Looking west across the Lower City from high above the Basilisk Gate, the fog clears and the sun shines for a fleeting moment over Baldur's Gate on the north shore of the Chionthar River, as dark clouds gather...
A Cuspide Corona – From the Spear, A Crown, perhaps, or Honor from Exploits, for another. The meanings of these forgotten words, spoken in the long-dead tongue of a forgotten realm, known to but the learned few, and brought to one in a vision, have nonetheless bound these adventurers together in Fate. Bonded in more than Fate as well, for A Cuspide Corona shares a Dark Secret among them: they are the survivors of a failed coup against Lord Bhaltair Redlocks. Bhaltair is a number of things – the head of the prominent Redlocks patriar family, among the elite ruling class of Baldur’s Gate; the owner of the extensive Redlocks shipping operations; the uncle of one among the adventurers. To this nephew, Bhaltair was also secretly revealed as the cunning, hidden master of a dreaded band of pirates and smugglers, whispered of in fear for long years, traffickers in the most wicked of vices, and known for slicking their hair, and that of the gruesome trophies they wear, in the fresh crimson blood of their fallen enemies…
If the failed coup held any mercy for A Cuspide Corona survivors, it was at least swift in its downfall. The wickedly cunning Lord Bhaltair Redlocks had become aware of his nephew’s revelation to a gathering of unknown companions, to seize him for his vile crimes. With this knowledge, Bhaltair lured them into a false opportunity with feigned vulnerability and weakness, and turned the coup attempt into a set-up, a bloody ambush from which some barely escaped with their lives. While Bhaltair, as Lord of the Redlocks patriars, cannot reveal himself and openly pursue the adventurers, neither can they seek justice against him. Neither The Watch, the security force collectively known as the bodyguards of the patriars, nor The Flaming Fist Mercenary Company, with its thousands of soldiers effectively serving as the standing army of Baldur’s Gate, funded by the Council of Four, and led by Grand Duke Ulder Ravengard himself, would ever rise against Bhaltair at merely the adventurers’ words.
It is The Year of Twelve Warnings, 1494 by the Dalereckoning. For A Cuspide Corona, their Fate was changed forever by this Dark Secret one night in the chill, early days of the month of Ches, the “Claw of the Sunsets,” in the failed coup that seemed so just and essential at the time, yet through layers of unfolded treachery became so disastrous. Several tendays have now passed, with the Redlocks nephew escaped into hiding within a world unknown to such bloody reavers as Bhaltair commands in secret. The surviving companions are now bound even closer together as a formally registered “adventuring” (i.e., mercenary) company, as required by the laws of Baldur’s Gate, officially recognized as such by both the Watch and the Flaming Fist, and thus wisely (and ironically) now possessed with legal protections under the same military forces that would otherwise be empowered to immediately arrest or even execute them individually under the right circumstances, legitimate or contrived, were their roles in the failed coup of Redlocks revealed.
Bhaltair would almost never allow such circumstances to transpire, however, and risk the revelation of his own horrific crimes as the hidden master of such a feared and reviled band of pirates and smugglers. A Cuspide Corona knows this now all too well, and awaits his inevitable deadly campaign of retribution against them from the darkness. And yet, this is Baldur’s Gate, where information, treasures, secrets, and souls can be bought or sold for the right price, and the dreaded possibility remains that someone else knows…
All of these matters and more weigh forcefully upon the minds of A Cuspide Corona as they assemble in the drizzling rain and rolling fog during the early morning hours of the fourth day of the month of Mirtul, the “Melting,” to break their fasts together at The Blade and Stars, a comfortable Lower City inn well-known to them near the Basilisk Gate. Even as the mists and fog slowly lift outside the inn while they gather in a small private room for their meal, it feels as though dark clouds gather. The unsettling sensation is made all the more tangible with their arrival at the Blade and Stars, where they find both the inn’s enchanted namesake sign and the innkeeper himself disappeared…
A flood of refugees has been mounting in the Outer City for the last few days from the holy land of Elturgard to the east, with horror in their eyes and news of the fall of Elturel, their capital city, upon their lips. It is that much more dire that Ulder Ravengard, Grand Duke of Baldur’s Gate and Supreme Marshal of the Flaming Fist, was on a diplomatic mission to Elturel at the time of its fall, and is now missing. The massive mercenary army is paid by the patriars to protect their interests in Baldur’s Gate, and by extension, the city itself. In the absence of Ravengard, their Supreme Marshal, the Flaming Fist has suddenly exercised its power and sealed the city’s gates against the chaos, with no one allowed in or out – the people of Baldur’s Gate trapped behind the city’s walls while the growing surge of refugees from Elturgard is staunched. With the use of their powers to seal the city, the Flaming Fist also triggered one other of great significance – drafting the multitude of registered adventuring companies within Baldur’s Gate to reinforce the mercenary army “to defend the city”…and A Cuspide Corona is summoned…
From the Spear, a Crown? Honor from Exploits? Perhaps… As a great Baldurian hero once said, “Watch your step in the shadows. Watch your back in the light. Win a prize beyond your wildest dreams or disappear into forgotten history. Every day your life is on the line. Every day you could become a legend. Welcome to Baldur’s Gate.”
For the moment, as the adventurers await the arrival of a welcome final meal from the innkeeper’s worried wife and staff before they report to the Flaming Fist at the Basilisk Gate, they reflect upon their gathering assemblage…
OOC: Hail and well-met, Adventurers of A Cuspide Corona, to your campaign! Now would be an opportune time to present yourselves in the state in which you’ve arrived for your somewhat forced gathering at the Blade and Stars on this Fourth of Mirtul, 1494 DR, as dire matters weigh upon you. You’ll also note a small amount of additional context in your character Notes/Other section in your character sheets, associated with the Dark Secret “Failed Coup” roll results explained above.
OOC: A few minor matters on the forum’s general PbP norms, as I and your companions eagerly anticipate your initial messages, offering as much or as little as you would like, in reflection of your characters’ distinct personas:
Taking Actions: presented normally written in the present tense and in the third person, in standard font using standard effects for emphasis.
Spoken Words: presented in quotes, in whatever manner the character communicates, hopefully using whatever effects (such as different color, font, etc) that can best bring out the nature of the characters voice, from your perspective. "If you perceive my meaning,"the disembodied voice forcefully adds, as a reinforcing example.
Internal Thoughts: if used, entirely at the option of the player depending upon the character’s persona, presented in italics, without quotation marks, as the baseline text effect. I was thinking the same thing,another muses silently to herself.
Out of Character (OOC) Content: presented essentially like the above, with “OOC” always preceding it, and also preferably in a distinct color (such as this) to further separate it from the narrative of the tale.
Dice Rolling: when it comes to this, and soon it shall, please reference the guidance on the Campaign Site’s DM Notes.
Murdoch looks at the assembled adventurers. An amused smile crosses his face as he considers the party's... eclectic appearance. It's hard to be inconspicuous with blue skin or scales, even in this city. Nothing for it, really. The tall ranger has made some effort to blend in with the populace of Baldur's Gate; his dark hair and navy greatcoat wouldn't warrant a second glance anywhere in the Lower City.It's only a matter of time afore my uncle finds us.The sailor's typically cheerful countenance grows grim as he considers Bhaltair Redlocks.
"Good morning, all," Murdoch says, seemingly banishing whatever dark thoughts occupied his mind. "Lovely weather we're having."
The fog and mist seem to roll into the private room as the door opens next. Sorore then separates from them, concealed almost entirely in her dark studded leathers under a gray Ilmatari greatcloak. She sets aside a thin gray wooden staff, removes pale kidskin gloves bound at the wrists with red leather straps, and pulls back her hood. This reveals the slender tiefling - and Priestess of Ilmater - beneath. Long straight black hair, features too angular and severe and feral to be attractive in any comforting way, and gold catlike eyes. And her skin - dark blue and covered with a lattice of faint violet scars. She seats herself carefully in a chair with wide spaces on both sides. Her greatcloak shifts and spreads out around her with a life of its own to fill those spaces.
"Blessings of the Broken God, friends," Sorore begins in her Calishite accent, smiling faintly. "For those among us deserving of them. The weather suits - I frighten far fewer people at a distance, sparing them the cruelty of an unwelcome surprise. No trickery in that at least, Murdoch." She smiles a little more, but with a bit of an edge to it.
She looks around the small room and watches her other friends slowly gathering to answer the Flaming Fist summons of her company.
OOC: DM, great intro! Let's meet some characters, boys (and girl)! DM, what do we know about the Blade and Stars, its enchanted sign, and its missing innkeeper?
Fimrold lazily leans back in his chair, stroking a well-kept beard laden with early, gray hairs. "A fine mornin' to ya lads, though, Mystra willing, a finer circumstance could be had."A concerned expression mars his already grizzled features while darkened eyes carefully watch the door. The innkeeper's wife... I pity the lass but we're in enough trouble as is, I'm worried about sittin' around an inn with problems as recent as theirs."Mayhaps a hearty meal will cut the nerves," Fimrold halfheartedly says, knowing all to well that few things can abate the paranoia roiling within his mind. Still, he comfortably sits and enjoys the company of familiar faces.
Yokai had never been seen angry or brooding - but always calculating and in control. He seldom, if ever, let out a chuckle or laugh. When speaking, he often spoke tersely and literally. His darkly colored clothes and armor were very unmemorable, save the mask he wore in combat. Better, he thought, to stay anonymous.
His inner dialogue certainly betrayed his calm outer appearance as his mind raced with self-doubting questions. What did we do wrong? What could we have done better? A mole... perhaps a traitor? Failure?
Yokai slumps in his chair and looks to the ground. He visibly shakes his head as if trying to get the negative thoughts out, much like one would shake a spice shaker. No no... Still time to rectify the problem! Need information. Tap resources. Determine next step.
As he returns his gaze to eye level, he sees Murdoch looking around. More time on me. Does he know? Not my fault.
His Elven ears perk up as footsteps approach the door. Sorore walks in with her usual greeting. Thank the gods. Someone else for Murdoch to focus on.
Fimrold mentions food. Food here is nothing like Yokai is accustomed to. He momentarily reminisces about the baked sweets, glazed hams, and delicious roasted vegetables served by the help on ornate dishes in the main hall. He had spent many moons there, surrounded by family and friends. Friends. Not friends. Traitors. Bastards!
His mind snaps back to the present and races faster still. We need to move. In danger here!
Yokai quietly lets out only a single word in a low class accent: “Mornin’.”
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Feldinor watches outside the Blade and Stars from the shadows Stealth8 and begins counting the members of his mercenary lot. "Murdoch is one...and I'm pretty sure I saw Reacher go in with him, so that is two...Fimrold and Yokai -- still haven't figured him out yet, he is hiding something...well anyway, that would make three and four. Oh! and there goes Sororerorero--always making a dramatic entrance...five... that leaves the dragon and the 'rules are good for you' paladin---bah! Well I guess that is suitable for me to come on in. Wouldn't want to be the last one inside."
Feldinor waits for another patron to come to the front door and takes the opportunity to stealth-fully enter behind the patron. Stealth10 And at..temp..ts to sneak up on the Tiefling. From behind her chair with a loud voice: "HI there! Ooooohhh food is coming. That is a great idea. So have I arrived in time for Yokai's panic attack?" Feldinor looks around for snacks or nibbles that are customarily left around to wet the appetites of patrons while their meal is prepared. Not seeing any and finally noticing something is amiss inside. "Hey?! Where's our friendly innkeeper? Did one of you scare him off and out the back entrance when I wasn't watching?"
[ooc]agree with the awesome intro @GM!! I am testing the rolling mechanisms with my intro so that I can get a feel for how they will post. Looking forward to this!
Heavy but quick bootfalls echo through the hallway, stopping just outside the wooden portal to your temporary reprieve from the stink of the streets. The distinct rustle of heavy chain mail accompanies a wide swing of the door. The churning air carries in the deep and unmistakable scent of lilacs. Flowing into the room immediately behind the verdant perfume is a face and hair captivating beyond simple description. The tint of the golden eyes is arresting. The hair falls inexplicably perfectly as it frames a sculpture of otherworldly rapture. The strained expression on the porcelain face throws off the immaculate construction, however. It is a face carrying both deep toil that you have come to know plus a more immediate, practical strain.
Her trusty shield, patterned intentionally conspicuously with a heavy gauntlet centered with an unblinking eye, the unmistakable symbol of Helm…the Vigilant One… The Watcher… the shield is not chambered in its normal places. At this moment, the formidable metal barricade that several tenday ago thwarted conniving knives of Bhaltair and his Redlock minions has now been pressed into a more humble service.
The shield is held parallel to the floor and is encumbered with bread, cheese, melted eggs, fish and ale.
Casta Lapsu catches the door open with the shield corner and shoulders the clumsy, improvised tray through the door, following it herself before gracelessly kicking the door shut behind her.
Her voice is a melodic eccentricity which betrays that the common tongue is not her first language. Though beautiful and exotic her candor is straight and direct.
“Aurayaun has gone missing to boot.” Her right eyebrow raises and chin crosses down to the right shoulder as she breathes out mild exasperation. “Lupin is trying to hold the inn down, but she is right out of sorts this morn. Tragedy beyond counting in Elturgard. Companion save them. Misery overflowing at the walls of the Basilisk Gate and swamping Wyrm’s Crossing. Crisis in the ‘Gate and Flaming Fist with Grand Duke and Supreme Marshal Ulder Ravenguard gone missing. And right here in our hands we have a missing loyal innkeeper. By Helm. May the Watcher protect us!”
