Stories of the Southern Reaches
8th of Kuthona 4707 A.R. (Absalom Reckoning)
The
Scorpion's Sting yields the treasures you had expected and some that you did not: a plain iron chest inlaid with darkwood from Andoran and sealed with a lock so complex one almost has to physically restrain Cob from trying his hand at it that is said by the pirates to contain the looted gems, a set of faintly magical charts that show a shifting array of potential anchorages under the watchful arches of the Verduran, and almost ten thousand gold, most of it in unfamiliar coin that would have made Sirim roll his eyes were he able to. "River Kingdoms dross."
"The devil are those tree-riders about?" Sir Pisca is considerably less pleased, though you are not sure quite what has Mina gasp with laughter until Sirim quietly explains just what kind of 'riding' that particular expression usually denoted in Taldan.
Whether or not the druids of Arenway are enjoying the company of the trees a bit too much, the fact remains that the pirates sailed between three pillars as perilous as they are mysterious: House Basri, the tree shepherds, and the elf calling himself Swallowtail. Any one of these might be a reason to hang the lot of them now and drop their bodies in the river. Alas, this day you do not break bread with a cautious man.
Scorpion's Sting loot:
Chest of Dwarvish Gemstones
A plain iron chest inlaid with darkwood from Andoran and sealed with a complex lock. The pirates did not dare open it before they reached safe anchorage, least it draw the eye of some dwarfish scryer on them.
Charts of Fey Voyage
Written more in subtle glamor than ink and parchment, these charts purport to show the slow 'migration' of the Verduran's trees, opening anchorages where there had been none and hiding an them from prying eyes.
9,640 gp
The sound side of his good cheer, the man is positively whistling, is that he's in the mood to talk of grand plans, adventures he might seek with the gold and favor gained from this 'little jaunt down the Selen', with gold on his belt and favors at his back. He speaks of traveling down to Absalom or even to the ports of Osrion with a cargo of northern furs, wild-caught beasts, and amber to sell for a profit, taking a commission on the Galtish border where there's 'sure to be a push against the murderers soon', heading to Numeria to claim for his house some of the famed treasures of that land. It all sounds somewhat plausible, though rather light on detail and logistics, but that is not why you're glad to hear it. In between describing his assured future success the knight speaks rather more frankly than most of his station about what you can expect in Cassomir.
Lord Governor Bozbeyli, he explains, is a veteran knight of Taldor's cavalry, rising to prominence after fighting several border wars in the Zimar Prefecture. He began life as a meager peasant outside of Cassomir, much to the hargin of many finer bred folks, but his heroics as an officer in the Taldan Army are well documented and they saw him raised to senatorial rank by the hand of Emperor Stavian the Third himself. The Lord Governor was given the responsibility of running Cassomir 'as effectively and efficiently as he led his men in battle', which many saw as a trap laid out to finally make the blow hard soldier falter. If such a plot had indeed been devised, than it failed spectacularly as he has been overseeing a well-ordered and peaceful city for almost a decade now.
"You should compliment his scimitar if you meet him, he got it off a bandit chief in the Southern Ranges," your companion allows, taking a bite out of his fig bread and a sip of wine before continuing: "Don't play Towers with him though, he has a devil's luck."
You are about to ask
which devil before realizing it was an expression.
"If you're the sort to talk to corpses maybe you can tell what ails Treacherous Jack," he adds with a laugh. "That's one scoundrel we can't hang on account of it being brick and mortar..." The name you discover is something of a dark jest regarding an ancient lighthouse, the last of a line that once ran the length of the coast known to sailors as the Jagged Saw. The others had fallen into ruin and perhaps it would have been better if Jack did too, for 'he' had the habit of going dark at the most unlucky times. Wrought with arcane fire and silvered mirrors at the height of Imperial Taldor, no mage who has checked the place has ever been able to figure out what ails the thing.
"Wrecked ships are precious..." Sirim hisses in your mind.
"Then there's the Locker. I imagine you'd have more luck around it than most..." And he's looking straight at you for the first time since he had greeted you for the meeting.
"Oh?" you draw your eyes from the shore passing by.
"The Imperial Naval Shipyards has been built and rebuilt numerous times in the city's history, from wharf to dockyard, from trade to shipyards of empire, but through it all the marshes will have their say. Things do not rot quite like you would expect down there, something about not having enough air. They say there's five times as much to the Locker below as what's presently used by the navy, and all manner of strange folk are said to traipse down there, shadow-kin and grey-faced dwarfs. I've even heard tales of elves with ashy faces and blood red eyes."
It's a good thing that you're not eating anything.
Do you explain the drow?
[] Yes, the more know of the danger the better
[] No, best not to darken the light of day
[] Write in
OOC: Interrogation after this.