As the band travelled South once more towards Candlekeep, Levin's singing, interrupted only by fascinating trivia, finally drove the majority of the party mad. Eventually Dyrellei, very clear on the fact that the bard would hold his tongue or lose it, gagged him, and they continued on in relative peace for the time being. Well accustomed now to these roads, it took them no time at all to reach the Library's outer walls, but there was no point entering so soon: Rieltar and his men were not due for several days. With time to kill, and Innes none to keen to return to his former home, the party decided to chase up on some unclaimed bounties in the region.
A crazed artist in possession of stolen emeralds sounded like an easy target, and the mention of both precious gems AND a reward was more than enough to guarantee Dy's help. Near the Nashkel mines they tracked down the mad sculptor only to find that the emeralds were destined for a massive monument to an Elven woman he had once glimpsed. Imploring the party to at least let him finish his life's work, and promising them all he owned in exchange, they agreed to let him be...but it soon turned out they were not the only ones after the bounty.
The notable hunter Greywolf, already in a bad mood from having found himself cheated of a previous bounty, would likely have attacked the group simply for being in his way, but when he recognised the young Elf from Oublek's description, any chance of negotiation was lost. Against the five of them he had no chance, but even as he fell beneath their swords the artist they protected gave his final breath, exhausted from his effort. With his last words, he begged the party to leave the emeralds forever glittering in the eyes of the woman who had so inspired him: Ellesime.
Needless to say, Dy had already prised them out.
Oublek refused the group the bounty for the emeralds, disgusted at the thief's previous trickery, but the merchant gave a good price for them and the party left with extra coin in their pockets all the same. With far more gold to spend than the last time they had headed North from Nashkel, this time they stopped in Beregost to acquire some of Taerom's finest equipment. Feeling better prepared than ever, they turned their sights on the next challenge in store for them.
...Eventually, after skirmishing our way through the Cloakwood, we found the second bandit encampment turned out to be built around an old mineshaft. The Iron Throne were trying to use it to monopolise the region's iron trade as part of their sinister plot. We made short work of the mine, though Malitias took umbrage to the sight of the poor sods being forced to work it - and that was the last we saw of him.
One of the imprisoned joined us for a spell but left abruptly. I expect he just wanted to get out of that place. I know I did.
My dark mood after the woods was lifted as we freed the slaves and it seemed as though relief washed over the rest of the group as well. Our usual camaraderie was returning and I learnt that despite their morally grey exteriors they are (mostly) good people. Well, they're alright I suppose. I cannot repay the debt I owe them.
Anyway, by this time we had breadcrumbs sufficient to start a bakery and we were all getting frustrated with our slow progress towards finding our answers. At least the next lead led us to the big city, Baldur's Gate, and closer (at last!) to the head of the dragon. We had a half day to relax at Eric's Mam's Inn and indulge in some of the best Sticky Buns you will ever taste after a relatively expeditious and uneventful journey. You must visit if you get the chance. She was kind to me.
The leader of the city watch – a good man named Scar - had heard of us upon arrival and quickly put us to work investigating the Iron Throne proper albeit without official sanction or support. Our attempts at diplomacy and then subterfuge quickly devolved into another blood bath. Fortunately for us not all the members of the Iron Throne were so quick to throw their lives away, and so with minimal persuasion we learnt of a meeting the leaders were conducting.
In Candlekeep of all places.
I was not eager to return. I almost wish I hadn't.
Kevmorn is an ordinary chap that has not really stood out in anyones books by any stretch of the imagination. A solitary fellow that kept to himself tending to his passion on the studies of ancient elven civilisations long since removed from the realms. He would spend many and hour visiting local libraries to find old books that he could find relating to the matter, in between his magical studies. Kevmorn is not a very accomplished wizard either, never really taking an interest it far enough to dedicate over his primary love.
It was through chance that he stumbled upon an old tomb lodged behind a copy of "Elven Women for Dummies". Kevmorn prided himself in being able to translate the majority of old elvish languages though this one baffled him as it contained key similarities between a good number of then. He decided to purchase the book from the library and take it home for further studies.
He flicked through a number of pages but struggled to comprehend what seemed to be instructions, through sheer boredom he decided to read out the first page and to his amazement before his very eyes a portal opened and a pit demon stepped forth from the very depths of hell into his kitchen. As the demon raised its claws to strike Kevmorn finished reading the line out of panic and the demon then turned into a little kitten before his eyes.
The demon now rather upset with its new form scurried away... Kevmorn had gained an ancient elven spell book, along with a new kitty from hell to which he later called Hell O Kitty. Is it not funny how dire charm sounds like fire palm in the tongues of men? Ironically it must sound similar in the ancient elven tongue as well. For what he thought was a spell to charm his rather hostile kitty, he ended up setting it on fire. The results were not what he intended though the cat no longer causes him trouble.
He now seeks the aide of companions to test out all these spells and correct all the wrong pronunciations he makes in order to learn all he can from this tomb. Regretfully as he is guessing what the words are many random things have happened to him since and has decided the confines of the city are probably not the best place for him to practice any further.
It was rumours about the deeds of a travelling group that seemed to single handed resolved the iron issue that he sought out the group to help him with his translations and to act as protection should any more pet cats turn up...
A desire for a rest before continuing their journey led the group into the Red Sheaf, an inn not known for the gentility of its clientele. Among the various scoundrels drinking sullenly under its dark roof, one in particular caught the attention of the group. Noto, a self-professed adventurer of significant experience, impressed Innes with the tales of his exploits and almost managed to talk the young elf into following him back to the Underdark in search of a treasure of some kind...until Dyrellei pointed out that they had more pressing matters to attend to, and that the Underdark was hardly the sort of place one made a day trip to.
Eventually, it was agreed that the group should focus on more local affairs to begin with: namely, the matter of the crazed cleric Bassilus. Rousing Levin, who had fallen unconscious under the effects of one too many half-pints, they began to explore the wilderness around Beregost for signs of this madman.
Beset by the usual scattering of gnolls, skeletons and hobgoblins, it became apparent that their newest member could, at least, handle a blade...but his prowess didn't necessarily match to the scale of his stories. Meanwhile, Levin, while exploring his magical capabilities, discovered that he could summon a familiar...but the miniature dragon took a better liking to Innes than to the bard, and proved an overall fairly pointless addition to the group.
In a clearing surrounded by the animated remains of numerous unfortunate souls, the cleric Bassilus chattered away to the undead as if they were lifelong friends, and seemed initially unaware of the party's nature. A brief conversation revealed the madness of the man, but when he attacked it seem his confusion was contagious. His dark magic held Noto rooted to the spot while turning Dyrellei's mind to insanity, and while the priest himself was dispatched quickly it took several minutes for the thief to regain awareness. In this time, she quickly realised she'd attacked the vulnerable Noto, and (somewhat sheepishly) apologised. Her tone towards the rival swashbuckler had always been less than cordial, but she insisted she had not intended to turn upon him in such a manner.
Gathering the Cyricist's insignia, the group began their journey back to Beregost to collect their reward, but were sidetracked by the most unlikely of pleas: a stray chicken beset by wolves begged the party for assistance. Bewildered, they nevertheless dispatched the beasts and listened to the bird's tale. He claimed to be a wizard by the name of Melicamp, and insisted that his master Thalantyr would surely help him regain his true form. Slightly reluctantly for some members of the group, they agreed, and made their way to the imposing and solitary home of this reclusive mage. He was please neither to see them, nor the so-called apprentice, who had apparently stolen magical items of some value and power. He did, eventually, give in to the bird's begging for assistance...but even his powerful magic could not successfully restore the unfortunate young man, and the party returned to Beregost with nothing to show for their efforts. Hopefully, future adventures would have happier endings, or at least better rewards!
(Yup, still a week behind. Will try to catch up by Sunday!)
Good stuff. I try to follow this one and catch up on your progress when I remember.
Is it worth summarising party members on each post. e.g. Innes, Bhaalspawn Elven NG Archer. Possibly even x kills, y deaths or similar. Dyrellei, ... Levin, ... etc.
& an old aquaintances or dead and buried obituary if you wanted to show how many people become involved over the campaign trilogy.
I'm glad you're enjoying our story! We were just chatting last week about how many views the thread has and whether there were other people reading it, and now we know! Summarising the party members isn't a bad idea...when I started doing this I didn't realise how much the party would change over the course of the game! I'm tempted now to make some kind of timeline of characters now....
