Anyone familiar with the riverfront of Anicetus could attest that it completely contrasted the city proper. While the rest of the desert city was dry, dreary awash with drab browns and whites and already indicative of a ghost town, the riverfront was a bustling hive of transportation and commerce rivaling some of the greatest wharfs of Moltuspons. The shops, inns, and other various buildings clustered against the piers at the brown water's edge like books in a shelf, forming a lively but cultured shantytown. Made rich by foreign goods and heavy taxes alike, this distract witnessed an eternal stream of people, coming or going or conducting business. Among fishmongers, antiques, weatherbeaten hunters from Altearx, and red-robed Paterdoman fire mages, three mysterious beings could move comfortably an anonymously.

Currently, the old man and the pit duchess sat together in a booth in the Amber Tide, a beer-hall situated on the pier itself renowned for its abundant liquor. While Eris was only too happy to partake heavily in the drinking, courteously extending part of the contents of her ample purse to her companion so that he could enjoy a small meal, the old man imbibed only water to keep a clear head. After some time, Moros appeared, newly clad in a lightweight puce cloak paid for by Eris. When he had requested the loan, she had marveled that someone of his alleged stature could want for something as basic as clothing. He seated himself at their table, comber and gaunt as ever despite the jovial atmosphere. “'Nam,” he began in a low voice, addressing the old man, ”she's got her aura suppressed, yeah?” Aeternam nodded his wrinkled head stiffly and picked at a greasy sausage on his plate. Once he had chewed it slowly, working it with infirm teeth, he replied. “This place hardly needs a malignant aura to start a brawl. It's full of sailors, salesman, rogues...most uncouth of men. And that is saying something. What have you found out?” 
Moros took a deep draft of Eris's mug before he cupped his chin, resting the hand on the table. Eris became wrathful and attempted a right hook that might have dislocated Moros's jaw had she not drunkenly crumpled onto the table. “There is much warlike talk among those from Paterdomus. Be it fire or water, they've got trouble all around. Might be one of us, stirring mage and barbarian alike to conflict. Then again, we've got you and Fury here, so options are limited. Might be a Keeper.” His splotchy yellow eyes glanced left and right, trying to spot anyone who might be listening in. Over the collective roar of the floating tavern's patrons, however, little could be discerned. Aeternam cut in. “We're in no position to tackle a Keeper yet. First we must be united.”

At that moment, the doors slammed open, and in strode a man who looked every inch a seafaring captain in his regalia. Those in the building familiar with the area guessed he was fresh off the boat, stopped on his path through the Elysium interior. Judging by his obvious ill temper, he had just been taxed by the Anicetus officials, and was seeking to drown his discontent. Flanking the captain were three of his underlings, among them perhaps the first mate, and the bosun. This late in the day there was nothing the crew could do but depart on shore leave while customs searched the ship. While the noisy entrance of the captain and his entourage created a momentary disturbance, it took less than a minute for the bard to resume his song and the patrons their various activities. After waving over a barmaid and relaying their orders, the new arrivals found a table not far from Eris's and sat down without comment. Soon their drinks arrived and they began a private discussion that definitively set them apart from the tavern's general mood.

Instinctively, Moros -the closest- shifted to better hear what the mariners had to say. His cloak helped to disguise his movement and make him seem unimportant, so the seafarers did not cease their conversation. “Looks like ye had the right idea, bosun,” the mate was saying in a congested drawl, “A liddle storm damage mighda been far bedder den dievin' bureaucrads. An' dere's da deadlands t'worry about too. We shoulda gone by sea.' In reply, the bosun -a beefy, sideburned man with a squashed nose- spat onto the floor. “The deadland's just a myth, Snotty. The eastern forest's too sunk in to just keel over like that. You've been obsessin' over that rumor ever since we got outta Ruhig Basin, prattin' on about black grass and will o' wisps. All that's happened is some damned fool come up after a forest fire and run off flappin' his mouth. Ya hear me?”

The conversation didn't end there, but Moros scooted discretely away, having heard all he needed. He roughly tapped Eris on the shoulder to get her attention before declaring with a skeletal smile, “I think we ought to hitch a little ride with the captain there on his way down Myra. First convenience we've gotten in a while. Seems like little Escre might be trying to set up shop again, Keeper-style.”

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4/5 second creature
Location: Dungeon
Dungeon: Jungle north of Saploya River, N16°W12° An incomplete and unfurnished yet vast hive spanning the length, width, and height of a massive, ancient tree in the jungle. The hive itself is constructed of a magically-created liquid that expands and hardens into a stiff, paperlike substance upon exposure to air. The main body of the hive is suspended by countless support struts that reach for hundreds of feet in every direction. The Dungeon Heart is situated at the very top of the tree. Bugs called Macula infest it, functioning as living security cameras and alarms. Currently has: Dungeon Heart, Myrmidon Spawner. Living Foundry, Apothecary, Macula infestation
Forces: 24 Drone Imps, 63 Myrmidons, imp construct Scutra
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