Watchfulness

Situated between a wild and dangerous Najara, an empire of Yuan-Ti and lizardfolks, and Amn whose intention are ever doubtful at best, Elturgard stand proud and strong. With its second sun forever burning bright above the capital, Elturgard is led by the clergy of Torm and the country is a beacon of hope and righteousness. Ever watchful, never flinching.

Holy Champion Cerbero was watching Northwest that morning. Again. What he read in the sky was only bad omen, just like the day before. A test of their faith; not just the city over which he watched, Triel, but of all that which Torm protects. The Realms. Faerun.

He put his hand on his squire's shoulder, a young boy of 10, but brave.

" Prepare my horse, and weapons. Tell the master-at-arms that I want 200 champions ready to march. I want Sir Seristan leading them. We'll march at noon, after the prayers and blessings ".

The boy bowed and left with his orders.

Cullen Cerbero  was done watching the darkness creeping far in the horizon from the top of his tower. He made a sharp croaking sound, and a raven soon landed next to him. He tied a message to it and sent him toward Elturel.

He would not let this evil creep slowly across the lands and sit idly.

Waiting is not really part of the dogma.

" I should have stayed with the Blood Ravens. At least Galarnok had some sort of a plan. ".

Two hours sharing the same table with the paladin and these were the first words he pronounced. Slowly, with his deep and serious voice, like he was carefully thinking every word through, for his words were set in stone.

Stuh Ryback, sitting opposite him at a small table of the Clockwork Inn of Daggerford, looked up from an empty glass and met Genhal Rockystone's eyes.

" Galarnok is a fool. He has not seen the ravage of that disease. Of course he will kill some of them. Bloody Hell, he'll slaughter legions of them. But that will not stop them. ", he replied, lost in thoughts.

" The Raven will secure a safe haven along the coast, where we can prepare and strike. ", the earth genasi said calmly.

The paladin of Torm nodded. He would very much have liked to meet with the adventurers he had seen in Waterdeep when the disease started. He left them notes, they left him notes. he was frustrated. All he knew is that this disease is a lure. Something bigger was coming and the packs of undead attacking the farmlands was just the first drops of a flood.

He felt the pull of the Shadowfell, tugging at this world's borders, bringing the worlds closer. He felt such a thing before, years ago, in another time...

" Listen my friend. Starting now, things will get bad. The likes even us might not have ever seen. And you, as I, have seen much. "

The genasi met the Paladin's stare.

" Why are you so certain? ", he asked.

" Certain? Hah, there is no such thing as certainty, aside from my faith in Torm ", Stuh paused to have a thought for his deity. " And this feeling I have, I believe it comes from him. Temperance, my friend, and patience."

The stone champion was silent for a long time. Neither men talked. Then the tall genasi got up.

" Let us go, Stuh. ", he said.

Stuh shrugged. He left a handful of coins and got up.

" Allright. Let's go. To hell with waiting for them. I'll leave a note. "

Genhal smiled. Stuh caught his expression and shrugged again.

" Waiting has never been part of my dogma. Now... What would you make of a trip on a flying castle? "

At the Hollow Hills Keep...

Their archer comrades covering them and watching closely from the tree line, they started along the path leading to the keep walls. Their leaders had been right; the keep was inhabited again. It did not take two days, new goblins and their undead masters had come. No word from the scouts. These must have been more than simple mindless zombies to surprise and kill their scouts without being noticed by the frequent patrols...

Controlling his fear and steeling his nervers, Yurmael reached the outside walls of the keep and risked a look inside. The courtyard was covered with a light fog. Nothing moved.

He heard a gasp behind him and turned around to see his companion tight in the grasp of a vaporous monster. He swung at it, cutting accross its arm to free his friend, and hit only air. Then hands grabbed at his ankles, almost tripping him. With horror, he saw skeletal hands piercing through the ground around him. That is where the undead at come from: From bodies buried around the keep. He tried to pry himself free, slashes at the hands as the skeletons were freeing themselves from the ground. Yurmael looked at his friend and saw he was already dead: a pale figure stripped of life energy and shocked to death, his body drifting to the floor through the wraith's ethereal body.

He slashed at it again, to no good. Them bony hands grab him from all sides and he loses his nerves. He starts screaming in utter terror, crying for Corelon's help.

With a painful tug, skeletons hands wrenched away his armor and skin and he thought it was the end, and prayed for it to be quick. Yet what he heard next was the distinct crack of multiple bones. Then rattling against heavy metal plates as the skeletons were attacking whoever had come behind him. He opened his eyes and turned around and what he saw, he could not believe.

