Lust in the Lost City

[NewHere]

For the past several days, the alleys and taverns of Baldur’s Gate have been abuzz with whispers of the so-called death curse—a wasting affliction that preys upon all who have ever been brought back from the dead. Victims wither day by day, growing frailer until death finally claims them once more. Worse still, no magic—no matter how powerful—can restore them, nor can it bring back the newly deceased. Priests and scholars alike are baffled, unable to unravel the mystery of a malediction that seems to stretch not just across the region, but perhaps the entire world.

Baldur’s Gate—known to many simply as the Gate or Grey Harbour—stands as a thriving beacon of trade and opportunity on the Sword Coast. Merchants, wanderers, and opportunists alike flock to this sprawling metropolis, drawn by its wealth, neutrality, and endless prospects. Despite its reputation for gloomy weather, today the sun casts its golden light upon the rooftops, and the cobbled avenues are dry beneath the steady rhythm of passing boots. Though chaos lurks beneath the surface, the city’s ever-shifting population pays little heed to distant troubles. Few who dwell here were born within its walls; instead, generations of travelers, refugees, and adventurers have shaped it into a melting pot of cultures and ambitions.

Maintaining order in such a restless place requires two distinct forces: the Watch and the Flaming Fists. The Watch serves as the official constabulary, patrolling the lanes and enforcing the law among the citizenry. Meanwhile, the Flaming Fists—a formidable mercenary company under the employ of the ruling Dukes—stand as the city’s unofficial enforcers, supposedly tasked with dealing with external threats. In practice, they often supplement the Watch, though their reputation for ruthlessness and profiteering precedes them. While they relish their authority, they remain cautious not to overstep and risk jeopardizing their lucrative contract with the city’s rulers.

Though the fate of the living hangs in the balance, in Baldur’s Gate, the death curse is merely another topic of gossip, traded as casually as news of market prices or distant wars. To the untrained eye, life continues as usual—hawkers cry out their wares, revelers crowd the plazas, and the Watchmen make their rounds beneath the watchful eyes of stone gargoyles perched atop aging manors. Yet on this day, fate quietly weaves the threads of destiny, drawing together a group of strangers—unknown today, but brimming with untapped potential.

Your invitation to the estate of Syndra Silvane has led you deep into the heart of the Upper City, a district of wealth, influence, and impeccable refinement. Perhaps you share a connection with Syndra, or maybe you've only heard whispers that the affluent former adventurer is funding an expedition to distant lands teeming with treasure. Whatever the case, your path has brought you here. The contrast between this opulent quarter and the bustling lower districts is stark—the streets are pristine, the architecture grand, and the air thick with the scent of perfumed gardens rather than the pungent aromas of the docks.

A heightened presence of the Watch keeps the peace here, their patrols far more frequent than in the city's rougher quarters. The Flaming Fists, on the other hand, are a rare sight. Unless you are finely dressed, you draw the occasional wary glance from guards or a scrutinizing look from well-dressed passersby, some of whom are escorted by armoured retainers.

At last, you arrive at Syndra’s estate. The massive wrought-iron gates stand open, leading into a meticulously maintained courtyard where vibrant flowers bloom in neat rows and trimmed hedges frame polished stone pathways. The grand house beyond is a vision of elegance, its towering windows reflecting the afternoon light. As you cross the threshold, the chatter of the city fades behind you, and the weight of the ordinary world falls away. Ahead lies something far greater than mere rumor—something that will change the course of your fate forever.

Spoiler

Please, describe your character, share any relevant art, let us know how long have they been in baldur's gate, are they an outsider or a local, how did they get here, and what they've been up to in the city? And narrate their arrival at Syndra's estate! Once you have all introduced your characters and are ready to proceed, you may interact with Syndra's manor to continue. @DreamsnThings @WickedCadrach @roll to seduce

 

Edited 21 hours ago by NewHere
spelling correction

[WickedCadrach]

Inoria's Prologue
"My pony, sir," Inoria said, repeating herself more slowly but no less pleasantly. "I paid the boy a silver piece as I came in from buying supplies last evening, and he told me he'd stable my pony while I took supper. I just wanted to retrieve her." The gentle, musical quality of her voice—honed by temple chants and poetic prayers to the Lady of Love, Sune—was beginning to grow as strained as the smile frozen on her delicate, elven features. In her fingertips, an artfully folded invitation crinkled as she suppressed a tremble. 

