⚔ Aᴅᴠᴇɴᴛᴜʀᴇ ⚔

Once the grand manor of a fallen caravan magnate, Whitkeep Hostel now serves as the eccentric heart of Baldur’s Gate’s outer artistic underground. Following the ruin of its original owner—whose wealth vanished to wyvern raids and troll ambushes—the manor passed into disuse and was soon claimed by squatters. Over time, it transformed into an all-gnome artist commune, fiercely independent and self-governed. Though only gnomes may reside in its thirty-seven cluttered, charm-filled studios, all are welcome to attend the raucous salons, radical forums, and midnight puppet operas hosted on its grounds. Now a bastion for the city’s creative misfits, political dissenters, and bohemian spirits, Whitkeep balances somewhere between utopian vision and perpetual chaos—one of the few places in the Gate where art, anarchy, and alchemy mix freely.

Whitkeep stands like a mirage of chalk and chaos against the gray stone sprawl of the Outer City. Its whitewashed walls, cracked and overgrown with creeping morning glories, reflect moonlight like polished bone. Window shutters are painted in mismatched colors—fuchsia, tangerine, jade—each bearing a different symbol, sigil, or splatter. Balconies overflow with potted fungi, alchemical stills, and dangling mobiles crafted from bone, brass, and stained glass. Faint music drifts from open windows: dulcimers, laughter, the hiss of a flame-fueled puppet engine. The air smells of paint, pipe smoke, and something vaguely floral but unfamiliar. Visitors often pause, unsure if they’ve found a hostel or stepped into a dream too strange to question.