An enormous plate clad man was lifting two skeletons and launching them with brutal force against the stone walls where they crashed and shattered. His plate was heavy and crowned by a huge helm showing a skull and nothing but two pin holes for the eyes. The shoulders were huge blades. But what stroke Yurmael mute was the four arms, now drawing two huge bastard swords and two shields, as the wraith went for him.

The blades took bluish and greenish hues as the armored man engaged the undead, yet his attacks seemed to have little effect on his ethereal opponent. Likewise, the heavy armor offered little protection against the insubstancial body of the wraith.

And as if the four arms was not enough surprise, the man dropped swords and shields, stepped back and from his hips, drew four strange weapons, akin to crossbows with no bow or strings. Yurmael reckoned these were guns, rare alchemical weapons. Rumors had it they made a mess, but no stories prepared him for what came next.

The hulking man pointed his four arms toward the wraith and press all four triggers, unleashing a thunderous blast from each, and from each a devastating arc of lightning went and strucked the undead. The noise and termendous energy sent the elf crashing backward. For him, the end of the world couldn't be any worse.

Yet, all that was left was a strange smell in the air. No trace of the undead.

The huge man snorted, slid a panel of his helm open to spit gruesome phlegm where the wraith had been, then turned and walked toward the keep.

Behind him, a man stood, came forward and offered him his hand. He too was in a heavy and evil looking armor, but his helm was at his side. On his chest was the symbol of the Flaming fist of Baldur's Gate.

" It seems you have an undead problem, Sir elf. ".

From the woods, Yurmael heard the footsteps of elves arriving. Much too late if it wasn't for these two strangers help.

" My name is Galarnok Partack. Excuse the brutal efficiency of my friend. Lukkieddi Voricht does not know how to hold back. ", he went on.

" It so happens that I am looking for a place to setup a camp against these undead. It also appears that you fair folks are spread too thin accross the woods to hold this keep as well. "

Yurmael was still too stunned to find words, he simply nodded, a little too fast, trying to keep his heart from exploding.

" It seems you and I can reach an... agreement, right friend? ", and he smiled.

Worries in Daggerford

"Adventurers you say?",  questioned Captain Awkins.

"Yes Captain, they left the city 5 days ago, Captain", replied the Sergeant. Formalities were not usually necessary between these two, but the Captain was obviously nervous, so the wise Gate Sergeant judge prudent to stick to protocol.

"Why is that we barely even heard of stray zombies except in kid stories, but when Adventurers come asking for some, then they start roaming about like a bad disease!", added an obviously frustrated Captain.

The last three days have been puzzling for the guards of Daggerford. They had sent scouts on a routine mission after the alarming rumors reported by a few adventurers, and the scout had all come back with good news, except for one who never came back. These adventurers went looking for him, and turned out the poor sod had been killed by goblins. But the same day they got that news from Trollaxe's lumber camp, the first wounded arrived at the gates. Travelling merchants had been ambushed by zombies. AMBUSHED, as if they had been waiting like bandits. Then the same evening, scared farmers came asking protection and refuge in Daggerford from zombies they have seen shambling around in their corn fields.

Then this morning, a patrol of guard came bloodied, with one of them dying, after a patrol along the river in search of these zombies, which they found. Then from the bloody WALLS of the city, the Watch spotted 2 skeletal figures in broad daylight, tripping their way toward the city. 

"Double the guards at dusk, and close the gates at night. Curfew an hour past sunset. Send scouts about to warn the locals. And send fast horses to our various camps along the coast", ordered the Captain to various officers surrounding him. "And find these adventurers. I want to know what this is about". 

He fell silent a second, watching the horizon toward the coast. Miles and miles away a storm was darkening the sky. As he was thinking, all voices fell silent around him. He thought they were waiting for his next order, then the sky darkened slowly. He looked at the officers surrounding him and they were all gawking, staring at the sky like a bloody castle had come floating around.

The Captain turned around and looked up....

To see a bloody Castle, floating in the sky, close to the city.

"By the nine fucking hells, what is that thing?".

A worried sister...

In a flurry of silky magical tendrils,  an image first blinked, then fully materialized. She was a beautiful sight to the startled onlookers at the gates of Evereska's Hall of the Ancients. Courtisans and commoners scattered as the noble Eladrin guards came to talk with the mesmerizing stranger.

