A part of the Sword Coast, a famed continent in D&D, reaching from the Cloud Peaks to Baldur's Gate.
| Played | 3319 times |
| Cloned | 217 times |
| Created | 513 days ago |
| Last Updated | 79 days ago |
| Visibility | Public |
Baldur's Gate
As you crest the final hill, Baldur’s Gate sprawls before you, a chaotic symphony of stone, wood, and life nestled along the River Chionthar. Its towering walls, weathered but strong, encircle the city like a protective embrace, broken only by the mighty gates that bustle with constant activity. The air is thick with the mingling scents of salt from the nearby sea, smoke from countless chimneys, and the faint tang of fish from the docks. Beyond the walls, the Upper City’s proud spires glint in the sunlight, a stark contrast to the dense, winding maze of the Lower City streets below. The harbor thrums with life—ships of every size sway gently on the tide, their crews unloading exotic goods or shouting commands. The hum of commerce, the clamor of wagons, and the distant toll of bells merge into an unending melody of urban life. Even from here, the energy of Baldur’s Gate is palpable—a city alive with opportunity, mystery, and peril.
Beregost
Beregost greets you with the lively bustle of a frontier town. The cobblestone streets are worn from years of trade, lined with sturdy stone and timber buildings, their signs creaking gently in the breeze. Merchants hawk their wares in the market square, the scent of fresh-baked bread and roasting meat mingling with the sharp tang of iron from a nearby blacksmith's forge. The sound of laughter and conversation spills from the doors of the Burning Wizard inn, while the Temple of Lathander stands serene at the edge of town, its golden rays emblem glowing softly in the sunlight. Beyond the hum of daily life, Beregost carries a quiet undercurrent of unease, a feeling that the nearby wilderness always waits, watching. For now, the warmth of its people and its worn charm offer a welcome reprieve for travelers.
Blackgate
Blackgate looms ahead, a bustling hub of trade and travel at the edge of Baldur’s Gate. The wide cobblestone streets are worn smooth by the constant passage of carts, wagons, and travelers, creating a symphony of creaking wood, clattering wheels, and the steady buzz of voices. Buildings here are sturdy but practical, constructed from stone and timber to endure the heavy traffic of merchants and their wares. The air carries the mingling scents of horses, freshly packed goods, and the faint metallic tang of wagon grease. Blacksmiths hammer away at glowing forges, preparing iron-shod wheels and tools, while innkeepers and tavern proprietors call out enticing offers to weary travelers. The district’s pulse is one of commerce and movement, with traders unloading cargo destined for the city or the road beyond. Blackgate is Baldur’s Gate’s lifeblood of trade, a gateway where countless journeys begin and end, and every face tells a story of the road.
Bloomridge
Bloomridge sprawls along the slopes overlooking the bustling harbor, its streets winding steeply upward and lined with elegant yet weathered townhouses. Once a haven for the well-to-do, the district now bears the marks of its decline—chipped facades and overgrown gardens hint at faded splendor. Yet, a sense of stubborn pride clings to the area, visible in the occasional well-tended balcony or freshly painted shutters. The air carries the mingled aromas of baking bread from quaint corner bakeries and the sharp tang of the harbor below. Narrow alleys offer fleeting glimpses of the river’s glinting surface, while colorful awnings shade small markets where locals barter with animated fervor. Lanterns hang along the streets, their warm glow creating a patchwork of light as dusk settles in. Bloomridge feels caught between its past and present, with whispers of grandeur lingering amid the hum of everyday life, inviting exploration and curiosity.
Brampton
Brampton welcomes you with a lively, working-class energy, its streets bustling with the rhythm of daily life. The scent of salt and brine lingers heavily in the air, carried from the nearby harbor, mingling with the earthy aroma of stacked crates and dried fish hung in rows outside busy storefronts. Sturdy, weatherworn buildings cluster closely together, their faded signs advertising trades from coopering to sailmaking. The hum of conversation fills the narrow lanes as dockworkers and sailors barter loudly with merchants at makeshift stalls. Lanterns swaying gently overhead cast pools of light that dance on the cobblestones, revealing the haphazard paths crisscrossing the district. Amidst the chaotic charm, there's an unyielding spirit here—a pride in hard work and survival etched into every corner. Brampton feels alive, its pulse tied to the ebb and flow of the sea, where even the smallest interactions hint at a story waiting to unfold.
