The General in the Dark

[General in the Dark]

In the heart of Baldur's Gate, the nascent General leans wearily on the war table that now carries the weight of all her fears. Scattered across its polished surface is a collection of military maps, occupied by numerous small ornaments representing the many actors she must consider. Nashkel has a large red circle drawn around it.

Somewhere in the back of her mind nags the irony, that these are the very Dukes she had sought to resist, and yet now she would surreptitiously direct aid to their defence. It matters little; she will not abandon her home to the fate looming on the border.

She has few soldiers, but she has knowledge. At the very least, she can warn them of what she sees.

Whether or not they listen, will be up to them.

[General in the Dark]

The wearied General rests. Most of the messengers have reported successful delivery.

She reflects on the latest news, and ponders what is to come. Perhaps they will rally and act in unison. Perhaps she will be ignored completely. Ultimately, each will do what he or she thinks is best. Hopefully it will be good enough. If not, things will become more desperate, and she may have to look to corners less desirable.

Whatever it takes...

[General in the Dark]

The General is reinvigorated by the first good news in weeks. She stands before her war table, candles burning brightly to match the rekindled hope in her eyes, as it should be for a woman of youth and vigour. The response had already been better than expected, and for the others…well, at least they now discussed it in the open. The noise of debate would mean that should defeat come, the citizens of the Coast would face it with eyes open, rather than slumber as it crept quietly past them.

There were still others to contact. Then the real work would begin.

The “General in the Dark” was keenly aware of the underlying ironies of her chosen moniker, not least that it suggested a critical ignorance; for all her knowledge, she knew she was yet missing the most important piece. Furthermore, she was aware from the beginning that she shared the dark with those sinister forces that undoubtedly worked against her and conspired to trap her city in a nightmare.

She now wonders if she can catch the shadow in the corner of her eye, if she but turns her head quick enough.

[General in the Dark]

Finally, a lead.

The General stands at her table, and places a new ornament in the middle; an ornate, winged figurine, its serpentine form arched and coiled in the attack. It was at best a partial and muddied picture, but at least they would begin to comprehend the extent of the veil that had been pulled across their view. Those that had been asleep were now slowly waking and rubbing their eyes in mute realisation.

The stirring was a good sign for the General. Still, she would need to more actively seek the answers before she could effect her plans for the Gate's defence. And that, as she well knew, meant using her Thieves.

A part of her did not want to involve them, but they could achieve what no one else could. She would send herself a letter, though that would mostly be for show; a ruse to fool attentive eyes and cast doubt on herself as a candidate for the General's identity.

Then the Thieves would go to work.

[General in the Dark]

A grim twist, but not unexpected. Perhaps all the more unfortunate for that reason; warnings once again unheeded, and someone else pays the price.

The General moves pieces across the table. Several miniature pairs of gauntlets - crossed and clenched in defiance - go south of the Friendly Arm Inn, and one to the Docks district of Baldur’s Gate. With a heavy heart, she knocks a hammer statuette on its side over the Ironfaar hold, and moves the axe that was next to it to Doron Amar.

It was a cruel irony that suffering might yet unite them.

[General in the Dark]

The wearied General sits at her war table, the candles in the room burning low. The table is now covered in vast formations of ornaments, figurines and toy soldiers, according to the best available intelligence on the positions of the opposing armies. Sitting directly in front of her on the table is a bound stack of parchments, her fingers lightly resting upon the title elegantly printed in silver letters: “Night Takes Rook”. It was an irreverent nod to the darkness that likely awaited one citadel or the other, when the ash finally settled.

She has the strategy. Now she only requires a few more willing ears.

[General in the Dark]

The table remains cluttered with the miniature armies, but the red circles drawn around Beregost on the war map are stark and apparent. If the intelligence was correct, there was not much time. Perhaps only a couple of weeks.

There were many more letters to send, to ensure that everyone would be ready in time. The defences must hold here.

[General in the Dark]

The red circle drawn around Beregost crowds with the General’s miniature armies. In formations small and large, she moves them left and right, forward and back, trying to keep pace with the constant intelligence updates. Small pyramid ornaments cluster around Ulcaster’s ruins in a large Amnian war camp. By contrast, the elven garrison in Gullykin seems dwarfed. Adventurers and mercenaries fill the Fist encampment to the north of Beregost, and the monstrous Amnian legion dominates the map to the south.

To the west, the General sweeps away a large group of figurines; an Amnian column that had been attempting to outflank the Baldurian defenders. Her agents had done well to dispatch that particular threat. However there was much more to do.

The General places a small, coiled snake figurine right in the middle of Nashkel.

She whispers to the darkness: “You’re next.”

[General in the Dark]

With no small sense of satisfaction, the General knocks the snake figurine on its end.

