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Exploits of the Order of Keen Strike: Difference between revisions
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| description = '''Exploits of the Order of Keen Strike''' is a book found in the [[Undercity Ruins]]. It portrays a dialogue between two [[Bhaal]] cultists as they reminisce on memorable murders. | | description = '''Exploits of the Order of Keen Strike''' is a book found in the [[Undercity Ruins]]. It portrays a dialogue between two [[Bhaal]] cultists as they reminisce on memorable murders. | ||
| quote = This book is redolent with the enticing smell of paper and ink. | | quote = This book is redolent with the enticing smell of paper and ink. | ||
Revision as of 22:11, 17 June 2024
Exploits of the Order of Keen Strike is a book found in the Undercity Ruins. It portrays a dialogue between two Bhaal cultists as they reminisce on memorable murders.
This book is redolent with the enticing smell of paper and ink.
Properties
Books
Rarity: Common
Weight: 0.5 kg / 1 lb
Price: 14 gp
Where to find
Found on a desk in the Undercity Ruins in the ruined building near The Farslayer Trial, at X: -111 Y: 1008.
Text
[A stained record that alternates between two different handwritings, one thick and measured, the other slanted and erratic.]
I did it, again, didn't I? Struck keen, didn't I. Picture it: Helm and Cloak In.. Partiar [sp] stumbles to the latrine. Bends over the bowl - vomits everywhere. All I need to do is drop a brick from behind. He's done.
A most glorious, most keen kill my friend. But it shudders in comparison to my recent escapade. POISON was the key - and it was ON the KEY! The poor creature reached for the key to lock her homestead, secure herself... and sealed her fate.
We talking poison, are we? Myt last one was cooking a stew. Smelled bloody lush, too. Plenty of meat (lamb, I think) - reckon it was for a big celebration. Enough to feed a family - maybe even a whole street. It was missing only one ingredient, to my estimation. Had it in his cupboards, too, right there. Lye. Plenty of lye. Oh - how they gurgled, my friend. A wonderful chorus.
Dropped a thin barb of steel into soup. She slurped it up, it lodged straight in the back of the gullet. Choked to death on soup and blood.
FOund a lonely chef, bent over a bubbling vat of broth. It was simple, easy. Just pushed and held his head. Felt like barely a moment passed before he did.
[The elaborate one-upmanship continues in a similar fashion.]