Candlekeep
As you approach Candlekeep, its immense walls of pale stone rise like a sentinel over the coastline, their grandeur visible even from a distance. The entrance—a massive set of brass-bound gates—bears intricate carvings of books, quills, and arcane symbols. A salty breeze carries the distant crash of waves against the cliffs, mingling with the faint scent of parchment and ink wafting from within. Beyond the gates, towering spires and domes of the keep stretch skyward, their surfaces shimmering faintly in the sunlight. The air hums with a quiet reverence, as though the very stones are steeped in the wisdom and knowledge housed within. You can hear the low murmur of scholarly discourse and the faint rustle of turning pages. Candlekeep is more than a fortress; it feels alive with purpose, a sanctuary for seekers of truth and keepers of secrets. Here, every step feels like a journey toward enlightenment.
Citadel Streets
Citadel Streets greets you with an air of refinement and authority, its broad avenues flanked by grand stone buildings adorned with intricate carvings and stately banners. The homes and offices of Baldur’s Gate’s elite rise here, their facades gleaming in the light of carefully maintained lanterns, as if to remind all who pass of the wealth and power concentrated within these walls. Guards in polished armor patrol the clean, cobblestone streets with a visible presence, their sharp eyes scanning for any signs of trouble. The air carries the faint scent of polished wood and freshly cut flowers from manicured gardens peeking over wrought-iron fences. The sounds of measured footsteps and low, courteous conversations echo gently, a stark contrast to the chaotic noise of the Lower City. Citadel Streets radiates dignity and control, the heart of Baldur’s Gate’s political and social power—a place where every brick and shadow seems carefully placed to uphold its prestige.
Cloakwood
The Cloakwood rises before you like a dark tide of emerald and shadow. Thick, ancient trees with branches twisting like skeletal fingers form a canopy that blocks all but the faintest slivers of sunlight. The air feels heavy, damp with the scent of pine and loam, and alive with a strange tension. The silence here is profound, broken only by the occasional flutter of unseen wings or the distant creak of a branch. Underfoot, the moss and leaves muffle your steps, but every crack of a twig feels deafening. A faint, unnatural hum seems to vibrate in the stillness, and though you see no movement, an unsettling awareness prickles your skin. The forest seems to watch you, its secrets buried deep within the shadows.
Cloakwood Nest
The path winds downward into the heart of the Cloakwood Nest, where the air grows thick with a damp, earthy chill. Massive trees tower above, their branches forming a suffocating canopy that blocks out almost all light. The ground is uneven, covered in slick moss and tangled roots that threaten to trip the unwary. The scent of decay and old blood lingers, sharper now, mingling with the oppressive silence. Ahead, faint glimmers of movement catch your eye—shapes flitting through the shadows, but never fully visible. The sound of leathery wings echoes faintly, and you notice deep gouges raking across nearby tree trunks. As you step closer, the unmistakable crunch of bones beneath your boots sends a shiver up your spine. A low, guttural hiss rumbles through the air, and every nerve screams that you’ve wandered into the lair of something ancient and deadly. The forest feels alive and aware, its gaze heavy upon you. Tread carefully—this nest does not forgive intruders.
Cloud Peaks
The Cloud Peaks rise dramatically before you, their jagged summits cloaked in mist that clings like a veil to their icy faces. Towering cliffs of gray stone catch the sunlight in fleeting glimmers, while cascading streams cut sharp lines down their rugged slopes. The air grows colder with each step, carrying the scent of wet rock and pine, mixed with the distant, metallic tang of snow. The mountains seem alive, their haunting whispers carried on the chill winds that whip around you. Paths narrow and twist unpredictably, flanked by sheer drops that plummet into shadowed depths. Occasional bursts of birdsong echo faintly, only to be swallowed by the vast, unsettling silence. The peaks loom omnipresent, vast and indifferent, their secrets hidden amidst treacherous ridges and concealed caves. You stand on the brink of nature’s raw majesty, knowing that beauty and peril walk hand in hand here.
Coast Way Region
The Coast Way stretches onward, a vital artery linking Baldur’s Gate to the distant reaches of the south. The road meanders through rolling grasslands dotted with hardy shrubs and the occasional weathered tree, their branches bent by the persistent coastal winds. To the west, the Sea of Swords glitters under the sunlight, its waves crashing rhythmically against jagged cliffs, the sound carrying faintly on the breeze. As you draw closer to the Cloud Peaks, the air grows cooler and the terrain more rugged. Rocky outcrops rise like silent sentinels, their shadows stretching across the path in the late afternoon light. Travelers pass by—merchants, pilgrims, and adventurers—each with stories etched into their faces. The atmosphere hums with both opportunity and risk, the road promising trade and connection, but also hinting at the dangers lurking just beyond its well-worn edges. It’s a route of both commerce and caution, where the journey itself holds its own rewards and perils.
