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Gregorotto

Gregorotto

Past is Prologue: The Final Approach

10 Tarkash, Year of Three Ships Sailing, 1492 DR
Stonyeyes District, Outer City,
Baldur's Gate, Sword Coast

Baldur's Gate is anything but welcoming.

In the tenday previous, Elturel has been sucked into Avernus, First Layer of the Nine Hells. Mage Gaerzil Thallander, envoy Keryn Donnathlascen, inn proprietor and former Hellrider Gwynevere, and former Avowed Hravin Snaefoss joined forces with a young girl much wiser than her years would suggest, Dara, and her guardian and goat, Ghorrin and Clyde, in gathering survivors and creating a caravan. By collecting resources from nearby locales and saving refugees from devils, cultists, and themselves, they created trust by which a caravan could successfully leave for Baldur's Gate. But the following morning, tragedy struck: a murderer hid in their midsts, a cultist named Vollis Foote. After killing a man possessed by a spirit, she sought further bloodshed but was stopped by lethal force. The caravan, led by Vasha Hall, embraced hope and headed onward, towards Baldur's Gate. After five days, they arrived...spacer.png

... only to be met with jeers, fears, and cheers at threats of violence aimed at them. Baldur's Gate is bad, everyone knows this. Gwen has heard stories, and Hravin, Keryn, and Gaerzil might as well be locals: but this is particularly egregious, this hostility to "refugees."

"Go back to your Hell hole!"

"Murderers!"

"We don't want your kind here!"

"Oh sure, you can stay with me... if I can keep the goat!"

The road to Baldur's Gate curves as the Outer City continues: past Sow's Foot, Little Calimshan, Norchapel, and finally, all the way through Stonyeyes to the Basilisk Gate, the massive eastern gate of the city. Never in their lives have Keryn, Gaerzil, and Hravin seen this gate shut, but there it is. Outside are groups gathered along the wall and protesters forming all around them, calling them the same names as the caravan from Elturel was called. And then Gwen realizes: she knows some of these people. The look on Vasha's face, on the miller Ippon's face, on the smith Wellum's face, all indicate that these are more refugees, another caravan: so many caravans!

The gates are shut because so many have tried to get in at the Gate, and they are being intentionally stopped.

This is a full-blown crisis, and Keryn can see why: Grand Duke Ulder Ravengard was in Elturel when it sunk into the Nine Hells.

Fortunately for him, he is a known entity: the Lords' Alliance takes care of their own. A contingent of Flaming Fist guards approach him, and ask him to come with them. Though he tries to explain the situation, they say they don't care: that Stingblade Halfsbottle would like a report. What he does manage to do is request a few of his companions come with him: and so Gaerzil, Hravin, and Gwen are all escorted into a side door of the Basilisk Gate. Before they go, Vasha and Dara reassure them.

"I'll keep things orderly. I know a few souls out her in Stonyeyes, I can manage." She winks as she can, but looks nervously back at the card carrying her husband, Segren Hall, still in a coma.

If this is the best they can do, they'll have to come out swinging to negotiate their way through the gate.

Past is Prologue: Protectors of the Realm

10 Tarkash, Year of Three Ships Sailing, 1492 DR
Eastway District, Lower City,
Baldur's Gate, Sword Coast

A call like this can only mean one thing: they've been activated by the Lords' Alliance.spacer.png

Iolanthe Xanthe has many jobs, given her job as a troubadour: part of that is keeping a finger on the pulse of the Gate. It has been six days since rumors of Elturel singing into a portal into the Nine Hells arrived in Baldur's Gate, and tension only rises as authorities do little to quell those rumors: indeed, those same rumors state that Grand Duke Ravengard is dead, leaving the city in the hands of the incompetent and the craven. Whatever the truth of those rumors, Io is but a mere minstrel, playing the streets and taverns of Baldur's Gate. As the days dance along, the rumors get worse. The tension grows. Those of Elturelian origin are cat-called, mistreated, abused. Those first few groups of refugees confirm the truth: and that's when the panic starts.

Sometimes eyes yearn to do more than merely look; ears to do more than listen.

For her part, Mishka Strakeln hears and sees relatively little by comparison. Always working on her next project, often at the whims of others, she is somewhat insulated from the panic and tension, but she knows injustice when she feels it. The streets grow colder, darker, and the authorities more bleak in their handling of justice. "Pay it no mind," says the voice in her head: but how can she?

