on you, I do expect you to lead by example."

The courtyard fell silent, the weight of Sean’s words hanging in the air. This was not just a training exercise, but a preparation for the harsh realities they might soon face. Sean’s gaze swept over the group, ensuring his message was understood before turning back to finalize the training setup.

As the morning mist began to lift, revealing the golden hues of late summer over the coastal farmlands, Sean Asen stepped forward, setting the example for the group. With purposeful movements, he advanced on the four dummies set up in the courtyard, his strikes precise and varied, each blow delivering a clear message of the power behind them. His longsword flashed in the early light, cutting through the air with a series of calculated slashes, thrusts, and parries.

After dispatching the dummies, Sean moved to the open field beyond, where the sea breeze carried the faint scent of salt and the sounds of distant waves crashing against the shore. The field, surrounded by tall grass swaying gently in the wind, provided the perfect setting for the next phase of training. With his shield raised or held at high guard, Sean demonstrated a series of movements designed to hone personal agility and endurance. His training regimen was nothing short of brutal—every motion requiring intense focus and physical exertion.

As the sun began to climb higher, casting its warm light across the landscape, Sean turned his attention to the senior initiates. Selecting two of the more experienced members of the group, he handed each a blunted sword, the edges dulled but still heavy enough to demand respect. The sparring was not intended to maim but to teach—the weight of the weapons alone would ensure that every mistake was felt keenly.


Sweat glistened on their brows as the sparring intensified, the sun now fully risen, casting long shadows across the ground. The rhythm of the combat was unrelenting—Sean pushed them to their limits, each swing of the sword a test of their endurance and resolve. Yet, despite the exhaustion, there was no let-up; Sean expected them to persevere, to fight as though they were truly on the battlefield.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the sparring session drew to a close. The initiates, breathing heavily, stepped back, their muscles aching from the exertion. Sean nodded in approval, his own breath steady despite the intensity of the exercise. There was a sense of mutual respect as they exchanged a final salute, acknowledging the hard-fought training.

Exhausted but disciplined, the group set about restoring the courtyard to its normal state, dismantling the training setup under Sean's watchful eye. Once the work was done, they moved as one, trooping back into the Chapterhouse, their steps heavy with fatigue but tempered by the knowledge that they had endured and learned something valuable that morning.

And in the following days. . .the relentless training continued without mercy.

As evening descends upon Baldur's Gate, the streets of the Lower City come alive with the shadows of the night. A group of initiates and squires, clad in their modest armor, emerge from The Chapterhouse and disperse into the labyrinth of alleys and cobblestone roads.

Their presence is a quiet yet reassuring one, patrolling the streets with an air of vigilance. They offer escorts to those who seek it, guiding weary travelers and vulnerable citizens to their destinations. Each interaction is handled with a measured politeness, a stark contrast to the often harsh environment of the Lower City.

For some of the younger initiates, the stark realities of the city's underbelly are a shock to the system—expressions of surprise or discomfort flicker across their faces as they witness the grittier side of urban life. However, the more seasoned among them remain unshaken, offering words of wisdom and encouragement to their less experienced comrades. "Carry on," they say, "the people here are no different, just in need of the same protection and respect as any other."

As the night deepens, the small groups continue their patrols, their footsteps echoing softly against the stone as they move with purpose and resolve through the heart of the city.

As the first light of dawn begins to creep over the horizon, the initiates and squires quietly make their way back to The Chapterhouse, their patrols completed. The weariness of the night’s work is evident, but there is no time for rest.

With the rising of the sun, they join their brothers and sisters in the courtyard, preparing for the rigors of morning training. Though tired, they stand ready, knowing that their commitment to both the city and their order requires strength not just in the dark of night, but in the full light of day.

As evening descends upon Baldur's Gate, the streets of the Lower City come alive with the shadows of the night. A group of initiates and squires, clad in their modest armor, emerge from The Chapterhouse and disperse into the labyrinth of alleys and cobblestone roads.