However, repetition did not seem to clarify the issue for the grubby dwarf manning the bartop at the Oak and Crosier Inn. He merely looked her over, his cocked eye taking in the clean white and ruby red of her flowing robes, lingering where they curved around her modest breasts and the slender bump of her lithe hips, but ultimately settling on the fiery brass amulet around her slim neck and the brilliant orange-gold of her wide, doe-like eyes. As he did, Inoria felt a dreadful cold settle in her stomach like a mossy stone.  

"Don't have a lad what works the stables," the dwarf said, setting aside a clay mug and grabbing a fresh one to violate with the greasy rag in his hands. "T'would be Barnus or the lass tending the fire there," he added roughly, not an ounce of pity behind his words, and he accented his final point with a flick of the stained rag in Inoria's face. "If yer tryin' to play with me, I suggest ye take yer chicanery elsewhere, lass. I'll have none of it."

Inoria blinked, swallowing back her nerves and trying to control them with the silent recitation of a manta before she spoke again.

"Good sir, I... I believe I've been robbed—"

"And I s'pose ye think my inn and staff are to blame fer it!" The dwarf scowled, his heavy lip jutting as he slammed down the mug and planted his palms on the bar top. "I told ye, we ain't got a boy what—"

Inoria didn't hear the rest. Standing in frozen politeness, she maintained her smile, folding the invitation between both of her hands to keep it from rattling and merely riding out the dwarf's outburst like a lighthouse taking the howling blasts of storm winds. She shivered and shook but did not budge. 

When the dwarf had finished, Inoria gave a graceful bow, her golden hair sweeping over her shoulders with liquid efficiency. 

"Thank you," she said softly, then rising, she added, "I apologize if I troubled you this morning." She turned, leaving the dwarf shamefaced and somewhat befuddled at her gentle spirit and peaceful beauty. At least, she imagined it so—she did not look back to confirm.

Lifting her backpack, Inoria began to trudge—pony-less—toward the Upper City. She had a few more gold coins to her name, but not much. She'd spent the last of it restocking her provisions and buying food for a pack animal that was no longer hers to care for. She spared a prayer for the creature as she walked—hoping that wherever it was, it was being well cared for. 

As she walked, Inoria Val'Beacent maintained her pleasant grace, trying not to let the ugliness of the morning's encounter mar her in spirit or with cracks upon her youthful face. She had done so with every challenge so far on her journey: when she lost the fine staff the Temple Matron had gifted her along with the pony for her overland journey to Neverwinter; when she'd lost the letter of introduction from her father and had found some of the crew making use of her prayer book's back pages for pipe wadding on the Waterdeep docks; and now, in the last hours of the five days she'd spent in Baldur's Gate, when the last of her rations and the loyal beast of burden that had come with her on this treacherous journey were taken from her... she did not waiver. 

Too much was at stake. 

Approaching the gates of Syndra's manor, Inoria thanked Sune that the powerful lady of the city had agreed to meet with her and sent a formal invitation despite her lack of a properly sealed and signed letter of introduction. Every curse victim she'd heard of or seen on the journey reminded her of what hung in the balance... In every one of them, she'd seen her own mother's suffering. 

The whole way to Syndra's garden, Inoria recited her introduction: "Inoria Val'Beacent, Acolyte of the Temple of Sune at Neverwinter, blood of Lord Gilhava Val'Beacent, given to the Lady of Love. I have an invitation to meet the Lady Syndra."

She was only mildly disappointed to find the estate open to her wandering in when she arrived. 
 

Spoiler

Inoria Val'Beacent
A slender, light skinned high elf with waist-length golden-blonde hair, fair elven features, and orange-gold irises. She is wearing a flowing white and red robe and a brass amulet in the shape of a woman's face with fire coiling upward for hair. 
She is originally from the north, near the city of Neverwinter, and came by ship with a brief stopover in Waterdeep. 
She has been in Baldur's Gate for five days, spending the first making her plea for a meeting with Syndra then resting, seeing the sights of the city (enjoying the food, drink, music, and what entertainment there is to be had), and attempting to replenish her supplies. 

 

Edited 21 hours ago by WickedCadrach