A messenger from Matthew's order met the party as they reached Beregost, telling him only that his presence was required and insisting that he followed. Although reluctant to abandon the party, the Paladin had little choice but to follow. Of course, the group had lost many companions by now, but it was unfortunate nonetheless to lose one who had travelled alongside the group for so long. A departure was preferable to a death, of course, and the group continued on as before.
The Burning Wizard was their chosen place of rest that evening, and among the regulars was a man sat reading an old tome aloud in a language unfamiliar to most of the group. Dyrellei recognised the tongue as Elvish...or at least an attempt at Elvish. When questioned about his reading material, the gentleman claimed it was his journal, that he kept in Elvish to deter prying eyes. He told the party he had come to Beregost in search of a certain group of people involved in numerous heroics across the Sword Coast. Before anyone else could say otherwise, Dyrellei was quick to inform him that they knew nothing of such a group, and that it was unlikely they would be found anywhere near a place such as this. Perhaps recognising the necessity of caution given their previous encounters, Innes played along at first. Later that evening, however, he admitted to Eric and Dyrellei that he believed the stranger's good intentions and was keen to allow him to join them. Noto and Levin, meanwhile, were unconscious, victims of a drinking contest Dyrellei had almost certainly cheated at.
When morning dawned, Innes invited the man to join the group as they visited the temple outside the city, and he accepted, eager to witness the place for himself. He treated the stranger with such respect that Dy was quick to mock his deference, and when Innes asserted that he always treated his elders that way, she pointed out that she was far older still. Apparently, raised by humans in Candlekeep, Innes had never realised his race had such extended lifespans. In fact, he admitted to his companion's surprise, she was the first Elf he'd ever met.
The Song of the Morning Temple greeted the travellers with the music its name suggested, but better still with an ample reward for their efforts in dispatching of Bassilus. Outside, in the relative seclusion between the temple and the town, Innes decided the time had come to reveal their identities to the gentleman with the book. Prepared for violence if it should come to that, the party told him who they were...and for once, his response wasn't to try and kill them! His initial story held true: he really had just wanted to meet and maybe travel with the group he had heard so much about. Introducing himself as a mage by the name of Kevmorn, he promptly became the newest member of their group. With Levin and Noto still incapacitated, and enough time wasted on trivial matters, the four of them finally turned their attention to Candlekeep.
(Yeah, still a week behind...will try to catch up, like I always say!)
Candlekeep's walls loomed before the party, and with no small amount of trepidation they handed over the tome and gained entry. It seemed so long since they had set out through this very gate, yet in truth it couldn't have been more than a few weeks. So much had changed since then.
In what had been his home for so long, Innes was once more surrounded by familiar faces and those who had once been friends, and though their business was pressing the group took time to meet those he had missed. Most were pleased to see him, and offered their condolences on his loss - so distant that night seemed now - but there was a strange air about the place as well. Some people seemed on edge, others distant. One monk was even found to be dissecting a dead cat, to the party's horror. It was no longer the idyllic and carefree place of Innes' childhood.
Still, it was answers they had come here for, and answers they would soon receive, though some were to questions they hadn't planned on asking. It seemed that with Gorion dead, many of the monks felt free to share information that had been kept from Innes in the past. Cadderly, an old acquaintance, made reference to Gorion as being among 'those who harp', which Dyrellei translated as meaning he had been a Harper. This was news to Innes, but if there were things he had not known about Gorion, they paled in comparison to those he did not know about himself.
Inside the library, his old tutor Karan was not particularly forthcoming with information...but he did suggest that Innes seek out and read Alaundo's prophecies, mentioning that a strange visitor by the name of Koveras had been interested in them recently. A hunt of the numerous shelves found only a single scroll, foretelling the struggle for power between Bhaal's offspring following the Time of Troubles. Upstairs, the party encountered Koveras, and, as Karan had said, he seemed a most unusual sort. Particularly unsettling was how accurately he portrayed the events of Gorion's death...an accuracy that implied he had witnessed the thing for himself. He claimed to be a friend, and offered a ring to Innes, but the young elf had no trust for his alarming words and decline the trinket.
Not far from where Koveras had approached them, the party came across the real reason they had come back here: Rieltar and his men. Angry words were traded, but they could not come to blows here in the library, and the group was forced to leave them be...for now.
Still seeking information while they waited for their quarry to move to a less protected space, Innes approached a monk who should have been familiar, but Shistal showed no sign of recognition. When Innes tried to remind him, there was something about his answers that made no sense, and as he pushed for an explanation the monk suddenly hissed in anger and his skin seemed to melt away. The creature beneath Shistal's face was far from human, and it lunged at Innes with hunger and rage in its alien eyes. Only as it lay dead did Kevmorn Wyvernjack remember the name for such a being: Doppleganger.
Shaken by the encounter, there was still one last thing they had to do before departing. One of the monks had suggested to Innes that there might be a note left for him in Gorion's quarters, and sure enough, a sealed letter awaited Innes with his name upon it. As he read the note, a mute shock came over him and the parchment drifted from his loose grip. Dyrellei's deft fingers rescued the letter, but she kept its contents to herself, perhaps concerned for her companions' reactions to the news: Innes, Gorion claimed, was one of the children of Bhaal. There was barely time for Innes to compose himself and face this development before the library's guard descended on them. Rieltar and his men had been murdered by the group, he claimed, and though they protested their innocence they were unable to convince any but Tethoril. The elderly mage alone believed their story, and teleported the group into the catacombs beneath the library where Alaundo lay buried. From here, it was hoped, they would find a way to the surface, and to vengeance against whoever had seen fit to smear their names so thoroughly.
The tunnels of Candlekeep's catacombs stretched out into the darkness from where Tethoril had transported the party, and the faint shuffling of distant feet told them they were not necessarily alone. If the threat of undead in these ancient halls were not enough, Dyrellei quickly added to the group's concerns by pointing out a multitude of traps in the dingy corridors. Taking the lead, she assured Innes she would find a safe way out...but her chosen route seemed to involve a lot of detours via burial chambers, and though her footsteps were as soft as ever her pockets soon clinked with dusty gold. The delays increasing irritated Innes, but soon they found themselves in an open hall that looked promising. At least, except for the skeletons. Skirting around the edge to avoid the walking bones, several people approached the party from hidden alcoves. Time and time again, friendly faces would hurl insults at Innes before shifting their skin and lunging as dopplegangers. Their words bit as sharply as their claws and teeth, and the party had to convince the young Elf to keep his composure.
Pressing onwards, refusing to let the creatures' trickery distract them, the catacombs gave way to natural caverns. These were hardly any more inviting, but the air smelled fresher as they progressed and it seemed they were headed in the right direction at last. Their hopes were confirmed in a less-than-ideal way: a group of Sarevok's men were waiting for them, and tried to block their escape. Like so many before them, they fell to the party's desperation, and their corpses revealed a new breadcrumb for the ever growing trail. Sarevok, it seemed, entertained ideas of being the next Grand Duke. Whatever the reasons behind this, it was clear to the group that they weren't likely to let this happen, and they now knew he would be back in Baldur's Gate for his imminent coronation. Pushing forwards through the caves and the spiders that infested them, eventually sunlight beckoned, raising the spirits of all but Innes. Distant and distracted by thoughts of his vengeance, he had little patience for celebration, and the group headed North once more to the familiar safety of the Friendly Arm Inn.
Here, with no immediate threat, Innes finally took the opportunity to share with the group the contents of Gorion's final letter. Kevmorn took the news in his stride, while Eric was perhaps a little more unsettled by the news. He did, of course, point out that he had always said the Gods were involved. As they discussed their next actions, the Halfling called Dyrellei into a corner to ask a strange favour. As well as wanting a letter delivered to his Mother in Baldur's Gate, he also wanted her to procure a sticky bun. Reminding Eric that he already owed her a favour, she agreed all the same. It seems likely, however, that the group will have bigger concerns than baked goods on their hands when they make their way back to the city.
The four weary travellers had barely set foot in the city when they were approached by armed guardsmen demanding their surrender. Unwilling to fight, the group agreed to go peacefully back to the Flaming Fist compound. Surely, they believed, Scar and Duke Eltan would believe their tale. To their dismay, however, it was not Scar who met them there. Angelo, a man clearly in Sarevok's employ, had taken over his role, and he was clearly not inclined to be merciful. When the group protested, he killed poor Kevmorn there and then, before sending the rest of them to the cells to await a more public execution.
