Rumors of the Friendly Arm Inn

[Wyatt]

The northern druid known as Ran'll was found unconscious by two individuals at the border of the Cloakwood and the Friendly Arms. After being taken to the temple by a man named Hinzel and another named Ant he regained a weakened consciousness, his memories of the ordeal fragmented and unclear. Visible upon his bare right arm and a portion of his torso is a series of dark markings wrapping around his skin almost like a tattoo. The druid appeared troubled at their appearance and has gone to seek council as to their nature.

[Eliasz_Kowalski]

The Dwarven Diviner

Two tents left after the impromptu fair by the Inn are stumbled upon by a drunken dwarf. Immediately, two signs are put next to the colourful tents. The first one reads, “Come learn ye bloody fortunes, lads and lassies, Tis only 50 gold. Well, 100 if yer a bloody tiefling. Or a twig-sucker. And tis free if ye bring me ale”.

Before much longer, the first traveller, intrigued by the enticing offer of learning his future, gets into the tent with the dwarf. He is seen seated in front of two big crystal balls, unmistakably, the tools used to channel the dwarf’s powers of divination. The adventurer then is offered to rub the magical Dwarven balls in order to learn his fate. Not discouraged by all the effort he has to put into rubbing, the man then sees the Dwarven mystic fall into some kind of trance and scream and wail of his fate. And it is, no doubt, one of great grievance – apparently, the unfortunate traveller has been bestowed a terrible curse. In a matter of days, perhaps even minutes, his skull is to be cracked with an axe! Realising he doesn’t have long, the poor soul asks the Dwarven diviner for a remedy. And, luckily, one is to be found! But first he is to bring the dwarf no less than four pints of ale to boost his divine powers. Desperate to be free from his terrible fate, the man does exactly that, and his diligence is rewarded. He learns of the source of his terrible curse. It is tieflings.

“Tis em bloody tieflings, lad” - having gulped down all four pints in one go and shoved his axe under the tent, the dwarf claims with confidence to his voice. “Em bloody tieflings running around and cursing ye good honest folk, I’m telling ye”. The Dwarven diviner then shares a way to lift the curse with the desperate traveller. He has to find the tiefling in question, pour the darkest ale on his horny head and give him a mighty kick in his devilish buttocks. Inspired by his new-found purpose, the adventurer sets on his way having been given the name of the source of his curse, too. Bobbin.

It doesn’t take long for the word to spread and for many other travellers to learn of the dwarf’s impressive powers of divination. Like sheep in need of a wise pastor, they flock to his humble tent barely fit to house his enormous magical balls. Einar the Omnipotent, that’s how they now call him. One after another, awe-stricken seekers come into the tent to meticulously rub the Dwarven magical balls and learn of their fate. And that they do over and over again! What is most troubling though, other adventurers seem to suffer from all kinds of curses and afflictions, too. A terrible curse of burping and belching to death, a curse of finding himself naked in a pigsty, the curse of getting one’s skull cracked with an axe is, then again, particularly common… Yet, all troubled travellers are offered a remedy by the Dwarven diviner, helping the needful and distressed solely out of the deep-rooted desire to do good.

Oddly enough, the most common remedy for curses tormenting poor fellows by the Inn happens to be ale. “A pint of ale shared with a friendly dwarf on a starry night”, to be precise. Yet, all wanderers are in luck that night as they find themselves in the presence of a dwarf who is everything but unfriendly. Thus, one pint after another are brought to the diviner’s tent, curses are lifted, and merry adventurers go on their way to find the source of their sorrows. The tiefling by the name of Bobbin. Some have to pour ale on his horny head, some are to give his devilish tail a mighty pluck, others are to call him all kinds of names and kick him in his buttocks... The magic concerning curses and the sphere of divination sure happens to be the oddest! Still, all who have witnessed his power thank the Dwarven mystic and his magical balls wholeheartedly and depart to search for their nemesis. Eventually, exhausted by all the divination he has performed, the dwarf falls into a state of deep meditation and starts snoring violently. Those who are aware of his impressive deeds, interpret it as excessive magic leaving his sturdy body.

