Oft was it did the sea carry in travelers and adventurers seeking riches buried deep in the wood of The Dales. The mists hung over undulating waves, like a curtain, in the morning air. The dalic sheerwater birds chirping from above were enough to wake most passengers from their slumber. In the distance loomed the grand city of Caracas. Most of it was built at the edge of the Veiled Sea on a string of islands. Looking further though, one could see the jutting towers of the Palace District built back onto the mainland. Dark black smoke billowed from the district out into the sky.
Even stranger were the sheer number of ships docked haphazardly in the port. Most of the ships seemed to be quickly navigated out of the way of the central docking area. Even still the port itself was crowded by natives and foreigners alike.
From your vantage point at the quarterdeck of your ship you saw her, the city of Caracas. It was much warmer here than back at the Trident, and the air smelled of salt and magic. Even though you'd studied its contents meticulously you retrieved a note from your pockets. Unfolding it, you thumbed gently at the aged blood stains that decorated the papyrus. Your eyes studied it once more though to little avail. When put to paper words meant little to you. They were as strange and foreign as the city before you. Books and pretty words were of little use to you, until now.
Your thoughts trailed back to the look of despair on the pirate captain's face as your sword ripped him open from belly to throat. Among the dead you remember the cleric; unlike the men he traveled with his robes were of a fine material and hardly worn, the poor fool. You'd expected family jewelry or perhaps a foreign coin. What you found was the letter. Upon reading its contents you had your crew strip the ship's sails, and pilfered the captain's quarters for docking documentation. Bearing the sails and symbols of a foreign ship weren't new to the Hamasfolk. Yours were a practical people who pillaged what they needed to for survival.
Your story began with an ancient hissing in the dark of night. You wore the name of a better man: your father, your savior and master. For a time there was no greater glory than your wrath. You cut down those who'd see you and your people in chains... at the heel of a broken empire. But the blood rage of a slave boy caught up to the free man. You'd slain one too many of them. Relentless and dogged was their pursuit, and fearing what might come of the mainland tribes you gathered the most reliable of your enclave. You set sail beyond the arctic oceans of the south. Perhaps there was salvation in these foreign lands.
Stirring from your thoughts you could feel the weight of an anchor sinking deep into the seabed. As you made your way toward the docking bridge you could see a formation of guards at the ready. The steal grey of their armor was complimented by golden accents. One, somewhat older than most of them, approached you and your crew.
"Papers," ordered the commanding officer. His accent was foreign to you. Your silence was met with contempt on the part of the guard, but upon providing the documentation from the ship you ransacked he seemed to calm."By order of the Prince of Caracas your vessel is hereby bound to this port, as are you and your men. During this time we will inspect your ship. Any suspicious activity will have you jailed or sent to the Pits." Without as much as confirmation on your part, the armored guards guided you and your crew off the ship. It seemed that for now, you were trapped here. The letter you'd taken mentioned a tavern just along the docks.