Trapped behind doors even nimble-fingered Dyrellei couldn't open, the situation seemed hopeless, but help came from an unlikely source. A gnome by the name of Neb, with a distinctly unpleasant demeanour, hinted at the presence of a key and an escape. When pressed, he agreed to assist the party...if they could guess how many innocent children he had slaughtered. Eric and Innes might have been tempted to kill the devilish creature there and then, but with Sarevok's greater evil still to face, the group were forced to swallow their misgivings and co-operate for now. It was Eric who correctly guessed the number, perhaps by divine intervention or sheer luck, and soon the group found themselves back in the city's open streets...and once more hunted by guards.
Dyrellei, with a natural affinity for staying out of sight, took the lead, though Innes was none-too-pleased with her insistence that they must travel only underground, using the city's extensive sewage network. Dealing both with the sewer's putrid contents and the denizens that fed off them, eventually a safe haven was found in the form of the 'undercellar', a place Dy had heard of from the Thieve's guild. Promising that the guards here would almost certainly leave them be so long as they didn't cause trouble, she led her blushing companions onwards in search of information and perhaps a relatively clean bed for the night.
Information they found, though not in the intended form of gossip and rumours. Information came their way by means of an assassin and his partner, whose unsuccessful bodies contained the evidence the party needed to track down Sarevok. Armed with an invite to the Ducal Palace, the group cleaned the worst of the filth from themselves and set out. This time, they were determined, Sarevok would not elude them.
This one grew up in an annex to the divine plane of Oghma. An annex to Oghma's realm, it was a plane that functioned as a base for those servants who were meant to keep away from mortal manners (or otherwise needed there to do their lesser work).
As 'bookkeeper' in this realm of Oghma, Marik's task was to remain in an isolated castle on the outer reaches of this plane, and observe upcoming matters in the material plane together with some dozens of other chosen clerics, and record them meticulously.
He had long accepted his paltry existence in this place, only emptily continuing to stare into the petty problems of men.
Different from the other clerics, he had not been born here to be a tool for recording, but taken there when he was kidnapped and sacrificed to the gods by a mad cleric. He took this as a fateful blessing and an opportunity, and made himself to do his best here.
But his diligence was detrimental in this place. He could not leave, and there was nothing he considered meaningful to do, except working. And work he did. Far more than the other clerics. Although the others had suffered the same sickness of nihilism, they had considered their fate to be far more leisureful, and spent their time in idleness. Only occasionally was one of them to be considered such a bother that they were made to 'disappear'. Although such an amount of time has passed since he got here, that after so many 'disappearances', Marik must have been one of the oldest clerics by now.
One day while he was in a small divining chamber by the courtyard of the inner castle, he spotted a strange visitor talking to one of the clerics under a tree. Her face was veiled, but she was of medium stature with long black hair, and had an eminent aura about her.
He decided to think nothing of it, and continued his magical recordings of the divination of some prophecy. Some time later, as Marik was engaged in his work, the woman approached him from outside the divining chamber and slowly went up to him from behind. When Marik finally heard her, it had been too late. He tried to turn around, but before he could, he felt something metallic on his neck. She had put... a necklace on him?
The necklace pulsated with his mind, emptying it. As his mind was slowly blackening to the jewelery's effect, and as his body went cold and the world was starting to become beyond his comprehension, he used the last of his strength to turn and twist his neck towards her, as his body fell to the ground.
Even on the ground, Marik could not see the face of the mysterious woman. Or perhaps he could, but he was already gone.
......
When Marik next opened his eyes, he saw the blue sky, and found himself lying in a field of green. He felt calm and clear, as if finally awoken from a long sleep. The last thing he remembered was that great white light. What had the light been? He did not know. But although he felt calm, he also felt anxious, as if he had lost something very important.
In the next few weeks, Marik had intended to find out where he had been, and what exactly it was that had happened to him. Tracing his last memories, he uttered to himself: "...White light, fire, black-haired woman, necklace, prophecy of Alaundo..." When he finished uttering this last word, Marik felt a strange emotion.
Images flashed through his mind, images of chaos and destruction, of fire and iron, and finally... of a map, and of a group of people he did not recognize. Taking this image as his only clue, Marik set himself to find this land, and these people. This clue was the only one he had in his quest to gain answers, and relieve himself of his anxiety.
Character Bio - Hark, Former Thayan Researcher Human Chaotic Neutral Wild Mage Driven by his thirst for knowledge, Hark has worked for years under several notable archmages in the advancement of magic. His most notable work earned him the moniker, "The Rake of Thay", much to his embarrassment. A spell once intended as a complicated disarming hex, was repurposed as a powerful interrogation tool, stripping the victim of all surface flesh without allowing them to go into shock. After his work on the spell, his superior was impressed enough to give him a lab of his own, albeit a small one.
Deciding to move his work, and hopefully his reputation, away from that aspect of magic, he began research into wild magic. Focusing his efforts on the wild mages' signature spell, Nahal's Reckless Dwemer, Hark tried to recreate the spell using conventional magic. Some would say he succeded, had he allowed anyone to know about the results of his experiment. His first, and only, attempt at casting the spell permanently warped his magic. And transported him to just outside of Baldur's gate. Because he's lucky like that. Low on funds and supplies, he seeks out the nearest bar, in hopes of food, sleep, and time to think on his next course of action. And a strong drink. There he finds a very, er...interesting individual.
"You are...very pretty m'lady -hic- wouldyou-wouldyou like to-urk...scuse me...think I'm gonna be sick..." The scene that greets him is a fairly common, if humorous, one. A half-elf man with silver hair, a brown robe adorned with a belt with a large, fist-shaped buckle, and a fairly significant stagger is at the bar, trying to chat up a minor noblewoman. He does not seem to be having much success. The lady appears to be waiting for someone, and is mostly ignoring the man. Judging by the number of tankards around him, he seems to be having a good time anyway. Oh dear, he seems to have slipped, but manages to catch himself, much to the lady's displeasure. She expresses herself with a rather forceful 'nudge' of her foot. The man collapses as the woman huffs and stomps away. I shake my head as I make my way to the bar.
As I approach, there is a...twinge, in the back of my mind. I frown, and look around to try and discern what set it off. It's the half-elf. I blink, and cast a modified detect magic spell. It seems to be coming from the belt, and it's definitely mind-effecting, along with something to fortify the wearer. Judging by the fist-buckle on it, most likely strength. Curious, I introduce myself and ask a few questions, feigning sympathy. It becomes quickly apparent that while this man has some depth of knowledge, far beyond your average drunk, his recall speed is terrible, as is his focus. I inquire about the belt, but he doesn't seem to be aware of its effects. Hm, curious. On a whim, I cast a remove curse spell on him. The magic temporarily disrupted, he blinks a few times, and then glances at the belt. I could almost hear the wheels in his head spinning.
He takes the belt and carefully sets it to the side for the moment. He opens his mouth, then stops, snapping it closed again. I wait. He starts again, "Thank you, for that. I am not sure how long it would have taken for me to realize what was going on, had you not intervened."
I wave off his gratitude, "Think nothing of it, though I would like to have a closer look at that item. Its a hobby of mine." He glances at me, then shrugs and gestures to the belt. As I take a closer look at it, I ask him, "Have any idea who would try to sabotage you with this?"
He frowns for a moment, "I think...I put it on myself." I stare at him. He notices my look and continues, "It gives the wearer the strength of a hill giant. If I put it on, it implies that I had to fight my way out of something..." He furrows his brow as if trying to remember something, "...why would I have needed to fight?" He shakes his head, "I was...escaping? But from what?" He starts muttering to himself, "...something important."
I raise an eyebrow at him, "Sound like you've had a rough couple days." I finish examining the belt as he gathers his thoughts. It does indeed sap the wearers mental acuity to fuel itself, while bolstering their strength. There is also a second, subtler enchantment that removes the knowledge of the properties of the belt from the wearer's mind once they put it on. An interesting piece of magic. to be certain.
My companion seems to have finished mulling over whatever thoughts he was having, "Do you know of an Aluando?"
I quirk an eyebrow at the seemingly random question, "Yes...I have heard some of his more foreboding prophecies during my studies, why?"
His eyes glint with interest, "Can you recite any of them? That name is one of the only things I remember...it has to be important!" He says it with convinction, as if trying to convince himself that its true. I stare at him for a moment, then shrug, and rattle off the few that I can remember. When I reach the one pertaining to the Lord of Murder, he stands bolt upright, then clutches his head. I watch him warily. He starts muttering to himself, "That's it...that's what it was!" He starts, then starts rummaging through his pack. Pulling out a note, he scans it quickly before glancing at me again, "The Ducal palace?"