" My name Lyrlia Zerfis, daughter Haldion Zerfis de Myth Drannor. The lady has been forwarned of my presence here. I very much desire to speak with her. " 

The guards, wise and well learned, could recognize a member of a noble family easily, and this bowed and retired. Only Mehlar Dawnblade, the Lady of Evereska's consort, stayed behind and directed Lyrlia past the gates and up stairs to the quarters of the Lady. They found her in front of the window, glancing down at the enchanted meadows and strange wonders of the feywild. Lyrlia heard the door close gently, and then the two women were alone.

" I feel worry in you, child. Please, drink and share with me ", the Lady spoke, gesturing at a small table surrounded with cushions, where a steamy flask of tea was set with two cups.

Lyrlia bowed her head gently and accepted the drink. She comfortably laid on the cushions and accepted the cup, served by invisible aerial servants. The tea was delicious, a fine selection of leaves only found on rare plants of the Feywild. She gave a thankfull smile at the warm welcome, then spoke:

" You have met with my brother, Fylikiel. We have thought him dead for over 150 years, so puzzling was his disappearance and fruitless our search for him. Yet he is back in the Realms and you found him well I hear, but he has not the heart to send word to us? ".

The lady nodded and replied:

" Your brother is indeed well, but maybe not for long. He has taken upon himself to solve a strange mistery along the Sword Coast. A mystery involving long forgotten elven lores and powerful elven magic. The likes your family is acquainted with I believe. "

" I presume you are referring to the legends concerning our family. ", Lyrlia inquired, to which the Lady simply nodded. Lyrlia continued,

" I see. So you have thought wise to warn us of his presence and interest. I thank you, Lady. Do you think Fylikiel knows of these legends, our potential destiny ? ", Lyrlia asked as humbly as she could.

" I know he does not possess the knowledge to read these lores. He carried with him the scars of the Spellplague and the taint of the Shadowfell was evident. I do not know of his intentions beyond his willingness to restore to us a scroll of lores we lost to a powerful undead creation. His desire to help was genuine, yet he surely has interests of his own. ".

Lyrlia had heard enough. Her brother was back, and was after old and powerful enemies. The sword coast, the Lady said. Her own knowledge of the coast was limited. She would have to find help. Lost in thought for several minutes, she finished her tea in silence. Then, slowly, she rose and spoke for a last time:

" Thank you Lady for your time. I will be on my way. Fylikiel will require assistance. ". The Lady bowed and smiled. 

Fylikiel's eldest and most beautiful sister, Lyrlia Zerfis, no longer a student of magic but a virtuose magician, left Everaska moments after to go after her foolish brother, along the Sword Coast.

In need of rest... or adventure?

For a little otherwordly taste or simply for a good pipe beside the hearth, travelers from the Realms will always be Welcomed in the Clockwork Inn! One adventurer might have seen one in Waterdeep, while another hid in its ruins in Thay, while yet another one could swear it was run by gnomes in an old Dwarven city. They are all right! Nobody really knows where the first Clockwork Inn was built (if it was built), but everybody agree on one thing: You find them everywhere.

At the very first glance, you know this is not just another inn. Trust the stories you hear; You will always be able to tell if it is a Clockwork Inn! Yet ths is nothing compared to what you will see inside, and once again, nobody agrees on what they have seen. But they all agree that it was incredible!

Known accross the multiverse, the Clockwork Inn will propose the most incredible recipes, share the most incredible tales, and if you stick your fingers where you should not, it can also throw you in the most incredible of Adventures!

Tired adventurers, don't look any further! Rest your tired bones at the Clockwork Inn and it will wind you right up!

Hear Ye Hear Ye, Adventurers of Baldur's Gate

The Flaming Fist is hiring sturdy adventurers for a Patrol fo the Sword Coast. For parties ready to make some gold and who are familiar with the dangers of the Sword Coast, here is a new challenge: Lizardfolks! These vaguely human like creatures strongly have the head of a lizard and their bodies are covered in green or black scales.

100 pieces of gold per person will be paid to the braves who will travel the coast and come back with any sightings of these lizard men. The Flaming Fist is most interested in their movements and numbers. Do not engage them in unecessary combat. Extra gold will be given if the information is especially accurate. There will be no gold given for trophies or any other proof of the death of a lizard man. 

Adventurers be careful, lizardmen live in tribes and provoking them could prove overwhelming.

Who could refuse 100 pieces of gold simply for scouting? Only a fool would! Contact Galarnok Partak, The Blood Raven, at the Flaming Fist headquarter of the Northern Gate.

Note: Any information concerning unusual sightings of undead creatures will be paid in extra.