To oUᴙ moꙅT TᴙUꙅTɘb Aᴎb loYAl oꟻ dɘᴎɘꟻiↄiAᴙiɘꙅ, Ꙅiᴙ Ǝlᴙiↄ ꟻAᴙmooᴎ,
IT iꙅ, TobAY oᴎ THɘ ߁ꙅT oꟻ MɘᴙᴙUꙅ, 4߁ Owl THAT wɘ HUmdlY ᴙɘpUɘꙅT YoUᴙ qᴙɘꙅɘᴎↄɘ iᴎ A mɘɘTiᴎg wiTH oUᴙ ᴙɘqᴙɘꙅɘᴎTATivɘꙅ. THɘ ᴎoᴙTH AꙅToᴙiAᴎ TᴙAbiᴎg ↃomqAᴎY iꙅ Aᴎ Hoᴎoᴙɘb Aᴎb ᴙɘꙅqɘↄTɘb gUilb THAT qᴙibɘꙅ iTꙅɘlꟻ oᴎ ↄomqAꙅꙅioᴎ Aᴎb ↄiviↄ bUTY Adovɘ All ɘlꙅɘ. Aꙅ ꙅUↄH, iT iꙅ moꙅT imqɘᴙATivɘ To oUᴙ ɘꟻꟻoᴙTꙅ THAT THɘ bɘdTꙅ THAT oUᴙ qATᴙoᴎꙅ iᴎↄUᴙ dɘ ᴙɘTUᴙᴎɘb To Uꙅ iᴎ ꟻUll. Wɘ UᴎbɘᴙꙅTAᴎb THAT, oꟻ ↄoUᴙꙅɘ, THɘ ꙅↄAᴙↄiTY oꟻ ↄoiᴎ iᴎ ꙅUↄH UᴎↄɘᴙTAiᴎ Timɘꙅ mɘAᴎꙅ YoU mAY ᴎoT HAvɘ THɘ ꟻUᴎbꙅ ᴎɘↄɘꙅꙅAᴙY To ᴙɘTUᴙᴎ To Uꙅ wHAT iꙅ owɘb. IT iꙅ ꟻoᴙ THiꙅ ᴙɘAꙅoᴎ, THAT iᴎꙅTɘAb, wɘ'vɘ AᴙᴙAᴎgɘb A bɘAl THAT iꙅ dɘᴎɘꟻiↄiAl ꟻoᴙ doTH qAᴙTiɘꙅ.
YoU Aᴙɘ To Aᴙᴙivɘ AT ⅃o ꟼoᴙTo bɘ ↃAᴙAↄAꙅ oᴎ THɘ ߁8TH oꟻ ꙄUmmɘᴙHill iᴎ THiꙅ ꙅAmɘ YɘAᴙ, 4߁ Owl. YoUᴙ lobgiᴎg ɘxqɘᴎꙅɘꙅ will dɘ ꙅATiꙅꟻiɘb qɘᴙ oUᴙ AᴙᴙAᴎgɘmɘᴎT, Aᴎb YoU will dɘ TᴙAvɘliᴎg oᴎ THɘ "dlɘɘbiᴎg HAᴙqY," A migHTY vɘꙅꙅɘl wiTH Aᴎ...ɘↄↄɘᴎTᴙiↄ ↄᴙɘw. YoUᴙ qAꙅꙅAgɘ To THɘ ↄiTY will ꙅɘɘ YoU Aᴙᴙivɘ ɘAᴙlY iᴎ THɘ moᴙᴙow. Oᴎↄɘ THɘᴙɘ, YoU’ᴙɘ To mɘɘT wiTH oᴎɘ TAli ᴙivɘᴙɘᴎb, A ᴙɘliAdlɘ ↄoᴎTAↄT. YoU’ll ᴙɘↄogᴎizɘ Hɘᴙ dY ᴎiqqɘb ɘAᴙꙅ Aᴎb wHiTɘ HAiᴙ. ꙄHɘ’ll AwAiT YoU AT THɘ A ↄAUqoᴎA Aloᴎg THɘ boↄkꙅ- ⅃A ᴙɘꙅqlɘᴎbA, Aᴎb will dɘ ɘxqɘↄTiᴎg YoUᴙ qᴙomqT AᴙᴙivAl. Ↄomɘ, Aᴎb ɘᴎjoY All THAT THɘ ᴙoꙅɘ-qɘTAl ↄiTY HAꙅ To oꟻꟻɘᴙ! Wɘ AꙅꙅUᴙɘ YoU THɘᴙɘ iꙅ liTTlɘ qᴙomiꙅɘ iᴎ THɘ livɘꙅ YoU lɘAb AT qᴙɘꙅɘᴎT. AbvɘᴎTUᴙɘ dɘYoᴎb THɘ ꟻAmiliAᴙ, Aᴎb ᴙɘTUᴙᴎ YoUᴙ ꟻAvoᴙꙅ iᴎ THɘ qᴙoↄɘꙅꙅ. THɘᴙɘ iꙅ ꙅo liTTlɘ To loꙅɘ, Aᴎb ɘvɘᴙYTHiᴎg To gAiᴎ. ꙄɘↄUᴙɘ YoUᴙ ꟻUTUᴙɘ wiTH THɘ ᴎoᴙTH AꙅToᴙiAᴎ TᴙAbiᴎg ↃomqAᴎY. ꙄHoUlb YoU ꟻAil To ↄomqlY wiTH oUᴙ ᴙɘpUɘꙅTꙅ qlɘAꙅɘ kᴎow THAT THɘ ᴎoᴙTH AꙅToᴙiAᴎ TᴙAbiᴎg ↃomqAᴎY iꙅ bɘTɘᴙmiᴎɘb To UqHolb iTꙅ ᴙɘqUTATioᴎ Aꙅ A ꟻoᴙↄɘꟻUl qᴙɘꙅɘᴎↄɘ iᴎ ITHɘA ᴎo mATTɘᴙ THɘ ↄoꙅT. bo dɘ ꙅUᴙɘ To dᴙUꙅH Uq oᴎ YoUᴙ ↃAᴙAↄAᴎ!
YoUᴙ ɘYɘꙅ Aᴎb ɘAᴙꙅ,
MikAɘl idᴎ bA'Ub
IT iꙅ, TobAY oᴎ THɘ ߁ꙅT oꟻ MɘᴙᴙUꙅ, 4߁ Owl THAT wɘ HUmdlY ᴙɘpUɘꙅT YoUᴙ qᴙɘꙅɘᴎↄɘ iᴎ A mɘɘTiᴎg wiTH oUᴙ ᴙɘqᴙɘꙅɘᴎTATivɘꙅ. THɘ ᴎoᴙTH AꙅToᴙiAᴎ TᴙAbiᴎg ↃomqAᴎY iꙅ Aᴎ Hoᴎoᴙɘb Aᴎb ᴙɘꙅqɘↄTɘb gUilb THAT qᴙibɘꙅ iTꙅɘlꟻ oᴎ ↄomqAꙅꙅioᴎ Aᴎb ↄiviↄ bUTY Adovɘ All ɘlꙅɘ. Aꙅ ꙅUↄH, iT iꙅ moꙅT imqɘᴙATivɘ To oUᴙ ɘꟻꟻoᴙTꙅ THAT THɘ bɘdTꙅ THAT oUᴙ qATᴙoᴎꙅ iᴎↄUᴙ dɘ ᴙɘTUᴙᴎɘb To Uꙅ iᴎ ꟻUll. Wɘ UᴎbɘᴙꙅTAᴎb THAT, oꟻ ↄoUᴙꙅɘ, THɘ ꙅↄAᴙↄiTY oꟻ ↄoiᴎ iᴎ ꙅUↄH UᴎↄɘᴙTAiᴎ Timɘꙅ mɘAᴎꙅ YoU mAY ᴎoT HAvɘ THɘ ꟻUᴎbꙅ ᴎɘↄɘꙅꙅAᴙY To ᴙɘTUᴙᴎ To Uꙅ wHAT iꙅ owɘb. IT iꙅ ꟻoᴙ THiꙅ ᴙɘAꙅoᴎ, THAT iᴎꙅTɘAb, wɘ'vɘ AᴙᴙAᴎgɘb A bɘAl THAT iꙅ dɘᴎɘꟻiↄiAl ꟻoᴙ doTH qAᴙTiɘꙅ.