Dusthawk Hill
Dusthawk Hill rises starkly against the skyline, its rugged slopes a striking contrast to the sprawling chaos of Baldur’s Gate encircling its base. The hill’s wild beauty stands out amidst the urban frenzy, with sharp, rocky outcroppings casting long shadows in the fading sunlight. Coarse grasses sway in the wind, and hawks wheel high above, their piercing cries audible even over the distant din of the city. From the lower streets, the hill seems both remote and imposing, its summit shrouded in a veil of mystery. A faint trail of dust spirals up its paths, suggesting movement—a stray traveler, or something more. The juxtaposition of nature’s unyielding majesty with the city’s bustling life makes Dusthawk Hill feel like a place on the edge of two worlds, where adventure might begin and secrets might unfold. It beckons with the promise of quiet amid chaos, but also the danger of the unknown.
Eastway
Eastway pulses with the raw energy of Baldur’s Gate’s Lower City. The streets are narrow and winding, their cobblestones slick with rain and crowded with bustling merchants, hurried dockworkers, and wary travelers. Buildings rise unevenly on either side, a mix of leaning timber structures and stone facades smudged with soot and grime. The air is thick with competing scents—freshly baked bread from street vendors, damp wood from the docks, and the tang of sweat and salt. Lanterns hang low, their flickering light casting long shadows over alleyways where figures linger out of sight. The murmur of conversation blends with distant shouts and the occasional clang of metal. Amidst the chaos, Eastway carries a tangible intensity—a district alive with trade and intrigue, where opportunity and danger walk hand in hand. It’s a place where fortunes can be made or broken in the span of a heartbeat.
Friendly Arm
The Friendly Arm rises before you, a walled fortress turned welcoming inn. Its sturdy stone towers stand resolute, their weathered faces marked by decades of history. The gates are open, and you’re greeted by the sounds of life: the chatter of travelers, the clinking of mugs, and the occasional strumming of a minstrel’s lute from within. Inside the courtyard, the air is rich with the scent of roasted meat and fresh bread, mingling with the earthy aroma of the surrounding gardens. Merchants hawk their wares from colorful stalls, while stablehands bustle about tending to horses. The inn itself is grand yet inviting, its heavy wooden doors open wide to reveal warm candlelight spilling out into the courtyard. Laughter and the crackling of a hearth can be heard within, promising a refuge from the road. The Friendly Arm exudes comfort and camaraderie, a place where travelers of all kinds can find rest and reprieve.
Gullykin
Gullykin unfolds before you as a tranquil hamlet nestled amidst rolling green hills. The homes, built into the earth with round doors and flowering rooftops, blend harmoniously with the landscape, their chimneys curling thin trails of smoke into the sky. The air is fragrant with the scent of fresh bread and blooming wildflowers, creating a warm, welcoming atmosphere. Halflings bustle cheerfully about their day, tending gardens, carrying baskets of goods, and chatting in small, lively clusters. The faint sound of a lute drifts from a gathering at the village square, where laughter and song fill the air. Yet, beneath the charm and simplicity, there’s a subtle vigilance—a few halflings glance your way, assessing with careful curiosity. Gullykin may seem idyllic, but the watchful gaze of its people suggests that their peace is carefully safeguarded.
Heapside
Heapside stretches before you as a labyrinth of tightly packed buildings, their walls leaning uneasily against one another in a chaotic patchwork of wood and stone. The streets are narrow and cluttered, filled with carts, crates, and the refuse of countless trades. The air is thick with the acrid scent of smoke, mingled with the stale odor of damp earth and rotting goods. Vendors shout from ramshackle stalls, their wares ranging from questionable produce to hastily repaired trinkets, while children dart between alleys with the practiced ease of those born to the chaos. The murmur of conversations blends with the clang of distant bells, but beneath the noise lies a palpable tension. Shadows move uneasily along the edges of your vision, and the feeling that unseen eyes are watching clings to you like the grime on the streets. Heapside is alive with desperation and ingenuity—a district where survival is an art, and everyone is a player.