With the Dwarven diviner getting all the attention through that starry night, the second tent stands mostly unattended. The sign next to it reads, “Come visit the one and only Pleasure House of Divine! Fer just 500 gold ye’ll get ye wildest dreams come true! And every other coin donated will go to financing the production of em bloody Gondlassies! So we can double ye pleasure some day, ye cheeky basterd!” And at the corner of the sign, another inscription left by a shaky hand can be seen, “Courtesy of her voluptuous ladyhood Neetoonya”. But then again, what marvels and entertainment that tent has to offer is yet to be seen.


From the accounts of eyewitnesses and stories circulating around the Inn, written down by a humble unnamed traveller.

[DaloLorn]

An irritable half-elven sorceress that had been spending time at the Friendly Arm lately could now be seen returning to the inn after an adventure, missing most of her hood, much of her hair - nearly all of it around the back of her head - and what limited patience she used to possess.

She does not specify what has transpired, preferring instead to storm off directly to her suite and lock the door behind her.

[Moonsong]

A poster is being hung out in various places by a figure, dressed in Blue with a hood, that covers all hair coloring and ears. But an arm binding with the symbol of Candlekeep can clearly be seen as some kind of warning, that who ever touches the person hanging out the posters in a harmful way, might be a fool to do so.

Obviously some person went missing, a sketch has been added, and the Keep itself is looking for him!

Missing!



Have you seen this man?

If so, please direct any information to Candlekeep. His name is Cassian Atherton and we wish to see him back alive.

Informations in person, written messages and also in magical ways are gladly taken.

Thank you in advance.

((OOC Note: This is a character development plot. So please be sensible enough to communicate with us, if you want to play aalong. Secretive or not, if there's any questions, please feel free to ask me. ))

[Moonsong]

The posters were taken off, with no clues, where the missing person went. But it seems, the problem was solved.

[Dolorof]

Recently, the gnome known as Meredith could be spotted and heard spreading rumors around the friendly arm inn, she claims to have saved two elves from the attack of a crazy but powerful woman creature, capable of shaping into a gelatinous cube! It was thanks to Garl's guidance that she was able to find the pair in time, before they both could be devoured by madness.

[ValerieJean]

A figure in dark clothing a mixture of a deep forest green and black often hooded with a pulled up cloth to cover most of their features, a quiver on the back with black arrows can be seen around the Friendly Arm Inn and the nearby roads, and forest.

[Wyatt]

A filthy, ragtag man, reeking of the stale liquor and the gutter trails behind a dusky skinned lady knight, clad in cobalt blue armor. He follows her into the Friendly Arms where customers pointedly turn their backs to him as he enters. The pair take a table far in the corner and begin a hushed conversation, mostly her talking and him nodding and trying to remain in his chair. Eventually she secures a room for the man for a month out of her own purse. Not long after a scarlet haired elven lady enters and joins the pair.

The three converse amicably, the ladies seemingly acquainted whilst the man remains mostly silent, speaking only when prompted. Occupations are discussed and the man, contrary to all likelihood seems at least rudimentarily both adept and interested in bookkeeping, inventory management, trading negotiations, and other logistical business seeming to sober up when these topics are discussed. Potential job possibilities are tentatively broached though there seems to be a hanging term of thirty days service required of the man at the Silver Rose keep.

An astute observer (or one with enough coin to bribe the wait staff at Bentley's) would easily identify the ladies as "Vinnie" from the Lewd Lyre and Veslana Raven representing the Order of the Silver Rose. The man is harder to place, seeming to have no real past. As best anyone can tell he is a vagrant from Baldur's Gate, who, through the luck of Tymora perhaps, has been given a new lease on life. The greying, worn out man is mostly unremarkable to the eye, quite tall but too lean for his frame. His odor and the condition of his body and attire all point to his former life, and the missing left hand perhaps to the reason for it. His name is spoken though, and is no great secret.

"Jake" he says when asked by Vinnie. "Jake Moses, mum. Pleased ta be meetin' ye."

[Sharlot]

A trail of bloody snow owl feathers leads from the stretch of unpatrolled wilderness between Baldur's Gate and the Friendly Arms Inn. On each one is a simple note, written in blocky and crude script.

"Why are owls so easily felled?" reads each note.

The trail eventually leads to a single gem: an amethyst.

