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

* a Post on the Bulletin board in the east gate district*

Looking for one Keg of Dragons Breath Ale

please contact Clint James of the Order of the Silver Rose

In due course, the plain featured lutist dressed in blue and yellow makes another appearance. This time it is just after dusk, travelling from establishment to establishment with a new song on his lips. The song is always followed by Look to Elturel in each performance. The first is performed very slowly, the melody quite melancholy and weepy. For the second the pace is quickened and the melody nearly warlike to match the tone of the song. There is a certain contrasting yet complimentary harmony between the two, similar to book ends of the same tale.








When the Thayan courier arrives to discretely deliver the letter, the Minstrel would decline politely if given the chance. Should or should not the courier remain, the Minstrel would sing in acappella the first verse he sang before. The emphesis this time on the last phrase, as if to give an obvious answer to the letter to any who were listening.

Calodan wrote:

DM Hera wrote:Deep with in Baldurs Gate Harbor District, a series of twisting streets and dark allies stretch forth. A particular street whispered and gossiped of leads to a tall green house, with shutters hanging from hing and lights long gone. Locals speak of this mansion once belonging to a Merchant who made his coin selling snake oil hope. He offered victims during the year of plague that once struck this great city bottles for a price, and then charged higher as he ran through his stocks, even though he knew the cure did not work.

This green bottle was nothing more then salt water with a few beans and a bit of other sparklies to sell it to hopeless, desperate and needy folk. His victims became the nameless, faceless dead, the witnesses were few and he skirted himself around mortal laws. Though no man goes beyond the reach of the gods story goes as one day a man in armor came.

This large man in armor metered out the gods justice, removed the rich Merchants door from its hinges and brought judgement upon the Snake Oil salesman. The merchants victims shall suffer no wrong so rumor goes.

Now up that lonely long street the Merchants door sits against the wall of his now empty mansion. Prayer like candles flicker before it, dimly lighting the street and notes tacked to its faded green wood. The notes are plea's for justice, wrongs perceived and needs for vengeance.

Hidden: show

Following a deep seeded need to journey down the streets a man clad in black and grey robes with a long red sash about his waste and black gloved hand wanders until he finds that street where rumors whisper and prayers are lit for vengeance he would inquire what the prayers were and who for as he read the notes and talked to those who knew the merchant.........

One rainy night a large, armoured man returns, watching candles flicker and sputter in the lee of the house. They flicker and splutter, winking out one by one as he watches. His dark eyes are hard. There is anger. There is self reproach. It has been too long since he walked these streets like this, with vengeful purpose.

His path still remained shrouded, unclear. The meaning of his call uncertain.

He had thought at first he was not like the others. He had thought he had a lone purpose. He had looked to avenge those who had no other recourse.

And then, he had lost that focus. Swung his blade more widely.

But now, he had found brothers and sisters.

He strode forward, taking one knee before the votive messages, taking in the tart smell of the sizzling candlewicks. Those dark eyes scan across the messages, reading every one.

They had work to do, the Hunters of Vengeance.

And from then, his visits were frequent.

The priest of Ilmater, Ameris Santraeger, gives a sermon in the East Gate district.



Ameris looks out over those gathered, a welcoming smile. When he speaks, there is apology in his tone

"I apologise now for the length of this sermon. It is a cautionary tale, and a tale of truth. Truth is enemy to brevity."

Another smile, apologetic.

"With apology made, I will begin."

Ameris begins to speak the sermon proper, his tone clear. He keeps emotion out of it for now, focusing instead on relating fact.

"The elves of Doron Amar and the Black Orc tribe long warred, as their peoples do, but in 1348 it was different. The orcs were equipped with fine weaponry, and pressed the elves hard. They called upon allies, including the Dukes and the Flaming Fist. The cruelty of such brutal foes was fiercely opposed. Yet the war went badly."

Ameris' tone is still neutral, factual.

"An entire Flaming Fist outpost was overrun and cut down nearly to a man, and the Black Orcs eventually assaulted Doron Amar itself. They were defeated, but with the Flaming Fist fighting there, another column of Black Orcs was able to attack the farmlands outside the East Gate of this city and put much that is Baldurian to fire and sword."

"Only then, when brave soldiers rushed back to defend it, did the identity of who lay behind the black orcs become clear."

