Welcome to Baldur’s Gate, a city of ambition and corruption situated at the crossroads of the Sword Coast. You’ve just started your adventuring career, but already find yourself embroiled in a plot that sprawls from the shadows of Baldur’s Gate to the front lines of the planes-spanning Blood War! Do you have what it takes to turn infernal war machines and nefarious contracts against the archdevil Zariel and her diabolical hordes? And can you ever hope to find your way home safely when pitted against the infinite evils of the Nine Hells?
The Betrayer has returned. Acheron, the plane of War, is in chaos. Lord General and Tyrant Bane's glorious vision for all Acheron is in ruins. Eons ago, his favored daughter, Praxia Matyev, had turned from her Father's Glory and embraced chaos. Now, the God of War's armies, with the mighty and redoubtable Prime Paladins, are locked in a brutal civil war.
Once, these ultimate warriors fought side by side as brothers and sisters, protecting Acheron and the multiverse from Hell and it's ever present chaos and destruction. Now they are divided. Some remain loyal to the God of War, whilst others have sided with Praxia the Betrayer. Pre-eminent among the loyal are the Legion Commanders and their Prime Paladins. The Primes: magnificent, superhuman beings, they are the crowning achievement of the Lord General's genetic science through His Will and the Genesis Chambers. Thrust into battle against one another, victory is uncertain for either side. Worlds are burning. On Avernus, the first layer of Hell, Praxia dealt a vicious blow and three hundred Prime Paladins and their legions were all but destroyed. War has begun, a conflict that will engulf Acheron in fire. Treachery and betrayal have usurped honor and glory. Death and dishonor lurk in every shadow. Armies are gathering. All must choose a side or die.
Praxia musters her armies, Acheron itself the object of her wrath. Seated upon The Conqueror's Throne, Bane, The Lord of War waits for his wayward daughter to return. But the other enemy is Hell and it's legions, still fighting for supremacy and seeking to enslave and destroy all of Acheron and the multiverse in it's diabolical whims. The screams of the innocent, the pleas of the righteous resound to the cruel laughter of Praxia and Asmodeus. Eternal suffering and damnation await should Bane and His Prime Paladins fail and the war be lost.
The Age of The Dawn of War has ended. The Age of Darkness has begun.
The elf was pacing in her room. Firelight reflected off of a silver-framed mirror, shelves of sheet music, a mahogany dresser, the trappings of a fine nobles' bedroom, but lacking in personal touches. The elf shot another nervous glance towards the elegant wooden door and sat on the soft bed, trying to calm her nerves.
Moments later, the door swung open, admitting a tall, commanding man in an elegant silk tunic with a simple, decorative rapier at his side. "Allynna Varen," thundered Tarquin Hhune. "I thought you said you practiced that piece."
Allynna flinched at his omission of Hhune from her name. "I did..." she starts, then trails off helplessly, knowing it doesn't matter. "I'm sorry I disappointed you, sir."
With a disgusted shake of his head, Tarquin turned away. "Twenty five years of practice, and you bungled the third note of the fifth verse. I expect you will remain in your room and practice the piece for the next day or so. I'll have food sent up." He walked out without waiting for her response the door slamming behind him with an audible click.
Allynna tightened her hands into fists as he walked out. I will remain calm, she reminded herself silently.I will be patient until it's finally time to get away from these horrible people. It'll be soon. He promised.She allowed a small smile to appear on her face. Besides, I have work to do tonight. She carefully cleaned and polished her viol, slipping it into the crushed velvet lined case before she places it in its designated spot in her music nook. Finished with the music part of the evening, Allynna moves to preparing for the next part of her night.
Allynna walked to her closet and moved a row of dresses to the side, revealing a flat chest colored so that it blends into the wall and floor of the closet. Opening it, Allynna smiles at the black silk inside, with the exquisitely crafted mask on top.
A few minutes later, Allynna Hhune Varen, elf ward of the Hhune family and courtier of the Baldurian court, was gone. In her place was a woman in studded leather armor, covered with a black silk shirt and pants that allowed the wearer to move easily. Her black hair was back in a braid with a silver ring at the end, an accessory both eye-catching and useful for hitting people with a quick swing of the head. A black mask covered the top half of her face, crafted in the style of a bird with metallic feathers curving around to frame her full mouth, the only part of her face visible. Said mouth curved into a smile as the woman picked the lock on her window with the ease of years of practice, and slipped out into the cool Baldurian night. The Nightingale had a particular merchant to pay a visit to.
"Cormyr? That's awfully far from here. What brings you out all this way?" Asked the human male, who appeared to be Jill's senior by at least 20 years. "Well, I did not think that it was good to remain in Cormyr any longer. So I left." Jill answered in the free moments where she wasn't eating food.
"And your parents, do they think that Cormyr is still a good place to be in?"Asked the elven woman, who, as elves tend to do, looked fairly young, but Jill intuited that she was around the same age as the human, as they were a married couple.
"Unfortunately my parents are no longer alive, so I can't really know if they'd approve."Jill hoped that she wasn't coming off as rude when she was answering that question. These people had been nothing but nice to her, taking her in and offering her food. Most people weren't that nice to a wandering vagrant.
"Oh, I'm so sorry, I didn't know. But do you not have any other relatives you can live with?" A look of sadness crossed the elven woman's face, betraying the obvious sympathy she had for Jill.
"You don't need to apologize, you couldn't have possibly known that my mother and father were dead." Jill didn't like people feeling sorry for her and having this beautiful elven woman feeling sorry for her made her feel like a charity case. "I don't have any other relatives that I know about."
"That's unfortunate that you don't have anyone else to turn to. If you don't mind my asking, what happened to your parents?"
"A sickness went through the town I lived in. Unfortunately we didn't have a cleric living among us, so it was a matter of luck whether you lived or died. My family caught it. I managed to survive, but my parents did not." A lie, but a necessary one. The real story was a bit more complicated and possibly troublesome.
"That's tragic, but it sounds like you're quite the survivor, Jill."Said the man, giving off a smile that had the faintest bit of pride. "But you don't have to be a survivor anymore." Said his wife. "We have an open room and plenty of food for you. You can live here and put down some roots instead of living alone all the time."
"That-that would be nice." And after Jill finished her meal, she took a bath, her first warm bath in who knows how long, and got situated in their spare bedroom. She genuinely trusted these people, something she didn't usually do. And they had taken her in, given her a warm meal and a bath, and had just offered to let her live with them and have this everyday. But she couldn't live with them. Not because she didn't trust them to protect her or themselves, the couple was actually a team of adventurers, with the man being a capable fighter and the woman having magical powers that were granted to her by some celestial patron. It was because being with them reminded her too much of her parents and that was unbearable.
So, she snuck out of their house while her benefactors slept. It would be easier this way, because she didn't think that she would be able to leave them if they were awake and had the opportunity to speak to her. She put on her boots, threw on her coat, strapped her sword to her side and left their house and the city they lived in. If I'm not living in the city with them, there's no chance of them running into me again and asking what happened. So as it had usually been since her parents had died, Jill traveled down the road towards no particular destination, with only the moon to keep her company, as it had been for these last few years.
No mortal can truly know what motivates the gods or what has occurred in the depths of prehistory. All they can do is read through the religious texts of various faiths and try to piece together a narrative that approximates the truth. This is one such possible truth.
The Reneskria Scrolls: According to religious tradition, these scrolls are the recorded observations of a woman named Reneskria. The scrolls are eons old, and are one of the few and precious recordings and accounts of Praxia Matyev, one of the first original ten Prime Paladins created with the blood of Bane, The God of War. Reneskria, initially a "camp follower" traveling with an army led by officers devoted to multiple deities, Reneskria grew into a potent warrior by following the example of those officers who practiced Bane's teachings, and eschewing the behavior and company of those who venerated "lesser" gods. The Reneskria Scrolls are considered a valuable example, not only because they show a warrior rising to power from the lowest beginnings through the teachings of Bane, but because of her detailed accountings of the agonizing defeats of those who turned away from the Iron General.
Eventually attracting the attention of a "..woman of blinding power and strength..", Reneskria rose through the ranks in the Acheronian War Machine against Hell. The scrolls detail her interactions with Praxia, whom Reneskria does her best to describe. Her accounts describe Praxia as a woman "..unearthly powerful, dominant, charismatic, and violent.." and "..having massive divine power and abilities that would rival the Iron General Himself." Her final descriptions of interaction describe Praxia as "..independent, rebellious, challenging.." and ends with her desire to "..rule to cosmos with unchallenged domination and claim The General's Throne for herself."