I consider him for a moment, then nod, "There's supposed to be some sort of important meeting there tommorow." I'd overheard this little tidbit while making my way through the streets, in addition to some fearful whispers about a possible war.
His eyes are filled with fire, "I need to be there then. And so do you."
I imagine my disbelief is plain upon my face, "Really?" I ask, dubious. Some kind of trap? Nonsense, I'd hardly been here half a day, even the most vindictive of my rivals would be hard pressed to set this up so quickly. And they wouldn't be quite this...inventive in any case.
He nods, "Its imperative that we both be there to assist," his eyes go cloudy at this and he trails off lamely, "...Someone." He shakes his head, "I know that once we get there I'll know what to do."
I just stare at him for a full minute. He fidgets. I sigh, shake my head, and wave to the bartender for a drink. Something strong. "How about you tell me a bit about yourself, like a name for instance, before you go dragging me off on some adventure?"
Bit long, but I wanted a reason for us to be there and join your party once things start. This kills 2 birds with one very large stone.
Wow! This looks like a damn good time, I wish I saw it earlier. I don't know what your party's composition is right now, but if you need a hand pm me and I'll fill in any class gaps and weave in a bio to go with it.
Innes, Dyrellei, and Eric have been here since the beginning, Marik and Hark just joined this last session. Archer, swashbuckler, cleric, cleric/mage, and wild mage, respectively. All around level 6. This group is pretty close to the end of BG 1, but feel free to join, as we're going to continue on to BG2.
Having had quite enough of sewers, the party found an alternative exit to the undercellar: into the Blushing Mermaid, one of the city's less refined establishments. It was here, however, that the group met an unlikely pair of allies. Hark and Marik, both mages of some skill, were lurking in search of employment, or so they claimed. Judging that anyone seeking employers in such a place was not too picky about the nature of their work, and able to see the benefit of adding some magical firepower to the group's arsenal, the party invited the odd pair to join them in their planned gatecrashing of Sarevok's inauguration. Even Dyrellei, normally suspicious of newcomers to the group, was not about to deny this chance to strengthen their ranks.
With mere hours left before the event, Eric had his own plans to ensure their success...but they required a visit to a temple. Any temple would do, he insisted, which seemed odd, since most clerics would have a strong preference to their chosen god. Hounded by guards, the party raced to seek sanctuary in the Lady's House, temple to Tymora - as good a patron as any for the trials they faced. Eric didn't plan to offer his prayer to a specific deity, however. Calling upon the Gods as a whole to protect 'one of their own', the halfling's ritual (involving Innes' blood and a slightly stale sticky bun) seemed to imply that his new god of choice was one for whom they would never have found a suitable temple: Innes himself. Eric seemed to draw more confidence from his actions than the rest of the group as they looked on in puzzlement, but whether his faith would have any tangible effect remained to be seen.
Distractions aside, now came the time to focus: weapons and spells ready, the party pushed their way through surprised noblemen to confront Sarevok in front of the Dukes Liia and Belt...only to find those same noblemen shifting forms before their eyes. Swarmed by dopplegangers, the party fought back the shapechangers, protecting the Dukes in order to bring their evidence before them. Protected by his newly painted armor, his faith, and the power of his new God...Eric fell nonetheless, and in the confusion Sarevok fled through a portal, disappearing beyond the party's grasp once more.
After Sarevok's defeat you yearned for a soft bed, though bedrolls and rocks serve to be "an adventurer's finest accommodations" as some would joke while in a cold dungeon or in the harsh wilderness, nothing truly serves to cure the aches and pains of battle, or calm the nerves after a near hit from a rebounding lightning bolt as an ale and a soft bed would. Your party quickly made headway to the nearest inn and entered inconspicuously.
Although the sight of an adventurer or mercenary is not an uncommon sight in an inn, something set Lomin Salix apart from the rest of the rabble as you and your party entered the establishment. Seemingly out of place in the fighter's fatigues he wore, the wiry elf looked to you as though he belonged in a library- especially after considering his diminutive physique when compared to most mercenaries. More noticeable however, was the intense stare (a borderline glare, even) that was received as you walked through the doors to the inn. While you take caution to odd sights and looks, you are no stranger to them. What truly caught your attention was the sudden and aggressive shrill screech of a chair thrown backwards as its former occupant stands abruptly, shoulders squared towards your party, and starts to approach...
Upon speaking to the elf who quickly neared your party, he introduced himself (with a bit of goading on your part) as Lomin Salix, it is clear that he is of a studious background, from the way he talked, to his apparent knowledge of magic energy (a topic it seems he wishes to avoid), he presents it easily enough. It is apparent that he has perhaps been searching for you, and indicates that his need to join your group is entirely personal, though to what end, you know not.
"Well, I heard he strangled Sarevok to death then drank his blood to gain his power," one of the drunkards insisted, and another soon chimed in. "Yes, there was a bloodstain on the altar at the Lady's House and one of the Tymoran priests was muttering about a ritual they'd had there that very day!" "Nonsense, that's not what happened! The blood was used to summon a demon that fought Sarevok for them. No way in all the Hells would they have fought him face to face," a third person claimed, and twenty more voices were soon joining the argument, the tales growing taller and less likely with each passing minute and each tankard of ale. Perched on the edge of a nearby table with a sly smile, Dyrellei simply watched...until a dark clothed figure pointed her out.
"Her, there! She was with him, when they stormed through the Thieve's Guild. She bought my best supplies."
The elf sighed, then grinned. "And here I thought I'd never be recognised. Sharp eyes, Lily. For all your talk, not a one of you knows what Innes and his companions even look like, do you? Not that your descriptions of me weren't flattering, for the most part."
"So?" someone in the crowd demanded, "what happened! Tell us!"
Gesturing to a barmaid to fill her tankard, Dy began her tale, her audience soon listening attentively despite their continued assurances that what they had heard was surely the truth. Nothing they had heard matched her depiction, however. There had been a ritual, she admitted, though she couldn't help but laugh at the memory. There was a demon, she confirmed, perhaps drawn by the death and the magic in the air, but it had fought all around it, not solely their enemies. As for obtaining Sarevok's power...Innes had drank no blood, she insisted, but beyond that she was reluctant to say more. She had more tales to distract the crowd from such things, in any case.
A magic maze, she described, with walls that one could walk through in one direction but not others, and traps that reset themselves despite her most meticulous disarming. Walking undead, and puddles of ooze that couldn't be harmed by any weapon. A city beneath a city, buried so deep beneath the streets that the ceiling looked like the night sky, starless and black, and a towering temple where the power of a dead God slumbered. A place so evil...it could only be cleansed by purifying fire.
"We couldn't just burn it down and leave," she sighed, running a hand through what remained of her hair. "We had to make sure he was truly dead."
In a low voice, she described the crackle of magic around her and the clash of steel as flames slowly claimed the old stone around them. Between the spells of her allies and those of her enemies, the magical traps set around the room, and the rampaging of the apparently unbidden demon, it was impossible at times to say who was harming who, and amidst the fire and the confusion she claimed she had thought the battle was lost at every moment...and yet there was nothing to do but keep fighting until death claimed her and her companions. Somehow, it never did. She described, almost still in disbelief, seeing the halfling Eric deal a mighty blow to Sarevok's half-ogre ally Tazok, winced at the memory of stabbing a mage in the back and thinking for a second it looked more like Hark than Semaj, recalled seeing Marik praying in the centre of the floor for a divine power more benevolent that those immediately apparent. A fireball she hadn't quite dodged had thrown her off her feet moments later, and it was as she'd stood that she'd seen Sarevok stumble in the smoke, a crossbow bolt through his chest, and then fall, another through his helmet. Someone had shouted, then - maybe it had been her - and they'd ran. Everything after seemed unreal in comparision. Pale and dull, like a faded picture, and she refused to talk much of the aftermath save to say she'd be rejoining Innes' company soon enough. He might not seek adventure like she did...but adventure seemed to seek him.
By now, several newcomers were clamouring to hear the tale from the start again, but Dyrellei declined. "Enough for one night...a bard at least gets paid for his stories! Come, I'll gamble with any who dare. In fact, I have a powerful artifact to wager, taken from Sarevok himself! A magical belt worn by one with the strength of a God!"
People were already reaching for their coins as she produced a set of cards and dice on the table alongside the offered prize, and her smile took on a mischievous glint. Their names may be famous throughout Baldur's Gate, with Innes now named the "Hero of the Sword Coast", but Dy had a suspicion their story wasn't quite over yet...and there was always room in her purse for a little more gold.