She sets the improvised tray upon her cocked hip and places the fresh food at the shared table one plate at a time. It is a community style fast breaking but she takes care to place favorite foods by those who will enjoy them most. Ale closest to Fimrold. Clean bread closest to Rigor. Melted eggs closest to Murdoch. Fish closest to where Belmort will sit when he arrives. Nothing is placed in front of Feldinor. As an accomplished rogue, he prefers not to be noticed.
As she is placing the comestibles, she reviews familiar sayings.
“We know that it is Helm that watches and protects, but it is by Amaunator that the sun gives life and Chauntea that gives abundance in grain and the ***** Queen Umberlee that allows fish to be taken as she is appeased. By Ilmater himself we are spared the suffering of starvation falling now heavily upon those just outside our walls. I’ll say grace.”
She places her gauntleted hand over the pendant around her neck, also a gauntlet inscribed with an unblinking eye.
“Benedic domine, nos et hæc tua dona quæ de tua largitate sumus sumpturi. Per Divus dominum nostrum. Amen.”
As she prays, the lilac scent evolves into roses only to fall back to lilac as she completes the familiar prayer of provision.
As she sits to begin to eat she adds, almost as an afterthought. “Did you each notice the sign was missing, too? I wonder if an agent of Amn has finally come to reclaim it.”
“When we are fed, we shall talk of how to help those crushing the Outer City. Ilmater has much to say and do on this day, don’t you agree Sorore? We are summoned forth under the Fist to protect the city from Refugees, but I’ll not raise my gauntlet to strike down a ravaged soul to protect the Upper City. Helm Protects people, not property value.”
She considers silently while she eats: With overlapping duty to the Cuspide Corona, the Flaming Fist, the Temple of Helm, and the Order of the Gauntlet, I pray these do not come into conflict. My heart is pure so my choice will be clear, though not without consequence."Upon considering consequences, she is hit with flashbacks of aborted justice. Bodies of the valiant laid low. The laughter of the vile. The unconsidered price of failure even though the cause was righteous. Being right and just does not, in itself, guarantee victory. Bread catches in her graceful throat. The bouquet surrounding her takes on the sulfurous pallor of the Crown Imperial.
Nothing is placed in front of Feldinor. As an accomplished rogue, he prefers not to be noticed.
Feldinor seems not to notice anything intended by the Pally as he sees the whole table as fair game to move about. He quickly seizes a plate and makes his usual large helping of food for such a small creature. Then sits in a position with his back to a wall, eyes on the entrances and exits, and thinks to himself One can never be too cautious.
He sets the ale down, its contents sloshing slightly down the side as he bows his head and gently clutches the holy symbol on his beard brooch, careful not to disrespect the kindness he had recieved. After listening to Casta speak and simultaniously drinking deeply of the long awaited nectar, Fimrold wipes the froth from his mouth and moustache, now speaking in a serious tone;
"Aye, I'd rather not take on such an immoral task as drivin' away indignant souls- though I'd wager The Flamin' Fists intend to hire our help, not demand it."
I sincerely hope that's the case, giving an order like that would cause a lot of trouble. Trouble likes to be noticed and any attention is too much attention... I'm confident we'll do what we must to survive, I just hope we won't make more reasons to hold regret.
"Hey! Speaking of the Flaming Fist, who told them we were available for hire. I mean I know the whole 'mercenary groups have to register' rule Ms. Pally but really...did they check our schedule. Maybe it is full?" Feldinor doesn't really think he can get away with ignoring the ruling Law of the land but he can't help but voice his inner hesitations about interacting with the Law of the land. After all, they might put 2 and 2 together and discover his role in the recent coup attempt."Bah! No one knows that man in jail is innocent. He just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time! Which is a blessing of Tymora to those that follow, I say."
"Do we have a plan for approaching the Flaming Fist? Do we just show up and send our most 'rule abiding member' to negotiate a standard contract with low wages? Or are we trying to maximize our profit to recoup our losses? I'm not one for being the negotiator, but I do have friends around the area that help us understand what the supply and demand impacts are on mercenary hiring these days?"
"Thank you, Casta," Murdoch says between mouthfuls of toast sodden with runny egg. "I'd like to talk with the inn-keep's wife—Lupin, you said her name was?—and see if we can't do anything to help. With the current issues plaguing the Flaming Fist, I doubt they'll take the time to look into a single missing person."
After hastily finishing his meal, Murdoch stands up from his chair near the door. He gathers empty plates and conspicuously steals a mouthful of Fimrold's ale. He pauses before exiting the room, looking back at those assembled within.
"Has anyone heard from Belmort?" the Redlocks pariah asks. "I'd like for him to be here when we decide on our course of action, once we learn more about the innkeeper's disappearance." Without waiting for a response, he steps across the room's threshold and heads toward the kitchens.
Murdoch lets out a small sigh upon exiting the private chamber, remembering the edge in Sorore's voice as she spoke of trickery. I hope she'll eventually forgive me for my imagined deception.
After returning the dishes to the kitchens, Murdoch will look for the innkeeper's wife and offer the party's assistance. Assuming she's interested, he'll ask her to return to the party's room so that they can discuss the matter with all involved.
OOC: Hail and well met, all. A warm greeting to each! I've been tremendously looking forward to this game beginning. One thing I've learned about our host is that he builds exceptional teams. I'm honored to be invited. I look forward to these posts being a highlight of my nights. To prepare myself, I've been reviewing the Sword Coast Adventure Guide, replaying Baulder's Gate video game and reading up on the public domain Forgotten Realms Wiki. https://forgottenrealms.fandom.com/wiki/Baldur's_Gate I was surprised to learn that there was even a page for the Blade and Stars Inn. https://forgottenrealms.fandom.com/wiki/Blade_and_Stars Pulling in bits from these sources adds a layer of verisimilitude. Generally, spoilers for modules are not on the wiki pages but there are occasional exceptions. All these sources are considered 'Canon' (Wiki is derived from canon), but I hear occasional rumor that the module authors exercise creative freedom and occasionally relegate established canon into legends status and we all get a surprise. So much more the fun.
Belmort walks in and scans the room and his companions with piercing blue eyes. While walking to the empty seat among his company, the massive Silver Dragonborn adjusts his chain mail and armory of heavy weapons to ensure proper placement, and the ability to sit and dine with the rest of the traveling party.
“I am sorry for my tardiness my friends, I did not see the sign for the inn. I pray my untimely arrival has not delayed the group’s planning.”
