A Bard's Tale

In Baldur's Gate, where shadows sleep,
A tale of theft, a secret deep.
Five rogues hoard of ill-got gain,
Treasure from the Lantern's flame..

The Kenku Killers, on their trail,
Sought vengeance, but their efforts failed.
The Flaming Fist, with iron might,
Sought justice, sending rogues to flight.

As years did pass, the heat died down,
Til fate's shadow befell the town.
Elturel fell, a smoking pit,
And Baldur's Gate, in fear did sit.

The Dead Three's cult, a lurking threat,
Their acolytes, we must beset.
In Elfsong Tavern, whispers rise,
Of hidden foes, and dark allies.

From pirates bold and vengeance dire,
With cutthroats fierce, her life the pyre.
A trap is set, a fight ensues,
Tarina lives, our strength renews.

The bathhouse beckons, fair yet fell,
Where evil lurks, in hidden hell.
Through secret doors, we make our way,
To vanquish foes, and seize the day.

Through flooded halls, where shadows swim,
We face our fears, with courage dim.
The Dead Three's acolytes, we find,
And with our blades, their souls unbind.

But dangers lurk, in every room,
A necromancer, seals our doom.
With fire and spell, she takes her stand,
But falls at last, by our brave hand.

A spectral skull, with eyes ablaze,
Marks us with fear, in dark amaze.
Our quest continues, fraught with dread,
As shadows gather, overhead.

The path descends, a winding maze,
Where shadows dance, in eerie haze.
An altar grim, with offerings dire,
And bones that speak, of dark desire.

A brazier lit, with emerald smoke,
And skeletons rise, as words are spoke.
In Salah's thrall, these bone men stand,
Obeyance to his stern command.

A searing flash, their senses numbed,
Blown back and broken, sightless, stunned,
Through gas and flame, we make our way,
To hidden vaults, where secrets lay.

A mummy's tomb, with moonlit gaze,
And zombies rise, in death's dark haze.
Against the horde, we stand and fight,
With blades we cleave, through endless night.

A Tiefling captive, weak and frail,
Is healed by touch, their life to bail.
Though whispers warn of greater strife,
While shadows loom, and threaten life.

A tortured soul, with secrets lost,
Vendetta's plight, a heavy cost.
We rest and heal, then venture deep,
Where stairs descend, and shadows creep.

In slumber deep, four guardsmen lie,
But Ira's blade, draws swiftly nigh.
A bloody clash, in chambers dim,
We fight and conquer, limb by limb.

From bloody tomb, a crone appears,
With honeyed words, and treacherous sneers.
Her true form shows, with wicked might,
And Salah falls, in fading light.

Invisibility's veil she weaves,
But Ira strikes, with swift reprieves.
Enchantment binds, with twisted will,
Till thunder breaks, the spell to kill.

An ogre roars, with bat in tow,
Through hidden doors, the monsters go.
In flooded halls, with torches dim,
We face the dead, with courage grim.

Mortlock stands, with club in hand,
Reveals the plot, to seize the land.
The Vanthampurs weave, a web of lies,
As Baldur's Gate, before them dies.

The cultist flees, with skull-like face,
We chase him down, with vengeful pace.
In final stand, 'mid idols grim,
We strike him down, with spells and vim.

But dangers new, arise once more,
As Tiamat's cult, comes to the fore.
With blades and spells, we take our stand,
And vanquish foes, throughout the land.

The Low Lantern, our next dark quest,
Where Amrik waits, with wicked test.
With coin and steel, we make our way,
To face the dawn, and seize the day.

On the Lantern's deck, the gulls lay dead,
Their bodies stung, the green lamp red.
We played at bones and feigned a drunk,
Then sprang our trap when Amrik sunk.

A paladin stepped from the alley's shade,
Reya, whose city had been betrayed.
She spoke of Elturel's last, great light,
And Kreeg, the man who sold the night.

The cultists came upon our ship,
With Bane's dark bolts and flail and whip.
We woke to Iliran's alarm and fought,
And left them dead, as cultists ought.

We marched our captive to the Villa's door,
To fetch the ransom, nothing more.
But imps flashed out from every wall,
And Amrik died before the hall.

We burned the guards with dragon's breath,
And Iliran's thunder stole their breath.
Through bedrooms, vaults and tower stairs,
We freed the caged and shook their chairs.

Thurstwell hid beneath his bed,
His puzzle box clutched near his head.
He sang of Kreeg and Zariel's plot,
Of a shield, and a fiend that he had got.