Comments
Also I will point out that this Sunday has been postponed to the wednesday, but feel free to add us and get chatting in skype.
----------Part Fifteen------------
As the band travelled South once more towards Candlekeep, Levin's singing, interrupted only by fascinating trivia, finally drove the majority of the party mad. Eventually Dyrellei, very clear on the fact that the bard would hold his tongue or lose it, gagged him, and they continued on in relative peace for the time being. Well accustomed now to these roads, it took them no time at all to reach the Library's outer walls, but there was no point entering so soon: Rieltar and his men were not due for several days. With time to kill, and Innes none to keen to return to his former home, the party decided to chase up on some unclaimed bounties in the region.
A crazed artist in possession of stolen emeralds sounded like an easy target, and the mention of both precious gems AND a reward was more than enough to guarantee Dy's help. Near the Nashkel mines they tracked down the mad sculptor only to find that the emeralds were destined for a massive monument to an Elven woman he had once glimpsed. Imploring the party to at least let him finish his life's work, and promising them all he owned in exchange, they agreed to let him be...but it soon turned out they were not the only ones after the bounty.
The notable hunter Greywolf, already in a bad mood from having found himself cheated of a previous bounty, would likely have attacked the group simply for being in his way, but when he recognised the young Elf from Oublek's description, any chance of negotiation was lost. Against the five of them he had no chance, but even as he fell beneath their swords the artist they protected gave his final breath, exhausted from his effort. With his last words, he begged the party to leave the emeralds forever glittering in the eyes of the woman who had so inspired him: Ellesime.
Needless to say, Dy had already prised them out.
Oublek refused the group the bounty for the emeralds, disgusted at the thief's previous trickery, but the merchant gave a good price for them and the party left with extra coin in their pockets all the same. With far more gold to spend than the last time they had headed North from Nashkel, this time they stopped in Beregost to acquire some of Taerom's finest equipment. Feeling better prepared than ever, they turned their sights on the next challenge in store for them.
...Eventually, after skirmishing our way through the Cloakwood, we found the second bandit encampment turned out to be built around an old mineshaft. The Iron Throne were trying to use it to monopolise the region's iron trade as part of their sinister plot. We made short work of the mine, though Malitias took umbrage to the sight of the poor sods being forced to work it - and that was the last we saw of him.
One of the imprisoned joined us for a spell but left abruptly. I expect he just wanted to get out of that place. I know I did.
My dark mood after the woods was lifted as we freed the slaves and it seemed as though relief washed over the rest of the group as well. Our usual camaraderie was returning and I learnt that despite their morally grey exteriors they are (mostly) good people. Well, they're alright I suppose. I cannot repay the debt I owe them.
Anyway, by this time we had breadcrumbs sufficient to start a bakery and we were all getting frustrated with our slow progress towards finding our answers. At least the next lead led us to the big city, Baldur's Gate, and closer (at last!) to the head of the dragon. We had a half day to relax at Eric's Mam's Inn and indulge in some of the best Sticky Buns you will ever taste after a relatively expeditious and uneventful journey. You must visit if you get the chance. She was kind to me.
The leader of the city watch – a good man named Scar - had heard of us upon arrival and quickly put us to work investigating the Iron Throne proper albeit without official sanction or support. Our attempts at diplomacy and then subterfuge quickly devolved into another blood bath. Fortunately for us not all the members of the Iron Throne were so quick to throw their lives away, and so with minimal persuasion we learnt of a meeting the leaders were conducting.
In Candlekeep of all places.
I was not eager to return. I almost wish I hadn't.
Kevmorn is an ordinary chap that has not really stood out in anyones books by any stretch of the imagination. A solitary fellow that kept to himself tending to his passion on the studies of ancient elven civilisations long since removed from the realms. He would spend many and hour visiting local libraries to find old books that he could find relating to the matter, in between his magical studies. Kevmorn is not a very accomplished wizard either, never really taking an interest it far enough to dedicate over his primary love.
It was through chance that he stumbled upon an old tomb lodged behind a copy of "Elven Women for Dummies". Kevmorn prided himself in being able to translate the majority of old elvish languages though this one baffled him as it contained key similarities between a good number of then. He decided to purchase the book from the library and take it home for further studies.
He flicked through a number of pages but struggled to comprehend what seemed to be instructions, through sheer boredom he decided to read out the first page and to his amazement before his very eyes a portal opened and a pit demon stepped forth from the very depths of hell into his kitchen. As the demon raised its claws to strike Kevmorn finished reading the line out of panic and the demon then turned into a little kitten before his eyes.
The demon now rather upset with its new form scurried away... Kevmorn had gained an ancient elven spell book, along with a new kitty from hell to which he later called Hell O Kitty. Is it not funny how dire charm sounds like fire palm in the tongues of men? Ironically it must sound similar in the ancient elven tongue as well. For what he thought was a spell to charm his rather hostile kitty, he ended up setting it on fire. The results were not what he intended though the cat no longer causes him trouble.
He now seeks the aide of companions to test out all these spells and correct all the wrong pronunciations he makes in order to learn all he can from this tomb. Regretfully as he is guessing what the words are many random things have happened to him since and has decided the confines of the city are probably not the best place for him to practice any further.
It was rumours about the deeds of a travelling group that seemed to single handed resolved the iron issue that he sought out the group to help him with his translations and to act as protection should any more pet cats turn up...
----------Part Sixteen-----------
A desire for a rest before continuing their journey led the group into the Red Sheaf, an inn not known for the gentility of its clientele. Among the various scoundrels drinking sullenly under its dark roof, one in particular caught the attention of the group. Noto, a self-professed adventurer of significant experience, impressed Innes with the tales of his exploits and almost managed to talk the young elf into following him back to the Underdark in search of a treasure of some kind...until Dyrellei pointed out that they had more pressing matters to attend to, and that the Underdark was hardly the sort of place one made a day trip to.
Eventually, it was agreed that the group should focus on more local affairs to begin with: namely, the matter of the crazed cleric Bassilus. Rousing Levin, who had fallen unconscious under the effects of one too many half-pints, they began to explore the wilderness around Beregost for signs of this madman.
Beset by the usual scattering of gnolls, skeletons and hobgoblins, it became apparent that their newest member could, at least, handle a blade...but his prowess didn't necessarily match to the scale of his stories. Meanwhile, Levin, while exploring his magical capabilities, discovered that he could summon a familiar...but the miniature dragon took a better liking to Innes than to the bard, and proved an overall fairly pointless addition to the group.
In a clearing surrounded by the animated remains of numerous unfortunate souls, the cleric Bassilus chattered away to the undead as if they were lifelong friends, and seemed initially unaware of the party's nature. A brief conversation revealed the madness of the man, but when he attacked it seem his confusion was contagious. His dark magic held Noto rooted to the spot while turning Dyrellei's mind to insanity, and while the priest himself was dispatched quickly it took several minutes for the thief to regain awareness. In this time, she quickly realised she'd attacked the vulnerable Noto, and (somewhat sheepishly) apologised. Her tone towards the rival swashbuckler had always been less than cordial, but she insisted she had not intended to turn upon him in such a manner.
Gathering the Cyricist's insignia, the group began their journey back to Beregost to collect their reward, but were sidetracked by the most unlikely of pleas: a stray chicken beset by wolves begged the party for assistance. Bewildered, they nevertheless dispatched the beasts and listened to the bird's tale. He claimed to be a wizard by the name of Melicamp, and insisted that his master Thalantyr would surely help him regain his true form. Slightly reluctantly for some members of the group, they agreed, and made their way to the imposing and solitary home of this reclusive mage. He was please neither to see them, nor the so-called apprentice, who had apparently stolen magical items of some value and power. He did, eventually, give in to the bird's begging for assistance...but even his powerful magic could not successfully restore the unfortunate young man, and the party returned to Beregost with nothing to show for their efforts. Hopefully, future adventures would have happier endings, or at least better rewards!
(Yup, still a week behind. Will try to catch up by Sunday!)
Is it worth summarising party members on each post. e.g.
Innes, Bhaalspawn Elven NG Archer. Possibly even x kills, y deaths or similar.
Dyrellei, ...
Levin, ... etc.
& an old aquaintances or dead and buried obituary if you wanted to show how many people become involved over the campaign trilogy.
I'm glad you're enjoying our story! We were just chatting last week about how many views the thread has and whether there were other people reading it, and now we know! Summarising the party members isn't a bad idea...when I started doing this I didn't realise how much the party would change over the course of the game! I'm tempted now to make some kind of timeline of characters now....