Belmort sits and loads a plate with food, and begins to eat while surveying the group.
“Does anyone have ideas on how we should proceed after our last bit of bad luck?”
I mean I know the whole 'mercenary groups have to register' rule Ms. Pally but really...did they check our schedule. Maybe it is full?"
Hmmmm. "Ms Pally." There it is again. Diminutive name from a diminutive frame. Clearly trying to get a reaction, rattle my cage a bit. Perhaps I should not respond and let it pass. No, that is not our way. Neither of Helm. Nor the Gauntlet. Be direct but kind in correction.
Casta Lapsu circles around the table to be near where the halfling is sitting along the wall but doesn't look at him directly, more speaking to the edge of the table near Master Blackfoot. The air takes on a slight sense of gardenia scent.
"Ms Pally." Now that's a title I've not worn in many a year. I shed the "Ms" some twenty two years hence by marriage to Aefir the Certus. You will need to wait for his soul to become unhoused before I can take the unmarried name back. He be Elven long lived, though, so you've best take up your patience. The Pally is better said as Chevall, Adept or even Frère en Armes, depending on which of my many sides you intend to invoke. Casta shifts her gaze now from the off center look, now right into his eyes, her flawless brow knitting slightly even while smile remains to drive home the next words. Gardenia background intensifies from a hint to a distinct odor. "Whatever title you lead with, always trace with Lapsu, young cutpurse. I've taken the name as a frequent reminder. Those of my family line can get ..... powerful judgemental ... without a constant reminder of humility. Don't let me forget my humility."
She then turns to welcome the last of the band with a broad smile and a plate of fish.
In his head, Yokai follows along with the paladin's pre-meal blessing. The words flow easily in his head, having heard them many times before a meal with Casta Lapsu. He nods his head at Casta, acknowledging her generosity. Partaking lightly of fish and fresh vegetables, he abstains from ale and grabs water instead. After finishing his meal, Yokai lowers his head and prays in silence. Agimus tibi gratias, omnipotens Helm, pro universis beneficiis tuis, qui vivis et regnas in saecula saeculorum. Amen.
He raises his head again and stares at the paladin with soldierly admiration - the kind of fraternal love one has for another who has slain the villainous side-by-side, held the line against an oppressive onslaught, and rallied against overwhelming odds, all the while remaining virtuous and resolute. He's not of the clergy yet, but he says reassuringly to himself, Perhaps one day I can be as resolute. A true defender of the people, and of the faith. The rocky beginning of my journey does not have to foreshadow the ending. Praise Helm. Protect the innocent.
"Lady. Sign. In that order", he blurts out to Belmort.
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Casta Lapsu quickly catches up Belmort with the missed conversation, doing her best to honor the correct connotation of each person's addition to the tapestry. (Performance Check. 9) It is a little off-putting to watch her try to alter her own nuance to match the others'. You might think her mocking if you did not know her heart, but she intends to convey as true a version of the events as she can. That means to carry the physical subtext forward in the recounting.
As Casta eats a portion of runny egg soaked into the bread, she quietly hums/sings to herself a morning song dedicated to Lathander. Helm is first in her heart, but morning is a time for celebration of renewal and rebirth. You have heard her sing this song before, even as a duet with her husband, but today it is a shared private moment. Even with tragedy pulling at the gates, she remembers to reflect on the goodness that falls upon every day.
When finished with just enough food to retain both her strength and her figure, she addresses the Cuspide Corona, minus one. I'm sure Master Brand will be back in a moment with Lupin, but we can begin to answer Master Blackfoot's question until Master Brand returns. First, this is not exactly a volunteer assignment. The Flaming Fist is perfectly in their rights to conscript registered adventurers as adjunct militia for the protection of the city. Like the law or not, we have all chosen to live under the 'Gate and subject to her laws. Having that said, that does not mean we wait to be told what to do. By Helm, watching is not a spectator sport. I motion that we position ourselves in the front of the line and look for work most appropriate to the faith persuasions of our band. Two Clerics and a Paladin offer divine council. A monk to convey worldly wisdom. An Aebir refugee of scales to show how the city is accepting of even the farthest alien. We can highlight these truths to match ourselves to an appropriate contract. Up front and ministering is where we belong. For some of us, the point is to address the greatest need. For some of us, the point is to avoid the moral failures of the brute squad. For some of us, it may also be to acquire more specialized and lucrative contract option. These points are not in opposition. It may well be that just wearing the icon of one of the 'Gate's most prominent gods, especially if I leave my plumed helmet off, helps us get the right match contract option.
Casta Lapsu falls silent, leans back in her chair and opens her arms, opening the topic for the rest of Cuspide Corona to comment. She beams encouragement to overcome the subtle resistance and concern palpable in the edges of the members' words. Come on guys. Bad Uncle Redlocks can't move against us when we are out in public. If we go to ground, then we are as good as dead. If we fracture, we are dead one by one. We stay alive by staying together and relevant! Get out there and serve the people!!!
Within moments of A Cuspide Corona settling in to the Blade and Stars' traditional morningfeast, Mistress Lupin arrives bearing a broad tray of dark wood with more ale and water, with Murdoch close behind hefting yet another, laden with more fish and bread, the last still steaming with melted cheese and eggs, and other victuals. The attempted welcoming smile upon the middle-aged woman's careworn visage does little to conceal the sense of distraction and perpetual worry that lies beneath.
"Casta and Murdoch, thanks to you both for your help, dears.I don't know how we endure at times, in these dark days, with the Flaming Fist pressing every company still trapped inside the city under their brutal "service" to defend it, and that's taken away some of our staff as well. To be sure, though, something evil and rotten is rising among us since the refugees have come, whatever's happened to their city, and folks are dying wherever the Fist is not. And those bastards still haven't found out what's happened to my poor Aurayaun, or our precious Blade and Stars, and there's foul deeds there, to be sure!"
Lupin's voice raises somewhat with tones of furious desperation, her eyes welling up even by the end of her words, but she quickly dries them on her upraised shoulder and presses on, once the trays are emptied of morningfeast.
"I know you have bigger worries than mine this morning, though. Your company topped the list on the parchment the Flaming Fist nailed up yesterday, right where the Blade's starlight would have glimmered on it all the night through, to be sure. It's the Basilisk Gate for you, dears, to receive your orders from Captain Zodge there before Highsun. To be sure, the Fist is saying their emergency powers allow them to track down and execute on the spot those of any company that refuse them!"
"Just give your best, keep us safe, and make the 'Gate proud enough to hear that strange name of yours on their tongues, dears. And please, get our damned Flaming Fist back to keeping the peace instead of trying to crush it out of folks, and then back to work finding out whatever's happened to my Aurayaun, something foul, to be sure! He's not been the same these last years since we lost our Harali, sweet dear, but he would never have abandoned us, let alone take the Blade and Stars with him, the fools."
