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

If any were to look for them, the flyers advertising the Sisters of Mercy Harborside Clinic project would be found to have all been removed from where they were previously posted.

Late at night, a group of five people seem to head towards the city gate, with what appears to be a huge gong, which was reduced in size, is carried by one of them.
As they reach the city, the group heads into the harbor with said gong, those who know, will notice easily the group is made entirely of members from the Bladestone Foundation.

A local mage visits the Temple of Tyr, approaching the clergy there with a document.
A donation is made, and the mage is taken to a side room for his signature to be witnessed upon what appears to be a property transfer.
Grateful for the service, the mage departs.

Deep with in Baldurs Gate towards the Harbor District the city streets grow narrow and the bright summer sun is dimmed by tall buildings casting shadow below. Along these corridors and ways, the little folk pass their daily business and lives with a few whom might whisper if asked correctly of a narrow road to an old mansion. This dark road leads to a small makeshift shrine. The shrine is an old green door to the former mansion of a corrupt merchant, where numerous candles in different stages of burn rest all around. People in the know come here looking for justice and place a name upon parchment before tacking it to the door.

A woman, short and thin, hooded, places one such name.

"Dust-Maker"

A feminine figure makes her way to the shrine, as she has many times before. There, she tends it- srubbing away any graffiti, replacing gutted out candles, clearing away the inevitable debris that comes with civilization. When those simple tasks are tended to, eyes then turn to the slips of parchment, and the names scrawled on each one. Stories, she muses; each little slip bears a tale she does not know; a tale she and her brothers must learn lest they all fall to their grim God's darker side. Except for one. One slip bears a name that has burned it's story into her very soul-

"Dust-Maker"

A leather clad hand clutches the parchment into a curling fist, and tears it free. Grimy cobblestones grate under-heel as she turns and stalks off with a purposeful stride.

Booted feet clatter on the cobbles of the Harbour district. The clatter and scrape of darkened plate mail reverberates with each step. A figure looms out of the mist of the pre-dawn rain, once a familiar sight, but now only an intermittent visitor.

The call of a duty to both god and family had taken him far from this damp city on the Chionthar, one he came to as a bitter man seeing no further than his own gaping wounds. He left instead as a newly minted soldier of justice, a warrior dedicated to leveling the gap between the those who wrong and those who are wronged.

He knew what the city was becoming. He'd grown up under the fogs of the Moonsea, and he saw the same corruption setting deep within the bones of commerce and politics here. Too many were fettered now by their fear of the institutions of mortals.

But he served a god.

He'd vowed to return and deal what was deserved with righteous fury. He'd vowed to make a stand for those who didn't matter to the great and the good, who had none to avenge them. He'd vowed his sword would be in hand as he faced those evil-hearted men and women who relied on the apathy and tolerance of diplomats and whisperers, who thought that pretty words were enough to overlook countless wrongs. He'd vowed, with his Brothers and Sister, to let the Thunder be heard.

Not today, though. Not on this soaked morning. His duty in the East was not done. He came not for the Hunt of anything but a single soul, called by a Sister who knew only to ask when the need was great. His mind was focused as he approached the makeshift shrine, standing before it.

His heart swirled with rage. He'd nearly lost two women he loved because of what this villain had set in motion and had lost a third. A pain he did not think would ever fade.

The rage was hot, like that he had brought with him to Baldur's Gate when he first arrived.

That was not his duty.

In a swift movement, his blade was drawn from his hand, gleaming in the faint light of dawn that pushed its way through the rainclouds. A blade once wielded by his wife, now anointed in holy service. A conduit for the Lightning.

His eyes focus on the doused candles and sodden scraps of paper. Hard. Dark. And the rage in them cooled as he said his words.

"I heard a name on the Thunder. I'd strike for me, and for them I care about, aye. But its the thunder that calls me and that which'll fill me. I swear it. We're better than simple wrath."

A personal invitation would be hand delivered to Lady Ayth Elendara, proprietor of the Elfsong tavern, as well as the Helm & Cloak, and the Elthurel members.

A poster appears in all puublic places. It looks very colorful, speaking of recruiting people in its own way. But one thing it does for sure: catching eyes.




///OOC: This is just an opening on the coming
If you can't make it, but your character is interested, you can:

a) Poke me when you see me in game.
b) or send me a PM via forum.
c) or use this thread - Click me!

There are several ways to meet up.

Shekels is seen walking in and out of a warehouse; in the docks. The group he is with is seen hauling large bags that look as if they are body bags, but to the careful listener, the soft jingling of metal is audible.

He would be seen conversing with a man named: Subsammy Three-Shed, a water genasi.

Rumor has it that there was a small disturbance caused by an armored figure carrying a wounded man to the Watchmen at the bridge across the river Chionthar.

Whispers speak that Alexander Marshall, a local man, was accosted on the road, and heavily wounded his would-be assaulter.

There appear to be many versions of the tale with few actual witnesses, but most versions have one thing in common:
Two armored figures walked away from the Watch carrying the same man, while the Watch shout at them unpleasantly. No arrests appear to have been made.

*Edited for spelling. D:*

For the last several weeks, a scene has been playing out at the Arena just north of the city.

Twice daily on most days, shortly before dawn and again in the evening, 6 Flaming Fist Sergeants arrive at the Arena to be met by a man in dark armor with copper trim who is clearly not one of them.

Once there, the armored man drills the 6 Fist members in combat forms, weapon techniques, and tactics. Sparring takes place, sometimes almost brutally fast and hard. Group against group, single against many, one on one. There is very little wasted time during these training session.

When asked, the local farmers and vendors at the nearby Carnival and such give multiple answers and rumors. These Fist are having some sort of discipline carried out. Perhaps there is some sort of infiltration happening as the man's armor is clearly black! Or at least dark grey. Thoughts and whispers abound for a few days but eventually, passers by are universally answered by a single word in regards of what is going on:

Bladestone.

In recent days, the young man known only as Osric can be seen within the Palace District of Baldur's Gate and its local taverns, inquiring as to local nobles and how to best ingratiate himself with the more prominent of their number. Specifically, Osric does his best to find out as much as he can about the Council of Four, their tastes in gifts, and whether they has particular political leanings or ties to other nobles within the city. Honeyed words are his currency of choice in this endeavor, offered to local tavern patrons, court messengers and scribes, and anyone else who might seem a font of relevant knowledge. Ale and discrete coin follow as necessary.

A halfling known to some as Thistle of Gullykin may be seen outside the gates of the City and near the campfire offering herself up as a guide for Doron Amar.

To guide anybody needing assistance to the Midsummer Night Festivities.

/// Doron Amar, Midsummer Night Festival, today. GMT 19:00. Now being GMT 17:15.

With the renovations to Mystra's temple complete, a local sorcerer and regular supplicant to the temple visits once more.

Cosimo spends a long time in quiet meditation, bathing in the beauty of Mystra's art. His actions display a dream like quality, a satisfied smile on his lips for most of his visit.

He warmly greets Priestess Neela and congratulates her on the overhaul, leaving a note for Nezkreal before departing.

/// Thanks to everybody that came out. Only had time for 1 challenge...but I hope others kept it going!