YoU Aᴙɘ To Aᴙᴙivɘ AT ⅃o ꟼoᴙTo bɘ ↃAᴙAↄAꙅ oᴎ THɘ ߁8TH oꟻ ꙄUmmɘᴙHill iᴎ THiꙅ ꙅAmɘ YɘAᴙ, 4߁ Owl. YoUᴙ lobgiᴎg ɘxqɘᴎꙅɘꙅ will dɘ ꙅATiꙅꟻiɘb qɘᴙ oUᴙ AᴙᴙAᴎgɘmɘᴎT, Aᴎb YoU will dɘ TᴙAvɘliᴎg oᴎ THɘ "dlɘɘbiᴎg HAᴙqY," A migHTY vɘꙅꙅɘl wiTH Aᴎ...ɘↄↄɘᴎTᴙiↄ ↄᴙɘw. YoUᴙ qAꙅꙅAgɘ To THɘ ↄiTY will ꙅɘɘ YoU Aᴙᴙivɘ ɘAᴙlY iᴎ THɘ moᴙᴙow. Oᴎↄɘ THɘᴙɘ, YoU’ᴙɘ To mɘɘT wiTH oᴎɘ TAli ᴙivɘᴙɘᴎb, A ᴙɘliAdlɘ ↄoᴎTAↄT. YoU’ll ᴙɘↄogᴎizɘ Hɘᴙ dY ᴎiqqɘb ɘAᴙꙅ Aᴎb wHiTɘ HAiᴙ. ꙄHɘ’ll AwAiT YoU AT THɘ A ↄAUqoᴎA Aloᴎg THɘ boↄkꙅ- ⅃A ᴙɘꙅqlɘᴎbA, Aᴎb will dɘ ɘxqɘↄTiᴎg YoUᴙ qᴙomqT AᴙᴙivAl. Ↄomɘ, Aᴎb ɘᴎjoY All THAT THɘ ᴙoꙅɘ-qɘTAl ↄiTY HAꙅ To oꟻꟻɘᴙ! Wɘ AꙅꙅUᴙɘ YoU THɘᴙɘ iꙅ liTTlɘ qᴙomiꙅɘ iᴎ THɘ livɘꙅ YoU lɘAb AT qᴙɘꙅɘᴎT. AbvɘᴎTUᴙɘ dɘYoᴎb THɘ ꟻAmiliAᴙ, Aᴎb ᴙɘTUᴙᴎ YoUᴙ ꟻAvoᴙꙅ iᴎ THɘ qᴙoↄɘꙅꙅ. THɘᴙɘ iꙅ ꙅo liTTlɘ To loꙅɘ, Aᴎb ɘvɘᴙYTHiᴎg To gAiᴎ. ꙄɘↄUᴙɘ YoUᴙ ꟻUTUᴙɘ wiTH THɘ ᴎoᴙTH AꙅToᴙiAᴎ TᴙAbiᴎg ↃomqAᴎY. ꙄHoUlb YoU ꟻAil To ↄomqlY wiTH oUᴙ ᴙɘpUɘꙅTꙅ qlɘAꙅɘ kᴎow THAT THɘ ᴎoᴙTH AꙅToᴙiAᴎ TᴙAbiᴎg ↃomqAᴎY iꙅ bɘTɘᴙmiᴎɘb To UqHolb iTꙅ ᴙɘqUTATioᴎ Aꙅ A ꟻoᴙↄɘꟻUl qᴙɘꙅɘᴎↄɘ iᴎ ITHɘA ᴎo mATTɘᴙ THɘ ↄoꙅT. bo dɘ ꙅUᴙɘ To dᴙUꙅH Uq oᴎ YoUᴙ ↃAᴙAↄAᴎ!
YoUᴙ ɘYɘꙅ Aᴎb ɘAᴙꙅ,
MikAɘl idᴎ bA'Ub
Your thoughts trailed back to the look of despair on the pirate captain's face as your sword ripped him open from belly to throat. Among the dead you remember the cleric; unlike the men he traveled with his robes were of a fine material and hardly worn, the poor fool. You'd expected family jewelry or perhaps a foreign coin. What you found was the letter. Upon reading its contents you had your crew strip the ship's sails, and pilfered the captain's quarters for docking documentation. Bearing the sails and symbols of a foreign ship weren't new to the Hamasfolk. Yours were a practical people who pillaged what they needed to for survival.