“Strange ees eet not, that so many I weesh beside me stand against me. All I ever wanted was the truth. I never desired any of thees, though I know the reasons for which eet must be done. But, all I ever wanted was the truth. Now, eet does not matter how Acheron burns, only that eet does. That ees what eet means, my brothers and seesters. The strength to do what must be done. Eet should have been me. I have the vision and strength to carry us to victory, and the wisdom to rule Acheron once victory is won. For all my cold, calculatory ideals and wisdom, I alone am favored, I have the Lord General’s soul in my very blood. Each of us carries a part of Our Father within us, whether eet ees his hunger for battle, his magic talent, or his determination to succeed. But I hold it all. It should have been me. I am what it means to be Prime.”
- Praxia Matyev the Betrayer, Former Prime Paladin of Acheron
ABOUT A HUNDRED AND THIRTY YEARS FROM NOW.. BANEHOLD, ACHERON
We are losing the war. I will die on this world.
I cannot tell where this conviction comes from. Whatever birthed it is a mystery to me, and yet the thought clings like a virus, blooming behind my eyes and taking deep root within my mind. It almost feels real enough to spread corruption to the rest of my body, like a true sickness. It will happen soon, within the coming nights of blood and fire. I will draw my last breath, and when my Prime brothers and sisters return to the stars, my ashes will be scattered over the glory of Acheron.
Praxia.
Even the name twists my blood until burning oil beats through my veins. I feel anger now, hot and heavy, flowing through my heart and filtering into my limbs like boiling poison. When the sensation - and it is a physical sensation - reaches my fingertips, my hands curl into fists. I do not make them adopt this shape, it simply happens. Fury is as natural to me as breathing now. I neither fear nor resent its influence on my actions. I am strong, born only to slay for the Lord General. I am pure, wearing the reddest of the red, trained to serve as a spiritual guide as well as a warleader. I am wrath incarnate, living on to kill until finally killed. I am a weapon in the War Machine to forge Acheron's mastership of the multiverse.
Yet strength, purity and wrath will not be enough. I will die on this world. I will die on Acheron. Soon, my Prime brothers and sisters will ask me to consecrate the war that will be my death. The thought plagues me not because I fear death, but because a futile death is anathema to me. But this is no night to think such things. The other Primes and Legion Commanders have gathered to honor me. I am not sure I deserve this, but as with my sense of foreboding, this is a thought I keep to myself. I wear the red, and glare from behind the helmed visage of Bane, the God of War. It is not for one such as I to show doubt, to show weakness, to show even the whispering edges of blasphemy.
In the holiest chamber of our ancient capital, Banehold, I lower myself to one knee and bow my head, because this is what is asked of me. The time has come after a century and a half, and I wish it had not. Taetanicus, my mentor - the Legion Commander who was my father figure, teacher, and master - is dead. After one hundred and thirty years of his guidance, I am on the edge of inheriting his mantle. These are my thoughts as I kneel before my commanders, this bleak mesh of my master's death and my own yet to come. This is the blackness that festers unspoken.
At last, unaware of my secret torments, Bane speaks my name.
As I lower my head further, I reminisce of a time long before: Baldur's Gate, and Avernus.
ONE YEAR AFTER THE EVENTS OF THE GHOSTS OF SALTMARSH
Dreams.
I've dreamt before. Most of them were pleasant: reliving a fond memory, visiting a place I've been, or interacting with someone I've known in my life. But lately my dreams have been different. My destiny as a Prime began with the murder of a woman named Cora. Then, I traveled to a world called Atlas. After, I was part of a crew of men, women, and a cat who sailed the waters of the Sword Coast for honor. For Glory.
But ever since I took in the Smoke during my ritual promotion, things were never the same. I no longer dream. I have visions.
I come from a world called Acheron, ruled by the God of War, Bane. I am a Prime Paladin, a genetically created super soldier, birthed from the Genesis Chambers - bioengineering technology appropriated from a conquered civilization in a time before time. My life, my purpose, my destiny..is nothing but duty. Honor. Glory. And war. My world is fighting an endless war against the Legions of Hell who wish nothing but the destruction of my society. My specific operational branch takes me to different worlds thwarting Hell's influence.
My visions are usually of the future of my home world. As my Legion Commander foretold, Taetanicus warned me upon my promotion to Imperator that from now on I was powerful enough as a Prime that I would be able to use the powers of the Smoke to see glimpses of possible futures. When I told him of the vision I had of the Betrayer and her return, he nodded his head and told me he had seen the same. One day she would return. Not only would we have to battle the Legions of Hell, we would have to contend with her armies as well, in time.
But that would be a story for another age. Today, I have accepted my new orders from my Legion Commander, and I obey like I always do.
By the Wisdom of Bane, and the Will of Taetanicus, I am sent, once again, to the world called Toril in an attempt to hinder the Hellish War Machine in Baldur's Gate, and then Avernus. I put my preoccupations aside of a future I gaze into - laced with war, blood, and death caused by a renegade Prime and step into the portal to return to a world I am familiar with.
Jill never had too many friends growing up. Even before what had happened to her, Jill was an awkward child and going through a ritual that transformed her into a hunter of evil did nothing to improve her interpersonal skills. But somehow, that would change, when a small town needed some adventurers to defend against an attack by Kobolds. Jill didn't usually work with others, but they promised a meal and a warm bed to the defenders, which was something that Jill couldn't pass up. But she ended up making two friends: Misha Praskovia and Natasha Selwyn.
The two of them were just as good as Jill in combat, but what mattered more was how they treated her. Misha was strong and possessed a confidence that Jill lacked, but she never bullied Jill, instead showing respect for the smaller woman that proved to be her equal in combat. Natasha was beautiful, but she didn't ever make it feel like it was charity work when she was being nice to Jill. She had a genuine empathy for others and that extended to Jill. Given the age difference between Jill and the two women, it sometimes felt like they were more of her older sisters than her friends. Perhaps if I had older sisters like them, things might have turned out different for me.
She felt...safe around them. Not just physically, but emotionally, which was something she hadn't felt around people since her parents died. Jill trusted the two of them enough to tell them about what had really happened to her parents and what she went through to get her powers. They didn't judge her, instead understanding the hardships that she went through and that she did what she had to do to survive.
While traveling with them, Jill noticed that the two of them were beginning to fall in love. For some reason, she became invested in helping their romance succeed. Perhaps she had hoped that they would replace the family she lost. Perhaps she simply wanted her friends to be happy. Perhaps she simply wanted to see the pretty girls make out. Regardless of the cause, Jill spent her time helping them along, giving them little pushes in the right direction. And it seemed like things were going in the right direction, until Misha was called back by her superiors. She traveled with Natasha for a little while, until she decided to set up an orphanage in Waterdeep. Jill parted ways with Natasha, saying that she'd be terrible handling kids, which was true, but it wasn't the real reason. Natasha was beautiful and she had her entire life ahead of her. Any man, or woman, would be happy to have her. She shouldn't be tied down to a gloomy teen.
So, Jill found herself alone again after a short period of having friends that she loved like sisters. Sometimes she found herself thinking about them, even though she didn't want to. It's not that the memories weren't happy, it's that thinking of what she lost and what she could've had only made her feel lonely. The two of them were out of her life and in Jill's experience, people didn't come back into somebody's life after they had left it.
My name is Amelia Hiriart and I am an ex-mercenary who fell into the appeal of living the rest of my days as a housewife.
I enjoyed my life as a mercenary for hire. Traveling and fighting had come naturally to me as I enjoyed the thrill of battle, loved sleeping under the stars as I wondered where I would end up going to next for work. I met different people everyday, made friends in places I never expected to, and got by with the coin I made. It was an honest job in my eyes.
Though, slowly, it fell apart once I met Victor Malark, the man that I would soon fall in love with. You meet a lot of different faces on the battlefield, but I've been in armies that once the job was done, I'd forget the names of the men and women I fought alongside with. His, however, I did not.
I learned that he was a mercenary like I was and after a few run ins here and there we decided to work and travel together. I knew pleasure and work should have been separate, but perhaps it was my need of companionship that got me to agree to it. I was around the age where most of my childhood friends had gotten married and had children, and although I thought that life wasn't for me, he had convinced me to lay down my sword and grow content with being a stay at home wife while he was the bread winner of the family we were soon to have. He seemed pleased when I told him of my pregnancy, he even hired a midwife to take care of me while he went out and did work. The few times I would meet him he was gentle and kind, showed no indication that anything was wrong. He even promised me he would stay home for a few months to help ease myself into the process of being a mother.
But none of it was true.