Then comes the call: a letter from Hecktoheironimous "Hex" Halfsbottle, requesting that they come to the Basilisk Gate in Eastway immediately, posthaste. Come armed and ready. Such a stark letter suggests something is happening that they're needed for: but what?

spacer.pngThe first to arrive are Io and Misty, coming to the Basilisk Gate and presenting the Flaming Fist stationed at the unusually closed gate their leader. Led to a side door, the duo, who have a passing familiarity with one another and their reputation, having only met a handful of times and always in a professional capacity. Taken to a small room, it has a window open to the Gray Harbor and the slow descent of the spring-tide sun to the far western edge of the Sword Coast's horizon beyond the hills. At the desk sits a middle-aged woman of auburn hair and a face suggesting middle age, a life lived hard but well. Dressed in full Flaming Fist armor, she signs paperwork and does not look up at them at their arrival; no, that is Hex's job.

Part of Misty sinks as she spies the gnome standing in the shadows of the corner, emerging with a dark smile on his face beneath his bulbous nose. "Good afternoon, Cloak Xanthe; Cloak Strakeln. Thank you for your tidy arrival. We have but one more to wait for before we can be—" He is interrupted by the door opening behind them, a group of three Flaming Fist centurions bringing in four more souls: a moon elf they partly recognize as a fellow Lords' Alliance agent, and his companions, a tiefling, a half-orc, and a human priest of some sort.

The woman at the desk does not look up as she speaks. "You're dismissed, soldiers. Go back to the eastern mouth of the Gate and await my commands. They'll come before I retire for the day."

The door shuts, and silence falls as she continues writing her report. And then, suddenly, her signature goes wide, her quill goes to her inkpot, and she sighs, stretching her gauntleted hand.

"Welcome to Baldur's Gate. Is it everything you've hoped for?"

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10 Tarkash, Year of Three Ships Sailing, 1492 DR
The Basilisk Gate,
Baldur's Gate, Sword Coast

The woman at the desk stands, setting her arms behind her back. "My name is Daryn Falburn, Flame of the Flaming Fist. To the best of my ability I am attempting to keep order in this city, on all sides: refugee and citizen. No one has done wrong here, but we are all victims of this crisis, so heads are running hot and not everyone can get what they want. Once we confirmed the situation in Elturel, I had my cadets keep an eye out for an elf of your standing, Cloak Donnathlascen. Undoubtedly you know your superior here; to the rest of you, this is Hecktoheironimous Halfsbottle, Stingblade of the Lords' Alliance and representative of Baldur's Gate in matters greater than those of state. Let's cut the chitchat and get to work."

The gnome sighs. "Must we hasten so quickly? We don't even know Keryn's new friends' names!"spacer.png

Falburn does not even spare him a glance. "They could be named Meek, Mok, and Mork, for all I care. To business: I first need confirmation of what you saw on the road here, what has become of Grand Duke Ravengard, and your role in creating this caravan. Secondly, I already know what you hope, because every caravan hopes it: we loosen our rules, open our gates, and let you in. This can be arranged, if you bring me the right materials. I need you to do the following for me, by harbrightCommon slang for the period just after dawn.: a full accounting of each refugee with their name, occupation, age, and criminal record. Confirmation from a cleric or lay-healer that resides within Baldur’s Gate confirming that each refugee is free of any disease. Arrangements must be made with inns, temples, or relatives that are willing to house the refugees: they can’t sleep on the streets. The refugees must have some arrangement to do work for the benefit of the city. Finally, and this is bad news for some: you must not bring in your cart or beasts of burden. Whatever goods you have you are responsible for without help of horse."

Hex shakes his head. "An impossible task, even in the best of circumstances, particularly this late into the day."

Falburn sighs, seeming to know this, despite her irritation. "Cloaks Xanthe and Strakeln, you are to assist them in this matter. I suggest you find clergy here within the city prepared to check every member of your party and make sure they are safe and clean, then my associates will let you back through the Basilisk Gate with special compensation. You four will also be allowed to stay within the Lower City for the night, if you so choose, but your caravan must remain outside. I like it even less than you do, I assure you."

What is this?

Out of Character

Welcome to Chapter 2? Is it everything you had hoped for?

Feel free to ask questions, introduce yourselves, explain your plight, and prepare for a fetch quest. I will require no rolls for this, you succeed at everything; Baldurians, feel free to create NPCs you know to help you with this task like clerics and paladins and such, or Flaming Fist members or bureaucrats.

You might infer that this is an impossible task. There's a reason for that.