---------Part Seventeen---------
A messenger from Matthew's order met the party as they reached Beregost, telling him only that his presence was required and insisting that he followed. Although reluctant to abandon the party, the Paladin had little choice but to follow. Of course, the group had lost many companions by now, but it was unfortunate nonetheless to lose one who had travelled alongside the group for so long. A departure was preferable to a death, of course, and the group continued on as before.
The Burning Wizard was their chosen place of rest that evening, and among the regulars was a man sat reading an old tome aloud in a language unfamiliar to most of the group. Dyrellei recognised the tongue as Elvish...or at least an attempt at Elvish. When questioned about his reading material, the gentleman claimed it was his journal, that he kept in Elvish to deter prying eyes. He told the party he had come to Beregost in search of a certain group of people involved in numerous heroics across the Sword Coast. Before anyone else could say otherwise, Dyrellei was quick to inform him that they knew nothing of such a group, and that it was unlikely they would be found anywhere near a place such as this. Perhaps recognising the necessity of caution given their previous encounters, Innes played along at first. Later that evening, however, he admitted to Eric and Dyrellei that he believed the stranger's good intentions and was keen to allow him to join them. Noto and Levin, meanwhile, were unconscious, victims of a drinking contest Dyrellei had almost certainly cheated at.
When morning dawned, Innes invited the man to join the group as they visited the temple outside the city, and he accepted, eager to witness the place for himself. He treated the stranger with such respect that Dy was quick to mock his deference, and when Innes asserted that he always treated his elders that way, she pointed out that she was far older still. Apparently, raised by humans in Candlekeep, Innes had never realised his race had such extended lifespans. In fact, he admitted to his companion's surprise, she was the first Elf he'd ever met.
The Song of the Morning Temple greeted the travellers with the music its name suggested, but better still with an ample reward for their efforts in dispatching of Bassilus. Outside, in the relative seclusion between the temple and the town, Innes decided the time had come to reveal their identities to the gentleman with the book. Prepared for violence if it should come to that, the party told him who they were...and for once, his response wasn't to try and kill them! His initial story held true: he really had just wanted to meet and maybe travel with the group he had heard so much about. Introducing himself as a mage by the name of Kevmorn, he promptly became the newest member of their group. With Levin and Noto still incapacitated, and enough time wasted on trivial matters, the four of them finally turned their attention to Candlekeep.
(Yeah, still a week behind...will try to catch up, like I always say!)
----------Part Eighteen----------
Candlekeep's walls loomed before the party, and with no small amount of trepidation they handed over the tome and gained entry. It seemed so long since they had set out through this very gate, yet in truth it couldn't have been more than a few weeks. So much had changed since then.
In what had been his home for so long, Innes was once more surrounded by familiar faces and those who had once been friends, and though their business was pressing the group took time to meet those he had missed. Most were pleased to see him, and offered their condolences on his loss - so distant that night seemed now - but there was a strange air about the place as well. Some people seemed on edge, others distant. One monk was even found to be dissecting a dead cat, to the party's horror. It was no longer the idyllic and carefree place of Innes' childhood.
Still, it was answers they had come here for, and answers they would soon receive, though some were to questions they hadn't planned on asking. It seemed that with Gorion dead, many of the monks felt free to share information that had been kept from Innes in the past. Cadderly, an old acquaintance, made reference to Gorion as being among 'those who harp', which Dyrellei translated as meaning he had been a Harper. This was news to Innes, but if there were things he had not known about Gorion, they paled in comparison to those he did not know about himself.
Inside the library, his old tutor Karan was not particularly forthcoming with information...but he did suggest that Innes seek out and read Alaundo's prophecies, mentioning that a strange visitor by the name of Koveras had been interested in them recently. A hunt of the numerous shelves found only a single scroll, foretelling the struggle for power between Bhaal's offspring following the Time of Troubles. Upstairs, the party encountered Koveras, and, as Karan had said, he seemed a most unusual sort. Particularly unsettling was how accurately he portrayed the events of Gorion's death...an accuracy that implied he had witnessed the thing for himself. He claimed to be a friend, and offered a ring to Innes, but the young elf had no trust for his alarming words and decline the trinket.
Not far from where Koveras had approached them, the party came across the real reason they had come back here: Rieltar and his men. Angry words were traded, but they could not come to blows here in the library, and the group was forced to leave them be...for now.
Still seeking information while they waited for their quarry to move to a less protected space, Innes approached a monk who should have been familiar, but Shistal showed no sign of recognition. When Innes tried to remind him, there was something about his answers that made no sense, and as he pushed for an explanation the monk suddenly hissed in anger and his skin seemed to melt away. The creature beneath Shistal's face was far from human, and it lunged at Innes with hunger and rage in its alien eyes. Only as it lay dead did Kevmorn Wyvernjack remember the name for such a being: Doppleganger.
Shaken by the encounter, there was still one last thing they had to do before departing. One of the monks had suggested to Innes that there might be a note left for him in Gorion's quarters, and sure enough, a sealed letter awaited Innes with his name upon it. As he read the note, a mute shock came over him and the parchment drifted from his loose grip. Dyrellei's deft fingers rescued the letter, but she kept its contents to herself, perhaps concerned for her companions' reactions to the news: Innes, Gorion claimed, was one of the children of Bhaal. There was barely time for Innes to compose himself and face this development before the library's guard descended on them. Rieltar and his men had been murdered by the group, he claimed, and though they protested their innocence they were unable to convince any but Tethoril. The elderly mage alone believed their story, and teleported the group into the catacombs beneath the library where Alaundo lay buried. From here, it was hoped, they would find a way to the surface, and to vengeance against whoever had seen fit to smear their names so thoroughly.
----------Part Nineteen----------
The tunnels of Candlekeep's catacombs stretched out into the darkness from where Tethoril had transported the party, and the faint shuffling of distant feet told them they were not necessarily alone. If the threat of undead in these ancient halls were not enough, Dyrellei quickly added to the group's concerns by pointing out a multitude of traps in the dingy corridors. Taking the lead, she assured Innes she would find a safe way out...but her chosen route seemed to involve a lot of detours via burial chambers, and though her footsteps were as soft as ever her pockets soon clinked with dusty gold. The delays increasing irritated Innes, but soon they found themselves in an open hall that looked promising. At least, except for the skeletons. Skirting around the edge to avoid the walking bones, several people approached the party from hidden alcoves. Time and time again, friendly faces would hurl insults at Innes before shifting their skin and lunging as dopplegangers. Their words bit as sharply as their claws and teeth, and the party had to convince the young Elf to keep his composure.
Pressing onwards, refusing to let the creatures' trickery distract them, the catacombs gave way to natural caverns. These were hardly any more inviting, but the air smelled fresher as they progressed and it seemed they were headed in the right direction at last. Their hopes were confirmed in a less-than-ideal way: a group of Sarevok's men were waiting for them, and tried to block their escape. Like so many before them, they fell to the party's desperation, and their corpses revealed a new breadcrumb for the ever growing trail. Sarevok, it seemed, entertained ideas of being the next Grand Duke. Whatever the reasons behind this, it was clear to the group that they weren't likely to let this happen, and they now knew he would be back in Baldur's Gate for his imminent coronation. Pushing forwards through the caves and the spiders that infested them, eventually sunlight beckoned, raising the spirits of all but Innes. Distant and distracted by thoughts of his vengeance, he had little patience for celebration, and the group headed North once more to the familiar safety of the Friendly Arm Inn.
Here, with no immediate threat, Innes finally took the opportunity to share with the group the contents of Gorion's final letter. Kevmorn took the news in his stride, while Eric was perhaps a little more unsettled by the news. He did, of course, point out that he had always said the Gods were involved. As they discussed their next actions, the Halfling called Dyrellei into a corner to ask a strange favour. As well as wanting a letter delivered to his Mother in Baldur's Gate, he also wanted her to procure a sticky bun. Reminding Eric that he already owed her a favour, she agreed all the same. It seems likely, however, that the group will have bigger concerns than baked goods on their hands when they make their way back to the city.
The Adventures of Innes, Bhaalspawn
-----------Part Twenty----------
The four weary travellers had barely set foot in the city when they were approached by armed guardsmen demanding their surrender. Unwilling to fight, the group agreed to go peacefully back to the Flaming Fist compound. Surely, they believed, Scar and Duke Eltan would believe their tale. To their dismay, however, it was not Scar who met them there. Angelo, a man clearly in Sarevok's employ, had taken over his role, and he was clearly not inclined to be merciful. When the group protested, he killed poor Kevmorn there and then, before sending the rest of them to the cells to await a more public execution.