Larswood
The Larswood greets you with a symphony of life—chirping birds, rustling leaves, and the soft hum of insects fill the air. Sunlight dances through gaps in the leafy canopy, casting shifting patterns on the forest floor. Tall oaks and elms stretch skyward, their trunks wrapped in creeping ivy. The breeze carries the sweet aroma of blooming wildflowers mingled with the earthy scent of soil and sap. However, beneath the beauty lies an edge of unease; distant animal cries and faint, unnatural whispers linger just at the edge of hearing. The deeper you venture, the more the tranquility feels like a facade, concealing secrets waiting to be uncovered.
Lion's Way Region
The Lion's Way stretches out before you, a well-traveled road winding through windswept coastal plains and rocky outcroppings. The tang of salt lingers in the crisp air, carried by breezes sweeping in from the Sea of Swords, visible as a shimmering expanse to the west. The grasses along the roadside dance in the wind, their golden hues catching the light like fields of fire under the midday sun. Occasionally, ancient, weathered stones rise from the earth—markers of forgotten tales or remnants of old ruins, their surfaces etched with time's passage. To the east, low hills roll gently toward the horizon, dotted with sturdy oaks and the occasional clusters of wildflowers. The road itself holds an air of quiet majesty, a path of pilgrimage that guides travelers ever closer to the imposing silhouette of Candlekeep, whose distant towers shimmer like a beacon of knowledge and mystery against the azure sky. The journey feels both serene and charged with anticipation.
Little Calimshan
Little Calimsham bursts forth in a riot of color and scent, a vibrant enclave that contrasts with the rugged streets of Baldur’s Gate. Its tightly packed buildings feature ornate arches and domes reminiscent of Calishite architecture, their facades adorned with intricate tiles and flowing tapestries. Narrow alleys buzz with life as merchants call out to passersby from stalls brimming with spices, silks, and other exotic goods. The air is rich and heady with the aroma of saffron, roasted lamb, and sweet pastries, mingling with the faint notes of distant music played on stringed instruments. Brightly dressed performers dance in the squares, their movements fluid and mesmerizing, while storytellers weave tales of distant deserts and forgotten wonders. Little Calimsham is fiercely proud of its heritage, but its people remain wary of outsiders who linger too long or pry too deeply. It feels alive, an oasis of culture and history thriving within the shadow of the Gate.
Lower City
The Lower City envelops you in a swirl of activity, its maze-like streets packed with merchants, sailors, and craftsmen hustling to make their fortunes. The buildings here are a jumble of timber and stone, their facades weathered by sea air and streaked with soot from countless chimneys. Narrow alleys twist unpredictably, some leading to bustling marketplaces, others to dim, shadowed corners where whispers carry unseen deals. The air is thick with contrasting scents—salt and brine from the harbor mingling with the aromas of sizzling street food and the occasional foul stench from poorly drained gutters. The rhythmic clang of blacksmiths at their forges mixes with shouts of traders and the chatter of dockhands unloading ships. Despite its grime and chaos, the Lower City exudes an undeniable vibrancy, a living testament to the ambition and resilience of Baldur’s Gate’s working class, where danger and opportunity exist side by side in every shadow.
Manorborn
Manorborn rises like a testament to wealth and refinement, its broad streets flanked by sprawling estates enclosed by elegantly wrought iron fences. The manicured gardens within burst with blooms, their vibrant colors carefully curated to reflect the seasons. The air is crisp and carries faint notes of jasmine and citrus, a stark contrast to the hustle and noise of the lower city. Tall, stately manors of white stone and dark timber dominate the district, their grand windows glowing warmly with lamplight. The clip-clop of well-kept carriages echoes faintly, while the soft murmur of refined conversation drifts from open terraces. Even the cobblestones beneath your feet gleam, as if they, too, are polished to perfection. Manorborn exudes an air of quiet prestige, where every detail has been meticulously crafted to display the status of its residents. Yet behind the beauty, there’s a sense of guarded privacy, as if the wealth here conceals more than it reveals.
Nashkel
Nashkel welcomes you with a rustic, workmanlike charm. Nestled at the base of the Cloud Peaks, the town's modest stone and timber buildings seem weathered but sturdy, their rooftops sloping steeply to shed the mountain rains. The air is crisp, carrying a faint chill even in the daylight, and smells of woodsmoke mingled with the earthy scent of tilled fields. The streets are quiet, save for the occasional clatter of hooves or the muffled sounds of townsfolk going about their day. A distant hammer echoes from the smithy, and the soft murmur of prayer drifts from the Temple of Helm, its humble stone facade standing steadfast near the heart of the village. Beyond, the Cloud Peaks loom ominously, their jagged silhouettes shrouded in mist, a stark reminder of the dangers that lie just beyond Nashkel's tranquil borders. Here, the peace feels fragile, as if the mountains might yet reclaim their own.
