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Sod The Maimed God [Reading like a strange cross between a warped confession and a manifesto, this text was written by a paladin who broke his oath of justice and celibacy to Tyr. After years of devotion, it seems the man grew very sullen with the state of his life. People did not like his religious ardour, not the ardour itself but the stringency of his tone. Evidently he got drunk one night in spring and attacked a young woman walking the streets of her hometown. Ironically he was gelded by the authorities, ensuring his continued devotion to celibacy, if not justice.]
User:Sky/MiscItemPageDebug/TAE1 Great Dukes and Duchesses, Lords and Ladies, and all who seek knowledge of the world: welcome! I have travelled far, seen much, and recorded all. My odyssey began in a humble tavern, where I met a Rashemi mercenary. An approachable fellow, he offered me a tale in exchange for a drink. I accepted, and was soon rapt as one ale became six. He told me the legends of his people, sharing their stories and culture. He told me of the lands he'd visited - from the Silver Marches to Calimshan, from the Moonshae Isles to the Plains of Purple Dust. The more he spoke, the more I realised I'd never travelled farther than Beregost. I felt like a fly, spending my short life buzzing about a latrine, ignorant of everything I was missing. Well, no more! The next day I packed a bag and set out, following the Chionthar east. I would travel to Rashemen, see this magnificent world, and document it all.
Skeletons in Patriar Closets Valuation Assessment of Patriar Dossiers Compiled Confidentially by Saer Uktar, Guild Bursar Esteemed Mother Superior - This peerless collection is clearly the fruit of many years' intelligence work, and speaking professionally, I found reviewing it to be personally rewarding. It would also be financially rewarding if, at need, the Cloister chose to sell it to the highest bidder on the Gate's black market. In such an event, I recommend offering it to Nine-Fingers Keene at the Guild (of course), to Ettvard Needle of Baldur's Mouth, and to Blaze Liara Portyr of the Flaming Fist. To get your best price, mention to each that you're offering it to the others. If your situation becomes urgent, any of these would gladly buy these dossiers outright for several thousand gold - but you'd get more in an auction.
Simple Poison Recipe I have long wondered about whether to publish any malevolent concoctions I have encountered. Nikros convinced me with that damnable smile of his. But it is true that the life of an adventurer can be made safer through a good offence. Please use this recipe responsibly, and do not cause any harm to other thinking creatures. RECIPE for 1 vial of Simple Poison Extracts needed: ---- Vitriol of Bonecap ---- Ashes of Daggerroot Method: Sprinkle ashes over the vitriol. Do not stir. Cap the vial and wait until it exudes an acrid smell. And keep in mind: When in doubt with alchemy Just recall the rule of three Thrice the same ingredient Forms an extract excellent
Shipment Ledger Firstday: Received from House of Wonders - machined arm pistons, six (6) Twosday: Shipped to Iron Throne - pump valve fittings, three (3), via Submersible from private dock Fourthday: Received from Felogyr's Fireworks - refined smokepowder casks, seven (7) Sevenday: Received from Hall of Wonders - G-cube lubricant, tenweight, two (2) carboys
Shield Steward Interrogation Log Transcript of key passage in the interrogation of Flovus Nuge, steward of the Knights of the Shield Hall Black Hand - When did you begin to suspect that Duke Stelmane was not herself? Nuge - I cleared her dinner dishes after a meal of mutton pie, but when I got the dish up to the kitchen the mutton was... brains. Black Hand - Brains? Nuge - And not sheep brains, neither. So I started poking around. Black Hand - In the Elfsong Cellar? Nuge - In the Knights' secret chambers, yes. And I found a cell with a body in it, a corpse in city prison stripes. Black Hand - A dead state prisoner? Nuge - If I tell you about this, you're going to let me go, right? Black Hand - Right. Nuge - It was a condemned criminal with the top oftheir head shattered and the brain mostly gone. Black Hand - In Stelmane's rooms? Nuge - The secret part, yes. That's where she found me. Black Hand - She WHAT? Nuge - Found me, it found me. At first I thought she was blue and floating, but then it was just Stelmane. She smiled. I don't remember anything after that.
Sharran's Journal Day 1: Never saw a beast like it. Bloated with muscle, tusks as long as my arms. Scent of charred flesh, but I saw no flames. The stone might have been parchment, so quick did the creature charge through it. The other Justiciars are dead - or close to it. It wasn't alone. Hellknights, too. Masks bolted to their faces, like plaques to a keep wall. Day 3: Trapped. Another rampage, and down the walls came. Started to dig. Not sure... Day 7: It's done. May Shar's shadows keep me.
Sharran Registry THE LADY'S WORSHIPPERS A registry of proud followers, recruited by Her loyal paladin, Ketheric Thorm. [Pages upon pages of names fill this book. Some are only nicknames; others consist of multiple noble titles; all of them are scratched out and annotated with 'no longer'.]
Sharess' Caress Finances Sharess' Caress Finances Spendings: - Twenty Casks of Gulthmeran Reserve: 200 Gold. - Ten Casks of Happy Gnome Brew: 100 Gold. - Ten Casks of Higher Spirits: 300 Gold. - Groceries and Butcher: 500 Gold. - Massage oil: 50 Gold. - Leather treatment: 10 Gold. - Marie's 'No Consequences' Oil: 50 Gold. - Salaries: 400 Gold. Total: 1610 Gold Incomes: - Food catering: 300 Gold. - Drinks: 400 Gold. - Hospitality: 1000 Gold. Total: 1700 Gold Almira, deary, we need to find a replacement for our Stern Librarian. I hate to do this to her so fast but we are this close to bleeding all of our savings, and we need to bulk up before this little crisis chases away all of our regulars back into their own sheets. We could ask the twins to work separately for now, I suppose.
Shanties for the Bitch Queen And we all row! With the spray upon our necks, And we all row! With the spray upon our backs And we all row! With the sea beneath our feet, And the Bitch Queen stays the storm. --- Wavemother, wavemother, Lash us to the prow. We ask to sail your skirt if you allow. Sink us if you will. Our skulls are yours With brine and sand to fill. Souls aweigh and anchors still! The wind won't move Without the Bitch Queen's will! We'll wait gladly, years and days Till the Bitch Queen brings the waves! Hey! Ho! She told us so!
Selûnite Prayer Book Threads of Silver Dearest Selûne, our fair maiden, Weave our hearts with threads of silver, Guide us with light of the moon, And quench us with the purest of tears. Shadows taunt us. Hear our prayer! Shadows stalk us. Hear our prayer! Shadows wound us. Hear our prayer! Selûne, thou with radiam loom, Mend our hearts with threads of silver, Heal us with drops of morning dew, And sooth our souls with softest starglow.
Selûnite Journal [Most of the pages in this aged journal have been hastily torn out, perhaps for kindling.] Thus the interlocking circles will bring the full moons to match the stars, while casting darkness where it belongs at the bottom. That chasm to the Underdark will stay sealed. I confess the design is not foolproof to outsiders, but I had to sacrifice complexity for material resilience. I've always wondered why Selûne took me from the Hall of Wonders to serve at this temple as a priestess. Perhaps this was the reason.