The priest's tone is forceful here, the words ringing with judgment.

"The Zhentarim. The same will that had sold the orcs the arms they needed, the same will who had overrun the Flaming Fist outpost with its own mercenaries, now marched on Doron Amar with violent intent. Zhentarim soldiers were barely driven back. Between them and the orcs they had set in motion the blood had run like water."

Ameris looks out over the crowd, a frown on his brow.

"Will we ever know what purpose the Black Network had in those assaults? All that can be said is that those who fell in the war were sorely missed by their families, and by the settlements they defended when further conflict came. We know that this city has needed every defender it can get in the years since."

Ameris' pauses. After a few moments he continues, his tone neutral and factual again.

"In 1349 the same Black Orcs again menaced another settlement. This time the village of Triel. The Dukes of Baldur's Gate rallied to defend against the orcs, Flaming Fist soldiers defending the village and allies gathering to oppose the barbaric warriors. A show of unity in the face of cruelty, a march of the righteous and the charitable and the dutiful together. A noble thing."

He smiles at this point. Then the smile fades.

"Yet, once more, the Black Orcs had aid in their conquests. The allies rushed supplies to Triel to prepare the defence. They were ambushed, the way blocked by a phalanx of black armoured warriors. Assassins struck at the leaders of the allies."

"Human warriors."

He clenches his fist, emphasising his words. Anger evident.

"Human assassins."

His anger fierce. The priest's voice keeps the edge of anger. It conveys that he relates a crime, a terrible crime.

"Despite those supplies being blocked, a force of mercenaries did make it to Triel to aid in the defence. Those mercenaries had taken coin from the Zhentarim. When the battle came they turned on their allies. They slew the Flaming Fist and other defenders from behind. They ensured Triel's fall, heedless to what it meant for the people. That is what they had been paid to do by the Zhentarim."

Ameris grips the podium, leaning back a little, looking over the crowd, a stern look.

"It is only the bitterest form of justice that the Black Orcs slaughtered their unlikely allies too. Perhaps the Zhentarim had hoped this would be the case, so their criminal manipulations would disappear from memory."

A wry smile, then. It enters his tone.

"It has not, and will not."

Ameris smiles wider, with more warmth, relating something happy.

"For those who Harp learned of the subversion of Triel's defence at the last moment, and even as the Doom descended on that poor village, they spirited away the majority of the people to Elturel and Scornubel."

The smile fades, and the priest's voice is stern, resolute.

"They remember how the machinations of the Zhentarim would have consigned those people of Triel to months of slavery and brutality at orcish hands. They remember how the Black Network used anything it could to gain advantage, lies, deceit, murder. They remember how the Black Orcs were raised up as a threat, and how that led to the deaths of many brave defenders of this city in repeated wars. They remember how Zhentarim arms and coin aided the Black Orcs seize Triel."

Ameris now speaks plainly, openly. Speaking of his own experience.

"I did not know what lay behind the Black Orcs' victory at Triel and the treachery of the mercenaries when I first arrived on this coast. A junior priest, I had sworn to the Order of the Radiant Heart."

He continues.

"I learned of the battle from a barbarian skald who had been present, Nerys of the Greyfox, as she recuperated in body and spirit. And when the goodly marched to try and retake Triel from the orcs I did my duty as a chaplain and healer for my Brothers and Sisters. I organised healing supplies and prayed for blessings, and in service to Ilmater and the Order did my part."

Memory fills his tone, a sad memory

"When the Zhentarim showed themselves openly at last it was a surprise to me. The Battle of Three Pennants, they call it, the Zhentarim besieging and seizing Triel in advance of the allies, using a trained dragon to break the Black Orcs' resistance. They presented Triel as a gift to the former people, and presented themselves as saviours and victors over a grave threat. A masterful deception, one might think, if their sabotaging of its defence were not known."

He speaks didactically.

"A threat they had nurtured, armed, aided, manipulated, profited from, and then finally defeated. I know this now. So do my brothers and sisters in the temple. And so will those who listen to this tale."

Ameris speaks with regret.

"I come to the end of my words. There is more I could speak of, as there was no happy ever after for the people of Triel. Far from it. Yet no surprise, a gift from the Zhentarim is a poisoned chalice. Those words are, however, for another day. I promise they will not be silenced."

