Some commentary may have passed between merchants of the Wide within Baldur's Gate the last days, pertaining to the...odd...behavior of a man dressed in gray-blue cloth and large, puffy hat walking slowly, step by step, with eyes closed—mostly...—and seemingly leading himself in a patchwork of right angles and lunges, a direction not always rational, yet progressively forward, as if by way of some inner seeing ability, he was allowing himself to be lead onward in his sightless wandering.
Some may further say the man's meanderings finally ended at the door to the known Ramazith's Tower structure on the edge of the Wide, and after knocking on the heavily secured door, this monk-priest waited for a time immeasurable for an answering of said door....
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. ))
Tiawyn Aleaneldeth - Triune Mystic Bardess and Original elf
The beggars in the lower city - and among them especially those that try their luck with the sailors and the merchants at the docks - recently whisper about a generous hooded figure.
A hooded figure that seems to enjoy tossing around a coin or two.
A figure that only ever appears in the darkest hours of the night, when only the bravest (or most desperate) beggars remain in the alleyways.
Noone has heard the figure speaking - but which beggar would complain about generosity, silent or not?
Man, woman, beast, whatever - the only thing important is the coin that is passed from a generous black-gloved hand to a hungry one.
Nothing is asked in return, never.
Silence is not just merely the absence of noises.
Silence is the eyes at the docks, the missing purse, the stolen secret, the sudden dagger at the throat, the unheard screams in the night ... ... but most of all, silence is a prayer.
It's already close to midnight as the old beggar hears the voices of two men nearing.
Sitting in this alleyway near the docks all day, Tymora hadn't smiled on him much. A halfeaten apple and a fistful of old bread was all he got today.
And so he is still sitting here, late in the night, hungry, cold and increasingly desperate.
The moment he hears the voices is the moment he suddenly feels a flash of hope - perhaps these two men will finally have a coin for him?
But doubt crosses his mind soon enough.
Sure, there is laughter among them, but not the friendly kind.
No, this laughter hints of "fun" that needs victims to be considered "really funny".
The old one-legged man briefly ponders if he should try and retreat into a darker corner or if he should try his luck nevertheless, but it's too late for a decision about that anyway.
Two men stumble into sight. They're apparently not from the docks, their clothes, the feathered hats, the colourful cloaks and of course the exquisite daggers are pointing towards the richer end of lifestyles in this city.
They are not quite sober anymore but still a couple of emptied ale steins away from getting really drunk.
Seeing the old man, they stop for a moment, then quickly come closer, a cynical smile playing around their lips.
"My my, look who we have here. What a splendid sight!", says the brownhaired of the two.
The other one, sporting black hair and a matching mustache, shakes his head.
"Splendid?! I'd rather say it's disgusting! One of those losers that keep begging for money from the hard-working people instead of working themselves."
The first speaker turns his attention to the beggar. His right hand very close to his dagger, he sets up a bright but fake smile and asks:
"My my, oldtimer, that's quite the choice to make, eh? What do you say: are you a splendid sight or a disgusting one?"
The beggar, more than clearly frightened but the two man and their attitude, stammers:
"I ... I ... I don't know m'lords. Please ...."
"Please what?", scoffs the second man. "Please, give me a coin so that I can get some dirt-cheap acohol in a dirt-cheap tavern? Forget it, you disgusting piece of sh*t, we'll show you some better way to forget the troubles of this world that oh-so-much burden you."
Both men have drawn their daggers now and are clearly threatening the old man.
"No, please.... M'lords ... "
"I'd say this is enough. Leave him alone. NOW!"
All of a sudden there's a figure, clearly a women, appearing from out of the shadows at the opposite corner of the alleyway.
Black clothes, black cloak, black hood, black mask.
Thin short twin blades hanging from her belt, her hands are hidden in the shadows of the cloak.
Her voice is perfectly calm, perhaps a tiny bit too coldhearted. It carries the faint hint of a hiss, though.
The two men turn around to face the speaker.
At first sight of the woman they seem alarmed but quickly enough they regain their courage.
"Go and parade your black clothes somewhere else, this is none of your business!"
"Yeah, you wouldn't want blood stains ruining your fancy dress, move along or you get hurt, too, girl!"
The first answer to that is a "click", which releases a small bolt which in turn releases a hat from a head. The blackhaired man winces in sudden fright as his headgear is suddenly missing.
Still perfectly calm, the woman tucks away the small crossbow and with the same swift movement draws her two blades.
The second answer comes as words.
"Last chance, boys. Go get your hat and then leave. And If I ever again see you harassing a beggar in this city ..."
Her threat is clear ... and to emphasize her words she takes a step forward.
The two men look at each other, quickly reaching some form of agreement.
A hat is grabbed from the dirt and a few moments later the alleyway lies peaceful again.
The old man lets out a sigh of relief.
"Thank you miss, you've been sent by Tymora!"
Sheating her blades, she answers:
"Perhaps, yes. Or perhaps we just care about you beggars."
The womans' voice is a lot more sympathetic now.
She hands the beggar a handful of coins.
"Oh thank you good Miss! But who is 'we' ?"
"That, dear Aron, doesn't matter. What matters, though, is this:
We watch.