Gregorotto

Gregorotto

Past is Prologue: The Final Approach

10 Tarkash, Year of Three Ships Sailing, 1492 DR
Stonyeyes District, Outer City,
Baldur's Gate, Sword Coast

Baldur's Gate is anything but welcoming.

In the tenday previous, Elturel has been sucked into Avernus, First Layer of the Nine Hells. Mage Gaerzil Thallander, envoy Keryn Donnathlascen, inn proprietor and former Hellrider Gwynevere, and former Avowed Hravin Snaefoss joined forces with a young girl much wiser than her years would suggest, Dara, and her guardian and goat, Ghorrin and Clyde, in gathering survivors and creating a caravan. By collecting resources from nearby locales and saving refugees from devils, cultists, and themselves, they created trust by which a caravan could successfully leave for Baldur's Gate. But the following morning, tragedy struck: a murderer hid in their midsts, a cultist named Vollis Foote. After killing a man possessed by a spirit, she sought further bloodshed but was stopped by lethal force. The caravan, led by Vasha Hall, embraced hope and headed onward, towards Baldur's Gate. After five days, they arrived...spacer.png

... only to be met with jeers, fears, and cheers at threats of violence aimed at them. Baldur's Gate is bad, everyone knows this. Gwen has heard stories, and Hravin, Keryn, and Gaerzil might as well be locals: but this is particularly egregious, this hostility to "refugees."

"Go back to your Hell hole!"

"Murderers!"

"We don't want your kind here!"

"Oh sure, you can stay with me... if I can keep the goat!"

The road to Baldur's Gate curves as the Outer City continues: past Sow's Foot, Little Calimshan, Norchapel, and finally, all the way through Stonyeyes to the Basilisk Gate, the massive eastern gate of the city. Never in their lives have Keryn, Gaerzil, and Hravin seen this gate shut, but there it is. Outside are groups gathered along the wall and protesters forming all around them, calling them the same names as the caravan from Elturel was called. And then Gwen realizes: she knows some of these people. The look on Vasha's face, on the miller Ippon's face, on the smith Wellum's face, all indicate that these are more refugees, another caravan: so many caravans!

The gates are shut because so many have tried to get in at the Gate, and they are being intentionally stopped.

This is a full-blown crisis, and Keryn can see why: Grand Duke Ulder Ravengard was in Elturel when it sunk into the Nine Hells.

Fortunately for him, he is a known entity: the Lords' Alliance takes care of their own. A contingent of Flaming Fist guards approach him, and ask him to come with them. Though he tries to explain the situation, they say they don't care: that Stingblade Halfsbottle would like a report. What he does manage to do is request a few of his companions come with him: and so Gaerzil, Hravin, and Gwen are all escorted into a side door of the Basilisk Gate. Before they go, Vasha and Dara reassure them.

"I'll keep things orderly. I know a few souls out her in Stonyeyes, I can manage." She winks as she can, but looks nervously back at the card carrying her husband, Segren Hall, still in a coma.

If this is the best they can do, they'll have to come out swinging to negotiate their way through the gate.

Past is Prologue: Protectors of the Realm

10 Tarkash, Year of Three Ships Sailing, 1492 DR
Eastway District, Lower City,
Baldur's Gate, Sword Coast

A call like this can only mean one thing: they've been activated by the Lords' Alliance.spacer.png

Iolanthe Xanthe has many jobs, given her job as a troubadour: part of that is keeping a finger on the pulse of the Gate. It has been six days since rumors of Elturel singing into a portal into the Nine Hells arrived in Baldur's Gate, and tension only rises as authorities do little to quell those rumors: indeed, those same rumors state that Grand Duke Ravengard is dead, leaving the city in the hands of the incompetent and the craven. Whatever the truth of those rumors, Io is but a mere minstrel, playing the streets and taverns of Baldur's Gate. As the days dance along, the rumors get worse. The tension grows. Those of Elturelian origin are cat-called, mistreated, abused. Those first few groups of refugees confirm the truth: and that's when the panic starts.

Sometimes eyes yearn to do more than merely look; ears to do more than listen.

For her part, Mishka Strakeln hears and sees relatively little by comparison. Always working on her next project, often at the whims of others, she is somewhat insulated from the panic and tension, but she knows injustice when she feels it. The streets grow colder, darker, and the authorities more bleak in their handling of justice. "Pay it no mind," says the voice in her head: but how can she?