Norchapel
As you near Norchapel, the district’s quiet demeanor contrasts sharply with the bustling chaos of Baldur’s Gate. Modest stone cottages and wooden homes line narrow, uneven streets, their facades weathered and adorned with faded religious symbols and charms. The air carries the faint aroma of incense, mingling with the earthy scent of fresh rain on cobblestones. The district hums softly with life—children’s laughter echoes from a courtyard, and the muffled sound of prayers drifts from small shrines tucked between homes. Lanterns flicker in doorways, casting long shadows that seem to dance in the mist. While Norchapel radiates a sense of humble devotion and close-knit community, there’s an unspoken melancholy lingering in the air, as if the district’s history holds stories of hardship and quiet resilience. It feels like a place where faith and determination intertwine, shaping the lives of those who call it home.
Outer City
The Outer City sprawls chaotically beyond Baldur’s Gate’s imposing walls, a patchwork of settlements built from necessity rather than design. Ramshackle homes lean against each other, their wood and stone frames weathered by time and the elements. Dirt roads wind irregularly between clusters of buildings, churned to mud by the relentless passage of carts, livestock, and feet. The air is thick with the mingled scents of sweat, smoke, and the occasional burst of something tantalizing from a roadside cookfire. Merchants hawk their wares loudly, offering everything from finely crafted trinkets to questionable remedies. Travelers and locals jostle through the crowds, their faces reflecting stories of hardship, ambition, and determination. The Outer City hums with life—a place of raw energy and ingenuity where survival is both a challenge and an art form. Here, opportunity beckons, but it is as unpredictable as the haphazard streets themselves.
River Chionthar East of Baldur's Gate
The place where River Chionthar flows away from Baldur's Gate and into the Heartland.
River Chionthar Region
The region around Baldur’s Gate and the River Chionthar is a meeting of urban energy and wild, untamed beauty. The city’s sprawling silhouette rises in the distance, its imposing walls and watchtowers standing guard over the bustling trade hub. The river glistens as it winds lazily through the landscape, its banks dotted with fishermen and the occasional trader unloading goods from small boats. To the east, the Wood of Sharp Teeth looms ominously, its dense canopy casting deep shadows over the forest floor. The air carries a peculiar stillness near the treeline, broken only by the rustle of leaves and the occasional distant howl. The woods exude a primal energy, as if every creaking branch hides a predator’s watchful gaze. Travelers passing through this region feel the tension—a balance between the comforting proximity of Baldur’s Gate and the untamed danger lurking in the nearby forest, where survival is never guaranteed.
River Chionthar at Wyrm's Crossing
The place where River Chionthar is crossed by many people through the bridge Wyrm's Crossing.
River Chionthar's Mouth
The place where the River Chionthar flows into the Sea of Swords.
Rivington
Rivington, the outermost district of Baldur's Gate, sprawls across the banks of the Chionthar River like a hardworking sentinel. The village is alive with the sounds of bustling trade—merchants haggling in open-air markets, the creak of wagons laden with goods, and the rhythmic clang of a distant smithy. Timber-framed houses with slate roofs cluster along cobbled streets, their windows glowing warmly despite the rough, industrious air of the settlement. The river itself glimmers in the sunlight, its waters alive with small fishing vessels and ferries transporting people to and from the city's main gates. Smoke drifts lazily from chimneys, blending with the earthy scent of the riverbank and the tang of freshly tanned leather from nearby workshops. Though Rivington is a hive of activity, its proximity to Baldur's Gate means a constant flow of travelers and rumors. Here, the boundary between city life and untamed wilds feels razor-thin.
Sea of Swords Near West
The part of the Sea of Swords south of Cloakwood and a stretch west from Candlekeep.
