Descent into Avernus

(Jeff_L) #1
sit side by side with scathing editorials or unflattering

political cartoons of those same officials.


Ettvard Needle, a chaotic good male human com-


moner, runs the operation from a surprisingly modest


converted warehouse in Heapside. The son of an es-


tablished Lower City tailor, he bad always rankled at
the way Lower City residents were treated by haughty

patriars, and started Baldur's Mouth as a way to em-


power the city's poor via what he saw as the greatest


weapon of social change: information. In the beginning,


he simply paid local lantern bearers to shout his stories


of upper-crust injustices, but as enthusiasm for the prac-


tice built and more people began bringing him informa-

tion, he began writing the stories down for his distribu-


tors-teaching many of them to read in the process-and


then selling the notes directly. Today, Needle prints
his broadsheets by tbe cartload, aided by mechanical

scribes purchased from the Hall of Wonders and funded


by advertisements from merchants across the city.
Though beholden to advertisers and tacitly sanctioned
by the city government, the Mouth has never lost its

populist bent. Needle carefully ensures that the paper


is useful enough to the government that it's never in

their interest to shut it down, yet devotes the rest of the


paper to news the government might prefer hushed up,

from aristocratic scandal and evidence of corruption


to straight talk about various threats to the city, always
with a healthy dose of anti-elite rhetoric. His editorials

have a particular soft spot for his friend Rilsa Rael, the


Guild kingpin of Little Calimshan. While Needle loathes

the Guild, he sees in Rilsa's egalitarian tendencies the


potential for a hero of the people, and naively hopes
she'll transform the Guild from a predatory criminal
organization into a community police force serving the
city's downtrodden.
Baldur's Mouth is a prime source of opportunity for

adventurers in the city, as Needle is always looking to


hire daring "investigative reporters" willing to inves-

tigate rumors of strange happenings or procure proof


of corruption by the city's elite. Even just reading the


broadsheet can present adventure opportunities via ad-
vertisements recruiting mercenaries, half-substantiated

reports of monster attacks ignored by the Flaming Fist,


and more. And of course, should adventurers succeed


or fail in some high-profile venture, they might just find


caricatures of themselves and stories of their exploits in


the Mouth's latest edition.

BLADE AND STARS

This comfortable inn was named for its original sign,


an enchanted wooden shield. Painted black, the circu-

lar shield displayed an image of a curved silver saber


gripped by a pale, slender arm. An enchantment on the


shield caused glimmering, starlike motes of light to
sparkle along the saber's blade. The former innkeeper


of the Blade and Stars, a chaotic neutral half-ore bandit


named Aurayaun, used to insist that the illusory effect


was the shield's only magic, and that it did exactly what


she intended it to do: draw in business.


Still, it appears that there's more to the shield's story,


for recently both Aurayaun and the shield disappeared.
Since then, Aurayaun's worried wife Lupin, a chaotic


good female human commoner, has been running the


inn and loudly expressing her belief that the disappear-


ance is the result of foul play. What kind of foul play, she


has no idea.


While Aurayaun was quiet about her past, she had


no enemies that Lupin knew about. Lupin furiously re-

jects the Flaming Fist's conclusion that her wife simply


abandoned her. A local vagrant claims to have seen Au-


rayaun climb up and remove the sign-shield late on the

night she went missing, then vanish into an alley with a


cloaked figure. Since then, though, Lupin has received


parcels containing pieces of the shattered shield, each


bearing a tiny constellation upon it. Lupin is convinced

it's a map, but to where, and whether that destination is


terrestrial or the heavens she doesn't know. She's will-


ing to pay to find out, though.

BLUSHING MERMAID
Infamous up and down the Sword Coast, the Blush-

ing Mermaid is known as the best tavern and inn in


Baidu r's Gate for those looking to get their teeth kicked

in, or to kick in someone else's. Always one spilled drink


away from a brawl, the bar is the sort of place most don't


visit unless they're well-armed or with a lot of friends-


preferably both. The place takes its name from the life-


sized wooden mermaid hanging above the incongruous

reception desk, a dozen blackened and withered hands


nailed to its body-souvenirs left by those who refused


to pay their bill.
Beyond the combination lobby and common room, the

Blushing Mermaid is a confusing maze of wings and


oddly interconnected floors, hiding dozens of small and

shabby rooms and at least four levels of cellars. Few


people bother to sleep at the Mermaid, due in part to


its operators' loud pronouncement that they aren't re·


sponsible for any losses, including those of life and limb.

Instead, its plethora of back rooms and antechambers


act as de facto offices for the menagerie of shady char-


acters who spend their days drinking here. Ostensibly

retired sailors, the bar's regulars are in fact contacts for


a variety of unsavory organizations, from smugglers and

bandits to fences, drug dealers, and panderers. Some


work for the Guild, others for operations all along the

Sword Coast. Those looking to do business with the


Gate's underworld find that a handful of silver in the

Mermaid can open doors, but the wrong word can find


you dumped unconscious in the alley out back. WhiJe

the Mermaid's criminal aspects are an open secret, the


place is well connected enough that the Flaming Fist


traditionally leaves it alone.

CAN DULHALLOW'S FUNERAL ARRANGEME NTS


For as long as anyone can remember, the moon elves of


the Candulhallow family have managed the city's small

fleet of corpse carts. Though family members rarely


push carts themselves anymore, their terse agents are


a constant sight around the city, picking up the dead
and using hand-drawn wagons to haul their shrouded

loads to the Shrine of the Suffering or outlying ceme-


teries, funded by city stipends and tips from grieving
loved ones.

BALOUR'S GAT.E GAZETTE.ER
Free download pdf