He wasn't there when Corrin was born. Our midwife had helped in my delivery, but when our baby girl came out, she wasn't what I was expecting. She had a little tuft of blonde hair, similar to mine in color, but her skin was as red as fresh blood from a wound along with two little horns protruding from her forehead.
I was horrified. Our midwife had cleaned her up with caution and later left, never coming back to assist me as promised. I was completely alone with a child I could not believe was mine. I knew little of tieflings. I had seen them occasionally here and there in my travels, and I never thought ill of them, but I did not understand how Corrin turned out the way she did. That's when I decided to do some searching and it turns out I didn't know Victor as well as I thought I did.
He was a worshiper of Asmodeus, a head cultist of sorts, with a second life I wasn't aware he had. I knew once she was born he would never return to us. How could I have been so blind? How was I tempted into this lifestyle I never even wanted? I felt foolish, betrayed, I was dejected from the community I learned to love once word spread that I had a devil's child. Yet when I looked upon her in her bassinet, her dark black eyes stared back at me as a smile was wide on her face, tiny chubby hands reaching out to me, I couldn't help but love her with every fiber of my being.
Despite being seen as an outcast, I believed that the community would grow to accept Corrin as she aged, to see that she was just like anyone else despite her appearance. I enrolled her in school as any other mother would have while I looked for work and prayed to the Gods she would find acceptance among the children of the town.
At first, it seemed to go well, I handled a job at a tavern for a while to keep a roof over our heads. Later on, however, Corrin would come home with bruises on her arms and legs, claiming the kids just played with her a little roughly that day. I believed it the first and second time, but the final straw was when she came home one day with an endless stream of tears flowing down her red cheeks, her hands holding the ponytail I had tied up for her that day. She told me that some group of kids in her class had held her down and snipped it right off at recess. For the first time in a long time, I felt furious.
With the rage that slowly enveloped me into its arms taking hold, I took a pair of scissors and started to chop off my own hair. Corrin stared at my actions in horror but I didn't stop until I reached the nape of my neck and slammed the scissors back down on the table and looked at her.
“Pack your things,” I said to her, my voice strained as I held back the anger that I wanted to release upon the world. “We're going to find your father.”
A long, defeated sigh escapes the man as yet another line goes through an hour of contemplation. At this point the parchment on the desk was more bands of black than words power meant to galvanize readers. As the pitter patter of rain on the roof drew the writer back to the surroundings, the sole occupant closed his eyes and focused on it for a few moments. He could almost imagine the room to be cozy instead of a cubby hole in some questionably stable Inn. Imagine that the walls weren't so thin, that when the half-elf occupant in the room next door brought a new companion to their room, the noise of their time together didn't bleed through in the night. Oh how he could imagine all these things and more.
The crack of thunder from thunder brought reality crashing back down. In moments, a caramel hand has gone for a inelegant looking long sword at rest by the desk, and burning white eyes searched the window arrow for any signs of trouble. Seeing nothing save the dismal sight of another building across the way, burning white pits dimmed to nothing, exposing more "normal" purple eyes. "You spend one night in the wrong place in the Plane of Air, and its all you can think about." The man chides no one save himself before turning back to the parchment. Then after another pause, he pulls out and flips through several pages prior to finding his mark.
Once more, ink is put to paper.
Dear Future Self,
I just wanted to remind you how much of a genius we were in convincing our lunatic of a sister, love her though we do, into jumping ship as was during a visit on Toril or Abeir or whatever heck this world is called now. Truly, it was a stroke of genius effectively stranding ourselves on this crap hole of a rock just to save her ass from chasing after the old man's killer. You'd think growing up hearing stories about fang face would've been enough. You'd think winning Amanautor's blessing AND that of Vistani blood would be enough of a tip off on just how lucky we are. If only because the place we was born isn't exactly conducive for growing up into anything more than some hags pie, or wolf's next meal.
And sure, the rest of the family thought us weird just because of our fahter's side showing true in us, if only appearance. But things were never that bad. Home was wherever we decided to set up at the time. Which usually meant alot of fantastical places in which we were a little less odd by comparison. We even met Avrae that one time in Sigil, proving everyone that we weren't crazy kids just talking to themselves whenever we got too bored or distracted. But then again, maybe its fate. If we had been more watchful that one time, maybe she wouldn't have spent that year lost and alone. Or maybe after we found her, I should've been more there for her than ever, no matter how much she threatened to beat me silly.
Guess we'll never know.
The man pauses and perks up at the sound of heavy footfalls coming up the hallway stairs. Looking to the unfinished parchment off to the side, he frowns, but would go back to writing; only this time with a little more haste. "It doesn't matter. Vistani do not simply abandon one of their own. This is doubly true for a twin. We nearly died when she disappeared from our life the first time. Our hearts couldn't take it again. Either we find the right helpers, or we go it alone."
The heavy footfalls come to a stop at his door. A tense moment of silence passes, and then there are set of knocks on the door. He doesn't get up from the table, sensing the pattern in them to be a warning to hurry along. Indeed, after another moment of silence he heard the knocker make their way back for the stairs. Returning to his writing following another defeated sigh, the man closes on a final few lines. "But it isn't too late for us, Yoska. If all else fail, we still got one more trick up of our sleeves." He pats his chest, confirming the unopened letter still lay in a hidden vest pocket. With all the forced eagerness of a comedian facing the gallows, Yoska sets everything to right on his way out, knowing his next destination... would be Baldur's Gate.
I remember the city. Leaning against the pier, I remember how the breeze felt on my face, the smell of the ocean water, and the bustle of the people of this world. Closing my eyes and taking in the sounds, I have a moment to myself in quiet contemplation - I find myself back on this world once again. I look to the pier, where years ago I was on a ship. What was it called? Ah, the Belle of the Sea. I smile softly at the memory, at the friends I made, and my mind settles on Kali - and the others who I had the honor to earn glory with. Where are they now, I wonder to myself. Would they remember me?
I am distracted by visions of a dark and horrible future for my people that I've seen, so I focus on who I am, and my current mission.
My name is Misha Praskovia. I come from a place called Acheron. I am a Prime Paladin of Bane, the God of War. I am a genetically created super soldier with only one purpose, travel to the worlds of the Prime Material to stop the advancing forces of Asmodeus. I hold the rank of Imperator in the General's Army and I live only to serve. By orders of my Legion Commander, Taetanicus, I am once again on Toril, where something terrible is going to happen at Baldur's Gate with Avernus, the first layer of Hell. I have been sent to investigate. My people have a gift of foresight that I have acquired years ago since my promotion, and I see possibilities in my sleep. The most troubling are the visions of the war we are losing back home, the return of Praxia, and the death of my Commander - the only father figure I have ever known.
I feel my jaw tighten as frustration tries to creep up and interrupt my happy reminiscing. I clench my fists and the muscles in my arms and shoulders threaten to rip the tight sleeves of my tight black military half top. I sigh, and then focus back on my mission.
THE MAIN STORY: Starting in Waterdeep, travel to Baldur's Gate to begin Descent Into Avernus. The trip south is about 750 miles long and will take overall about 45 days by horse and caravan.
Just like years ago, I grabbed my armor and weapon crate and wheeled it to the Waterdavian Transit Center, where a caravan was shortly leaving for Baldur's Gate. I check my instructions for a tenth time and make sure I have the right caravan. I had heard that other travelers would be going on the caravan as well, so I had to wait for everyone else to arrive.
"Hello!" I say to the caravan master, an elderly gentleman. "I am Misha! I weel put my crate in back, ya? No need, I hef it!" I squat down and easily lift the heavy crate into cargo, and dusting off my hands, wait patiently for the others.
The renowned merchant Varian Herrins was found dead today, having fallen from the top of his lavish mansion. Herrins was involved in a scandal four years back where it was implied he was skimming money from partners. Also found in Herrins' home with his body was a series of papers containing proof of his involvement in several of the crimes he was accused of, including stealing from several noble families, among them the Hhunes, Hawkwinters, and Silverhands. Herrins's death is under investigation, but preliminary findings seem to imply his death was a suicide.
A Strange Sighting
A local woman, Caerys Viengt, saw something impossible last night. While on a stroll through the streets near High Hall, she claims to have seen someone dressed in dark clothes moving across the rooftops. While such a sight on its own would be unusual so near High Hall, something else jumped out to Miss Viengt. "They were wearing a mask," she exclaimed to our interviewer. "Some sort of elaborate mask-I only got the barest glimpse of it in the moonlight, but it looked like it had feathers worked into it. Like a bird!"