Sea of Swords Region
The Sea of Swords stretches vast and glittering to the horizon, its restless waves shifting from deep azure to frothy white crests under the play of sunlight. The salty breeze carries the tang of the ocean, mingled with the faint cries of gulls circling overhead. To the west, distant islands break the expanse, their rugged silhouettes veiled in mist, hinting at both mystery and danger. Closer to the shore, jagged cliffs rise against the relentless crash of waves, their bases worn smooth by centuries of tides. Fishing boats and merchant vessels dot the waters near the coast, their sails taut in the wind as they navigate the ever-shifting currents. The Sea of Swords feels alive—its vastness a source of freedom and peril alike, a highway for trade and adventure, and a domain of storms that can turn its beauty into fury in the blink of an eye. It’s a place of boundless potential, as alluring as it is untamed.
Sea of Swords South of Candlekeep
The part of the Sea of Swords just south of Candlekeep.
Sea of Swords South of Seawatch Tower
The part of the Sea of Swords between the old Seawatch Tower and the northern region of Cloud Peaks.
Sea of Swords West Part
Just open water of the Sea of Swords, without any coast.
Sea of Swords at River Chionthar's Mouth
The part of the Sea of Swords next to Ulgoth's Beard and the Mouth of the River Chionthar.
Sea of Swords between Cloakwood and Candlekeep
The part of the Sea of Swords between the south side of Cloakwood and the north side of Candlekeep.
Seatower
Seatower looms ahead, a district dominated by the imposing silhouette of its namesake fortress, the Seatower of Balduran. The fortified structure juts out into the harbor, its weathered stone walls rising defiantly against the lapping waves. The salty tang of the sea mingles with the acrid smell of tar and fish that permeates the air. The docks buzz with activity as sailors haul cargo from creaking ships and dockhands shout orders amidst the din of chains and splashing water. Narrow streets wind away from the waterfront, lined with sturdy warehouses and rough-hewn taverns, their windows glowing faintly in the dim light. The atmosphere here is one of gritty pragmatism; the people move with purpose, their hardened expressions hinting at the challenges of life by the sea. Seatower feels like a bastion of strength and determination, its proximity to the harbor tying it irrevocably to the ebb and flow of the city’s fortunes.
Shipwreck Coast
The part of the Sea of Swords just north of the old Seawatch Tower, filmed with shipwrecks.
Sow's Foot
As you near Sow’s Foot, a shadowy corner of Baldur’s Gate, the atmosphere shifts noticeably. The tightly packed buildings lean precariously over narrow, winding streets, their grimy facades stained by years of soot and neglect. Lanterns hung on crooked posts flicker weakly, casting long, jagged shadows that seem to dance across the damp cobblestones. The air is heavy with the scent of fish from nearby docks, mingled with the pungent odor of refuse left too long. The muffled sounds of raised voices and shuffling feet echo through the alleys, where figures linger in the gloom, their faces obscured by hooded cloaks. A few stray cats slink between crates and barrels, their eyes glinting in the dim light. Sow’s Foot feels alive with an uneasy energy—its secrets tucked into the pockets of cutpurses and whispered behind closed doors. This is no place for the faint-hearted, but fortune favors the bold.
Stonyeyes
Stonyeyes emerges as a district marked by stark contrasts, where rugged industry and quiet resilience intertwine. The streets are rough and uneven, bordered by squat, stone-built homes whose weathered facades bear the scars of time and toil. Faint wisps of smoke rise from chimneys, mingling with the sharp scent of metal and coal drifting from nearby smithies and workshops. The air is thick with the hum of labor—hammers ringing on anvils, the scrape of heavy carts, and the distant murmur of workers deep in their tasks. Shadows lengthen across the cobblestones, where stray cats prowl and watchful eyes peek from narrow windows. Despite its worn exterior, Stonyeyes holds an unyielding spirit, a steadfast determination visible in the faces of its residents. It’s a place where life is hard-fought, but every inch of progress feels earned and proud, as if the district itself stands defiant against the weight of the city.
Temples District
The Temples District stands as a serene and majestic enclave within the Upper City, its wide, well-paved streets lined with grand edifices dedicated to deities both revered and feared. Towering spires and domed sanctuaries dominate the skyline, their facades adorned with intricate carvings and shimmering stained glass that casts radiant hues onto the cobblestones below. The air is rich with the mingled aromas of incense and blooming flowers from carefully tended gardens, while the soft toll of bells and distant choral hymns imbue the district with an almost otherworldly tranquility. Clerics in flowing robes move purposefully among the shrines, offering blessings to passing citizens and travelers alike. Despite the air of reverence, there’s a sense of solemn power here, as though the gods themselves watch over this district. It feels like a place where divine mysteries and mortal aspirations converge, inviting both awe and reflection.