Below, the sewers stank of sin,
A devil shrine, with cultists in.
A statue fell, a devil too,
And Thalamra's end came into view.

Her eldritch blast could not hold long,
She fell beside her altar's song.
In cells below, two captives stayed,
Fisk the scholar and a noble maid.

And in the last room, 'neath a seeming plain,
Kreeg himself, with a shield of gain.
The Hidden Lord begged soft and sweet,
But Salah knew it was a cheat.

Reya's blade fell swift and true,
And Kreeg's last lies were cut in two.
The shield was claimed, the box was kept,
And Baldur's Gate could breathe, and slept.

To Candlekeep the road ran long,
Through fiend and ogre, rain and song.
The monks took Fisk's strange book as toll,
And Sylvira read the box's scroll.

Nine plates of Hell, by Kreeg's own hand,
Bound Elturel to Zariel's land.
And Reya wept, for in her oath,
She'd sworn her soul to Zariel, loath.

On griffins to a tower in air,
An otter wizard, a hollyphant there.
Lulu, lost in memory's fog,
Flew with us from the clouds' own bog.

A planeshift cast, a breath of flame,
And Elturel, a ruined name.
In chains it hung above the pit,
With devils, ghouls, and none to quit.

We saved the weak, we gathered folk,
Dug dwarves from rubble, smoke by smoke.
A baker's soul we won back free,
And burned the contract, devil's plea.

At High Hall's altar, devils lay,
Till Lulu's trumpet blew them away.
In crypts below, a blade of light,
A Holy Avenger, dark's own fright.

Then to the graveyard, minotaur bone,
And Gideon's gaze like a thing of stone.
We found the Duke, his helm of woe,
And freed him with Torm's holy glow.

With potions to fly and a thunder blade,
We leapt from Elturel's edge, unafraid.
And fell through red and ash and flame,
To Avernus, and Hell's burning game.

The Emporium's market, a tavern's lie,
A rakshasa's smile, a soul coin's cry.
At Knucklebone, behind its wall,
We danced the worm and passed it all.

Mad Maggie's ritual, a dream of dread,
Of sludge and loss and devils instead.
And Lulu woke with a spyglass clear,
The sword's own place was drawing near.

A grinder won from were-beasts' ride,
Across the wastes we took our stride.
Past chains and iron trees we sped,
Where Jander hung and begged for the dead.

Haruman came on nightmare's wing,
And Baktha fell at the first swing.
Ira's blade made the nightmare yield,
And Haruman lay dead on the field.

The wasps took Lulu to their hive,
And Iliran went up to bring her alive.
With thunder's crack and a wasp's retreat,
She fled their halls on winged feet.

Then Salah vanished in a beam of light,
Raptured, it seemed, by Torm's own might.
And Zaleria strode into our camp,
A healer to join us through the damp.

Where demons form from filth and fire,
We met a mage on a tower's spire.
Mordenkainen, bald and wise,
Pointed us toward the Hellriders' prize.

In crypts we found Olanthius' book,
A death knight's grief in every nook.
He asked us free his men from woe,
And a demon lord, chained far below.

Kostchtchie roared within his pit,
We broke his chains and watched him flit.
The hornets swarmed, we fought, we won,
And broke the tablets, one by one.

The Bleeding Citadel loomed in blood,
A scab on a swamp of ruby flood.
Through fleshy tunnels, goat and fly,
We fought our way to the doors on high.

A cathedral bright in a sun-kissed glow,
And Zariel's sword in the dais below.
Then fire and gnolls, a town aflame,
Idyllglen's death, and Yeenoghu's name.

The demon lord was cast aside
By the angel Zariel, in her pride.
She asked us each if we would give
Our all, that others might live.

Only Baktha answered yes,
And Zariel's charm he did possess.
Thomus stepped to the white-lit stone
And claimed the sword, no more his own.

A paragon, with wings of white,
Lawful good in the holy light.
While Ira's shield screeched in his back,
But failed to bend his will's own track.

And so we came to Zariel's seat,
With a sword in hand and a heart's own beat.
We placed the blade in her palm to see
If an angel still could be set free.

The halo burned, the wings turned white,
She wept and rose in a blaze of light.
The chains snapped clean, the shield was dust,
And Elturel rose, as rise it must.

Up from the Hells in morning's glow,
The city climbed from the fire below.
And we, who'd begun as thieves in the night,
Ended as heroes, bathed in light.

So raise a mug, and raise it high,
To the Crushing Shadow, the Umbra's cry.
And gruff old Ira, who grumbled through,
Would ride it again, and so would you.