This is hardly the first sighting of a mysterious person moving across the rooftops of our city, wearing a mask with a feathery design. This strange persona has been dubbed the Nightingale. But who is the Nightingale? A commoner, determined to better the lot of their class? A member of one of the thieves' guilds, using the mask to begin a campaign of robbery and attacks through the city? A noble, spending their nights working for those less privileged? Perhaps even a Masked Lord, using their accustomed form of dress, merely a bit altered, to affect change in more ways than government. Until we find out, the Nightingale continues to flutter through the streets of the Gate, here one moment, but gone by morning.
She loved the opportunities that could be found in a city. Opportunities to make some coin that she could spend on a good meal or a warm bed. She loved how she could easily blend in, since no one cared too much about a vagrant with no parents.
But she hated the stares she got sometimes. Stares that made her feel more out of place because of the ritual she went through. And she hated how alone it made her feel, watching people go about with their friends, or families or significant others. It reminded her too much of everything that she had lost these last few years.
But she found herself in Waterdeep, one of the biggest cities in the world, on the promise of a job that would pay her enough to feed herself and get a spot to sleep. So she hitched a ride with a gnomish toymaker who was heading towards the city, on the promise that she would buy some of his toys. After blowing the last of the gold she had, she obtained a ride.
She had heard that this job would also have her working with people, something she had not done in a long time. Not since she had to defend that one village against Kobolds, the job that introduced her to Natasha and...
"Misha?"
There she was, looking exactly like she did when she last saw her. Tanned, toned, and with a smile on her face like everything in the world was fine. The exact opposite of Jill; pale, skinny, and usually bearing a gloomy expression that betrayed her lack of sleep and the fact that despite being no older than sixteen, her childhood had ended years ago. Jill was in complete disbelief that Misha was right there, back in her life again.
Misha turned at hearing her name, letting go of her crate in the cargo area and just stood there, in complete disbelief. She blinked a few times as if she was caught under a spell. But no, it was real. It was Jeel! She smiled, and emotion overcame her.
"Jeel?!?!"
She laughed uproariously and walked up and embraced her - someone she once knew years ago on a world called Atlas. It was a loving, and nearly a bone crushing hug. Misha was so overwhelmed with happiness and emotion she could do nothing but laugh and sway gently with Jill in her arms - absolutely delighted to see someone she used to know again. She took Jill by the shoulders and broke the hug, and she wiped a few tears from her face. She stared at her and looked at face for a few moments before asking the obvious.
"How?" she said, her smile so broad."How can thees be? How are you here?? Ach, I am SO heppy to see you!"
Before Jill could answer, she pulled her into the hug again, and without words, praised Bane the Lord General that fate had kept her safe and grateful for allowing them to be reunited again.
Many years had passed the last time Amelia had weaved through the streets of Waterdeep, a paper in hand telling her where to meet the caravan that would take her to Baldur's Gate. She tried to remember what she could of the city, trying to stop herself from reminiscing about her younger days, ut everything had changed and the roads only got more congested, not to mention she had to keep her eyes on her rambunctious eleven year old daughter that she had to hold the hand of to not lose her.
"Mama, we should really stop 'n ask for directions," Corrin pipes up over the crowd.
"Nah, nah, it should be over here..." Amelia says back, walking a few more feet before stopping in the front of a fruit stand. "Hm." She squints her eyes, trying to get a clearer view of the map as she runs a hand through her short blonde hair.
The tiefling lets out a frustrated sigh and rips her hand away from her mothers, strutting up to the stall owner and asks where exactly the location of the caravan in question was. It was an easy answer, and Corrin gives the owner a thank you with a bright smile then grabs her mother's hand again and starts pulling her in the direction she was given. Despite the protests from her mom, the girl leads her to the correct location, just when the two females start hugging and crying... For some reason.
"Excuse me!" Corrin calls to the two women. "I'm sorry, but is this the wagon heading to Baldur's gate?"
"Hey, what did I say about interrupting people?" Amelia hushed to her.
"I said sorry!"
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Aeydof the Dragons || Wood Elf / Way of the Ascendant Dragon Monk Demetrios Zalaoras || Protector Aasimar / Paladin of Torm Hawke || Kalashtar / Circle of the Moon Druid Morticia || Half-Aasimar Rogue Yvan || Goliath / Path of the Wild Soul Barbarian | Paladin of Helm /ᐠ。ꞈ。ᐟ\
Misha occupied a special place in Jill's heart. The Paladin would always be like a sister to her, which meant that she would be able to get away with things that other people would not. Like, for instance, wrapping her up in a bear hug, something that would result in much kicking and scratching if a stranger or someone she didn't trust as much was to attempt it. Jill allowed Misha to wrap her up and spin her in the air, with a small smile forming on her face as she did so. "Well, I heard that there was a job here, where I could make money for food and maybe an inn to sleep at for a few days, so I had a Gnomish toymaker give me a ride in exchange for buying some of of his toys. But it's been a while since I saw you last, what has happened with you, mon ami?" While Jill waits for a response, she hears the little girl calling out to her. "Oui mon cher, but this is not a task for the children. It's quite dangerous. That is why we have our weapons with us." She's not even as old as I was when I became a Blood Hunter. What is she doing here?"
Misha let Jill go, admiring her and holding on to her shoulders, so happy to see her. She was about to answer her when a small child apologized and asked a question.
"Oh, hello!" Misha said. "Yes! This caravan ees going to Baldur's Gate. But.." she looked back and forth from the mother to the child, and noticed the child was a tiefling, but not the mother. Misha had heard about such humanoids, and them having an infernal heritage. Back home, where her world was being slowly overrun by devils, her first initial reaction at this child was not as warm as it usually was when meeting new people, and she had to take a moment to mind her manners. Still, infernal heritage or not, it was just a child, so Misha was not filled with anger, but wariness. Still, Misha was Misha. "..you are child? Ees for transporting members of investigation team. Was not aware children were coming as well."
"Pfft, you barely look older than sixteen!" Corrin scoffs at Jill, twisting her body to show off her sheathed rapier to the two of them. "I have a weapon too! And I'm totally going on this caravan. Danger is my middle name!"
Amelia crosses her arms in front of her chest, shifting her weight on one leg with an amused look about her. "No it's not. It's Kasey."
"Mooom!" The girl stomps, her face reddening further in embarrassment.
With an eye roll and a light chuckle, the older woman looks to the strangers. "Excuse her, she's a bit... excitable. Name's Amelia, squirt right there is Corrin." She extends a hand to them, giving them both a firm handshake, blue hues eyeing them both closely before pulling back. "Sorry again for interrupting your reunion." She looks down expectantly at Corrin, who readily went up to the two of them and gave them a handshake herself.
"Ow, ow," Corrin shakes her hand after pulling back from Misha's grasp. "Wow, you're strong... But yeah! Sorry, just wanted to make sure we were in the right place, since someone refused to ask for directions--"
Amelia cut her daughter off with a ruffling of her hair, the tiefling getting discombobulated enough for her to inquire: "--And your names are?"
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Aeydof the Dragons || Wood Elf / Way of the Ascendant Dragon Monk Demetrios Zalaoras || Protector Aasimar / Paladin of Torm Hawke || Kalashtar / Circle of the Moon Druid Morticia || Half-Aasimar Rogue Yvan || Goliath / Path of the Wild Soul Barbarian | Paladin of Helm /ᐠ。ꞈ。ᐟ\
So you have a weapon, but do you have the experience wielding it?"Well a lot of things can happen by the time you turn sixteen." Jill says, slightly miffed by this 11 year old girl being dismissive of her age.Jill smiled with amusement when he older woman frustrated the small Tiefling girl and it only took her a few moments to deduce that the human woman was the mother of this girl. Jill gives both of them handshakes, being firm with Amelia but not giving Corrin the same bone-crushing handshake that Misha tends to give. "Bonjour. I am called Jill Moon. What brings you and your daughter to this job, madame?" A Tiefling girl and a human mother. I assume for one reason or another, Daddy is not in this family picture, based on his not being here. Jill was interested in the pair, but not to the point of being judgmental. She certainly didn't appear to hold the child's heritage against her.
***PLACEHOLDER DO NOT POST***
*CRISPYDM PRESENTS*
DESCENT INTO AVERNUS - COMING IN SEPTEMBER
Welcome to Baldur’s Gate, a city of ambition and corruption situated at the crossroads of the Sword Coast. You’ve just started your adventuring career, but already find yourself embroiled in a plot that sprawls from the shadows of Baldur’s Gate to the front lines of the planes-spanning Blood War! Do you have what it takes to turn infernal war machines and nefarious contracts against the archdevil Zariel and her diabolical hordes? And can you ever hope to find your way home safely when pitted against the infinite evils of the Nine Hells?