Selûne's Devotee [This diary records the life of John Meadowlin. He suffered from lycanthropy, becoming a werebear at the advent of the full moon. Cured of his condition by a priestess of Selûne, John Meadowlin exchanged his claws for a greatsword and a cause: he would keep this priestess (her name was Erlona) safe from all trouble on the highways and byways. Further, he would bear witness to her many miracles, for Erlona was a saint of the Goddess, and gifted even more than he could have imagined. They never fell in love, though their friendship was quite something.]
Secrets of the Talis The best way to begin to interpret your talis deck is by getting to know it as you would a person - one exceptionally long-lived and wise. The more time you spend in close observation of your deck, the more its arcana will philter in and and out you like air. it's not for the deck to reveal itself for you; it's for you to reveal to yourself through the powerful symbols and ancient wisdom portrayed in these seventy-eight cards.
Secret Societies of the Sword Coast: Exposed Harpers The most well-known of the Sword Coasts' cabals, perhaps, but certainly not benign in its shrouded doings. My sources claim that those belonging to this mysterious faction abhor power, but if that is so, why do they not expose the revelations of their inquiries for the public good? Why indeed - because knowledge is power, and the Harpers intend to keep both for themselves. Shadow Druids Weight the life of a man against that of a sapling oak. Which do you value more highly? Ask a Shadow Druid the selfsame question, and be shocked by their answer. This dangerous group utterly disregards intelligent life in favour of the life of plants and insects. Their perversion of the natural order leads them to plan and execute plots so dastardly that the mere description of one would leave you glancing sideways at your begonias. The Order of Klurd The least-known, and accordingly most dangerous of the secret societies I have researched, is the Order of Klurd. My sources tell me this shadowy conspiracy of murderers, mutilators, and tyrants regularly meet to plan the demise of any number of innocent citizens of our fair land. What's more - they like it! Dark Justiciars I shudder even to inscribe their name upon the purity of this page. I shall leave it at this: they worship Shar.
Scrappy Order Book [Several loose scraps of paper have been stuck together, forming a haphazard order sheet] Wrinkled Tom - Three copies of 'An Apple for my Mistress' by Lenape Glinn. To fit within a child's carry case. Fingle Wort - 'The Eye of the Beholder' by Promividus. To be sealed with highly flammmable (sic) resin. Nan Mangle - Twelve copies of 'The Summoning of Selûne'. Miniature. Use cheap paints.
Scrapbook of Love Letters [This salt-stained scrapbook contains a dozen envelopes glued to its inner pages. Perhaps these envelopes once contained letters, but now all are gone but two.] [Letter 1, To Winky] Oh, Winky, how I long to be away with you on the open seas, away from that grim old Flood Tide, away where I can love you freely and without fear! With my ability to charm fish from the waves, we'll never lack for food - and you know I never tire of your chowder! [Letter 2, Dear Salty] The Moonshaes! I'll show them to you, lass, and we'll dance on them silver beaches in the silver moonlight! But I don't want no trouble on our sea journey, so first I must make my peace with Umberlee with a grand donation. Not much longer, Salty...
Scrapbook of Letters [A collection of letters between two correspondents, but all written in an unfamiliar code or cipher. At the end of the scrapbook is a sheet titled 'Plaintext Deciphered by G'.] Chosen of Bhaal - Your proposal is intriguing. Tell me more about the Crown of Karsus. Chosen of Bane - It was created to enhance and broadcast the dominance of its creator, but during the Folly it was inverted, turned inward. Now, instead of the wearer dominating others, others can dominate the wearer. Chosen of Bhaal - Useful. I like it. How do you exert this dominance? Chosen of Bane - The crown has three begemmed finials. They are the foci. And... they are detachable. Chosen of Bhaal - Three? So that's why our masters want Myrkul added to the cabal. With the Crown on the right cranium, we would rule from the shadows. But how do we get it? Chosen of Bane - We steal it from Mephistopheles himself. And I know who can get us there - a diabolist named Helsik.
Scorching Street - A Flaming Fist Ruleset [The more formal rules governing the street patrol etiquette of the Flaming Fist here have been scribbled out. Below, a single paragraph, written in a rough, almost petulant hand:] Here's the thing. This city's a garden, and the mean weeds choke it out all day, every day. Right now you're green as spring grass, but soon you'll be tougher than the weeds, you got it? Else you're gonna get pruned. Here's how you do that: Avoid butting heads with the riffraff street scum when you can. If you've got to weigh in, bring your fellow Fist members. Once you and your buddies hand out the heavy stuff on asshole A, or B, or C, you keep handing it out. You don't run if things turn ugly And you stay loyal to one another. You're all in the Fist, and (much as the actress said to the cleric of Kelemvor) the Fist is in you.
Scorched Book [A barely-legible journal, the pages marred by scorch-marks and blood.] …latest score… belonged to Enver Gortash…tried to lay low with Skorval’s crew, but he’s lost it. Lumped in with his cult – says Gortash will find us wherever we go. Sarin knows a place in the sewers. Sarin’s not acting right. She’s hidden the score – says we’ve been acting crazy. She’s not wrong about Bareki… hunched in corner… muttering prayers if the old gods can ward off this ‘Absolute’. Shook some sense into Bareki, and he agrees. Sarin… trust her… she’s the only one who knows the way in and out of here. If she’s with the cult… betray… no choice. We’ll make it clean.
Schools of Magic: Transmutation Mutability is the essence of life itself; all is ever-changing, growing and shrinking, building and breaking down. The devotee to the School of Transmutation learns to wield the raw material of life into desired forms. Key terms: Change, exchange, alchemy Key concepts: Altering, Prestidigitation, Purification, Mending
Schools of Magic: Necromancy No school of magic has been more maligned than that of Necromancy. Often believed to be the school of sadists, the School of Necromancy rather explores the balance between the animating force of life and the destruction of death. As with any magic, necromancy seeks to manipulate natural forces to the desire of its wielder - in this respect, it is no different from Evocation or Transmutation. Key terms: Reversal, corruption, destruction Key concepts: Sapping, Chilling, Inflicting, Enfeebling
Schools of Magic: Illusion All is what it seems - or is it? The School of Illusion posits that reality can be re-created and re-made according to the whims of the practitioner, bringing intention and will to our chaotic world. Key terms: Deceive, convince, pretend, believe Key concepts: Invisibility, Shadows, Illusion, Hallucination, Misleading
Schools of Magic: Evocation This world of ours is rife with incredible power - the boom-clap of lightning and thunder, the cycle of life and death inherent to flame, the flash of illumination in a ray of light. The devotee to the School of Evocation dances among this power, guiding it with their own will. Key terms: Elements, empowerment, creation, effects Key concepts: Fire, Frost, Thunder, Light, Earth
Schools of Magic: Enchantment What is the world but a curtain-framed show of villains, heroes, steeds and royals? And who directs them where to gambol, when to pounce? The School of Enchantment offers its services as director of the cosmic farce. Key terms: Enticement, beguilement, manipulation Key concepts: Encode, Compel, Incite, Enthrall
Schools of Magic: Divination The future is unknown; the present is mysterious; the past is gone forever. But for those devotees of the School of Divination, the veil of unknowability surrounding our world entire is thinnest. Key terms: Seek, know, discover, perceive Key concepts: Seeing, Comprehending, Guiding, Detecting
Schools of Magic: Conjuration The eternal invitation, the 'yes' to abjuration's 'no' - the School of Conjuration is the mage's mighty beckoning to the wonders our world has to offer. Key terms: Create, summon, invite, teleport Key concepts: Transportation, Summoning, Producing, Finding
Schools of Magic: Abjuration Creation and destruction, aye, they have their place - but what of prevention entire? The School of Abjuration is the great full stop, the 'no' that meets the caster at the end of any phrase. Key terms: Banish, prevent, safeguard, stop short Key concepts: Wards, Counterspells, Dispellations of Magic, Resistance
Schematics for Subsurface Vessel [A schematic drawing of a metallic passenger submersible spans the many folding pages within this book. The bottom-right of each page is watermarked with a representation of the Gondian House of Wonders.]