The Steeps
The Steeps rise above the lower city in a tumble of narrow, twisting streets and precariously stacked buildings clinging to the slopes. The district is alive with movement—messengers dart between doorways, merchants shout offers from crowded stalls, and carts creak under heavy loads as they navigate the steep, uneven paths. The sound of bells ringing and the rhythmic clatter of hooves fills the air, mingling with the scents of roasted meats and freshly ground spices. The buildings themselves are a patchwork of mismatched materials, their colors faded by time and soot. Laundry flutters from lines strung between windows, and rooftops buzz with activity as residents gather to exchange news or air their wares. The Steeps hums with industrious energy, a place where every space is utilized and every person seems to be in motion. Yet, amid the bustle, there’s an edge of tension—a quiet reminder that the chaotic slopes hold both opportunity and risk.
The Wide
The Wide unfolds before you as a grand expanse of open cobblestones, bustling with the energy of Baldur’s Gate’s most vibrant market. Stalls and booths of every shape and size stretch out in an organized chaos, their colorful canopies billowing gently in the breeze. Merchants hawk their goods with booming voices—everything from rare spices and fine silks to dazzling jewelry and curious trinkets shines in the light of the midday sun. The aromas of roasted meats, fresh bread, and exotic herbs swirl through the air, mingling with the murmur of haggling and the occasional clink of coins. Nobles and commoners alike meander through the market, their laughter and chatter creating a lively symphony of sound. Around the edges, grand buildings loom, housing the city's elite, their polished facades a sharp contrast to the vibrant chaos below. The Wide feels alive—a hub of wealth, culture, and commerce where possibilities seem endless and treasures await the bold.
Trade Way Region
The region around Baldur's Gate at the Trade Way, a long trade road along the west coast of Faerûn. Starting from Baldur's Gate, the road cuts through fertile farmlands where the scent of freshly turned earth mingles with the soft bleating of sheep grazing in pastures. Gradually, the terrain grows wilder—rolling fields give way to dense thickets of trees, their tangled branches forming a canopy that dapples the path with shifting shadows. The faint murmur of distant streams accompanies your journey, growing louder as the road nears the foothills of the Cloud Peaks. Here, the air turns cooler and sharper, carrying with it the faint metallic tang of snow on the winds. Craggy outcrops rise like sentinels along the trail, their silhouettes sharp against the horizon. The towering mountains loom ahead, veiled in a shroud of mist that clings to their peaks, promising both awe-inspiring beauty and the treacherous challenges of untamed wilderness.
Tumbledown
Tumbledown greets you with an air of quiet melancholy. This district, nestled near the city’s outer edges, is dominated by a sprawling cemetery whose aged, lichen-covered gravestones stand in solemn rows beneath gnarled, leafless trees. The paths winding through the graveyard are uneven and overgrown, the earth soft underfoot and carrying a faint, earthy scent of decay mixed with wildflowers. Simple, weather-worn houses dot the area, their shutters creaking in the breeze, while muted voices and soft whispers occasionally echo from the alleys. Flickering lanterns on crooked posts provide sparse light, their dim glow adding to the eerie ambiance. Despite the somber stillness, there’s a peculiar warmth to Tumbledown—an unspoken understanding among its residents, who tend to their dead with quiet reverence and live with a resilience born from facing life’s fragility. It feels like a place where stories are both remembered and buried.
Twin Songs
As you near Twin Songs, the air itself seems to hum with spiritual energy. This district, perched along the river just beyond the city gates of Baldur's Gate, is a patchwork of shrines, temples, and altars, each dedicated to gods from countless pantheons. Small, colorful pennants flutter in the breeze, marking sacred spaces with symbols of divine power. The scent of burning incense wafts through the air, mingling with the faint melodies of hymns sung in varied tongues. The streets are alive with pilgrims and priests, their robes swirling amidst the steady flow of merchants and curious travelers. Cobblestones are worn smooth by countless feet, and the gentle murmur of prayers rises to meet the tolling of temple bells. Here, faiths of all kinds converge in a vibrant, chaotic harmony, and the district feels like a tapestry of beliefs, its essence steeped in reverence and devotion. You can't help but feel as if unseen eyes are watching, their gaze both protective and curious.