COMING IN SEPTEMBER
***PLACEHOLDER DO NOT POST***
PROLOGUE ONE - ACHERON
It is a time of darkness.
The Betrayer has returned. Acheron, the plane of War, is in chaos. Lord General and Tyrant Bane's glorious vision for all Acheron is in ruins. Eons ago, his favored daughter, Praxia Matyev, had turned from her Father's Glory and embraced chaos. Now, the God of War's armies, with the mighty and redoubtable Prime Paladins, are locked in a brutal civil war.
Once, these ultimate warriors fought side by side as brothers and sisters, protecting Acheron and the multiverse from Hell and it's ever present chaos and destruction. Now they are divided. Some remain loyal to the God of War, whilst others have sided with Praxia the Betrayer. Pre-eminent among the loyal are the Legion Commanders and their Prime Paladins. The Primes: magnificent, superhuman beings, they are the crowning achievement of the Lord General's genetic science through His Will and the Genesis Chambers. Thrust into battle against one another, victory is uncertain for either side. Worlds are burning. On Avernus, the first layer of Hell, Praxia dealt a vicious blow and three hundred Prime Paladins and their legions were all but destroyed. War has begun, a conflict that will engulf Acheron in fire. Treachery and betrayal have usurped honor and glory. Death and dishonor lurk in every shadow. Armies are gathering. All must choose a side or die.
Praxia musters her armies, Acheron itself the object of her wrath. Seated upon The Conqueror's Throne, Bane, The Lord of War waits for his wayward daughter to return. But the other enemy is Hell and it's legions, still fighting for supremacy and seeking to enslave and destroy all of Acheron and the multiverse in it's diabolical whims. The screams of the innocent, the pleas of the righteous resound to the cruel laughter of Praxia and Asmodeus. Eternal suffering and damnation await should Bane and His Prime Paladins fail and the war be lost.
The Age of The Dawn of War has ended.
The Age of Darkness has begun.
Prepare for Descent.
PROLOGUE TWO - ALLYNNA VAREN
The elf was pacing in her room. Firelight reflected off of a silver-framed mirror, shelves of sheet music, a mahogany dresser, the trappings of a fine nobles' bedroom, but lacking in personal touches. The elf shot another nervous glance towards the elegant wooden door and sat on the soft bed, trying to calm her nerves.
Moments later, the door swung open, admitting a tall, commanding man in an elegant silk tunic with a simple, decorative rapier at his side. "Allynna Varen," thundered Tarquin Hhune. "I thought you said you practiced that piece."
Allynna flinched at his omission of Hhune from her name. "I did..." she starts, then trails off helplessly, knowing it doesn't matter. "I'm sorry I disappointed you, sir."
With a disgusted shake of his head, Tarquin turned away. "Twenty five years of practice, and you bungled the third note of the fifth verse. I expect you will remain in your room and practice the piece for the next day or so. I'll have food sent up." He walked out without waiting for her response the door slamming behind him with an audible click.
Allynna tightened her hands into fists as he walked out. I will remain calm, she reminded herself silently. I will be patient until it's finally time to get away from these horrible people. It'll be soon. He promised. She allowed a small smile to appear on her face. Besides, I have work to do tonight. She carefully cleaned and polished her viol, slipping it into the crushed velvet lined case before she places it in its designated spot in her music nook. Finished with the music part of the evening, Allynna moves to preparing for the next part of her night.
Allynna walked to her closet and moved a row of dresses to the side, revealing a flat chest colored so that it blends into the wall and floor of the closet. Opening it, Allynna smiles at the black silk inside, with the exquisitely crafted mask on top.
A few minutes later, Allynna Hhune Varen, elf ward of the Hhune family and courtier of the Baldurian court, was gone. In her place was a woman in studded leather armor, covered with a black silk shirt and pants that allowed the wearer to move easily. Her black hair was back in a braid with a silver ring at the end, an accessory both eye-catching and useful for hitting people with a quick swing of the head. A black mask covered the top half of her face, crafted in the style of a bird with metallic feathers curving around to frame her full mouth, the only part of her face visible. Said mouth curved into a smile as the woman picked the lock on her window with the ease of years of practice, and slipped out into the cool Baldurian night. The Nightingale had a particular merchant to pay a visit to.
PROLOGUE THREE - JILL MOON
"Cormyr? That's awfully far from here. What brings you out all this way?" Asked the human male, who appeared to be Jill's senior by at least 20 years. "Well, I did not think that it was good to remain in Cormyr any longer. So I left." Jill answered in the free moments where she wasn't eating food.
"And your parents, do they think that Cormyr is still a good place to be in?" Asked the elven woman, who, as elves tend to do, looked fairly young, but Jill intuited that she was around the same age as the human, as they were a married couple.
"Unfortunately my parents are no longer alive, so I can't really know if they'd approve." Jill hoped that she wasn't coming off as rude when she was answering that question. These people had been nothing but nice to her, taking her in and offering her food. Most people weren't that nice to a wandering vagrant.
"Oh, I'm so sorry, I didn't know. But do you not have any other relatives you can live with?" A look of sadness crossed the elven woman's face, betraying the obvious sympathy she had for Jill.
"You don't need to apologize, you couldn't have possibly known that my mother and father were dead." Jill didn't like people feeling sorry for her and having this beautiful elven woman feeling sorry for her made her feel like a charity case. "I don't have any other relatives that I know about."
"That's unfortunate that you don't have anyone else to turn to. If you don't mind my asking, what happened to your parents?"
"A sickness went through the town I lived in. Unfortunately we didn't have a cleric living among us, so it was a matter of luck whether you lived or died. My family caught it. I managed to survive, but my parents did not." A lie, but a necessary one. The real story was a bit more complicated and possibly troublesome.
"That's tragic, but it sounds like you're quite the survivor, Jill." Said the man, giving off a smile that had the faintest bit of pride. "But you don't have to be a survivor anymore." Said his wife. "We have an open room and plenty of food for you. You can live here and put down some roots instead of living alone all the time."
"That-that would be nice." And after Jill finished her meal, she took a bath, her first warm bath in who knows how long, and got situated in their spare bedroom. She genuinely trusted these people, something she didn't usually do. And they had taken her in, given her a warm meal and a bath, and had just offered to let her live with them and have this everyday. But she couldn't live with them. Not because she didn't trust them to protect her or themselves, the couple was actually a team of adventurers, with the man being a capable fighter and the woman having magical powers that were granted to her by some celestial patron. It was because being with them reminded her too much of her parents and that was unbearable.
So, she snuck out of their house while her benefactors slept. It would be easier this way, because she didn't think that she would be able to leave them if they were awake and had the opportunity to speak to her. She put on her boots, threw on her coat, strapped her sword to her side and left their house and the city they lived in. If I'm not living in the city with them, there's no chance of them running into me again and asking what happened. So as it had usually been since her parents had died, Jill traveled down the road towards no particular destination, with only the moon to keep her company, as it had been for these last few years.
THE RENESKRIA SCROLLS
No mortal can truly know what motivates the gods or what has occurred in the depths of prehistory. All they can do is read through the religious texts of various faiths and try to piece together a narrative that approximates the truth. This is one such possible truth.
The Reneskria Scrolls: According to religious tradition, these scrolls are the recorded observations of a woman named Reneskria. The scrolls are eons old, and are one of the few and precious recordings and accounts of Praxia Matyev, one of the first original ten Prime Paladins created with the blood of Bane, The God of War. Reneskria, initially a "camp follower" traveling with an army led by officers devoted to multiple deities, Reneskria grew into a potent warrior by following the example of those officers who practiced Bane's teachings, and eschewing the behavior and company of those who venerated "lesser" gods. The Reneskria Scrolls are considered a valuable example, not only because they show a warrior rising to power from the lowest beginnings through the teachings of Bane, but because of her detailed accountings of the agonizing defeats of those who turned away from the Iron General.
Eventually attracting the attention of a "..woman of blinding power and strength..", Reneskria rose through the ranks in the Acheronian War Machine against Hell. The scrolls detail her interactions with Praxia, whom Reneskria does her best to describe. Her accounts describe Praxia as a woman "..unearthly powerful, dominant, charismatic, and violent.." and "..having massive divine power and abilities that would rival the Iron General Himself." Her final descriptions of interaction describe Praxia as "..independent, rebellious, challenging.." and ends with her desire to "..rule to cosmos with unchallenged domination and claim The General's Throne for herself."