Schematic Compendium [This portfolio notebook is stuffed with page after page of diagrams and schematics, recognisable as Gondian designs for magically enhanced mechanisms, but amended and expanded by notes in Gortash's precise handwriting, with emendations such as infernal 'hellfire' power sources, illithid synapse-cable wiring, and even githyanki image projection hexnology. Particularly striking is a diagram of a giant Steel Watcher variant, with a note in Gortash's hand reading, 'Weight insupportable? Cut the mass'.]
Scaled Scions of Abeir [Excerpt from Scaled Scions of Abeir by Cosomel Ixithir] Common misconceptions about dragonborn abound, including the falsehood that they are the result of breeding between dragons and non-dragonic species. Dragonborn are their own distinct phenomenon, hailing from the twin-planet of Toril, Abeir, which was given over to the primordials long ago. For millennia the dragonborn lived in bondage beneath dragon masters, until they escaped Abeir during a cataclysm called the Spellplague. Now residents of Toril, they abhorred slavery, dragons and their tyranny, and indeed, a good deal of theism and religious worship.
Sarevok Anchev: A Study in Suffering [A transcription of a sermon given in Baldur's Gate in 1368DR.] Bhaal can teach us about suffering. Please, hold your gasps, patient flock. I assure you there's a point to this unorthodox subject matter. I'm sure you've heard the gathering rumours about the recently deposed Grand Duke-Elect Sarevok Anchev - they are true. He engineered the sickness within our nation's iron, he slaughtered Duke Eltan, and yes - he nearly set Baldur's Gate and Amn into a full-throated war against each other. All this for one whose name you should know with fear but nary speak - Bhaal. A murder most complete. This is why our work is important, you noble tormented. Suffering must be balanced, alleviated, we must bear its lashings on our shoulders when we can. For if we do not, our Lord on the Rack's enemies will press upon it, and allow its weight to tip and crush the world as we know it into bloody pulp. These are our stakes, my suffering lambs. This is the rod our backs must bear.
Runepowder and the Modern Gnome This extremely wordy treatise supposes about the possibility of recreating runepowder, the mythical explosive documented in gnomish legends.] I ask my most renervated and prodigiously talented audience to suppose the following: Runepowder as we know of it may no longer exist at our particular space-time-environment, but it most absolutely exists within our minds, both singular and collective. Ah! Now we've landed upon a fascinating bit of philosophy. Think (ha!) of the following formula: thought + behaviour = action. Then why the following? Thought + idea = action. With our knowledge of runepowder's unique properties, why can we - the reader, myself, anyone with an interest, really, not manifest that which we can imagine? Consider the following...
Rules for Elfsong Customers Tavern Rules - Cash Only, Pay at the Bar - No Solicitation of Paid Intimacy - No Spitting on the Floor or Walls - No Conjuration or Summoning from Other Planes - No Fighting in the Elfsong - Take it Outside - No Undead or Ghosts - We Have Our Own
Rives' Failures as a Banite Hahns Rives! Calls himself a Banite when he's a disgrace to the Tyranny Lord! A Black Gauntlet - Rives? What a joke! I should be the Black Gauntlet of the Foundry Lab Level. In fact, I'm going to compile a list of Rives' shortcomings for the Overseers. Then they'll see. These are just from the last tenday alone: 1. Rives failed to reprimand Polandulus for making jokes about Lord Gortash! 2. Rives missed the morning mass to Bane - twice! 3. Rives didn't punish Gondian Ofran when she missed her gyronetics quota merely because she'd lost a finger that day in the punch press. 4. ...I'll think of something.
Ribald Shanties for the Discerning Whoreson A collection of bawdy tavern songs, each one more grimed in filth and innuendo than the last. One of them, Birthday on the Bilgerat, is such horrifying material that any decent person would burn this book right now. The cleanest verse is: The first mate's cock stood like the mast Hard and veiny as a marble handle And when the fair lass bent to him She soon blew out his birthday candle.
Research Notes (Waning Moon) *Research notes. They describe a powerful venom extracted from a rare purple worm. Distiller Thisobald Thorm sought to create a fatal poison using the worm's gullet.* *He procured several parts of a worm gullet, but rinsed one in error. The poison he brewed was noxious - but not fatal.* *Thisobald devoted months to formulating a deadly poison with the remaining ingredients, without success.* *After exhaustive experimentation, he was able to make a near-deadly extract from the glands. But to complete his poison, Thisobald required one last ingredient:* *The petals of a corpse rose.* *The book's index reveals corpse roses may grow near tombs, mausoleums, and particularly redolent cadavers.* *Thisobald enlisted a courier from Baldur's Gate to obtain corpse rose petals and other ingredients and deliver them to a covert location.* *Unfortunately, a deep purple stain darkens the final page, obscuring the parcel's destination.* ( DC 14 Intelligence check to discern the location.)
Research Notes (House of Healing) Spell: Remove Shadow Curse - possible? Variant on Remove Curse / Dispel Magic / other? Recitation: Umbra Recessit - Ineffective Nox Exitus - Ineffective Nox Fit Lux - Potential Nox Finio - Potential Vita In Umbra - Ineffective Vita Cava - UNINTENDED CONSEQUENCES (LIVING ARMOUR) Gesture: [A number of spellcasting gestures are traced beneath.]
Research Notes (Balthazar) I have redirected some materials from beneath the tower. I planned to simply raise what forces I need inside the mausoleum itself, but the General prefers that no more of his family crypts be disturbed. Even so, I may have no choice. The temple will not surrender the Nightsong easily - and the General's invulnerability depends on it. I am sure he will forgive a little transgression if it frees the army to move on Baldur's Gate at last.
Registry of Citizens' Complaints - Lodged by an anonymous elf who declined to give address. Reports of suspicious characters hanging around the manor Philgrave. - Logged by Eloise Thurman, resident of Brampton. Reports neighbours making house calls late at tnight, failing to make offering at shrine of Umberlee. Claims these to be evidence of Absolute worship. - Lodged by Heyman Arst, resident of Rivington. Claims children's toys have been sabotaged by bad-faith actors within the city. Failed to provide evidence.
Register of Temple Deadspeakers A death will often cause, or in turn be caused by, an imbalance of suffering. On such occasions a priest must commune with the spirit to see if they can address their imbalance. Please list your trained temple deadspeakers below. DEADSPEAKERS OF THE OPEN HAND TEMPLE - Lashbearer Catrine (left temple) - Sister Clarwen (deceased) - Father Lorgan (deceased) [At the bottom of the page there is a handwritten annotation.] Apply for deadspeaker training at earliest opportunity, can't have none at next temple inspection!!! -Y
Register of Goods Received [An inventory of goods passing through the Guildhall, ranging from basic food items to exotic alchemical blends of indeterminate purpose. Entries from the past tenday grow increasingly thin, underscored by a note scrawled in the margins:] Stone Lord hitting supply depots. Advise winding down most entertainment enterprises until he's been dealt with.