Ameris' voice has a questioning tone.

"Why do I speak so? I relate evils, of course. Ilmater stands against evil, cruelty, suffering. In his name I must denounce the brutal plotting that led to war in the Sharpteeth, attack on this city's farmlands and Triel's sufferings. Yet that is not why I speak. A treaty was signed recently; a peace with the Zhentarim, a trade deal."

Ameris looks about at those gathered.

"I speak so openly so as to make clear how the Black Network operates. How far it will go for its goals, and how violent it will be towards those who stand in its way. *a sad smile* Or even just those who have what it wants."

He speaks firmly.

"And I remind the people here of the suffering that nearly befell the people of Triel at the hands of those orcs, and what would face a score of small settlements if the Zhentarim expanded unchecked. Of what would happen if they had no opposition, if everyone only asked what was good for themselves and cared nothing for their neighbours."

"Ilmater has compassion for all. He loves the people here, but he loves those in the Sunset Vale, up and down the coast, everywhere."

His gaze scans the crowd, eyes squinting. His good eye resting somewhere towards the back of the crowd.

"Even those who server darker goals, if they seek change. And he has loved this city during its struggles. Think on this, when you hear someone speaking of how the Black Network is no threat to this city - leaving aside how shortsighted that is. Instead, think of those others whom they make no secret of being a threat to, who face slaver's chains even on this day."

"For Ilmater's compassion is not just a gift, for how we can make a better world."

"In the Name of Illmater the Wise, the Merciful, the Enduring."

He raises his hand to bless the crowd.

After the sermon, the priest and several others who are known opponents of the Zhentarim are seen entering Pathfinders Hall.

A dark skinned man, dressed in a fine southern styled orange robe and a similar coloured turban has been frequenting the market in Baldur's Gate as of late. Selling fresh fish and hand crafted fishing lures, he rents a small merchant stall in the East Gate district. He would offer a smile to anyone passing by, advertising his produce aloud. Also offering fishing lessons, he can be seen at times in the Harbor district on the docks fishing with locals.

*Revenark Stonehold heard of, and see's the notice during tournament, He simply says* "I see" *when shown the flyer, and moves on. Close friends know this means more then two words*

A half-elf in purple clothes might be noticed going into the Halls of Inner Light.
He left about thirty minutes later with a smile upon his lips.
Then he heads to the caravan master.

Subject: The Church of the Water Lord, Istishia
Two beings—one seeming of priestly order and the other of mystic calling—both bearing symbols of the Istishian faith, find each other within the Eastern District of Baldur's Gate. Coming as close as possible to an existing shrine that honors the essential truth of the Water Lord—life born by water, the most leveling of elements—the two are seen to meet and speak for some time over the water well, ending their discussion with a clasp of arms, as symbol to a pact or bond being formed.

Ameris Santraeger again gives a sermon, as promised.
Ameris looks out over those gathered, a welcoming smile is directed to the crowd. "First I would like to thank you all for coming."

"Today, I am going to speak a sequel to the words I spoke a ten-day ago: then I spoke of the rise of the Black Orc threat, of how the Black Orcs were manipulated by the Zhentarim to first attack Doron Amar, and then I spoke of Triel. Triel; a town that was captured by the Black Orcs who, in the end, were driven out of there by the Zhentarim posing as saviours. And not the architects of the menace."

"Which, of course, they were." A quick smile.

His gaze wanders over the crowd. It does pause on Ashan a moment. "There are many, I am sure, who would hold Zhentarim betrayal regarding a horde of bloodthirsty savages of little account. I can understand that. Yet such betrayal is part of a pattern of deceit that runs much deeper. I speak today on the ruin of Triel."

The Ilmatari leans forward for emphasis on his words, starting towards the back of the crowd at first, then his gaze moving about. "Indeed, the very act of saving Triel from a Black Orc menace they had helped create, and directly aided with their own soldiers and coin-purses, was a deceit upon the people of Triel. The Black Network gave those people back their homes and subdued a barbaric menace. They restored order, just as Baneites often say they do."

Ameris leans back with hands on the pulpit. A regretful tone laces with his words. "One cannot blame those who looked only on the facts they knew, and seeing only kindness from the Black Network. Yet the truth was and is, the plight of the people in Triel had arisen because of Zhentarim machinations."