Trapped behind doors even nimble-fingered Dyrellei couldn't open, the situation seemed hopeless, but help came from an unlikely source. A gnome by the name of Neb, with a distinctly unpleasant demeanour, hinted at the presence of a key and an escape. When pressed, he agreed to assist the party...if they could guess how many innocent children he had slaughtered. Eric and Innes might have been tempted to kill the devilish creature there and then, but with Sarevok's greater evil still to face, the group were forced to swallow their misgivings and co-operate for now. It was Eric who correctly guessed the number, perhaps by divine intervention or sheer luck, and soon the group found themselves back in the city's open streets...and once more hunted by guards.
Dyrellei, with a natural affinity for staying out of sight, took the lead, though Innes was none-too-pleased with her insistence that they must travel only underground, using the city's extensive sewage network. Dealing both with the sewer's putrid contents and the denizens that fed off them, eventually a safe haven was found in the form of the 'undercellar', a place Dy had heard of from the Thieve's guild. Promising that the guards here would almost certainly leave them be so long as they didn't cause trouble, she led her blushing companions onwards in search of information and perhaps a relatively clean bed for the night.
Information they found, though not in the intended form of gossip and rumours. Information came their way by means of an assassin and his partner, whose unsuccessful bodies contained the evidence the party needed to track down Sarevok. Armed with an invite to the Ducal Palace, the group cleaned the worst of the filth from themselves and set out. This time, they were determined, Sarevok would not elude them.
Warning for bad fanfiction writing:
This one grew up in an annex to the divine plane of Oghma.
An annex to Oghma's realm, it was a plane that functioned as a base for those
servants who were meant to keep away from mortal manners (or otherwise
needed there to do their lesser work).
As 'bookkeeper' in this realm of Oghma, Marik's task was to
remain in an isolated castle on the outer reaches of this plane,
and observe upcoming matters in the material plane together with some dozens of
other chosen clerics, and record them meticulously.
He had long accepted his paltry existence in this place,
only emptily continuing to stare into the petty problems of men.
Different from the other clerics, he had not been born here to be a
tool for recording, but taken there when he was kidnapped and sacrificed to the gods by a mad cleric.
He took this as a fateful blessing and an opportunity, and made himself to do his best here.
But his diligence was detrimental in this place. He could not leave, and there was nothing he considered
meaningful to do, except working. And work he did. Far more than the other clerics.
Although the others had suffered the same sickness of nihilism, they had considered
their fate to be far more leisureful, and spent their time in idleness.
Only occasionally was one of them to be considered such a bother that they were made to 'disappear'.
Although such an amount of time has passed since he got here, that after so many 'disappearances',
Marik must have been one of the oldest clerics by now.
One day while he was in a small divining chamber by the courtyard of the inner castle,
he spotted a strange visitor talking to one of the clerics under a tree. Her face was veiled, but she was
of medium stature with long black hair, and had an eminent aura about her.
He decided to think nothing of it, and continued his magical recordings of the divination of some prophecy.
Some time later, as Marik was engaged in his work, the woman approached him from outside the divining chamber
and slowly went up to him from behind.
When Marik finally heard her, it had been too late. He tried to turn around, but before he could, he felt
something metallic on his neck. She had put... a necklace on him?
The necklace pulsated with his mind, emptying it. As his mind was slowly blackening to the jewelery's effect,
and as his body went cold and the world was starting to become beyond his comprehension,
he used the last of his strength to turn and twist his neck towards her, as his body fell to the ground.
Even on the ground, Marik could not see the face of the mysterious woman.
Or perhaps he could, but he was already gone.
......
When Marik next opened his eyes, he saw the blue sky, and found himself lying in a field of green.
He felt calm and clear, as if finally awoken from a long sleep.
The last thing he remembered was that great white light.
What had the light been? He did not know.
But although he felt calm, he also felt anxious, as if he had lost something very important.
In the next few weeks, Marik had intended to find out where he had been,
and what exactly it was that had happened to him.
Tracing his last memories, he uttered to himself:
"...White light, fire, black-haired woman, necklace, prophecy of Alaundo..."
When he finished uttering this last word, Marik felt a strange emotion.
Images flashed through his mind, images of chaos and destruction, of fire and iron,
and finally... of a map, and of a group of people he did not recognize.
Taking this image as his only clue, Marik set himself to find this land, and these people.
This clue was the only one he had in his quest to gain answers, and relieve himself of his anxiety.
Human Chaotic Neutral Wild Mage
Driven by his thirst for knowledge, Hark has worked for years under several notable archmages in the advancement of magic. His most notable work earned him the moniker, "The Rake of Thay", much to his embarrassment. A spell once intended as a complicated disarming hex, was repurposed as a powerful interrogation tool, stripping the victim of all surface flesh without allowing them to go into shock. After his work on the spell, his superior was impressed enough to give him a lab of his own, albeit a small one.
Deciding to move his work, and hopefully his reputation, away from that aspect of magic, he began research into wild magic. Focusing his efforts on the wild mages' signature spell, Nahal's Reckless Dwemer, Hark tried to recreate the spell using conventional magic. Some would say he succeded, had he allowed anyone to know about the results of his experiment. His first, and only, attempt at casting the spell permanently warped his magic. And transported him to just outside of Baldur's gate. Because he's lucky like that. Low on funds and supplies, he seeks out the nearest bar, in hopes of food, sleep, and time to think on his next course of action. And a strong drink. There he finds a very, er...interesting individual.
"You are...very pretty m'lady -hic- wouldyou-wouldyou like to-urk...scuse me...think I'm gonna be sick..." The scene that greets him is a fairly common, if humorous, one. A half-elf man with silver hair, a brown robe adorned with a belt with a large, fist-shaped buckle, and a fairly significant stagger is at the bar, trying to chat up a minor noblewoman. He does not seem to be having much success. The lady appears to be waiting for someone, and is mostly ignoring the man. Judging by the number of tankards around him, he seems to be having a good time anyway. Oh dear, he seems to have slipped, but manages to catch himself, much to the lady's displeasure. She expresses herself with a rather forceful 'nudge' of her foot. The man collapses as the woman huffs and stomps away. I shake my head as I make my way to the bar.
As I approach, there is a...twinge, in the back of my mind. I frown, and look around to try and discern what set it off. It's the half-elf. I blink, and cast a modified detect magic spell. It seems to be coming from the belt, and it's definitely mind-effecting, along with something to fortify the wearer. Judging by the fist-buckle on it, most likely strength. Curious, I introduce myself and ask a few questions, feigning sympathy. It becomes quickly apparent that while this man has some depth of knowledge, far beyond your average drunk, his recall speed is terrible, as is his focus. I inquire about the belt, but he doesn't seem to be aware of its effects. Hm, curious. On a whim, I cast a remove curse spell on him. The magic temporarily disrupted, he blinks a few times, and then glances at the belt. I could almost hear the wheels in his head spinning.
He takes the belt and carefully sets it to the side for the moment. He opens his mouth, then stops, snapping it closed again. I wait. He starts again, "Thank you, for that. I am not sure how long it would have taken for me to realize what was going on, had you not intervened."
I wave off his gratitude, "Think nothing of it, though I would like to have a closer look at that item. Its a hobby of mine." He glances at me, then shrugs and gestures to the belt. As I take a closer look at it, I ask him, "Have any idea who would try to sabotage you with this?"
He frowns for a moment, "I think...I put it on myself." I stare at him. He notices my look and continues, "It gives the wearer the strength of a hill giant. If I put it on, it implies that I had to fight my way out of something..." He furrows his brow as if trying to remember something, "...why would I have needed to fight?" He shakes his head, "I was...escaping? But from what?" He starts muttering to himself, "...something important."
I raise an eyebrow at him, "Sound like you've had a rough couple days." I finish examining the belt as he gathers his thoughts. It does indeed sap the wearers mental acuity to fuel itself, while bolstering their strength. There is also a second, subtler enchantment that removes the knowledge of the properties of the belt from the wearer's mind once they put it on. An interesting piece of magic. to be certain.
My companion seems to have finished mulling over whatever thoughts he was having, "Do you know of an Aluando?"
I quirk an eyebrow at the seemingly random question, "Yes...I have heard some of his more foreboding prophecies during my studies, why?"