Between the Friendly Arms Inn and the Woods of Sharpteeth, a cloud of feathers is present. There are at-least eighty of them, each with a similar note. "Why are owls so easily felled?".

Another amethyst sits in the middle of the hoard of bloodied feathers.

[Mr J1991]

A calm evening stroll near the Friendly Arm Inn was disrupted by the discovery of an evil shrine, seemingly out in the open. On either sides of the altar were two banners, depicting the black and purple ring of Shar, the Lady of Loss. Alongside this, there were multiple skeletons and remains in front of the altar, not too far away from the campfire near the Cloakwood. The guards were hastily informed of this altar.

[Bluh]

A middle age bearded man was spotted taking notes just outside the gates of the friendly arm inn, if anyone were to approach him and try to read what he was writting in his notes, it would be possible to understand that he was taking notes of two mysterious recent events:

One about a mage claiming that a tower of sorts will be soon built, somewhere around the coast. Apparently as some sort of school for mages only.

On a second note, it would appear that a Kobold was spotted running for his life while yelling some about a dragon, just to be turned into stone and crumble to dust soon after.

( 22 Mirtul 1359 )

DM Cleric and DM Archon events.

[Cat_Queen]

Two pairs of feet march through the wet mud of the road under the moonlight. Their steps are light and one pair is full of confidence, where the other is cautius and timid. Breaking through the forest are two young women. One wears solid breastplate and sword by her side, the other ethereal robes, pale pink and blue as the morning sky. The two women appear to be searching for something.

The warrior looks left and right before settling on her companion who appears to be amused with her friend. As they approached the walls of the Friendly Arms Inn, they were surprised to see an unusual sight: a beautiful tent, shines with tiny lights. They looked at each other, walks trough the mud while talking glances through the road.

„Are you sure?” asks shorter woman with turning to the warrior. Sigrid nods.

They were already close to the tent. Breeze feels a chill go up her spine but it is soon replaced with warmth. They takes a few glances around before their eyes land on a figure. A beautiful female seer with a deck of cards in front of her.

They came inside.

Everyone wants to know their future until they know their future…

[Doomed Hunter]

The Friendly Arm Inn would draw it's share of bounty hunters looking to make decent coin by thinning out the dangers of the surrounding wilds and deterring bandits from preying on travelers seeking to shelter within it's walls.

One such individual would now be seen occasionally around the grounds of the Keep but never lingering too long.

Notable for his distinctive hat and it's skull-shaped buckled band, the man would be would be seen depositing various sacks and bags of bloody 'trophies' to various paying merchants seeking his services - orc ears, gnoll fingers or the heads of tasloi.

Going by the name of Volkov, the humourless and enigmatic hunter would return every tenday or so, trading his collected bounties for coin but not being readily seen to spend it on anything within the Keep itself other than occasional healing supplies.

Whomever he is, he seems efficient at his job.

[Battle Gnome]

Within the grounds of the Friendly Arm Inn another curious figure might be seen. The small armoured gnome would often be seen vigilantly guarding the Temple of Garl Glittergold and patrolling around the surrounding lands to, in his own words 'bash villains and defend Garl's mighty temple!', punctuating his words with clangs of his hammer against his shield.

The gnome claims to serve the deity, Gaerdal Ironhand, the closest thing the forgotten folk have to Helm, the Watcher. He seems keen to make an impression and is thoroughly dedicated to his duties, even whilst seeming slightly demented, moralising and far too serious for a gnome.

[Ashenie]

The sunset covers a strange ritual near the Friendly Arm Inn. Here, where Ser William "Billy" Williams " was honored, walks a hooded Ilmatari Sister. Candles are lit, all around the tomb, providing a growing light. Flowers of angelicas adorn the grave, giving a celestial touch to the display. Shimmering sparkle blossom from consecrated ground, while prayers of harmony, mercy, unity and compassion wash the lands with peace. The celestial words are soft spoken, dearly, a hand upon the book that tells the story of the young Knight and his Sister. For both, care and peace, and many pairs of eyes to watch from the shadows.

The night comes and passes, and the Ilmatari prayer stands, unmoving, while the wind and rain bully the flame of the candle. For each, another wish, another prayer spoken, for hope to be sowed.