“Strange ees eet not, that so many I weesh beside me stand against me. All I ever wanted was the truth. I never desired any of thees, though I know the reasons for which eet must be done. But, all I ever wanted was the truth. Now, eet does not matter how Acheron burns, only that eet does. That ees what eet means, my brothers and seesters. The strength to do what must be done. Eet should have been me. I have the vision and strength to carry us to victory, and the wisdom to rule Acheron once victory is won. For all my cold, calculatory ideals and wisdom, I alone am favored, I have the Lord General’s soul in my very blood. Each of us carries a part of Our Father within us, whether eet ees his hunger for battle, his magic talent, or his determination to succeed. But I hold it all. It should have been me. I am what it means to be Prime.”
- Praxia Matyev the Betrayer, Former Prime Paladin of Acheron
PROLOGUE FOUR - MISHA
ABOUT A HUNDRED AND THIRTY YEARS FROM NOW..
BANEHOLD, ACHERON
We are losing the war. I will die on this world.
I cannot tell where this conviction comes from. Whatever birthed it is a mystery to me, and yet the thought clings like a virus, blooming behind my eyes and taking deep root within my mind. It almost feels real enough to spread corruption to the rest of my body, like a true sickness. It will happen soon, within the coming nights of blood and fire. I will draw my last breath, and when my Prime brothers and sisters return to the stars, my ashes will be scattered over the glory of Acheron.
Praxia.
Even the name twists my blood until burning oil beats through my veins. I feel anger now, hot and heavy, flowing through my heart and filtering into my limbs like boiling poison. When the sensation - and it is a physical sensation - reaches my fingertips, my hands curl into fists. I do not make them adopt this shape, it simply happens. Fury is as natural to me as breathing now. I neither fear nor resent its influence on my actions. I am strong, born only to slay for the Lord General. I am pure, wearing the reddest of the red, trained to serve as a spiritual guide as well as a warleader. I am wrath incarnate, living on to kill until finally killed. I am a weapon in the War Machine to forge Acheron's mastership of the multiverse.
Yet strength, purity and wrath will not be enough. I will die on this world. I will die on Acheron. Soon, my Prime brothers and sisters will ask me to consecrate the war that will be my death. The thought plagues me not because I fear death, but because a futile death is anathema to me. But this is no night to think such things. The other Primes and Legion Commanders have gathered to honor me. I am not sure I deserve this, but as with my sense of foreboding, this is a thought I keep to myself. I wear the red, and glare from behind the helmed visage of Bane, the God of War. It is not for one such as I to show doubt, to show weakness, to show even the whispering edges of blasphemy.
In the holiest chamber of our ancient capital, Banehold, I lower myself to one knee and bow my head, because this is what is asked of me. The time has come after a century and a half, and I wish it had not. Taetanicus, my mentor - the Legion Commander who was my father figure, teacher, and master - is dead. After one hundred and thirty years of his guidance, I am on the edge of inheriting his mantle. These are my thoughts as I kneel before my commanders, this bleak mesh of my master's death and my own yet to come. This is the blackness that festers unspoken.
At last, unaware of my secret torments, Bane speaks my name.
As I lower my head further, I reminisce of a time long before: Baldur's Gate, and Avernus.
PROLOGUE FIVE - MISHA 2
ONE YEAR AFTER THE EVENTS OF THE GHOSTS OF SALTMARSH
Dreams.
I've dreamt before. Most of them were pleasant: reliving a fond memory, visiting a place I've been, or interacting with someone I've known in my life. But lately my dreams have been different. My destiny as a Prime began with the murder of a woman named Cora. Then, I traveled to a world called Atlas. After, I was part of a crew of men, women, and a cat who sailed the waters of the Sword Coast for honor. For Glory.
But ever since I took in the Smoke during my ritual promotion, things were never the same. I no longer dream. I have visions.
I come from a world called Acheron, ruled by the God of War, Bane. I am a Prime Paladin, a genetically created super soldier, birthed from the Genesis Chambers - bioengineering technology appropriated from a conquered civilization in a time before time. My life, my purpose, my destiny..is nothing but duty. Honor. Glory. And war. My world is fighting an endless war against the Legions of Hell who wish nothing but the destruction of my society. My specific operational branch takes me to different worlds thwarting Hell's influence.
My visions are usually of the future of my home world. As my Legion Commander foretold, Taetanicus warned me upon my promotion to Imperator that from now on I was powerful enough as a Prime that I would be able to use the powers of the Smoke to see glimpses of possible futures. When I told him of the vision I had of the Betrayer and her return, he nodded his head and told me he had seen the same. One day she would return. Not only would we have to battle the Legions of Hell, we would have to contend with her armies as well, in time.
But that would be a story for another age. Today, I have accepted my new orders from my Legion Commander, and I obey like I always do.
By the Wisdom of Bane, and the Will of Taetanicus, I am sent, once again, to the world called Toril in an attempt to hinder the Hellish War Machine in Baldur's Gate, and then Avernus. I put my preoccupations aside of a future I gaze into - laced with war, blood, and death caused by a renegade Prime and step into the portal to return to a world I am familiar with.
PROLOGUE SIX - JILL MOON 2
Jill never had too many friends growing up. Even before what had happened to her, Jill was an awkward child and going through a ritual that transformed her into a hunter of evil did nothing to improve her interpersonal skills. But somehow, that would change, when a small town needed some adventurers to defend against an attack by Kobolds. Jill didn't usually work with others, but they promised a meal and a warm bed to the defenders, which was something that Jill couldn't pass up. But she ended up making two friends: Misha Praskovia and Natasha Selwyn.
The two of them were just as good as Jill in combat, but what mattered more was how they treated her. Misha was strong and possessed a confidence that Jill lacked, but she never bullied Jill, instead showing respect for the smaller woman that proved to be her equal in combat. Natasha was beautiful, but she didn't ever make it feel like it was charity work when she was being nice to Jill. She had a genuine empathy for others and that extended to Jill. Given the age difference between Jill and the two women, it sometimes felt like they were more of her older sisters than her friends. Perhaps if I had older sisters like them, things might have turned out different for me.
She felt...safe around them. Not just physically, but emotionally, which was something she hadn't felt around people since her parents died. Jill trusted the two of them enough to tell them about what had really happened to her parents and what she went through to get her powers. They didn't judge her, instead understanding the hardships that she went through and that she did what she had to do to survive.
While traveling with them, Jill noticed that the two of them were beginning to fall in love. For some reason, she became invested in helping their romance succeed. Perhaps she had hoped that they would replace the family she lost. Perhaps she simply wanted her friends to be happy. Perhaps she simply wanted to see the pretty girls make out. Regardless of the cause, Jill spent her time helping them along, giving them little pushes in the right direction. And it seemed like things were going in the right direction, until Misha was called back by her superiors. She traveled with Natasha for a little while, until she decided to set up an orphanage in Waterdeep. Jill parted ways with Natasha, saying that she'd be terrible handling kids, which was true, but it wasn't the real reason. Natasha was beautiful and she had her entire life ahead of her. Any man, or woman, would be happy to have her. She shouldn't be tied down to a gloomy teen.
So, Jill found herself alone again after a short period of having friends that she loved like sisters. Sometimes she found herself thinking about them, even though she didn't want to. It's not that the memories weren't happy, it's that thinking of what she lost and what she could've had only made her feel lonely. The two of them were out of her life and in Jill's experience, people didn't come back into somebody's life after they had left it.
PROLOGUE SEVEN - AMELIA HIRIART
My name is Amelia Hiriart and I am an ex-mercenary who fell into the appeal of living the rest of my days as a housewife.
I enjoyed my life as a mercenary for hire. Traveling and fighting had come naturally to me as I enjoyed the thrill of battle, loved sleeping under the stars as I wondered where I would end up going to next for work. I met different people everyday, made friends in places I never expected to, and got by with the coin I made. It was an honest job in my eyes.
Though, slowly, it fell apart once I met Victor Malark, the man that I would soon fall in love with. You meet a lot of different faces on the battlefield, but I've been in armies that once the job was done, I'd forget the names of the men and women I fought alongside with. His, however, I did not.
I learned that he was a mercenary like I was and after a few run ins here and there we decided to work and travel together. I knew pleasure and work should have been separate, but perhaps it was my need of companionship that got me to agree to it. I was around the age where most of my childhood friends had gotten married and had children, and although I thought that life wasn't for me, he had convinced me to lay down my sword and grow content with being a stay at home wife while he was the bread winner of the family we were soon to have. He seemed pleased when I told him of my pregnancy, he even hired a midwife to take care of me while he went out and did work. The few times I would meet him he was gentle and kind, showed no indication that anything was wrong. He even promised me he would stay home for a few months to help ease myself into the process of being a mother.
But none of it was true.