Ulgoth's Beard
Ulgoth's Beard emerges on the horizon as a quaint yet hardy fishing village perched along the northern coast. The salt-laden air carries the rhythmic sound of waves lapping against the rocky shore, mingling with the creak of fishing boats swaying gently in their moorings. Modest homes built of timber and stone huddle together against the wind, their roofs weathered by years of coastal storms. The village exudes a quiet charm, with nets strung to dry, crab pots stacked near the docks, and fishermen mending their gear under the watchful eyes of gulls circling above. A small inn and a handful of shops dot the central square, their doors welcoming yet unassuming. The locals glance at newcomers with curious but cautious eyes, a subtle reminder that even this peaceful village harbors its own secrets. Beyond the shoreline, the sea stretches vast and endless, promising both bounty and danger to those bold enough to venture its depths.
Upper City
The Upper City rises before you as a realm of opulence and order, where wealth and influence reign supreme. Its polished stone streets gleam under the light of intricately wrought lanterns, each corner meticulously maintained and guarded by the Watch in their shining armor. Towering mansions and grand edifices dominate the skyline, their facades adorned with ornate carvings and lush greenery spilling from wrought-iron balconies. The air is perfumed with the scent of blooming flowers and faintly spiced aromas from exclusive eateries tucked among the grandeur. The soft murmur of aristocratic conversation blends with the occasional clatter of hooves as carriages glide by. Despite the outward display of prosperity, the Upper City feels measured and watchful, as though every gesture and interaction carries unspoken rules. This is Baldur’s Gate at its finest—or perhaps its most pretentious—a sanctuary for the elite, hiding its intrigue behind elegance and civility.
Whitkeep
Whitkeep, nestled within the outer city of Baldur’s Gate, exudes a blend of humble charm and industrious spirit. Narrow streets weave between tightly clustered stone and timber homes, their walls adorned with faded banners that hint at the district’s longstanding role as a refuge for tradesfolk and laborers. The hum of activity fills the air—blacksmiths at their forges, merchants tending stalls brimming with wares, and the clatter of carts navigating uneven cobblestones. The scent of baked goods mingles with the tang of iron and leather, creating an oddly comforting atmosphere. Lanterns flicker to life as evening falls, casting warm light that softens the rough edges of the district. Amidst the bustle, an undercurrent of resilience runs strong; Whitkeep wears its modesty with pride, its people crafting lives of quiet determination and hard-earned camaraderie. Here, you sense the heart of Baldur’s Gate’s industrious spirit, alive and thriving.
Wood of Sharp Teeth
The forest looms before you, its edge a chaotic tangle of ancient trees and dense undergrowth. As you step inside, the canopy above swallows the light, leaving the world dim and shadowed. The air is damp, thick with the scent of moss and decay. Twisted roots claw at the ground, and patches of strange, luminous fungi glow faintly in the gloom. The distant snap of a branch sets your nerves on edge—was it the wind, or something unseen? A low, mournful howl echoes faintly, and the forest seems to breathe around you, alive with an unyielding tension. It is clear—you are not welcome here.
Wyrm's Crossing
As you approach Wyrm’s Crossing, the imposing stone bridge stretches ahead like a spine across the river Chionthar. Its arches rise high above the water, adorned with weathered carvings of serpentine dragons, their features worn smooth by time and wind. The air is thick with the mingling scents of river spray and smoke from nearby campfires. The bridge bustles with life—vendors hawk roasted fish and trinkets, while travelers and traders jostle for space alongside peddlers and stray animals. Wagons creak under heavy loads as they rumble past, and the murmur of voices blends with the distant lapping of water against the stone piers. Above, the sun dips lower, painting the scene in hues of amber and gold. Yet, despite the lively commerce, a faint undercurrent of tension lingers—a sense that not all eyes watching from the shadows have friendly intentions. Wyrm’s Crossing is alive, its pulse one of trade, travel, and untold secrets.
Wyvern Hills
As you ascend into the Wyvern Hills nestled within the Cloakwood, the terrain shifts dramatically. The dense canopy of trees gives way to open slopes dotted with jagged rocks and patches of wild grass. The air grows crisp, carrying the scent of pine and the faint metallic tang of stone. The sun breaks through more freely here, but its light casts long, eerie shadows over the uneven ground. In the distance, you spot strange, irregular indentations in the earth—perhaps old nests or claw marks. A sudden gust of wind rushes down the hills, accompanied by an unsettling silence. The faint cry of a distant predator echoes, and as you peer upward, you think you catch a flicker of movement in the sky—large, deliberate, circling. This is no place for complacency; the Wyvern Hills are as treacherous as the name implies, and danger may strike from above.