Lupin quickly withdraws from the room, stacked trays partially laden with cleared dishes, before her worries give rise to greater emotions, leaving the gathered adventurers finally assembled in full to consider what awaits them at the Basilisk Gate, for their time draws nigh...
Looking west across the Lower City from high above the Basilisk Gate, the fog clears and the sun shines for a fleeting moment over Baldur's Gate on the north shore of the Chionthar River, as dark clouds gather...
A Cuspide Corona – From the Spear, A Crown, perhaps, or Honor from Exploits, for another. The meanings of these forgotten words, spoken in the long-dead tongue of a forgotten realm, known to but the learned few, and brought to one in a vision, have nonetheless bound these adventurers together in Fate. Bonded in more than Fate as well, for A Cuspide Corona shares a Dark Secret among them: they are the survivors of a failed coup against Lord Bhaltair Redlocks. Bhaltair is a number of things – the head of the prominent Redlocks patriar family, among the elite ruling class of Baldur’s Gate; the owner of the extensive Redlocks shipping operations; the uncle of one among the adventurers. To this nephew, Bhaltair was also secretly revealed as the cunning, hidden master of a dreaded band of pirates and smugglers, whispered of in fear for long years, traffickers in the most wicked of vices, and known for slicking their hair, and that of the gruesome trophies they wear, in the fresh crimson blood of their fallen enemies…
If the failed coup held any mercy for A Cuspide Corona survivors, it was at least swift in its downfall. The wickedly cunning Lord Bhaltair Redlocks had become aware of his nephew’s revelation to a gathering of unknown companions, to seize him for his vile crimes. With this knowledge, Bhaltair lured them into a false opportunity with feigned vulnerability and weakness, and turned the coup attempt into a set-up, a bloody ambush from which some barely escaped with their lives. While Bhaltair, as Lord of the Redlocks patriars, cannot reveal himself and openly pursue the adventurers, neither can they seek justice against him. Neither The Watch, the security force collectively known as the bodyguards of the patriars, nor The Flaming Fist Mercenary Company, with its thousands of soldiers effectively serving as the standing army of Baldur’s Gate, funded by the Council of Four, and led by Grand Duke Ulder Ravengard himself, would ever rise against Bhaltair at merely the adventurers’ words.
It is The Year of Twelve Warnings, 1494 by the Dalereckoning. For A Cuspide Corona, their Fate was changed forever by this Dark Secret one night in the chill, early days of the month of Ches, the “Claw of the Sunsets,” in the failed coup that seemed so just and essential at the time, yet through layers of unfolded treachery became so disastrous. Several tendays have now passed, with the Redlocks nephew escaped into hiding within a world unknown to such bloody reavers as Bhaltair commands in secret. The surviving companions are now bound even closer together as a formally registered “adventuring” (i.e., mercenary) company, as required by the laws of Baldur’s Gate, officially recognized as such by both the Watch and the Flaming Fist, and thus wisely (and ironically) now possessed with legal protections under the same military forces that would otherwise be empowered to immediately arrest or even execute them individually under the right circumstances, legitimate or contrived, were their roles in the failed coup of Redlocks revealed.
Bhaltair would almost never allow such circumstances to transpire, however, and risk the revelation of his own horrific crimes as the hidden master of such a feared and reviled band of pirates and smugglers. A Cuspide Corona knows this now all too well, and awaits his inevitable deadly campaign of retribution against them from the darkness. And yet, this is Baldur’s Gate, where information, treasures, secrets, and souls can be bought or sold for the right price, and the dreaded possibility remains that someone else knows…
All of these matters and more weigh forcefully upon the minds of A Cuspide Corona as they assemble in the drizzling rain and rolling fog during the early morning hours of the fourth day of the month of Mirtul, the “Melting,” to break their fasts together at The Blade and Stars, a comfortable Lower City inn well-known to them near the Basilisk Gate. Even as the mists and fog slowly lift outside the inn while they gather in a small private room for their meal, it feels as though dark clouds gather. The unsettling sensation is made all the more tangible with their arrival at the Blade and Stars, where they find both the inn’s enchanted namesake sign and the innkeeper himself disappeared…
A flood of refugees has been mounting in the Outer City for the last few days from the holy land of Elturgard to the east, with horror in their eyes and news of the fall of Elturel, their capital city, upon their lips. It is that much more dire that Ulder Ravengard, Grand Duke of Baldur’s Gate and Supreme Marshal of the Flaming Fist, was on a diplomatic mission to Elturel at the time of its fall, and is now missing. The massive mercenary army is paid by the patriars to protect their interests in Baldur’s Gate, and by extension, the city itself. In the absence of Ravengard, their Supreme Marshal, the Flaming Fist has suddenly exercised its power and sealed the city’s gates against the chaos, with no one allowed in or out – the people of Baldur’s Gate trapped behind the city’s walls while the growing surge of refugees from Elturgard is staunched. With the use of their powers to seal the city, the Flaming Fist also triggered one other of great significance – drafting the multitude of registered adventuring companies within Baldur’s Gate to reinforce the mercenary army “to defend the city”…and A Cuspide Corona is summoned…
From the Spear, a Crown? Honor from Exploits? Perhaps… As a great Baldurian hero once said, “Watch your step in the shadows. Watch your back in the light. Win a prize beyond your wildest dreams or disappear into forgotten history. Every day your life is on the line. Every day you could become a legend. Welcome to Baldur’s Gate.”
For the moment, as the adventurers await the arrival of a welcome final meal from the innkeeper’s worried wife and staff before they report to the Flaming Fist at the Basilisk Gate, they reflect upon their gathering assemblage…
OOC: Hail and well-met, Adventurers of A Cuspide Corona, to your campaign! Now would be an opportune time to present yourselves in the state in which you’ve arrived for your somewhat forced gathering at the Blade and Stars on this Fourth of Mirtul, 1494 DR, as dire matters weigh upon you. You’ll also note a small amount of additional context in your character Notes/Other section in your character sheets, associated with the Dark Secret “Failed Coup” roll results explained above.
OOC: A few minor matters on the forum’s general PbP norms, as I and your companions eagerly anticipate your initial messages, offering as much or as little as you would like, in reflection of your characters’ distinct personas:
Murdoch looks at the assembled adventurers. An amused smile crosses his face as he considers the party's... eclectic appearance. It's hard to be inconspicuous with blue skin or scales, even in this city. Nothing for it, really. The tall ranger has made some effort to blend in with the populace of Baldur's Gate; his dark hair and navy greatcoat wouldn't warrant a second glance anywhere in the Lower City. It's only a matter of time afore my uncle finds us. The sailor's typically cheerful countenance grows grim as he considers Bhaltair Redlocks.