Then comes the call: a letter from Hecktoheironimous "Hex" Halfsbottle, requesting that they come to the Basilisk Gate in Eastway immediately, posthaste. Come armed and ready. Such a stark letter suggests something is happening that they're needed for: but what?

The first to arrive are Io and Misty, coming to the Basilisk Gate and presenting the Flaming Fist stationed at the unusually closed gate their leader. Led to a side door, the duo, who have a passing familiarity with one another and their reputation, having only met a handful of times and always in a professional capacity. Taken to a small room, it has a window open to the Gray Harbor and the slow descent of the spring-tide sun to the far western edge of the Sword Coast's horizon beyond the hills. At the desk sits a middle-aged woman of auburn hair and a face suggesting middle age, a life lived hard but well. Dressed in full Flaming Fist armor, she signs paperwork and does not look up at them at their arrival; no, that is Hex's job.spacer.png

Part of Misty sinks as she spies the gnome standing in the shadows of the corner, emerging with a dark smile on his face beneath his bulbous nose. "Good afternoon, Cloak Xanthe; Cloak Strakeln. Thank you for your tidy arrival. We have but one more to wait for before we can be—" He is interrupted by the door opening behind them, a group of three Flaming Fist centurions bringing in four more souls: a moon elf they partly recognize as a fellow Lords' Alliance agent, and his companions, a tiefling, a half-orc, and a human priest of some sort.

The woman at the desk does not look up as she speaks. "You're dismissed, soldiers. Go back to the eastern mouth of the Gate and await my commands. They'll come before I retire for the day."

The door shuts, and silence falls as she continues writing her report. And then, suddenly, her signature goes wide, her quill goes to her inkpot, and she sighs, stretching her gauntleted hand.

"Welcome to Baldur's Gate. Is it everything you've hoped for?"

spacer.png

spacer.png

spacer.png

10 Tarkash, Year of Three Ships Sailing, 1492 DR
The Basilisk Gate,
Baldur's Gate, Sword Coast

The woman at the desk stands, setting her arms behind her back. "My name is Daryn Falburn, Flame of the Flaming Fist. To the best of my ability I am attempting to keep order in this city, on all sides: refugee and citizen. No one has done wrong here, but we are all victims of this crisis, so heads are running hot and not everyone can get what they want. Once we confirmed the situation in Elturel, I had my cadets keep an eye out for an elf of your standing, Cloak Donnathlascen. Undoubtedly you know your superior here; to the rest of you, this is Hecktoheironimous Halfsbottle, Stingblade of the Lords' Alliance and representative of Baldur's Gate in matters greater than those of state. Let's cut the chitchat and get to work."

The gnome sighs. "Must we hasten so quickly? We don't even know Keryn's new friends' names!"spacer.png

Falburn does not even spare him a glance. "They could be named Meek, Mok, and Mork, for all I care. To business: I first need confirmation of what you saw on the road here, what has become of Grand Duke Ravengard, and your role in creating this caravan. Secondly, I already know what you hope, because every caravan hopes it: we loosen our rules, open our gates, and let you in. This can be arranged, if you bring me the right materials. I need you to do the following for me, by harbrightCommon slang for the period just after dawn.: a full accounting of each refugee with their name, occupation, age, and criminal record. Confirmation from a cleric or lay-healer that resides within Baldur’s Gate confirming that each refugee is free of any disease. Arrangements must be made with inns, temples, or relatives that are willing to house the refugees: they can’t sleep on the streets. The refugees must have some arrangement to do work for the benefit of the city. Finally, and this is bad news for some: you must not bring in your cart or beasts of burden. Whatever goods you have you are responsible for without help of horse."

Hex shakes his head. "An impossible task, even in the best of circumstances, particularly this late into the day."

Falburn sighs, seeming to know this, despite her irritation. "Cloaks Xanthe and Strakeln, you are to assist them in this matter. I suggest you find clergy here within the city prepared to check every member of your party and make sure they are safe and clean, then my associates will let you back through the Basilisk Gate with special compensation. You four will also be allowed to stay within the Lower City for the night, if you so choose, but your caravan must remain outside. I like it even less than you do, I assure you."

What is this?

Out of Character

Welcome to Chapter 2? Is it everything you had hoped for?

Feel free to ask questions, introduce yourselves, explain your plight, and prepare for a fetch quest. I will require no rolls for this, you succeed at everything; Baldurians, feel free to create NPCs you know to help you with this task like clerics and paladins and such, or Flaming Fist members or bureaucrats.

You might infer that this is an impossible task. There's a reason for that.

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