His eyes glint with interest, "Can you recite any of them? That name is one of the only things I remember...it has to be important!" He says it with convinction, as if trying to convince himself that its true. I stare at him for a moment, then shrug, and rattle off the few that I can remember. When I reach the one pertaining to the Lord of Murder, he stands bolt upright, then clutches his head. I watch him warily. He starts muttering to himself, "That's it...that's what it was!" He starts, then starts rummaging through his pack. Pulling out a note, he scans it quickly before glancing at me again, "The Ducal palace?"
I consider him for a moment, then nod, "There's supposed to be some sort of important meeting there tommorow." I'd overheard this little tidbit while making my way through the streets, in addition to some fearful whispers about a possible war.
His eyes are filled with fire, "I need to be there then. And so do you."
I imagine my disbelief is plain upon my face, "Really?" I ask, dubious. Some kind of trap? Nonsense, I'd hardly been here half a day, even the most vindictive of my rivals would be hard pressed to set this up so quickly. And they wouldn't be quite this...inventive in any case.
He nods, "Its imperative that we both be there to assist," his eyes go cloudy at this and he trails off lamely, "...Someone." He shakes his head, "I know that once we get there I'll know what to do."
I just stare at him for a full minute. He fidgets. I sigh, shake my head, and wave to the bartender for a drink. Something strong. "How about you tell me a bit about yourself, like a name for instance, before you go dragging me off on some adventure?"
Bit long, but I wanted a reason for us to be there and join your party once things start. This kills 2 birds with one very large stone.
--------Part Twenty-One--------
Having had quite enough of sewers, the party found an alternative exit to the undercellar: into the Blushing Mermaid, one of the city's less refined establishments. It was here, however, that the group met an unlikely pair of allies. Hark and Marik, both mages of some skill, were lurking in search of employment, or so they claimed. Judging that anyone seeking employers in such a place was not too picky about the nature of their work, and able to see the benefit of adding some magical firepower to the group's arsenal, the party invited the odd pair to join them in their planned gatecrashing of Sarevok's inauguration. Even Dyrellei, normally suspicious of newcomers to the group, was not about to deny this chance to strengthen their ranks.
With mere hours left before the event, Eric had his own plans to ensure their success...but they required a visit to a temple. Any temple would do, he insisted, which seemed odd, since most clerics would have a strong preference to their chosen god. Hounded by guards, the party raced to seek sanctuary in the Lady's House, temple to Tymora - as good a patron as any for the trials they faced. Eric didn't plan to offer his prayer to a specific deity, however. Calling upon the Gods as a whole to protect 'one of their own', the halfling's ritual (involving Innes' blood and a slightly stale sticky bun) seemed to imply that his new god of choice was one for whom they would never have found a suitable temple: Innes himself. Eric seemed to draw more confidence from his actions than the rest of the group as they looked on in puzzlement, but whether his faith would have any tangible effect remained to be seen.
Distractions aside, now came the time to focus: weapons and spells ready, the party pushed their way through surprised noblemen to confront Sarevok in front of the Dukes Liia and Belt...only to find those same noblemen shifting forms before their eyes. Swarmed by dopplegangers, the party fought back the shapechangers, protecting the Dukes in order to bring their evidence before them. Protected by his newly painted armor, his faith, and the power of his new God...Eric fell nonetheless, and in the confusion Sarevok fled through a portal, disappearing beyond the party's grasp once more.
Elf
Wizard Slayer
Neutral Evil (Formerly Lawful Good)
After Sarevok's defeat you yearned for a soft bed, though bedrolls and rocks serve to be "an adventurer's finest accommodations" as some would joke while in a cold dungeon or in the harsh wilderness, nothing truly serves to cure the aches and pains of battle, or calm the nerves after a near hit from a rebounding lightning bolt as an ale and a soft bed would. Your party quickly made headway to the nearest inn and entered inconspicuously.
Although the sight of an adventurer or mercenary is not an uncommon sight in an inn, something set Lomin Salix apart from the rest of the rabble as you and your party entered the establishment. Seemingly out of place in the fighter's fatigues he wore, the wiry elf looked to you as though he belonged in a library- especially after considering his diminutive physique when compared to most mercenaries. More noticeable however, was the intense stare (a borderline glare, even) that was received as you walked through the doors to the inn. While you take caution to odd sights and looks, you are no stranger to them. What truly caught your attention was the sudden and aggressive shrill screech of a chair thrown backwards as its former occupant stands abruptly, shoulders squared towards your party, and starts to approach...
Upon speaking to the elf who quickly neared your party, he introduced himself (with a bit of goading on your part) as Lomin Salix, it is clear that he is of a studious background, from the way he talked, to his apparent knowledge of magic energy (a topic it seems he wishes to avoid), he presents it easily enough. It is apparent that he has perhaps been searching for you, and indicates that his need to join your group is entirely personal, though to what end, you know not.
"Well, I heard he strangled Sarevok to death then drank his blood to gain his power," one of the drunkards insisted, and another soon chimed in.
"Yes, there was a bloodstain on the altar at the Lady's House and one of the Tymoran priests was muttering about a ritual they'd had there that very day!"
"Nonsense, that's not what happened! The blood was used to summon a demon that fought Sarevok for them. No way in all the Hells would they have fought him face to face," a third person claimed, and twenty more voices were soon joining the argument, the tales growing taller and less likely with each passing minute and each tankard of ale. Perched on the edge of a nearby table with a sly smile, Dyrellei simply watched...until a dark clothed figure pointed her out.
"Her, there! She was with him, when they stormed through the Thieve's Guild. She bought my best supplies."
The elf sighed, then grinned. "And here I thought I'd never be recognised. Sharp eyes, Lily. For all your talk, not a one of you knows what Innes and his companions even look like, do you? Not that your descriptions of me weren't flattering, for the most part."
"So?" someone in the crowd demanded, "what happened! Tell us!"
Gesturing to a barmaid to fill her tankard, Dy began her tale, her audience soon listening attentively despite their continued assurances that what they had heard was surely the truth. Nothing they had heard matched her depiction, however. There had been a ritual, she admitted, though she couldn't help but laugh at the memory. There was a demon, she confirmed, perhaps drawn by the death and the magic in the air, but it had fought all around it, not solely their enemies. As for obtaining Sarevok's power...Innes had drank no blood, she insisted, but beyond that she was reluctant to say more. She had more tales to distract the crowd from such things, in any case.
A magic maze, she described, with walls that one could walk through in one direction but not others, and traps that reset themselves despite her most meticulous disarming. Walking undead, and puddles of ooze that couldn't be harmed by any weapon. A city beneath a city, buried so deep beneath the streets that the ceiling looked like the night sky, starless and black, and a towering temple where the power of a dead God slumbered. A place so evil...it could only be cleansed by purifying fire.
"We couldn't just burn it down and leave," she sighed, running a hand through what remained of her hair. "We had to make sure he was truly dead."
In a low voice, she described the crackle of magic around her and the clash of steel as flames slowly claimed the old stone around them. Between the spells of her allies and those of her enemies, the magical traps set around the room, and the rampaging of the apparently unbidden demon, it was impossible at times to say who was harming who, and amidst the fire and the confusion she claimed she had thought the battle was lost at every moment...and yet there was nothing to do but keep fighting until death claimed her and her companions. Somehow, it never did. She described, almost still in disbelief, seeing the halfling Eric deal a mighty blow to Sarevok's half-ogre ally Tazok, winced at the memory of stabbing a mage in the back and thinking for a second it looked more like Hark than Semaj, recalled seeing Marik praying in the centre of the floor for a divine power more benevolent that those immediately apparent. A fireball she hadn't quite dodged had thrown her off her feet moments later, and it was as she'd stood that she'd seen Sarevok stumble in the smoke, a crossbow bolt through his chest, and then fall, another through his helmet. Someone had shouted, then - maybe it had been her - and they'd ran. Everything after seemed unreal in comparision. Pale and dull, like a faded picture, and she refused to talk much of the aftermath save to say she'd be rejoining Innes' company soon enough. He might not seek adventure like she did...but adventure seemed to seek him.
By now, several newcomers were clamouring to hear the tale from the start again, but Dyrellei declined. "Enough for one night...a bard at least gets paid for his stories! Come, I'll gamble with any who dare. In fact, I have a powerful artifact to wager, taken from Sarevok himself! A magical belt worn by one with the strength of a God!"
People were already reaching for their coins as she produced a set of cards and dice on the table alongside the offered prize, and her smile took on a mischievous glint. Their names may be famous throughout Baldur's Gate, with Innes now named the "Hero of the Sword Coast", but Dy had a suspicion their story wasn't quite over yet...and there was always room in her purse for a little more gold.