"Good morning, all," Murdoch says, seemingly banishing whatever dark thoughts occupied his mind. "Lovely weather we're having."
“Peace is not our lot in life, but may steadfastness and courage rest amongst you, Brothers and Sisters.”
The fog and mist seem to roll into the private room as the door opens next. Sorore then separates from them, concealed almost entirely in her dark studded leathers under a gray Ilmatari greatcloak. She sets aside a thin gray wooden staff, removes pale kidskin gloves bound at the wrists with red leather straps, and pulls back her hood. This reveals the slender tiefling - and Priestess of Ilmater - beneath. Long straight black hair, features too angular and severe and feral to be attractive in any comforting way, and gold catlike eyes. And her skin - dark blue and covered with a lattice of faint violet scars. She seats herself carefully in a chair with wide spaces on both sides. Her greatcloak shifts and spreads out around her with a life of its own to fill those spaces.
"Blessings of the Broken God, friends," Sorore begins in her Calishite accent, smiling faintly. "For those among us deserving of them. The weather suits - I frighten far fewer people at a distance, sparing them the cruelty of an unwelcome surprise. No trickery in that at least, Murdoch." She smiles a little more, but with a bit of an edge to it.
She looks around the small room and watches her other friends slowly gathering to answer the Flaming Fist summons of her company.
OOC: DM, great intro! Let's meet some characters, boys (and girl)! DM, what do we know about the Blade and Stars, its enchanted sign, and its missing innkeeper?
Fimrold lazily leans back in his chair, stroking a well-kept beard laden with early, gray hairs. "A fine mornin' to ya lads, though, Mystra willing, a finer circumstance could be had." A concerned expression mars his already grizzled features while darkened eyes carefully watch the door. The innkeeper's wife... I pity the lass but we're in enough trouble as is, I'm worried about sittin' around an inn with problems as recent as theirs. "Mayhaps a hearty meal will cut the nerves," Fimrold halfheartedly says, knowing all to well that few things can abate the paranoia roiling within his mind. Still, he comfortably sits and enjoys the company of familiar faces.
Yokai had never been seen angry or brooding - but always calculating and in control. He seldom, if ever, let out a chuckle or laugh. When speaking, he often spoke tersely and literally. His darkly colored clothes and armor were very unmemorable, save the mask he wore in combat. Better, he thought, to stay anonymous.
His inner dialogue certainly betrayed his calm outer appearance as his mind raced with self-doubting questions. What did we do wrong? What could we have done better? A mole... perhaps a traitor? Failure?
Yokai slumps in his chair and looks to the ground. He visibly shakes his head as if trying to get the negative thoughts out, much like one would shake a spice shaker. No no... Still time to rectify the problem! Need information. Tap resources. Determine next step.
As he returns his gaze to eye level, he sees Murdoch looking around. More time on me. Does he know? Not my fault.
His Elven ears perk up as footsteps approach the door. Sorore walks in with her usual greeting. Thank the gods. Someone else for Murdoch to focus on.
Fimrold mentions food. Food here is nothing like Yokai is accustomed to. He momentarily reminisces about the baked sweets, glazed hams, and delicious roasted vegetables served by the help on ornate dishes in the main hall. He had spent many moons there, surrounded by family and friends. Friends. Not friends. Traitors. Bastards!
His mind snaps back to the present and races faster still. We need to move. In danger here!
Yokai quietly lets out only a single word in a low class accent: “Mornin’.”
Feldinor watches outside the Blade and Stars from the shadows Stealth 8 and begins counting the members of his mercenary lot. "Murdoch is one...and I'm pretty sure I saw Reacher go in with him, so that is two...Fimrold and Yokai -- still haven't figured him out yet, he is hiding something...well anyway, that would make three and four. Oh! and there goes Sororerorero--always making a dramatic entrance...five... that leaves the dragon and the 'rules are good for you' paladin---bah! Well I guess that is suitable for me to come on in. Wouldn't want to be the last one inside."
Feldinor waits for another patron to come to the front door and takes the opportunity to stealth-fully enter behind the patron. Stealth 10 And at..temp..ts to sneak up on the Tiefling. From behind her chair with a loud voice: "HI there! Ooooohhh food is coming. That is a great idea. So have I arrived in time for Yokai's panic attack?" Feldinor looks around for snacks or nibbles that are customarily left around to wet the appetites of patrons while their meal is prepared. Not seeing any and finally noticing something is amiss inside. "Hey?! Where's our friendly innkeeper? Did one of you scare him off and out the back entrance when I wasn't watching?"
[ooc]agree with the awesome intro @GM!! I am testing the rolling mechanisms with my intro so that I can get a feel for how they will post. Looking forward to this!
Heavy but quick bootfalls echo through the hallway, stopping just outside the wooden portal to your temporary reprieve from the stink of the streets. The distinct rustle of heavy chain mail accompanies a wide swing of the door. The churning air carries in the deep and unmistakable scent of lilacs. Flowing into the room immediately behind the verdant perfume is a face and hair captivating beyond simple description. The tint of the golden eyes is arresting. The hair falls inexplicably perfectly as it frames a sculpture of otherworldly rapture. The strained expression on the porcelain face throws off the immaculate construction, however. It is a face carrying both deep toil that you have come to know plus a more immediate, practical strain.
Her trusty shield, patterned intentionally conspicuously with a heavy gauntlet centered with an unblinking eye, the unmistakable symbol of Helm…the Vigilant One… The Watcher… the shield is not chambered in its normal places. At this moment, the formidable metal barricade that several tenday ago thwarted conniving knives of Bhaltair and his Redlock minions has now been pressed into a more humble service.
The shield is held parallel to the floor and is encumbered with bread, cheese, melted eggs, fish and ale.
Casta Lapsu catches the door open with the shield corner and shoulders the clumsy, improvised tray through the door, following it herself before gracelessly kicking the door shut behind her.
Her voice is a melodic eccentricity which betrays that the common tongue is not her first language. Though beautiful and exotic her candor is straight and direct.
“Aurayaun has gone missing to boot.” Her right eyebrow raises and chin crosses down to the right shoulder as she breathes out mild exasperation. “Lupin is trying to hold the inn down, but she is right out of sorts this morn. Tragedy beyond counting in Elturgard. Companion save them. Misery overflowing at the walls of the Basilisk Gate and swamping Wyrm’s Crossing. Crisis in the ‘Gate and Flaming Fist with Grand Duke and Supreme Marshal Ulder Ravenguard gone missing. And right here in our hands we have a missing loyal innkeeper. By Helm. May the Watcher protect us!”
