Descent into Avernus

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