Your story began with an ancient hissing in the dark of night. You wore the name of a better man: your father, your savior and master. For a time there was no greater glory than your wrath. You cut down those who'd see you and your people in chains... at the heel of a broken empire. But the blood rage of a slave boy caught up to the free man. You'd slain one too many of them. Relentless and dogged was their pursuit, and fearing what might come of the mainland tribes you gathered the most reliable of your enclave. You set sail beyond the arctic oceans of the south. Perhaps there was salvation in these foreign lands.
Stirring from your thoughts you could feel the weight of an anchor sinking deep into the seabed. As you made your way toward the docking bridge you could see a formation of guards at the ready. The steal grey of their armor was complimented by golden accents. One, somewhat older than most of them, approached you and your crew.
"Papers," ordered the commanding officer. His accent was foreign to you. Your silence was met with contempt on the part of the guard, but upon providing the documentation from the ship you ransacked he seemed to calm."By order of the Prince of Caracas your vessel is hereby bound to this port, as are you and your men. During this time we will inspect your ship. Any suspicious activity will have you jailed or sent to the Pits." Without as much as confirmation on your part, the armored guards guided you and your crew off the ship. It seemed that for now, you were trapped here. The letter you'd taken mentioned a tavern just along the docks.
Another prison, and another to whom you owed your life. It seemed whatever Gods there might be were content to see you miserable. You'd been at sea for what you'd guess was more than a month. You'd set sail with strangers from the port of Ardent's Fall. At least Astoria was behind you now. You could hear the sounds of bells ringing from outside the windows of the crew's quarters. You were close... to what was still the mystery. You pulled a letter from your knapsack. The bottom edges of the papyrus were seared. When you received it at the inn you'd been staying at you were ready to set it aflame. You heard the stories of the North Astorian Trading Company. Only upon seeing to whom it was addressed did you falter.
You tucked the letter away again. As your vessel drew closer to shore you could feel a familiar tugging. An erasure ward. Whenever one was nearby you could feel a nagging burn at the places scars should be. Why would there be erasure wards at a port? Perhaps it would serve you best to blast a whole in the ship and make your escape. Running was always the easiest part.
Your story began with corrupted flesh and fire, and to the world...that is where it ended.
Shaking thoughts of another life, another man, from your head you made your way out of the cabins. From their you could see guards interrogating your ship's captain, and searching each person as they unboarded. You were no different. The clanking of metal armor rung in your ears as you felt the weight of a stranger's hands in your pockets, and your belongings. "You are to remain at this port until further notice," was your only salutation. He spoke with a thick Caracan accent. You'd heard similar in some of the city markets back in Astoria. No matter, it seemed that for now, you were trapped here. The letter you received mentioned a tavern just along the docks.
To Karlus Marsh, the Half-Mute
It is, today on the 1st of Merrus, 41 Owl that we humbly request your presence in a meeting with our representatives. The North Astorian Trading Company is an honored and respected guild that prides itself on compassion and civic duty above all else. As such, there is an expectation of eagerness in pursuance of the law. There are dangerous men that travel these lands, sir. One must be careful about the company he keeps. While we are vanguards of justice and loyal above-all-else to the crown we feel it necessary to afford men of honor a chance at redemption. Such moral considerations are fundamental to fair and just civil service. We propose a mutually beneficial arrangement. One that may undue any past transgressions.
You are to arrive at Lo Porto de Caracas on the 18th of Summerhill in this same year, 41 Owl. Your traveling and lodging expenses will be satisfied per our arrangement with documentation provided herein. Your passage to the city will see you arrive early in the morrow. Once there, you’re to meet with one Tali Riverend, a reliable contact. You’ll recognize her by nipped ears and white hair. She’ll await you at a caupona along the docks- La Resplenda, and will be expecting your prompt arrival. Come, and enjoy all that the rose-petal city has to offer!