He wasn't there when Corrin was born. Our midwife had helped in my delivery, but when our baby girl came out, she wasn't what I was expecting. She had a little tuft of blonde hair, similar to mine in color, but her skin was as red as fresh blood from a wound along with two little horns protruding from her forehead.
I was horrified. Our midwife had cleaned her up with caution and later left, never coming back to assist me as promised. I was completely alone with a child I could not believe was mine. I knew little of tieflings. I had seen them occasionally here and there in my travels, and I never thought ill of them, but I did not understand how Corrin turned out the way she did. That's when I decided to do some searching and it turns out I didn't know Victor as well as I thought I did.
He was a worshiper of Asmodeus, a head cultist of sorts, with a second life I wasn't aware he had. I knew once she was born he would never return to us. How could I have been so blind? How was I tempted into this lifestyle I never even wanted? I felt foolish, betrayed, I was dejected from the community I learned to love once word spread that I had a devil's child. Yet when I looked upon her in her bassinet, her dark black eyes stared back at me as a smile was wide on her face, tiny chubby hands reaching out to me, I couldn't help but love her with every fiber of my being.
Despite being seen as an outcast, I believed that the community would grow to accept Corrin as she aged, to see that she was just like anyone else despite her appearance. I enrolled her in school as any other mother would have while I looked for work and prayed to the Gods she would find acceptance among the children of the town.
At first, it seemed to go well, I handled a job at a tavern for a while to keep a roof over our heads. Later on, however, Corrin would come home with bruises on her arms and legs, claiming the kids just played with her a little roughly that day. I believed it the first and second time, but the final straw was when she came home one day with an endless stream of tears flowing down her red cheeks, her hands holding the ponytail I had tied up for her that day. She told me that some group of kids in her class had held her down and snipped it right off at recess. For the first time in a long time, I felt furious.
With the rage that slowly enveloped me into its arms taking hold, I took a pair of scissors and started to chop off my own hair. Corrin stared at my actions in horror but I didn't stop until I reached the nape of my neck and slammed the scissors back down on the table and looked at her.
“Pack your things,” I said to her, my voice strained as I held back the anger that I wanted to release upon the world. “We're going to find your father.”
PROLOGUE EIGHT - YOSKA
A long, defeated sigh escapes the man as yet another line goes through an hour of contemplation. At this point the parchment on the desk was more bands of black than words power meant to galvanize readers. As the pitter patter of rain on the roof drew the writer back to the surroundings, the sole occupant closed his eyes and focused on it for a few moments. He could almost imagine the room to be cozy instead of a cubby hole in some questionably stable Inn. Imagine that the walls weren't so thin, that when the half-elf occupant in the room next door brought a new companion to their room, the noise of their time together didn't bleed through in the night. Oh how he could imagine all these things and more.
The crack of thunder from thunder brought reality crashing back down. In moments, a caramel hand has gone for a inelegant looking long sword at rest by the desk, and burning white eyes searched the window arrow for any signs of trouble. Seeing nothing save the dismal sight of another building across the way, burning white pits dimmed to nothing, exposing more "normal" purple eyes. "You spend one night in the wrong place in the Plane of Air, and its all you can think about." The man chides no one save himself before turning back to the parchment. Then after another pause, he pulls out and flips through several pages prior to finding his mark.
Once more, ink is put to paper.
Dear Future Self,
I just wanted to remind you how much of a genius we were in convincing our lunatic of a sister, love her though we do, into jumping ship as was during a visit on Toril or Abeir or whatever heck this world is called now. Truly, it was a stroke of genius effectively stranding ourselves on this crap hole of a rock just to save her ass from chasing after the old man's killer. You'd think growing up hearing stories about fang face would've been enough. You'd think winning Amanautor's blessing AND that of Vistani blood would be enough of a tip off on just how lucky we are. If only because the place we was born isn't exactly conducive for growing up into anything more than some hags pie, or wolf's next meal.
And sure, the rest of the family thought us weird just because of our fahter's side showing true in us, if only appearance. But things were never that bad. Home was wherever we decided to set up at the time. Which usually meant alot of fantastical places in which we were a little less odd by comparison. We even met Avrae that one time in Sigil, proving everyone that we weren't crazy kids just talking to themselves whenever we got too bored or distracted. But then again, maybe its fate. If we had been more watchful that one time, maybe she wouldn't have spent that year lost and alone. Or maybe after we found her, I should've been more there for her than ever, no matter how much she threatened to beat me silly.
Guess we'll never know.
The man pauses and perks up at the sound of heavy footfalls coming up the hallway stairs. Looking to the unfinished parchment off to the side, he frowns, but would go back to writing; only this time with a little more haste. "It doesn't matter. Vistani do not simply abandon one of their own. This is doubly true for a twin. We nearly died when she disappeared from our life the first time. Our hearts couldn't take it again. Either we find the right helpers, or we go it alone."
The heavy footfalls come to a stop at his door. A tense moment of silence passes, and then there are set of knocks on the door. He doesn't get up from the table, sensing the pattern in them to be a warning to hurry along. Indeed, after another moment of silence he heard the knocker make their way back for the stairs. Returning to his writing following another defeated sigh, the man closes on a final few lines. "But it isn't too late for us, Yoska. If all else fail, we still got one more trick up of our sleeves." He pats his chest, confirming the unopened letter still lay in a hidden vest pocket. With all the forced eagerness of a comedian facing the gallows, Yoska sets everything to right on his way out, knowing his next destination... would be Baldur's Gate.
THE ROAD TO BALDUR'S GATE - PROLOUGE ADVENTURE 1
Waterdeep.
I remember the city. Leaning against the pier, I remember how the breeze felt on my face, the smell of the ocean water, and the bustle of the people of this world. Closing my eyes and taking in the sounds, I have a moment to myself in quiet contemplation - I find myself back on this world once again. I look to the pier, where years ago I was on a ship. What was it called? Ah, the Belle of the Sea. I smile softly at the memory, at the friends I made, and my mind settles on Kali - and the others who I had the honor to earn glory with. Where are they now, I wonder to myself. Would they remember me?
I am distracted by visions of a dark and horrible future for my people that I've seen, so I focus on who I am, and my current mission.
My name is Misha Praskovia. I come from a place called Acheron. I am a Prime Paladin of Bane, the God of War. I am a genetically created super soldier with only one purpose, travel to the worlds of the Prime Material to stop the advancing forces of Asmodeus. I hold the rank of Imperator in the General's Army and I live only to serve. By orders of my Legion Commander, Taetanicus, I am once again on Toril, where something terrible is going to happen at Baldur's Gate with Avernus, the first layer of Hell. I have been sent to investigate. My people have a gift of foresight that I have acquired years ago since my promotion, and I see possibilities in my sleep. The most troubling are the visions of the war we are losing back home, the return of Praxia, and the death of my Commander - the only father figure I have ever known.
I feel my jaw tighten as frustration tries to creep up and interrupt my happy reminiscing. I clench my fists and the muscles in my arms and shoulders threaten to rip the tight sleeves of my tight black military half top. I sigh, and then focus back on my mission.
THE MAIN STORY: Starting in Waterdeep, travel to Baldur's Gate to begin Descent Into Avernus. The trip south is about 750 miles long and will take overall about 45 days by horse and caravan.
Just like years ago, I grabbed my armor and weapon crate and wheeled it to the Waterdavian Transit Center, where a caravan was shortly leaving for Baldur's Gate. I check my instructions for a tenth time and make sure I have the right caravan. I had heard that other travelers would be going on the caravan as well, so I had to wait for everyone else to arrive.
"Hello!" I say to the caravan master, an elderly gentleman. "I am Misha! I weel put my crate in back, ya? No need, I hef it!" I squat down and easily lift the heavy crate into cargo, and dusting off my hands, wait patiently for the others.
PROLOUGE NINE - ALLYNNA HHUNE VAREN 2
Baldur's Mouth, Kythorn 3
Death of a Pillar...or a Purse Snatcher?
The renowned merchant Varian Herrins was found dead today, having fallen from the top of his lavish mansion. Herrins was involved in a scandal four years back where it was implied he was skimming money from partners. Also found in Herrins' home with his body was a series of papers containing proof of his involvement in several of the crimes he was accused of, including stealing from several noble families, among them the Hhunes, Hawkwinters, and Silverhands. Herrins's death is under investigation, but preliminary findings seem to imply his death was a suicide.
A Strange Sighting
A local woman, Caerys Viengt, saw something impossible last night. While on a stroll through the streets near High Hall, she claims to have seen someone dressed in dark clothes moving across the rooftops. While such a sight on its own would be unusual so near High Hall, something else jumped out to Miss Viengt. "They were wearing a mask," she exclaimed to our interviewer. "Some sort of elaborate mask-I only got the barest glimpse of it in the moonlight, but it looked like it had feathers worked into it. Like a bird!"