Regarding the Slayer Even though this child of Bhaal has thus far been squandering the gift of their unholy blood, it seems that Bhaal's lash is inescapable. The graven God now has besiged them with the Slayer, the beast and prophet. And when they turn, their mind is broken, more broken than all my torments could ever rend it to. I spent all this while testing the captive Spawn with my experiments, trying to extract more of Bhaal's gifts from them, but they have brought the Slayer upon themselves. It seems that it manifests in moments of pure hatred, a divine hatred those of mortal blood cannot fathom. When the child of Bhaal hates in a way that pleases their Lord, Bhaal himself descends upon them as his own avatar. Despite all the Bhaalspawn of Candlekeep has done to prevent Sarevok's uprising, it seems Father must love them dearly indeed to intervene personally on their behalf. Perhaps if I continue my routine of absorbing all of the Divine Essence I extracted while the Spawn was my captive, I can force Bhaal's magics to quicken in my own blood, trick the fool God into thinking I'm one of his own children. Thus may I tame the beast for myself. The book then continues with a detailed record of Irenicus' experimental attempts to transform into the Slayer.
Refugee's Journal [A tiefling's journal charting the journey from Elturel, to the Emerald Enclave, and now on the road to Baldur's Gate.] The ox just up and died. It started choking out of nowhere, then keeled over. We tried to pull the cart, but the ox knocked the wheel off when it went down, and the thing is in splinters. The others want to grab what we can and keep going, but this place feels wrong. My skin is crawling, like something is watching us from the darkness. No-one else is talking much, but I can tell they feel the same.
Refugee Arrival Record [A record, maintained by the Flaming Fists, of refugees arriving in Rivington in the last tenday. The number increases in each of the previous five days - clearly, the town outside Wrym's Crossing will be unable to accommodate all of them. Some of the names on the list are: - Zindra Manne - Tinker Nayzeem - Sendron Vanderhoof - Otterdance Fenton - Gregory Bright - Andlervosh - Marpha Golewits - Brilgor - Buckle - Sconnor - Leucis Kallista ... and many more]
Reflections Upon the Mirror of Loss The original purpose of the sacred mirror has been lost to the ages. Some suppose that it was the result of Telamont Tanthul’s attempts to delve into the Shadowfell itself, in the time before the folly of his master, Karsus. Others claim it only became an object of devotion after the fall of Netheril, when the loss-stricken survivors of the floating cities found comfort in Lady Shar’s embrace. What is certain is that many of the Nightsinger’s faithful claim to feel some echo of her power and majesty when in the presence of the mirror, even though it is shattered. They are often said to feel lesser once they step away from the mirror, hence the name it has become commonly known by. Our scholars continue to study it, but alas, its true nature may continue to elude us. Perhaps if the Dark Lady indulges us, she shall reveal another of these holy relics for us, so that we may feel the full power of her embrace.
Reflections of a Gullible Prick [This stained tome records a long and arduous journey.] I hoofed it to Baldur's Gate based on a gods-damned promise. 'They'll welcome you with open arms', my cousins said. 'Everyone has a home in the Gate!' Seventeen days I marched. Seventeen days of their whining toddlers and their piss-reek. Seventeen days of howling wolves, huddling around sickly fires, and STILL that stench. Of course they didn't let us through to the city when we showed up. Shoved us into a camp teeming with snivelers and sneerers. Had it with them, their sob stories, the entire gall of their PRESENCE. If I've got to be stuck outside the city, I'll make home in a chicken coop. Smells better than those shit-stained whelps called my cousins, at least. [The rest of the text continues in a similarly aggrieved fashion.]
Redhammer's Journal Blast and curse that Gortash for making this job so juicy I couldn't turn it down! How could I refuse the opportunity to build the Cap from those Gondian plans - making Redhammer's signature improvements as I went along, of course! But this is far worse than just a smuggling job - I suspect there's torture going on in the Throne, and I don't trust these Banites as far as I can kick them. This is all going to end up badly - I think I'd better complete that Clockwork Escape Kayak pronto-like.
Recruiting Gnolls Though gnolls verge upon being brute beasts who cannot follow orders couched in even the simplest terms, they can fulfil one important role in an army such as the one we are building: that of vanguard shock troops. Howling gnoll berserkers can be sent ahead in frontal assault to absorb defenders' spells and missile volleys, exhausting our enemies' ammunition before the arrival of the organised phalanxes of our less savage troops. Accordingly, Ragzlin's Hobgoblin Rangers are hereby detached to the wilderness to track down gnoll war packs, capture each pack's flind leader, and bring them back in good condition to Moonrise Towers for tadpoling. The flinds can then be returned to their war packs, where we can count on the rank and file to follow the orders of their leaders, who will then be loyal to the Absolute. Six such packs should meet our needs. See to it. - Disciple Z'rell on the behalf of General Ketheric
Record of Complaints [A dust-covered tome of complaints to the Dawnmaster.] Who allowed a pilgrim to pay for wine with a cat? And what sort of cat even is it?! One of my novices told me they saw it grow to the size of a humongous hound. That was moments before it attacked. The poor novice didn't stop trembling for a tenday. Please, I beg of you, can we just accept gold for goods like ordinary folk? And for gods' sakes, call on someone to get rid of that nasty animal!
Reconciling the Jealous Heart [A self-help tome, claiming to help those prone to jealousy.] Do you covet what others have, while neglecting what you already lay claim to? Does your desire for more curdle into a mire of self-pity? You must prise yourself from the fetid swamp of jealousy, before it drowns you. Think not of what others have, but what they do not have. There is joy to be found in helping others. Joy - and perhaps salvation also. [The book continues on at great length, suggesting treatments pioneered by the House of Grief may help, should self-improvement fail.]
Recipe of Wyvern Toxin [This Alchemical Recipe book from the unfortunate scaleless dragonborn Haskinn Xhesilaphin is written with a messy and grotesquely gleeful scrawl. In this edited edition punctuation has been inserted out of respect for the mastter of Alchemy. To the reader, we the editors wish to communicate that he was not at all in his right mind, and ask for your clemency on his behalf] He sits in my little kitchen now. Nikros, my old friend, bold friend, brave and naughty yes very naughty. He'd like to wipe me away, I know it. Kill me with Crawler Mucus or Drow Poison, slip it in my hot chocolate cup, give me my final medicine. His mind full of pity? Ah, selfpity, must have been. Will wipe him out instead. Wipe his mind clean of pity, regret, smiles, removal of the electrical currents working the brain, boil up the fluids, the synapses, everything, everything Nikros excised from Nikros, only a small dose of this will do will do will do-oo-ooooooo Ashes of Wyvern Stinger added to Salts creates deadly-deadly-scrumptiously-deadly Wyvern Poison. the world is a red blister swelling up behind my eyes and my flesh is afire feels like bugs are biting me itchy itchy Nikros... Oh sweet Nikros what have I done...