Now she only hoped what she had done was a strategic good, and not merely stirred the hornet's nest. For her opponent, Gilberto Gerrerro, a man who mere hours ago declared that foolish generals "fought with numbers", now marched the bulk of his force north in anger.

Everyone must now brace for the storm, or face oblivion.

[General in the Dark]

A letter - the last letter - is distributed by a familiar group of messengers at key defensive positions in Gullykin, Beregost and the surrounding camps, as well as to reinforcements advancing along the Trade Way.

Friends and allies,

This will likely be the last letter I sign as the General. Today, I write to you all with one voice, that you might all hear it with one mind.

In life, we are strangers. We may never meet, or share a meal, or shelter together. But today, in bloody fields from Gullykin to Beregost, to Nashkel and the heart of the enemy camp in the Cloudpeaks, we have become eternally sisters and brothers of war.

The same mud adorns our boots, the same gore stains our clothes. The same stench of burning death fills our nostrils and turns our stomachs. It is a terrible thing that unites us, wrought with unspeakable suffering and loss. But that unity is a bond that transcends the distance of these feeble words as much as it does the precise point in the line where we each plant our weapon and shout “Go no further!” That unity is a bond that is permanent and immutable, and will linger on in our hearts even when victory is ours, alliances dissolve and we return to the petty squabbling of before. Years from now, veterans of this war shall pass each other on the road, their eyes shall meet, and their faces shall mutually say “I was there, too.” That unity is forever.

In life, we are strangers. In death, we are family.

For all the struggles we have faced these past days, the decisive battle is not yet upon us. It approaches now on thousands of steadily marching greaves. The tactician, Arturo Beninio, is dead. But his enraged master pushes north with ever-growing determination. Within a day, the full force of his wrath will bear down on our line and overwhelm the thinly spread defenders.

Or so says the Amnian regular.

But at every turn thus far, we have repelled their advances, outflanked their flanking manoeuvres, destroyed their siege engines and forced their withdrawal. Even with their vast superiority of numbers, they have stumbled and tripped on their own overconfidence. Well I say we give them one more fall, and make it big. Make it fatal! Make them rue every pained step, every clawed inch! Let metal ring in the night and Amnian cries haunt bloodied fields! Plant your boots in the mud and your weapon in the ground and roar to the aggressor “Go no further!”

A dark day in Amnian history awaits. Bring the clouds, and make it rain.

Yours in blood, forever.

The General in the Dark

[General in the Dark]

In the heart of Baldur’s Gate, the victorious General sits at an ordinary table. There are no maps in sight, or ornaments or figurines, or any manner of miniature armies. The quasi-military paraphernalia that had accumulated these many months has all but vanished. The room is just a room, and the table is just a table. The only evidence here that there had been a war at all was a battlefield souvenir; a single, golden helm sitting atop the desk.

Bloodied and wearied, but contentedly quiet, the General reclines in her chair, gazing absently at the door. She reflects on the long, dark path she walked to this point. It was almost a year since she had cast the first stone. Before any borders were crossed, or bridges destroyed, or ships sunk, or towns massacred, she and her ilk went to Markhold and spilled Amnian blood. And though the conspirators who sought her throne had been thoroughly rebuked, it had only been a matter of time until the wolves were at the Gate once more. Indeed, as political tensions built, it had often occurred to her that the interests seeking her removal were sufficiently powerful to possibly be the drivers of this entire war.

Even if not, the war would inevitably serve as a vehicle for their agenda. The shadow veil of the grander conspiracy still hung low, but irrespective of whether or not that mystery could be dispelled, Amn had to be stopped, definitively.

The wearied General closes the file sitting on the desk in front of her, the silver lettering of the title, “Night Takes Rook”, stark on its cover. War was bad for business, but the closer it came, the more devastating to her interests. Her empire could not survive an Amnian occupation, so her campaign had one objective: Locate the battlefield as far from Baldur’s Gate as possible. In harmony with Duke Eltan, she had drawn the line through Beregost and—just like him—she sent others to die for her throne. It was callous manipulation.

Or at least, it should have been. While factions rallied to her agenda, Night Takes Rook stirred her slowly. The truth was, she felt something for the city that had not always been kind to her, but had always been a part of her. It was the only place she felt at home, and to that extent—the only extent that mattered—she was Baldurian. The Gate had five rulers, no matter what the other four thought. So she would fight, and fight hard, to protect all that she had come to love.

The General in the Dark would fight for Baldur’s Gate. The Duchess of Shadow would fight for her throne. Silver would fight for pride and hate.

Aikura would fight for love alone.

[Rasael]

*Applauds*

A stroke of genius and a worrying aptitude for working from the shadows

[Charraj]

//I mean, really. Who were you expecting? Jonas?

(Wait, that would have been awesome. )//

[Valefort]

That's what I thought at the beginning but ... yeah that was still awesome

[Simian]

I mean, really. Who were you expecting? Jonas?