She sets the improvised tray upon her cocked hip and places the fresh food at the shared table one plate at a time. It is a community style fast breaking but she takes care to place favorite foods by those who will enjoy them most. Ale closest to Fimrold. Clean bread closest to Rigor. Melted eggs closest to Murdoch. Fish closest to where Belmort will sit when he arrives. Nothing is placed in front of Feldinor. As an accomplished rogue, he prefers not to be noticed.
As she is placing the comestibles, she reviews familiar sayings.
“We know that it is Helm that watches and protects, but it is by Amaunator that the sun gives life and Chauntea that gives abundance in grain and the ***** Queen Umberlee that allows fish to be taken as she is appeased. By Ilmater himself we are spared the suffering of starvation falling now heavily upon those just outside our walls. I’ll say grace.”
She places her gauntleted hand over the pendant around her neck, also a gauntlet inscribed with an unblinking eye.
“Benedic domine, nos et hæc tua dona quæ de tua largitate sumus sumpturi. Per Divus dominum nostrum. Amen.”
As she prays, the lilac scent evolves into roses only to fall back to lilac as she completes the familiar prayer of provision.
As she sits to begin to eat she adds, almost as an afterthought. “Did you each notice the sign was missing, too? I wonder if an agent of Amn has finally come to reclaim it.”
“When we are fed, we shall talk of how to help those crushing the Outer City. Ilmater has much to say and do on this day, don’t you agree Sorore? We are summoned forth under the Fist to protect the city from Refugees, but I’ll not raise my gauntlet to strike down a ravaged soul to protect the Upper City. Helm Protects people, not property value.”
She considers silently while she eats: With overlapping duty to the Cuspide Corona, the Flaming Fist, the Temple of Helm, and the Order of the Gauntlet, I pray these do not come into conflict. My heart is pure so my choice will be clear, though not without consequence." Upon considering consequences, she is hit with flashbacks of aborted justice. Bodies of the valiant laid low. The laughter of the vile. The unconsidered price of failure even though the cause was righteous. Being right and just does not, in itself, guarantee victory. Bread catches in her graceful throat. The bouquet surrounding her takes on the sulfurous pallor of the Crown Imperial.
Feldinor seems not to notice anything intended by the Pally as he sees the whole table as fair game to move about. He quickly seizes a plate and makes his usual large helping of food for such a small creature. Then sits in a position with his back to a wall, eyes on the entrances and exits, and thinks to himself One can never be too cautious.
Fimrold cheerfully looks up at the kindly waitressing Casta, whatever sourness found in his expression melts away with a sharp inhale.
"Yer timin' is impeccable, lass!"
As she speaks Fimrold hastily raises the mug to drink until:
He sets the ale down, its contents sloshing slightly down the side as he bows his head and gently clutches the holy symbol on his beard brooch, careful not to disrespect the kindness he had recieved. After listening to Casta speak and simultaniously drinking deeply of the long awaited nectar, Fimrold wipes the froth from his mouth and moustache, now speaking in a serious tone;
"Aye, I'd rather not take on such an immoral task as drivin' away indignant souls- though I'd wager The Flamin' Fists intend to hire our help, not demand it."
I sincerely hope that's the case, giving an order like that would cause a lot of trouble. Trouble likes to be noticed and any attention is too much attention... I'm confident we'll do what we must to survive, I just hope we won't make more reasons to hold regret.
"Hey! Speaking of the Flaming Fist, who told them we were available for hire. I mean I know the whole 'mercenary groups have to register' rule Ms. Pally but really...did they check our schedule. Maybe it is full?" Feldinor doesn't really think he can get away with ignoring the ruling Law of the land but he can't help but voice his inner hesitations about interacting with the Law of the land. After all, they might put 2 and 2 together and discover his role in the recent coup attempt."Bah! No one knows that man in jail is innocent. He just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time! Which is a blessing of Tymora to those that follow, I say."
"Do we have a plan for approaching the Flaming Fist? Do we just show up and send our most 'rule abiding member' to negotiate a standard contract with low wages? Or are we trying to maximize our profit to recoup our losses? I'm not one for being the negotiator, but I do have friends around the area that help us understand what the supply and demand impacts are on mercenary hiring these days?"
"Thank you, Casta," Murdoch says between mouthfuls of toast sodden with runny egg. "I'd like to talk with the inn-keep's wife—Lupin, you said her name was?—and see if we can't do anything to help. With the current issues plaguing the Flaming Fist, I doubt they'll take the time to look into a single missing person."
After hastily finishing his meal, Murdoch stands up from his chair near the door. He gathers empty plates and conspicuously steals a mouthful of Fimrold's ale. He pauses before exiting the room, looking back at those assembled within.
"Has anyone heard from Belmort?" the Redlocks pariah asks. "I'd like for him to be here when we decide on our course of action, once we learn more about the innkeeper's disappearance." Without waiting for a response, he steps across the room's threshold and heads toward the kitchens.
Murdoch lets out a small sigh upon exiting the private chamber, remembering the edge in Sorore's voice as she spoke of trickery. I hope she'll eventually forgive me for my imagined deception.
After returning the dishes to the kitchens, Murdoch will look for the innkeeper's wife and offer the party's assistance. Assuming she's interested, he'll ask her to return to the party's room so that they can discuss the matter with all involved.
OOC: Hail and well met, all. A warm greeting to each! I've been tremendously looking forward to this game beginning. One thing I've learned about our host is that he builds exceptional teams. I'm honored to be invited. I look forward to these posts being a highlight of my nights. To prepare myself, I've been reviewing the Sword Coast Adventure Guide, replaying Baulder's Gate video game and reading up on the public domain Forgotten Realms Wiki. https://forgottenrealms.fandom.com/wiki/Baldur's_Gate I was surprised to learn that there was even a page for the Blade and Stars Inn. https://forgottenrealms.fandom.com/wiki/Blade_and_Stars Pulling in bits from these sources adds a layer of verisimilitude. Generally, spoilers for modules are not on the wiki pages but there are occasional exceptions. All these sources are considered 'Canon' (Wiki is derived from canon), but I hear occasional rumor that the module authors exercise creative freedom and occasionally relegate established canon into legends status and we all get a surprise. So much more the fun.
Again, so incredibly looking forward to this.
Huzzah!
Belmort walks in and scans the room and his companions with piercing blue eyes. While walking to the empty seat among his company, the massive Silver Dragonborn adjusts his chain mail and armory of heavy weapons to ensure proper placement, and the ability to sit and dine with the rest of the traveling party.
“I am sorry for my tardiness my friends, I did not see the sign for the inn. I pray my untimely arrival has not delayed the group’s planning.”
Belmort sits and loads a plate with food, and begins to eat while surveying the group.
“Does anyone have ideas on how we should proceed after our last bit of bad luck?”