The priest's tone becomes didactic. "It is a common tactic amongst those who seek power over others to use the divine as a weapon. You must fear the gods,they say. Who can argue with that?" Ameris looks about questioningly.

Some fire enters his voice as if the words he speaks are distasteful to him. "But then, they say This man, this man who is my friend, he speaks for a god. Fear that god; fear the man who speaks for him. The man who stands near me. The man who is my friend. Fear him, and fear me. And so by teaching people to kneel before divine fear, they accustom them to fear mortals. With fear comes obedience, and obedience, servitude. The goal all along."

Ameris’s tone turns calmer, sadly relating unhappy events. "So it was with that goal the Zhentarim's aid to Triel spawned preachers for the Lord of Bones. They whispered words to draw people away from Triel's ancestral faith in the Grain Goddess, Chauntea, a deity far removed from Myrkul's cold and domineering creed."

The priest offers a bitter smile."Of course, the converts were encouraged to look north, to Darkhold, for their earthy salvation. And of course, those who remained faithful to Chauntea and would not yield to the tyrants grew ever more afraid."

His voice changes with stentorian firmness. "This was no accident, for Myrkul is to Bane akin Ilmater is to Tyr. Ally. Comrade. Support. And let us not forget that the Zhentarim are no mere merchants, but also the power of Bane in the secular realm. The Black Hand's is the Black Network;" He clenches his fist, denoting that ownership. "Strife's vanguard. Captains and servitors to the being that would rule all, both gods and men."

The priest's voice quiets. His brow furrows as the topic grows serious. "Yet the Zhentarim did not just seek to bring fear to the soft hearted; they sought to encourage those hearts to be hard, and more amenable to the gods of darkness. That is how those who seek to corrupt others work. They do not preach for people to abandon virtue openly, no, they are more subtle. Instead they arrange things to make it so that those they wish to corrupt have the opportunity, and the encouragement to sin. They seek to blind others with lies. They play on anger, greed, lust and pain. They make it seem that doing evil is the only course open, and stand back with amused triumph when souls choose to damn themselves."


"And so it was." He emphasizes the three words, denoting he means to relate fact, and he looks across the crowd once more. "That hiding their own part in the rise of the Black Orcs, the Zhentarim brought Black Orc captives to Triel . Here, they said, a gift. The ones who harmed you." Ameris offers a stern look. "Do what you will with them. And then they turned the captives over to an angry mob."

Ameris takes a breath. His voice remains firm. "I am Ilmatari. I stand in the tradition of mercy practiced by far more illustrious forebears in this city. By the Living Saint herself. And my god commands me to heal all who hurt, no matter who they are. He commands me to pity the meek, the weak, and children, no matter who or what they are. My words come to bask in his light. I do not expect everyone to agree with my anger. But I say this. It is how we treat the weak and those within our power that make us different from beasts and savages."

Suddenly the priest's words heat up, a fire in them. "The Zhentarim did not do something as simple as bring chained orc warriors for retribution to Triel. No. No. They brought something far more insidious and corrupting. They brought orc females. They brought orc pups. Non-combatants. Children. Savage children, and yet, children."

He grips the lectern tightly, repeating earlier words with fervour. "It is how we treat the weak and those within our power that make us different from beasts and savages. It is evil to strike down a being for what it might do in years to come. Like some devils from a tale, tricking a poor soul into a pact, the Black Network placed temptation before the angry people of Triel. The temptation to act without Ilmater's mercy. The temptation to choose evil."

Ameris’ shoulder’s slump, sadness filling his words as he dwells upon the horror of them. "An easy answer, to give into such fury and seek vengeance. An easy answer, to place those non-combatants onto a fire, and burn them for the sins of their kin. Easy for the Zhentarim to present the righteous folk who tried in vain to save the pups as foes to Triel, as friends to the savagery of orcs, and not as what they were: those who held the line between justice and vengeance."

He shakes his head, sadly. "What a victory for the Black Network. In a single day of barbarity, humans became as cruel as orcs and the light dimmed, with those still praying to Chauntea ever more isolated."

His head bows, he is quiet for several long moments, gripping the lectern.

There is darkness in Ameris' words when he speaks again. A tension in his body. "Of course, one cannot slaughter so many without it going unmarked. There are more powers in the realm than Ilmater and Bane."