Recipe of Elixir of Necrotic Resistance Good day today - unexpectedly so. My condition is like this. I get a tenday of my scaleless flesh atrophying from time to time. Results in a day where the pain is actually bearable. I imagine the worst cancers are the same. Some days could almost fool you into believing you're healthy again. Anyway, I got some sweetly made and even sweetlier (not a word? I think not) discounted hot chocolate in the Elfsong Tavern. They know me by name. Asked after the details of my life. I gave some, obviated others. When a human - the same one I gave a Darkvision Elixir recipe to not so long ago - turned up, alive and kicking and now wearing a much more appropriate expression than the dumb-fuck grin I remember, I greeted him Hello and bade him join me. His name is Deimric, and he's been through the ringer. We spoke very politely together for an hour, and then amusingly for two, and when he admitted he would indeed face a hideous necromantic foe upon the morrow, I sketched him the formula for an Elixir of Necrotic Resistance, which would lessen the effects of that cruel damage upon his amiable body. For Necrotic Resistance, mix Vitriol of Black Oleander with any Sublimate. A good day, withal, and here's to another.
Recipe of Elixir of Darkvision Amongst a party of grave adventurers was one human. This was only a few hours ago. The human wore the most moronic grin, I mean deeply, almost inconsiderately stupid. Our encounter ran thus: Me: So you'd like to follow your friends here into, what was it? The Crypt of Utter and Complete Darkness, and Earnest Blackness, No Light Whatsoever, Really, Very Dark Down There? That Crypt? Human: Yessir. Me: And your friends here are aware that you are human? Me: Good. And they are also aware that, while humans are indeed a very capable species with many useful qualities, they are, in fact, not adapted to seeing in the dark? Human: They need me to heal them sir. I'm a cleric. Me: I see. Right. Have you ever heard the term 'guinea pig?' Human: Little furry things sir? Me: How about 'patsy'? Human: Had a cousin called Patricia, sir. Not wishing to condemn this ninny to no doubt a horrible and very unseeable death, I told him to get his hands on Essence of Crystalline Lens, mix that with any Salts, and thereby produce an Elixir of Darkvision. The human's grin widened noticeably. Human: That'll be good, only I'm scared of spiders, so I might leave off until we get to the not-spidery bit of the crypt. I'm sure he'll be fine.
Recipe of Elixir of Arcane Cultivation [Though the book is mildewed and covered with what seems to be imprints of animal guts, one recipe in particular is still legible.] There is joy in helping others that I never knew. While I myself have never had any talent for manipulating the weave directly, I cannot get the look of wonder on Nikros' face out of my head, that look he had when he imbued this potion. It fills my body with a soothing electricity I had thought impossible. RECIPE for 1 Elixir of Arcane Cultivation - Vitriol of Weavemoss - Sublimate of Belladonna In small doses, add the sublimate to the weavemoss vitriol, being careful to mix thoroughly until both extracts are seamlessly combined. Shudder on a low fire or leave inn the sun until the arcane energy becomes tangible. [The last paragraph has been encircled thrice, once in blood.] As always: Just recall the rule of threre
Recipe of Drow Poison [This entry from the master of Alchemy, Haskinn Xhesilaphin, begins with the formula for Drow Poison:] Combine Essence of Swarming Toadstool with any Salts, and lo, you'll have yourself a dose of Drow Poison as dark as the Goddess Lolth's temper. Time was I would grimace at the prospect of poison. Not that I think it's cowardly. I just didn't think that was my legacy: the scaleless dragonborn who wrote some books that jilted scum used to poison their heartbreakers. My old friend Nikros tried to convince me that such poison better equip adventurers for danger of the road. What a crude, happy-go-fuck-reality attitude. Adventurers make up a sliver of the Sword Coast's populance. Mostly it's folk trying to get by, and in this day and age that means poisoning your ex-lover, or some man who stole your prize goat, or some woman who called you a crabby little bitch behind your back. Well, I say go ahead. Use my work however you want.
Raphael's Diary - Chapter 3 [The final chapter from a diary penned in Raphael's hand. Here and there his composed hand stiffens and moves erratically, as if he were by times seized by emotion both powerful and unexpected] The plot thickens goes the aphorism - entirely inadequate. The plot mutates. It fluctuates. I have conceived no less than thirteen variations by which I might seize the Crown of Karsus. Yet in the tumult of this eternally flowing river of schemes, I, the most careful of fishermen, finds his catch elusive and difficult to wrangle. Even in cooperation such ambiguity and delicious surprise! But the hook has snagged, the doom of ceremorphosis has abated, yet they could not predict (could they? could they?) that in leaving behind the river they have in fact welcomed the fishbowl? I am master here. A prince of bargains cloaked like scarlet satin. All that hidden under sublimely obvious truths that cannot be discounted. So the fisherman reels! The tadpoled are my catch. Struggle as they might, writhe as they wish, flop and squirm and thresh with every ounce of strength, no matter. By all the reeking flames of Hell I will not be denied.
Raphael's Diary - Chapter 2 [A chapter from a diary penned in Raphael's steady, imperious scrawl] Last night I dreamt of a river. Waist-deep I waded it. Rusted hooks curled up from the water like the snaggled teeth of something ancient and diseased and submerged. The moon over the water cracked and fire flew out on the stubby wings of gormless insanely chirping chicks. They transformed into wriggling oblongs like sperm, yet by the time they hit the water they were fish with scales of orange and gold. There came a rushing sound, the dark water ablaze as if the fish were matches and the river a snake of oil. Approaching me out of the flames came the tadpole-infested. There was one among them who spoke for the rest. They gestured to the melting hooks, suddenly glanced my way, and in their face I saw they had the best of me. In waking, my courage has firmed. I progress my plans for the tadpoled even now. I am Raphael. I am not easily bested.
Raphael's Diary - Chapter 1 [A chapter from a diary penned in Raphael's sybaritic hand]. While I have (over many a sumptuous season) cast the net of my contractual predilections both far and wide, never have I been so attracted to mortals as I am to those infested by the tadpole. These particular fish find themselves splashing towards their doom, towards a steel hook unblemished by bait. How they resist the current! How inexorable its whelm, its tug, its dark undertow! At the other end of the fishing pole, the illithid. How their tentacles must quiver like cooled jelly at the prospect of more catches: more and more each day along the troubled riverbank. This process has a name I sample now aloud, to saver its taste: Ceremorphosis. I shall make crafty use of this development. For with the hook glinting, and death so close, what could loom larger in the stricken fish's mind than the prospect of rescue?
Ramazith (book) Hailed by Volo as the Sage Extraordinaire, and by many grumbling parents of impressionable young women as a bloody nuisance, Ramazith Flamesinger was a wizard of great renown. Living in Baldur's Gate, this figure went missing some time ago. It was rumoured that he grew romantically involved with a nymph, and idle gossip tells that they ran off together to live in some strange peaceful place, but gossip is not so reliable, and no one really knows what became of him.
Ragged Diary Fool me to think I'd fare better than the other treasure hunters in this gods-cursed wasteland - but the promise of a cursed beast as a trophy was a temptation I couldn't leave behind. Bloody Needle Blights took me by surprise, though I'm not sure how. How could I have expected anything less? It's all so much worse than I imagined. Found a key up here, but unless it unlocks a chest full of water and sunlight, I've no use for it.