This is hardly the first sighting of a mysterious person moving across the rooftops of our city, wearing a mask with a feathery design. This strange persona has been dubbed the Nightingale. But who is the Nightingale? A commoner, determined to better the lot of their class? A member of one of the thieves' guilds, using the mask to begin a campaign of robbery and attacks through the city? A noble, spending their nights working for those less privileged? Perhaps even a Masked Lord, using their accustomed form of dress, merely a bit altered, to affect change in more ways than government. Until we find out, the Nightingale continues to flutter through the streets of the Gate, here one moment, but gone by morning.
Jill Moon loved cities and she hated them.
She loved the opportunities that could be found in a city. Opportunities to make some coin that she could spend on a good meal or a warm bed. She loved how she could easily blend in, since no one cared too much about a vagrant with no parents.
But she hated the stares she got sometimes. Stares that made her feel more out of place because of the ritual she went through. And she hated how alone it made her feel, watching people go about with their friends, or families or significant others. It reminded her too much of everything that she had lost these last few years.
But she found herself in Waterdeep, one of the biggest cities in the world, on the promise of a job that would pay her enough to feed herself and get a spot to sleep. So she hitched a ride with a gnomish toymaker who was heading towards the city, on the promise that she would buy some of his toys. After blowing the last of the gold she had, she obtained a ride.
She had heard that this job would also have her working with people, something she had not done in a long time. Not since she had to defend that one village against Kobolds, the job that introduced her to Natasha and...
"Misha?"
There she was, looking exactly like she did when she last saw her. Tanned, toned, and with a smile on her face like everything in the world was fine. The exact opposite of Jill; pale, skinny, and usually bearing a gloomy expression that betrayed her lack of sleep and the fact that despite being no older than sixteen, her childhood had ended years ago. Jill was in complete disbelief that Misha was right there, back in her life again.
Xenophon: Topaz Dragonborn Fighter (ixi's Dragon of Icespire Peak)
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Misha turned at hearing her name, letting go of her crate in the cargo area and just stood there, in complete disbelief. She blinked a few times as if she was caught under a spell. But no, it was real. It was Jeel! She smiled, and emotion overcame her.
"Jeel?!?!"
She laughed uproariously and walked up and embraced her - someone she once knew years ago on a world called Atlas. It was a loving, and nearly a bone crushing hug. Misha was so overwhelmed with happiness and emotion she could do nothing but laugh and sway gently with Jill in her arms - absolutely delighted to see someone she used to know again. She took Jill by the shoulders and broke the hug, and she wiped a few tears from her face. She stared at her and looked at face for a few moments before asking the obvious.
"How?" she said, her smile so broad. "How can thees be? How are you here?? Ach, I am SO heppy to see you!"
Before Jill could answer, she pulled her into the hug again, and without words, praised Bane the Lord General that fate had kept her safe and grateful for allowing them to be reunited again.
Many years had passed the last time Amelia had weaved through the streets of Waterdeep, a paper in hand telling her where to meet the caravan that would take her to Baldur's Gate. She tried to remember what she could of the city, trying to stop herself from reminiscing about her younger days, ut everything had changed and the roads only got more congested, not to mention she had to keep her eyes on her rambunctious eleven year old daughter that she had to hold the hand of to not lose her.
"Mama, we should really stop 'n ask for directions," Corrin pipes up over the crowd.
"Nah, nah, it should be over here..." Amelia says back, walking a few more feet before stopping in the front of a fruit stand. "Hm." She squints her eyes, trying to get a clearer view of the map as she runs a hand through her short blonde hair.
The tiefling lets out a frustrated sigh and rips her hand away from her mothers, strutting up to the stall owner and asks where exactly the location of the caravan in question was. It was an easy answer, and Corrin gives the owner a thank you with a bright smile then grabs her mother's hand again and starts pulling her in the direction she was given. Despite the protests from her mom, the girl leads her to the correct location, just when the two females start hugging and crying... For some reason.
"Excuse me!" Corrin calls to the two women. "I'm sorry, but is this the wagon heading to Baldur's gate?"
"Hey, what did I say about interrupting people?" Amelia hushed to her.
"I said sorry!"
Aeyd of the Dragons || Wood Elf / Way of the Ascendant Dragon Monk
Demetrios Zalaoras || Protector Aasimar / Paladin of Torm
Hawke || Kalashtar / Circle of the Moon Druid
Morticia || Half-Aasimar Rogue
Yvan || Goliath / Path of the Wild Soul Barbarian | Paladin of Helm
/ᐠ。ꞈ。ᐟ\
Misha occupied a special place in Jill's heart. The Paladin would always be like a sister to her, which meant that she would be able to get away with things that other people would not. Like, for instance, wrapping her up in a bear hug, something that would result in much kicking and scratching if a stranger or someone she didn't trust as much was to attempt it. Jill allowed Misha to wrap her up and spin her in the air, with a small smile forming on her face as she did so. "Well, I heard that there was a job here, where I could make money for food and maybe an inn to sleep at for a few days, so I had a Gnomish toymaker give me a ride in exchange for buying some of of his toys. But it's been a while since I saw you last, what has happened with you, mon ami?" While Jill waits for a response, she hears the little girl calling out to her. "Oui mon cher, but this is not a task for the children. It's quite dangerous. That is why we have our weapons with us." She's not even as old as I was when I became a Blood Hunter. What is she doing here?"
Xenophon: Topaz Dragonborn Fighter (ixi's Dragon of Icespire Peak)
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Misha let Jill go, admiring her and holding on to her shoulders, so happy to see her. She was about to answer her when a small child apologized and asked a question.
"Oh, hello!" Misha said. "Yes! This caravan ees going to Baldur's Gate. But.." she looked back and forth from the mother to the child, and noticed the child was a tiefling, but not the mother. Misha had heard about such humanoids, and them having an infernal heritage. Back home, where her world was being slowly overrun by devils, her first initial reaction at this child was not as warm as it usually was when meeting new people, and she had to take a moment to mind her manners. Still, infernal heritage or not, it was just a child, so Misha was not filled with anger, but wariness. Still, Misha was Misha. "..you are child? Ees for transporting members of investigation team. Was not aware children were coming as well."
"Pfft, you barely look older than sixteen!" Corrin scoffs at Jill, twisting her body to show off her sheathed rapier to the two of them. "I have a weapon too! And I'm totally going on this caravan. Danger is my middle name!"
Amelia crosses her arms in front of her chest, shifting her weight on one leg with an amused look about her. "No it's not. It's Kasey."
"Mooom!" The girl stomps, her face reddening further in embarrassment.
With an eye roll and a light chuckle, the older woman looks to the strangers. "Excuse her, she's a bit... excitable. Name's Amelia, squirt right there is Corrin." She extends a hand to them, giving them both a firm handshake, blue hues eyeing them both closely before pulling back. "Sorry again for interrupting your reunion." She looks down expectantly at Corrin, who readily went up to the two of them and gave them a handshake herself.
"Ow, ow," Corrin shakes her hand after pulling back from Misha's grasp. "Wow, you're strong... But yeah! Sorry, just wanted to make sure we were in the right place, since someone refused to ask for directions--"
Amelia cut her daughter off with a ruffling of her hair, the tiefling getting discombobulated enough for her to inquire: "--And your names are?"
Aeyd of the Dragons || Wood Elf / Way of the Ascendant Dragon Monk
Demetrios Zalaoras || Protector Aasimar / Paladin of Torm
Hawke || Kalashtar / Circle of the Moon Druid
Morticia || Half-Aasimar Rogue
Yvan || Goliath / Path of the Wild Soul Barbarian | Paladin of Helm
/ᐠ。ꞈ。ᐟ\
So you have a weapon, but do you have the experience wielding it? "Well a lot of things can happen by the time you turn sixteen." Jill says, slightly miffed by this 11 year old girl being dismissive of her age. Jill smiled with amusement when he older woman frustrated the small Tiefling girl and it only took her a few moments to deduce that the human woman was the mother of this girl. Jill gives both of them handshakes, being firm with Amelia but not giving Corrin the same bone-crushing handshake that Misha tends to give. "Bonjour. I am called Jill Moon. What brings you and your daughter to this job, madame?" A Tiefling girl and a human mother. I assume for one reason or another, Daddy is not in this family picture, based on his not being here. Jill was interested in the pair, but not to the point of being judgmental. She certainly didn't appear to hold the child's heritage against her.
Xenophon: Topaz Dragonborn Fighter (ixi's Dragon of Icespire Peak)
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