He continues speaking, his head still bowed. The darkness still there in his oration. "The orcs have their own gods, too, and one of those heard the cries for vengeance from savage throats."

He looks up now, dismay on his features. "So it was that the priests of the Maggot Lord reached out their pale hands in vengeance against the settlements of the north, to punish the people there and the Zhentarim for past events."

Ameris's eyes are hard. "They sowed a plague born of magic in Triel and Soubar, one that that could not be cured by any normal means; a plague whose victims were consumed inside out by magical maggots. A horrible death, I witnessed it. A horrible death."

The the pain of memory is written on his face. "The quest to find a cure occupied many of the most learned minds on the coast. A race, before the plague blossomed into a taint upon the lands, and before it reached this city. And in the end, it was successful."

He takes another breath, and continues. "Goodly allies headed north to deliver the cure to Triel and Soubar. Yet at Triel, the Zhentarim stood in the way. They had obtained a sample, to which they used to cure Triel's leader and win his loyalty. They did not want to lose their control of Triel to healers bearing this curing boon to all."

"I know this, and I know why, because it was my beloved wife, while she served the Zhentarim, that delivered that sample into their hands." The priests words halt for a moment, and he looks about the crowd. He is judging the reaction.

He continues on. "I remember the day the goodly tried to deliver the cure. The Zhentarim prevented access to Triel for many candle marks. Finally, a deal was done. Healers would be allowed to distribute the cure under Zhentarim supervision. I was one of those healers. Yes. I was part of a deal with the Zhentarim." Ameris’s smile fades just as quickly as it arrives. "I saw how it ended."

He speaks of these events with a dismayed pain. "Plague blossomed even as the deal was struck, with the piled bodies of the dead reanimating and slaying all but a handful of those who remained. The vengeance of Yurtrus seeped into the land, his poison tainting and cursing it to be a home of the walking dead."

"If they had let the cure in one hour sooner. Just one hour sooner." With resignation. "The survivors that were left were <i>thankful</i> to the Zhentarim for defending them."

Then, there is a short and hot burst of anger from the priest. "Thanked them despite the fact that at each and every stage the Zhentarim and their ideals had brought forth this horror. Right back to when the Black Orcs were armed by the Black Network to bring war to the Sharpteeth, years before. If only those poor souls knew the truth of those they called benefactor."

The anger fades and he is silent for a moment or two, looking over the crowd. "Truth I speak today."


There is an intimate tone in the last words, perhaps a confession of sorts. "I served in the Order of the Radiant Heart during the events I spoke of today. As both a priest and a knight. I had taken up my sword to defend the weak and innocent and punish the guilty."

He continues in the same vein, hands resting lightly on the lectern. "I served with righteous Brothers and Sisters, some who are still in the region, some of whom who have moved on. I fought to continue a legacy established by Jonas Rokranon and Arkaine Halforken."

He looks about as guilt seeps into his tone. He meets eyes as he scans the crowd. "Where were we, you might ask, while Triel slowly fell, step by step, under Zhentarim sway? Where were we, while fear and anger filled the hearts of the people? Why were we silent? Why were we not there?"

He lets the question hang.

As he continues there is pain in his voice. "I served in the order under a man I admired and respected. I believed in the strength of his faith. Like me, he had a tyrant for a father. Unlike me, he had the strength to slay his own father to bring an end to his tyranny."

He continues, the pain growing. "I served as this powerful man’s right hand and emulated him in all things. He was my mentor. I loved him as a father, in many ways." Emotion is clear. "I felt we were alike, except where he was better than me.

He suddenly spits out the bitter words. "What Eliphas the Deceiver had not told me was that when he slew his father, he had replaced him. Prelate Eliphas Valkarian was in command of the Order of the Radiant Heart's forces at Triel. Prelate Eliphas Valkarian was also Dreadlord of Darkhold, and commanded the Zhentarim forces that barred our entry."

The priest is visibly angry now. "The Deceiver watched silently, as a puppet master, while the goodly struggled to oppose the Black Network. There was not a thing that occurred that he did not know about, control, or manipulate."