Queen of Ravens [Highlighted from the other chapters in this work by gorgeous little pictures and artistic renditions of the events described, you can read the following:] In that time of shattered allegiances between elven Gods, and with the adulation of the shadar-kai elves in her pocket, the woman bid her followers elevate her to godhood. 'Do it and I'll reforge our broken pantheon,' she said. 'Do it and I'll make things sweet and synchronous again.' And they did, all but the dissenters in her avid flock, who during the ritual of godly ascension tried to wrest power from the woman. At the crucial moment she tore the dissenters apart. With the ritual irrevocably disturbed, the queen and her shadar-kai found themselves flung across the Planes into the eerie and terrible realm called the Shadowfell. The journey killed her, yet from the corrupted ashes she rose, a queen with both her eyes and her serving birds as dark as her ambition. So was born the Raven Queen, Mistress of Life and Death.
Queen of Kingpins [Seems like the Flaming Fist mercenary company has compiled a great deal of information on Nine Fingers and her crew, known as the 'Guild'. Some heavy named Tusgront guarding some entrance the Fist are intrigued by, in fact a very detailed account of the Guild's muscle, and, you note, a tide of derision from the FIst. Evidently they don't find Tusgront and criminals like him too bright. Not the sharpest scalpel in the surgeon kit. But Nine Fingers? Of her they write in sullen, fearful tones.]
Provender Ledger [A ledger listing and tracking inventory of goods in regular use at the Szarr Palace, with categories for food and drink for servants and 'guests'; cleaning supplies, including alchemical bloodstain remover from Bonecloaks'; opaque heavy curtains; candles of different sizes in yellow tallow and red and black wax; leather straps with buckles; balms and oils; and regular deliveries of Baldur's Mouth broadsheets.]
Profiling Methods [This insidious and frightening book includes many tips for profiling prospective (and apparently doubtlessly active) criminals. It is a lesson in abject, narrow-minded stupidity, and has probably resulted in more confusion and ill-favoured bedlam than any actually warranted arrests.]
Prisoner's Journal You hear things down here. Things from people with nothing left to lose. No more secrets to keep. You hear that Ketheric's untouchable - except he isn't really. That he's got some relic or other in the mausoleum. A link - that's what you hear. And you hear that the link can be severed. You hear things like that. But you mostly hear them from people who are already out of their minds.
Prison Log Records of Prisoners Charged Before the People of Baldur's Gate Memorandum from the Honourable Lord Enver Gortash: Let no prisoner be released from neither their cell nor Wyrm's Rock proper without my explicit consent. Presume every detainee an Absolutist spy until they provide me substantial evidence to the contrary. Baldur's Gate must be kept secure. Name: Earspoon Charge: Indecent exposure Status: Absolved and released with prejudice on order of Lord Gortash Name: Otto Ott Charge: Drunken and disorderly conduct. Again. Status: Detained Name: Counsellor Florrick Charge: Treason, sedition, incitement of discontent Status: Detained, awaiting execution
Primer on Calimshan [A primer on the local Calimsham dialects covered in clumsy notes.] You want to stroll down Calimport's bustling streets, duck down a brada alleyway and breathe in the smell of asarth from the kitchenbacks? Want to be nodded to in respect as an alimarifi by the locals? Well, read on, noble traveller of tongues, to learn what linguistic wonders await in the Shining Lands! [...]
Prayers of Repent [A book full of furtive prayers for forgiveness to the Crying God. It smells musty, as if kept underground for a long time.] Lord Ilmater, I beseech you look upon me and behold my sin. Let it stand before your infinite patience and balk in its presence - for while I am weak, you stand mighty. Let me be absolved before your weeping majesty, that I may cleanly bear the burden of others in your name. My knees may stagger, my bones may break, my will may fracture - but my faith stands strong on your shoulders, Lord, if you will let it.
Potion of Mind Reading Recipe I've only just come back to myself. The pain radiating from my jaw, scaleless body to my very bones left me entirely unable to sleep. By night five of ineffective treatment and total consciousness I began to grow very... I feel the word 'paranoid' doesn't quite cover the depths of that sensation. It was encompassing, sheathing me as if I were a sword and it my scabbard. I was positive that Nikros, my old friend, meant to kill me. As if the severity of my condition had become too much for him to bear witness to. As if poisoning me would end my suffering. Most compelling was the fact that I have myself considered the possibility. Of... ending things. Using this decoction I made a potion that could reveal his thoughts: Mingle a Suspension of Mergrass with any Sublimate, and produce a Potion of Mind Reading. Most horrifying of all, I found no murderous impulse in my friend's head. Only pity.
Potion of Healing Recipe This small recipe has helped me through a lot. Without my scales, my hide smarts and tears with the slightest touch. While it has never healed me fully, every drop soothes. I hope it might similarly soothe whatever ails you. [Someone has filled the rest of this page with repetitions of 'WHY IS IT ALWAYS HEALING POTIONS?????', 'THIS GODSDAMNED PRIMITIVE VILLAGE', and the occasional 'Some day, I'll kill that mongrel of a master'. Luckily, the recipe itself is still mostly legible.] RECIPE for 1 Potion of Healing Extracts needed: ---- Salts of Rogue's Morsel ---- Suspension of Mergrass Stir the suspension until a vortex forms. Carefully tip in the salts. Keep stirring until the salts dissolve and the solution takes on a red hue.
Potion of Animal Speaking Recipe This recipe I discovered entirely by mistake. It turned out to be my greatest breakthrough in the search for a cure to growing new scales - after imbibing the errant potion, I heard one of the magpies brag about a beautiful platinum scale it had found. The scale itself is one of the most powerful objects I have ever seen. I suspect it might have come from the god Bahamut himself! If only I could harness its powers, I am sure I, too, might someday be covered once again, this time even in platinum. Meanwhile here is the recipe that brought all this on! RECIPE for 1 Potion of Animal Speaking ---- Essence of Acorn Truffle ---- Salts of Rogue's Morsel Carefully sprinkle your salts through your essence, making sure none of the latter escapes. Cork the bottle and gently swirl in a pattern eight. And always, remember:
Potion Catalogue D Diminution, Potion of Death, Liquid Deep Sleep, Potion of Darling Visage, Potion of [Editor's Note: A temperamental new concoction, not yet entered into standard usage]
Post-House Dog's Log [This log of courier hounds is matted with dried saliva and dog hair.] Bolworth - No fleas, lots of knotting though - Coat matted - Breath smells - BIG bark still - Good boy SNEE - good girl as always - No coat matting - Scratches occasionally (note: check for fleas later) SCRATCH - Still gone - Miss you, boy
Post House Delivery Complaints [A log missing deliveries, turned to the most recent page.] Arbuckle Nit - broadsheet delivery never arrived - mildly irked Mungo Frigglebottom - Eltorchul Academy tuition fees notices - would prefer these letters 'stay lost' Mystic Carrion - funeral invitations - 'won't be caught dead using such a second rate service again' Thurstwell Vanthampur - Iron Flask - 'Do you know who my parents are? I swear...' Note: any letters marked 'Postmaster Shipment Enquiry' that are found and retrieved UNOPENED will be much appreciated - Danzo
Plea of Rest [An hastily scrawled and slightly damp Plea of Rest, requesting to be freed of Ilmater's service for the duration of a tenday, as the writer mourns Father Lorgan.]