Hmmmm. "Ms Pally." There it is again. Diminutive name from a diminutive frame. Clearly trying to get a reaction, rattle my cage a bit. Perhaps I should not respond and let it pass. No, that is not our way. Neither of Helm. Nor the Gauntlet. Be direct but kind in correction.
Casta Lapsu circles around the table to be near where the halfling is sitting along the wall but doesn't look at him directly, more speaking to the edge of the table near Master Blackfoot. The air takes on a slight sense of gardenia scent.
"Ms Pally." Now that's a title I've not worn in many a year. I shed the "Ms" some twenty two years hence by marriage to Aefir the Certus. You will need to wait for his soul to become unhoused before I can take the unmarried name back. He be Elven long lived, though, so you've best take up your patience. The Pally is better said as Chevall, Adept or even Frère en Armes, depending on which of my many sides you intend to invoke. Casta shifts her gaze now from the off center look, now right into his eyes, her flawless brow knitting slightly even while smile remains to drive home the next words. Gardenia background intensifies from a hint to a distinct odor. "Whatever title you lead with, always trace with Lapsu, young cutpurse. I've taken the name as a frequent reminder. Those of my family line can get ..... powerful judgemental ... without a constant reminder of humility. Don't let me forget my humility."
She then turns to welcome the last of the band with a broad smile and a plate of fish.
In his head, Yokai follows along with the paladin's pre-meal blessing. The words flow easily in his head, having heard them many times before a meal with Casta Lapsu. He nods his head at Casta, acknowledging her generosity. Partaking lightly of fish and fresh vegetables, he abstains from ale and grabs water instead. After finishing his meal, Yokai lowers his head and prays in silence. Agimus tibi gratias, omnipotens Helm, pro universis beneficiis tuis, qui vivis et regnas in saecula saeculorum. Amen.
He raises his head again and stares at the paladin with soldierly admiration - the kind of fraternal love one has for another who has slain the villainous side-by-side, held the line against an oppressive onslaught, and rallied against overwhelming odds, all the while remaining virtuous and resolute. He's not of the clergy yet, but he says reassuringly to himself, Perhaps one day I can be as resolute. A true defender of the people, and of the faith. The rocky beginning of my journey does not have to foreshadow the ending. Praise Helm. Protect the innocent.
"Lady. Sign. In that order", he blurts out to Belmort.
Casta Lapsu quickly catches up Belmort with the missed conversation, doing her best to honor the correct connotation of each person's addition to the tapestry. (Performance Check. 9) It is a little off-putting to watch her try to alter her own nuance to match the others'. You might think her mocking if you did not know her heart, but she intends to convey as true a version of the events as she can. That means to carry the physical subtext forward in the recounting.
As Casta eats a portion of runny egg soaked into the bread, she quietly hums/sings to herself a morning song dedicated to Lathander. Helm is first in her heart, but morning is a time for celebration of renewal and rebirth. You have heard her sing this song before, even as a duet with her husband, but today it is a shared private moment. Even with tragedy pulling at the gates, she remembers to reflect on the goodness that falls upon every day.
When finished with just enough food to retain both her strength and her figure, she addresses the Cuspide Corona, minus one. I'm sure Master Brand will be back in a moment with Lupin, but we can begin to answer Master Blackfoot's question until Master Brand returns. First, this is not exactly a volunteer assignment. The Flaming Fist is perfectly in their rights to conscript registered adventurers as adjunct militia for the protection of the city. Like the law or not, we have all chosen to live under the 'Gate and subject to her laws. Having that said, that does not mean we wait to be told what to do. By Helm, watching is not a spectator sport. I motion that we position ourselves in the front of the line and look for work most appropriate to the faith persuasions of our band. Two Clerics and a Paladin offer divine council. A monk to convey worldly wisdom. An Aebir refugee of scales to show how the city is accepting of even the farthest alien. We can highlight these truths to match ourselves to an appropriate contract. Up front and ministering is where we belong. For some of us, the point is to address the greatest need. For some of us, the point is to avoid the moral failures of the brute squad. For some of us, it may also be to acquire more specialized and lucrative contract option. These points are not in opposition. It may well be that just wearing the icon of one of the 'Gate's most prominent gods, especially if I leave my plumed helmet off, helps us get the right match contract option.
Casta Lapsu falls silent, leans back in her chair and opens her arms, opening the topic for the rest of Cuspide Corona to comment. She beams encouragement to overcome the subtle resistance and concern palpable in the edges of the members' words. Come on guys. Bad Uncle Redlocks can't move against us when we are out in public. If we go to ground, then we are as good as dead. If we fracture, we are dead one by one. We stay alive by staying together and relevant! Get out there and serve the people!!!
Within moments of A Cuspide Corona settling in to the Blade and Stars' traditional morningfeast, Mistress Lupin arrives bearing a broad tray of dark wood with more ale and water, with Murdoch close behind hefting yet another, laden with more fish and bread, the last still steaming with melted cheese and eggs, and other victuals. The attempted welcoming smile upon the middle-aged woman's careworn visage does little to conceal the sense of distraction and perpetual worry that lies beneath.
"Casta and Murdoch, thanks to you both for your help, dears. I don't know how we endure at times, in these dark days, with the Flaming Fist pressing every company still trapped inside the city under their brutal "service" to defend it, and that's taken away some of our staff as well. To be sure, though, something evil and rotten is rising among us since the refugees have come, whatever's happened to their city, and folks are dying wherever the Fist is not. And those bastards still haven't found out what's happened to my poor Aurayaun, or our precious Blade and Stars, and there's foul deeds there, to be sure!"
Lupin's voice raises somewhat with tones of furious desperation, her eyes welling up even by the end of her words, but she quickly dries them on her upraised shoulder and presses on, once the trays are emptied of morningfeast.
"I know you have bigger worries than mine this morning, though. Your company topped the list on the parchment the Flaming Fist nailed up yesterday, right where the Blade's starlight would have glimmered on it all the night through, to be sure. It's the Basilisk Gate for you, dears, to receive your orders from Captain Zodge there before Highsun. To be sure, the Fist is saying their emergency powers allow them to track down and execute on the spot those of any company that refuse them!"
"Just give your best, keep us safe, and make the 'Gate proud enough to hear that strange name of yours on their tongues, dears. And please, get our damned Flaming Fist back to keeping the peace instead of trying to crush it out of folks, and then back to work finding out whatever's happened to my Aurayaun, something foul, to be sure! He's not been the same these last years since we lost our Harali, sweet dear, but he would never have abandoned us, let alone take the Blade and Stars with him, the fools."
Lupin quickly withdraws from the room, stacked trays partially laden with cleared dishes, before her worries give rise to greater emotions, leaving the gathered adventurers finally assembled in full to consider what awaits them at the Basilisk Gate, for their time draws nigh...