Hhis fist slams into the lectern, anger clear. This is not scripted, it seems. "So it was, when Brother Alexander called on the Order to bring light and hope to Triel, to come to them in their hour of need to counterbalance fear and hate, that Eliphas ordered us to stand down. The Zhentarim will respond with force. Do not start a war, he said, and held us back. And left the field open for the Zhentarim."

Ameris grips the pulpit, knuckles whitening as he looks at the faces of the crowd. Attempting to calm himself. "So it was, when I stood outside Triel by his side and watched the goodly plead and beg to be allowed to save the people, it was a farce."

Calmer. At least on the surface. And its a relative thing. "On Eliphas's order, a deal could have been struck in four moments, not four candle-marks. We could have brought the cure inside the village. He spoke regretfully once, afterwards, about how something could have been saved with compromise. I took him to mean the people. He meant, of course, of the gains the Zhentarim had made."

Ameris leans back, taking a breath. "There have always been many arguments about how and why how Triel fell to ruin. Mortals are not without mistake. I carry my own share of blame for following my leaders blindly."

Firmly. "But it was one organization..." He gesticulates with an accusing finger. "...that worked hard to see the Black Orc's seize Triel, so they could exploit it."

"And there was one man ..." He again waggles that accusing finger. " ...that had the power to save its people with a single word. Instead, he clung tight to power. No matter the cost. Deceit and lies his tools. False smiles of a false friend. Nothing but power his goal. Power, wealth, dominion. The Zhentarim's words, for that is the Zhentarim way."

"I thank you for hearing my words. In the name of Ilmater the Wise, the Merciful, the Enduring" He raises his hand to bless the crowd and then takes a deep breath, dipping his gaze.

The priest then answers some questions and has an exchange with Ashan Wayne, before yielding the podium to Eldarian Al'maire, who had stood guard during the sermon. He was seen heading off to Pathfinder's Hall to talk further with Ashan Wayne.

A hefty and grizzled earth genasi, adorned in fine somewhat ornate full plate can be seen in and around Wyrm's crossing as of late discussing land purchases and taverns with friends and acquaintances.

His mood seems quite cheery despite his mention of his prime location being unavailable and some rather troublesome details around that.

A trio of candles light an unkept study. A dark-haired woman sits in an antique but unimpressive chair. Before her on the table is a young tomato plant, fresh with firm green fruit. A series of alchemical powders lay in small piles on mismatched plates. The woman takes off a long lace glove from her right arm exposing a wounded and desiccated arm. Using her devitalized arm, she takes a pinch of one of the powders and holds it toward the young plant. The powder begins to sizzle in her fingers, boiling away some of the diseased flesh. A dark green smoke waifs from her fingers toward the plant. Wrapping around the plant like a snake constricting a rat. The plant blackens and dries, water and life being crushed away by the juniper colored wisp. The smoke dissipates as the emaciated hand closes and moves away from the now decaying plant. The pale skinned woman stares at the plant with her grey eyes as she waits for something that appears to not be happening. Her eyes turn away from the plant in a moment as if her name was called from behind her. Listening to the unspoken words her grey eyes turn down in great loss. "So you hear the call?" A seductive voice calls from behind her. "Just now. How long have you known?" Rue answers to the voice in the darkness behind her. With a slight disdain to her voice the vampire responds to the question resentfully, "Do not think me some simple conjuration girl. I know a great many things you cannot begin to fathom." Rue pauses at the change in temperament of her companion. Changing the path of the conversation, Rue says behind a dour expression, "This is a most unfortunate turn." Standing smug, the mythical undead woman responds coldly, "He's just a tool." Rue quickly responds with her own hint of annoyance, "A very useful tool." Lightly scratching her long fingernails across Rue's exposed shoulders, "He still can be useful. We shall see." Pondering the thought for a moment, Rue turns to the vampire with sad motivation in her voice and posture, "I have a task, and you are the most suited for it." Slightly nodding to Rue, a devious grin curls the corner of the vampire's fanged mouth.

After a large boxed delivery arrives at the White Mask Theatre, seemingly from the printing houses. This is later confirmed when workers begin their duties hanging posters around the city, and others spreading word of a "Wonderful night of song and dance! Plen'y of gold too!".

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http://www.calculator.net/time-zone-calculator.html

Would be lovely to get everyone together for some role play!
The theme as suggested is the sea - so, feel free to go nuts.