Perfumed Days, Passionate Nights [A lavender-scented diary of florid prose that describes Lady Wisteria Jannath's brief but torrid affair with a young scapegrace named Enver Gortash. A typical excerpt reads as below.] 'When he held me in his burly yet tender arms, it was as if the years melted away and I was once again the reigning debutante of the Upper City's soirees and cotillions. What matter if the diamond ring I gifted him, heirloom of the Jannaths for generations, was worth more than the value of the mansion? It looked so well glittering on his long, strong fingers, and his glowing smile as he slipped it on was worth a dozen mansions - or more!'
Peer Review We are pleased to inform you that your thesis on the 'Study on the Representation of Deep Gnomes in Mid-Century Drow Literature' has been approved for publication pending the below changes. -The Society of Brilliance. [Thirty-six pages of annotations follow.]
Patriars, A Homegrown Aristocracy [Reading like an extremely brave (or suicidal) act of journalism, this scathing takedown of the Baldurian upper crust decries each house, from the Caldwells who jealously hoard patronage of the city's art museums, to the Irlentrees whose merchant fleet floats swift and immense across the rippling waters, to the Ravenshades who control the production of ink, dye, jewelry, and gemstones. The list goes on, with bile seeming to underline each insult, each description of the wealthy households, revelling as their good fortune turns. City life is a duck pond, the text seems to imply. Scum rises to the top.]
Patriars Journal [The minutes of the most recent meeting of Baldur's Gate's Parliament of peers. It includes a full roll call and a single proposal for consideration, including the naming of Gortash as Archduke of Baldur's Gate.] Yeas: 22 Nays: 0 Abstained: 1 Resolved: The Parliament of Peers declares its intention to name Lord Enver Gortash as Archduke of Baldur's Gate; Resolved: Duke Ulder Ravengard shall perform the investiture in Wyrm's Rock Fortress; Resolved: The Parliament of Peers and the Council of Four shall be dissolved at the completion of investiture.
Patients' Registry [This exhaustive log lists each and every patient to have sought healing in Reithwin, along with their ailments. The minor injuries and common diseases of the early pages give way to critical wounds and deep lacerations - the repercussions of battle. Several unbound scrolls have been slid among the final pages, demanding that healers turn away wounded Harpers and Selûnites, and reserve their tonics for wounded Dark Justiciars - on the orders of General Ketheric Thorm.]
Patient Log: Duke Belynne Stelmane [A journal stamped with the official seal of Duke Belynne Stelmane. It appears to be an attendant's log of the care given during the Duke's ongoing illness. The most recent entries detail a deterioration in the Duke's condition.] Can't explain the relapse. Duke lacks appetite, awareness, or interest in anything. Occasionally asks after visitor, which I suspect might be cause of current condition. Duke used to receive visitor in private every tenday - always hooded and cloaked, always shown in and left to attend Duke privately. No luck in finding - oddly enough, can't recall visitor's gender, or even stature - could be half-orc or halfling for all I know. Hoping for their return - visits appeared to ease the Duke's mind and body greatly.
Passage of Penitence [A common religious passage often recited as a funeral blessing.] Lathander to light, Selûne to guide, Kelemvor to judge, and passage provide. [A new passage takes over, adding to the common refrain a darker verse.] For those who yet live, Unworthy in guilt, No god's light shall find, What hell they have built.
Park Keeper's Journal [A park keeper's journal, mostly filled with notes on botany and plant care. One aside in the margin notes that some suspicious characters have been frequenting the park of late. The keeper wonders if perhaps he should report this to the Flaming Fists.]
Pandirna's Diary Dear Almara, I feel stupid doing this, but I don't have anyone else. I hate how useless and scared I feel. I hate that you're not here to make me laugh. To tease me for being a grump. To make me feel strong. Why did you have to die? I can't let it happen - not again. Not to the others. It's on me to protect them. And I won't fail them. Not like I failed you. Love until the end, Pandirna
Overlapping Lines [This publication describes itself in the introduction.] ‘A semiannual magazine of drawings and tales telling stories of famed heroes of Baldur’s Gate by their admirers, open to submissions from the public.’
Out of the Sausage Tube Into The Shadow Shadow creature transformation is like this: I am standing in a tunnel with one way leading into light and the other leading into darkness. The tunnel glistens and stinks like a tube of rancid sausage. Everything slick with slime. I've got to get out of here. I know I do. But which way? Light or dark? Not day and night. The light is coming from the face of my grandfather, who used to squeeze my knee under the dining table with his bony fingers. His wizened, grinning face is the face life wears. It has flayed off his face and is wearing it now, lantern bright, in the light at that end of the tunnel. The dark though. The dark is absolute. No faces there. No old family trouble there. No bad dreams or memories there, well, well that's decided then isn't it! Sauntering now, striding now, running into the velvety black, embraced, bones snapping, body softening, silking, feeling the change, old life left behind, new life new me let's go yippee!
Our Enemies' Fate Here lies Flaming Fist Manip Antyra Thorpe, who thought to interfere with an unholy ritual murder in Harbourview Park. Her body will lie here until every scrap of flesh has been picked clean by corpse beetles. Thus shall we serve all who meddle in the bloody business of Bhaal.
Orpheus, Prince of the Comet, Part Two: Sacrifice [This stone disc has githyanki runes carved into it. Below them is drawn a translation into the common tongue.] The Prince of the Comet, Orpheus himself, led his Honour Guard into battle. Their red dragons bellowed with righteous anger, and the heavens erupted. The glorious prince cried to all who could hear him: 'Praise be to my mother Gith, the Queen of the One Sky, sacrificed to the Hells by the renegade Vlaaktih! But the True Heir, the Prince of the Comet, could not overcome Vlaakith's knights and their ill gotten wyrms. Mighty Voss, Jhe'stil Kith'rak, lit the astral sky aflame. When the ash had cleared, beloved Orpheus was gone.
Orpheus, Prince of the Comet, Part Three: Resurrection The histories tell us that Commander Voss, Jhe'stil Kith'rak, pierced Prince Orpheus clean through with his sword of silver. That his flesh was torn and fed to the great red dragon Ephelomon. Vlaakith's faithful roar out this tale. But beneath the roars, we hear whispers carrying truth and prophecy. The Prince of the Comet is not dead. The Prince of the Comet will come again. The Prince of the Comet will liberate us from Vlaakith's tyranny. Praise be to Mother Gith, Queen of the One Sky! Praise be to your son Orpheus, the True Heir, Prince of the Comet!
Orpheus, Prince of the Comet, Part One: Betrayal Praise be to Mother Gith, Queen of the One Sky! So it was that we were free from ghaik shackles and turned our blades on each other. The heavens were shattered, and one great empire was divided into two. Gith traveled to the Hells to broker help fro her people, her cause. Vlaakith would have you believe Mother Gith proclaimed her our queen. Lies! Vlaakith sacrificed the Great Mother to Tiamat, the price for the dragons our kith'raki now ride. But Gith had nurtured a son, Orpheus, Prince of the Comet, the True Heir! He knew Vlaakith's treachery, knew his mother's sacrifice. He rallied Gith's Honour Guard and declared the throne for himself. The War of the Comet had begun.