And we care.
Shadows bless you, Aron."
A moment later said shadows have swallowed the blackclad figure again and Aron is once more the only one in this alleyway.
~~~~~
An hour later.
The beggar sits in a tavern, having a (very) late dinner, his first full meal in days.
He's about to take a bite from the bread as he suddenly stops.
"How did she even know my name?!'
Silence is not just merely the absence of noises.
Silence is the eyes at the docks, the missing purse, the stolen secret, the sudden dagger at the throat, the unheard screams in the night ... ... but most of all, silence is a prayer.
Rumor in the Manorborn district was that an foreign-dressed, priest-like man was standing idle, as if waiting, before the door of the home of Ragefast the Sage, in the very, very, very early morning hours.
A caravan of a few wagons of dried meats, nuts, fruits and grain are loaded up in the Marshalling Yard of the Order of the Radiant Heart Keep. A contingent of soldiers from the Keep leave with it to aid in guarding the food stuffs, lead by Warden Nigel Blaquehawke. The caravan begins its journey south to aid in the relief of the town of Nashkel after the threats and from Auril.
Aaron Lyonaler - Favored Soul of The Red Knight, House Lyonaler, Knight of the Radiant Heart, Advisor to Duke Eltan Bio, Journal
"A proper example is a greater weapon for Good than the sword."
-Aaron Lyonaler
An oft-seen denizen of the docks, a one-handed, and oft ill-tempered drunk and beggar has been curiously absent the last day or so. All manner of rumor runs through the homeless community of Baldur's Gate as one of their own is absent.
"Got hisself married to a noble lady, yep! Livin' the high life he is now, ole' Jake, up there in the highborn part o' town, lucky old fool."
"Nah, can't be true. I heared he finally up an' died, like he shoulda ages ago. Drink got 'im. Guards threw 'im in the river last night."
"Ain't so I tell ya! Lady luck took pity on 'im. Dragged him outta the gutter an' gave 'im a second chance. Livin' down south an' workin' fer a lady knight, says I."
"He's workin' at the Lewd Lyre I tell ye!"
"...dem noble lads wut come out ta harass us folk killed 'im. Seen it wiv me own eyes I did!"
"...finally found a ship what'd have 'is gimpy arse 'gain."
The rumors abound but all seem to agree that if he's alive, he'll be back. Fella like that Jake Moses don't forget where he came from.
On green and fertile outskirts of Baldur's Gate Greengrass celebration took place on a farm and place of worhip called Cradle of Growth. There faithful of Chauntea celebrated this holy day in the company of friends, strangers, adventurers, local farmers and commoners alike. Despite spring rain people and animals alike filled the yard of the farm with laughter, joy and merry spirit for hours. Songs and music celebrating spring were heard aswell as poems dedicated to The Grain Goddess. Offerings were made to the Goddesss in form of her bounty. Food and Drink were offered in abudance and guests had contests of gluttony as well as excessive drinking. The next day owner of the property and his pupil gathered up what food or drink remained and distributed it to the people working on nearby fields and farms. Those seeing the older priest the morning after the celebration would note him looking a little tired and pale. Although this condition did not effect a content smile on his face.
IF you are interested in associating Chauntea in your characters background or RP then lets talk!
Characters:
Kervel Greencrest - Old Farmer and Priest of Chauntea(Biography) Renvar Meldrake - Cormyrean Sellsword and Bounty Hunter(Biography)
In the afternoon of the 4th of Mirtul, a bloodied and exhausted group of five wandered into the city. Two tiefling women in the group, one knightly figure clad in plate and red garb and the other in dark robes and of greyish skin, split off on their own. They stood watching the sunset at the docks as they quietly conversed among themselves.
The dark clad figure remained after the other departed and seemed in a somber mood. The for once hoodless woman stared out over the sea and remained there until dawn rose once more before limping off and disappearing into the alleys.
Whatever experience the group had shared would likely need time to recover from, for all parties involved.
Szarilana Hezret - The one who speaks Isenduil Ellanoscia - Silvanite druid Derien Reynoldt - Retired Mercenary Wisica Weatherbee - Homefellow of Cyrrollalee Camilla Vasdejas - Exploring Bardess Extraordinaire
On the several notice boards of Baldur's Gate, a few announcement get pinned for everyone to read.
((For convenience, the wedding will probably be held around 4pm GMT / 6pm GMT+2 / 12pm EST. Might be subject to changes, and in case you'll be informed! ))
Rose Wintertal , Itinerant Minstrel, Troublemaker,and The Run a Rig owner!
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.
DM SummerBreeze wrote: ↑Tue May 09, 2023 1:02 amSome rumours spread of a man named in robes, some say their name was Kanett....Kiznett...something? Attempted to steal from a group of homeless people down by the docks and was confronted by the city watch due to how spectacularly poorly this attempted heist went, it was the talk of the local dockyard for some time.
May it be some homeless beggars that appreciate the feeding hands from unseen landlords of the lower part of the city, would tell of the robed man by the name of Kanett or Kiznett who attempted to steal from them. Whispers would spread, orders given to find and locate such the man for he had some answering to do.
"Even if you have to search every crack and hole in the coast, find him and bring him to me."
))
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