Their presence is a quiet yet reassuring one, patrolling the streets with an air of vigilance. They offer escorts to those who seek it, guiding weary travelers and vulnerable citizens to their destinations. Each interaction is handled with a measured politeness, a stark contrast to the often harsh environment of the Lower City.

For some of the younger initiates, the stark realities of the city's underbelly are a shock to the system—expressions of surprise or discomfort flicker across their faces as they witness the grittier side of urban life. However, the more seasoned among them remain unshaken, offering words of wisdom and encouragement to their less experienced comrades. "Carry on," they say, "the people here are no different, just in need of the same protection and respect as any other."

As the night deepens, the small groups continue their patrols, their footsteps echoing softly against the stone as they move with purpose and resolve through the heart of the city.

As the first light of dawn begins to creep over the horizon, the initiates and squires quietly make their way back to The Chapterhouse, their patrols completed. The weariness of the night’s work is evident, but there is no time for rest.

With the rising of the sun, they join their brothers and sisters in the courtyard, preparing for the rigors of morning training. Though tired, they stand ready, knowing that their commitment to both the city and their order requires strength not just in the dark of night, but in the full light of day.

The morning training sessions at The Chapterhouse of The Radiant Heart pressed on, unyielding in their intensity. Under the new rigorous expectations set by the senior squire overseeing the drills, some members of the local chapter had chosen to depart. Yet, the training never relented, focusing ever more on physical endurance and the harsh trials of suffering.

As the sun began its ascent over Baldur’s Gate, its light spilled across the training yard where a bloodied and bruised page faced off against a Tormtar faithful from the nearby temple. Steel clashed against steel in the relentless rhythm of combat, each strike heavier than the last, as the two young men sought to overcome one another. Their duel drew the attention of the other trainees, who had finished their own sparring matches, now watching with growing intensity.

Eventually, the page began to falter under the unyielding pressure of his opponent. His footing gave way, and with desperation clear in his voice, he raised his hand and shouted, "I yield!"

His adversary immediately withdrew, respecting the call. But just as the breath of relief might have come, Squire Sean surged forward into the circle, a rod gripped tightly in his hand.

"Stand!" he bellowed, bringing the rod down with a sharp crack against the page's helmet, the impact ringing across the yard. "There is NO MERCY! The enemy will NEVER offer quarter!" With a swift and brutal motion, Sean yanked the young man to his feet, driving a knee into his stomach and then slamming his helmeted head against the already disoriented page’s helm.

The young hopeful dropped his sword, raising his hands in a futile attempt to ward off the attack. But Sean did not relent. The blows increased in both speed and severity, the rod landing with punishing accuracy. "If you can stand, you can fight!" Sean's voice roared with fervor as he continued the thrashing until, through sheer will, the battered trainee found his footing once more. Slowly, he raised his hands into a defensive stance, beaten yet determined, now ready to continue.

Sean turned to the onlookers, his bloodied club raised, the tip leveled at the assembled trainees. His gaze swept over them, cold and unrelenting.

"The battles that will renew faith, that will change fate, and decide your worth will be against enemies of the vilest purpose and the most corrupt methods," he began, his voice a low growl of conviction. "Defeat may come, but surrender? That will only sow despair among those who look to you for strength, embolden your foe, and tarnish the honor of The Radiant Heart."

As he slowly circled the group, his eyes burned into each individual, a silent challenge hanging in the air. "Your enemies will not care about the quality of your armor, your strategies, or your training. They will seek to destroy you—your mind, your body, and your very soul. And in turn, you must meet them without hesitation, counter their every effort, and bring down the full wrath of righteousness upon their heads. There will be no mercy."

He paused, letting the weight of his words settle. "In this training, you will never seek mercy, nor will you yield. If you do, your first failure will be met with a day of fasting. Your second? I will personally seek your dismissal from these ranks. We are called to stand upright against the darkest of foes. If you cannot endure this crucible of war, you have no place among The Order."

The silence that followed was heavy, the weight of expectation suffocating. Sean's eyes remained fixed on the group, daring any to falter under his gaze.