Order of the Gauntlet: On Matters of Law and Justice Good is the absence of evil. It means to seek peace, and to enforce it; it means to seek depravity, and to denounce it; and it means to trust in your god and yourself, for the greatest good of all is called faith. Goodness is not lawfulness. Law is commandment, of god or of mortals. It is the call of authority, and the sanction of its opponents. Law is the father of order. To renounce it is to invite chaos, in which there is neither meaning nor life. Law can be corrupted. Lawfulness is not goodness. I say to you, then, that we seek not to be good or to be lawful, but to be just. For what is it to be good, if we cannot define the acts that oppose it? What is to be lawful, if it is a devil's commands we obey? Justice is the hand that feeds the hungry, and the shield that guards the weak. It is the sword that fells the wicked, and the cloak that warms the indigent. It is for justice that the Order of the Gauntlet stands watch. And it is justice that Tyr and Torm, Helm and Hoar demand.
Order of Ilmatari Service [A mass book used by the Broken God's congregation during regular services. There are a lot of hymns about self-flogging scattered throughout the tome.]
Oral Histories of Faerûn: The Spellplague [This book is comprised of several chapters, one for each cited source. It claims to contain firsthand transcriptions of the oral histories of several storytellers throughout the realm.] Chapter 25: Cornelius and Tomelius Worthywar Halflings encountered on the Golden Road south of Innarlith I met the brothers - or rather, they found me - in the lower pass through the Fireshear Mountains. They had encountered a trail of golden discs along the path, and had resolved to gather and return them to 'whatever fool had more coin than common sense'. It was to our mutual embarrassment, then, that I removed my cloak to reveal my patchwork yellow hide. It was molting season, I explained, and a traveller on the road had not the luxury to shed their scales in private, as would be proper. I suspect they knew too little of dragonborn to be appropriately disgusted, and instead invited me to sup with them. Over a roadside fire, I learned of the purpose behind their journey. ----- Cornelius: Luiren, my lad! Our ancestral home. It was lost during the Spellplague. Tomelius: Weren't nothing lost, Conn. It's not Nan's lucky gnashers, is it? It sank. C: Wasn't I there when the blue fire took it? Sure what do you remember - you were knee-high to a gnome. T: I remember you crying - maybe it was you that sank the place. Going back to finish the job? C: Watch that lip lest I fatten it. Only a fool speaks ill of his homeland. Their brows were bristling dangerously, and so I diverted hostilities by speaking of my own people's ancestral home; the blighted world of Abeir, and the thousand-year tyranny of dragons we lived under - until the blue fire of the Spellplague brought us to this world. C: ... right. Ah...
Oral Histories of Faerûn: Paladin Oathbreakers [This book is comprised of several chapters, one for each cited source. It claims to contain first-hand transcriptions of the oral histories of several storytellers throughout the realm.] Chapter 7 Valemor the Outcast 52 years of age Human paladin (oathbreaker) Given Valemor's reputation in Athkatla, the city she once called home, I met the former knight-officer of the noble and exclusive Order of the Radiant Heart with no small amount of trepidation. She has lived as an outcast for some years now, and the rumours of her character quite preceded her. I spoke to one of the prelates of the Order, who described her as a dreadful, sadistic traitor, warning me that to find her would be suicide - that she would kill me before I could speak a single word. He was wrong. When I finally tracked her down, we spoke for hours and I left with her blessing to share her story. I will not disclose our meeting place, as the Order punishes those who violate their vows with beheading. Of course I regret it. Breaking an oath isn't going back on your word - it's not an ethical quandary - it wrenches out a part of your soul. Before? I could call on angels to fight alongside me, I could banish fiends back to the hells and demons to the abyss. All with a thought and a prayer. I lost my voice. I speak, but this isn't my voice. It's an echo... a whisper. Tell them this - most days I wish I'd died rather than breaking my oath. But I'd never take back what I did... what I refused to do. Damn the Order. Service became dogma, obedience was virtue, to question was sin. Justice and duty are uncomfortable bedfellows. And eventually they make bastards of us all.
Oral Histories of Faerûn: Gith and Mind Flayers [This book comprises several chapters, one for each cited source. It claims to contain first-hand transcriptions of the oral histories of several storytellers throughout the realm.] Chapter 4 Pallidor the Swift 700 years of age Wood Elf storyteller hailing from the Wood of Sharp Teeth It took me several tendays of quiet habitation in the wood before the venerable Pallidor felt comfortable revealing his presence to me. The longer I stayed, demonstrating I was no threat to his health and peace, the more open he was to gentle inquiry. This tale, relayed to me on a chilly morning as we stoked a small fire between us, was like none I had heard before or since. I asked if it were fiction and he insisted emphatically it was as true as his own right eye. Long ago Before my eyes and ears, Before your lonesome quill, dear scribe, There was an empire of people - Or perhaps only Belief. An empire of brain-eaters, soul-wasters - They called themselves illithids; the flayers of minds. The children of Gith were bowed, bent in service to the flayers. A passionate people Made to serve a cold Belief. The flayers were untouchable, Their minds a great oppressor. No proud will or passion Could break Gith's children free. Until, at last, a reckoning - Its source unknown; its power, unproven. But its events, history-making: The cowed would not be cracked. Gith's children fought back, valiantly, Their freedom theirs - the flayers bent, And broken, till today.
Ongoing Murder Investigations [A status update on an ongoing investigation. It details the stark increase in murders in the city, as well as the violence of the crimes. No leads to the killer have been found. It concludes with a recommendation to keep the public in the dark for as long as possible, or until the killer is brought to justice.]
One-Eye [The introduction to One-Eye by Palmer Junisugga reads:] As Corellon Larethian's diametric opposite, Gruumsh presents a cyclopic portrait of destruction, loathing, and cruelty. Contentious orcish mythologians have dared (to their credit) to cast Gruumsh in the position of spurned son, prideful and powerful despite foul circumstances, and therefore worthy of absolution, admiration, even faith. Unconvincing, as arguments go, when weighed against the dearth of his kindnesses and mercies. In myth, Gruumsh lost his eye to his brother-in-origin, Corellon. He was following his idiotic pride (long had Gruumsh envied Corellon's grasp of magic, his beauty, and his fixed domains) when he charged cornea-first into the fray. With his maiming, Gruumsh presents the singular mythological case where an eye - usually a symbol of insight and greater knowledge - was sacrificed on the altar of utter stupidity.
One Night in Nashkel [The cover of this pulp erotica describes the contents.] 'After months of imprisonment in the Nashkel mines, Enchanter Xan cannot bear his solitude any longer, and decides to pleasure himself with the only companion he has: his sentient sword the Moonblade.'
One Foot, Two Feet, Well Met, We'll Meet One foot, two feet Well met! We'll meet Two drakes, one mink One draught, two drinks. One bear, three beers Come join! Drink here. Well met! We'll meet. Yondalla and Garl Shared twixt them a farl All covered in butter And they liked each other. Along came a fly Who flew in with a cry to the buttery farl of Yondalla and Garl. When Garl took a bite, Yondalla shrieked with fright! 'Don't eat that, oh my! That's a butterfly!' There was an old man named Elmûn. Who made the best buns in Faerûn. The Elders did scold him whenever he sold them, saying, 'Elm, bring those buns to OUR room!'