We assure you that the royal guard are...persistent. Adventure beyond the familiar, and redeem yourself in the process. There is so little to lose, and everything to gain. Secure your future with The North Astorian Trading Company.
Should you fail to comply with our requests please know that The North Astorian Trading Company is determined to uphold its reputation as a law-abiding entity in-line with the authority of the Crown. Do be sure to brush up on your Caracan!
Your eyes and ears,
Mikael ibn Da'ud
It is, today on the 1st of Merrus, 41 Owl that we humbly request your presence in a meeting with our representatives. The North Astorian Trading Company is an honored and respected guild that prides itself on compassion and civic duty above all else. As such, there is an expectation of eagerness in pursuance of the law. There are dangerous men that travel these lands, sir. One must be careful about the company he keeps. While we are vanguards of justice and loyal above-all-else to the crown we feel it necessary to afford men of honor a chance at redemption. Such moral considerations are fundamental to fair and just civil service. We propose a mutually beneficial arrangement. One that may undue any past transgressions.
You are to arrive at Lo Porto de Caracas on the 18th of Summerhill in this same year, 41 Owl. Your traveling and lodging expenses will be satisfied per our arrangement with documentation provided herein. Your passage to the city will see you arrive early in the morrow. Once there, you’re to meet with one Tali Riverend, a reliable contact. You’ll recognize her by nipped ears and white hair. She’ll await you at a caupona along the docks- La Resplenda, and will be expecting your prompt arrival. Come, and enjoy all that the rose-petal city has to offer!
We assure you that the royal guard are...persistent. Adventure beyond the familiar, and redeem yourself in the process. There is so little to lose, and everything to gain. Secure your future with The North Astorian Trading Company.
Should you fail to comply with our requests please know that The North Astorian Trading Company is determined to uphold its reputation as a law-abiding entity in-line with the authority of the Crown. Do be sure to brush up on your Caracan!
Your eyes and ears,
Mikael ibn Da'ud
You tucked the letter away again. As your vessel drew closer to shore you could feel a familiar tugging. An erasure ward. Whenever one was nearby you could feel a nagging burn at the places scars should be. Why would there be erasure wards at a port? Perhaps it would serve you best to blast a whole in the ship and make your escape. Running was always the easiest part.
Your story began with corrupted flesh and fire, and to the world...that is where it ended.
Shaking thoughts of another life, another man, from your head you made your way out of the cabins. From their you could see guards interrogating your ship's captain, and searching each person as they unboarded. You were no different. The clanking of metal armor rung in your ears as you felt the weight of a stranger's hands in your pockets, and your belongings. "You are to remain at this port until further notice," was your only salutation. He spoke with a thick Caracan accent. You'd heard similar in some of the city markets back in Astoria. No matter, it seemed that for now, you were trapped here. The letter you received mentioned a tavern just along the docks.
For you this voyage weighed heavily. You were out of reach of your oppressors, but for how long you weren't sure. Still, this was the closest you'd been to freedom in quite some time. You remembered their names, though they were fleeting: Bjorn, Katerina, and Carlyle. In their place were the sounds of screams when the Wolfram soldiers butchered them. Luckily, you were rendered unconscious before it was all over. When you awoke momentarily, it was raining, and you saw the sight of a nobleman standing over you and the sight of a boy begging at his feet. From that day forward you belonged to House von Wolfram.
Their torment broke the girl you were. As you could feel the thunk of an anchor hitting the seabed your hands began to tremble lightly. You had been holding a letter in your hands all morning. Every few minutes you'd peer at it again.
Much of the note was above your head, but you knew that Lord Wolfram took it quite seriously. He'd warned you of the assassins that the company would dispense should one fail to fulfill their obligations. Tucking the note away, you headed out from the cabins. From their you could see guards interrogating your ship's captain, and searching each person as they unboarded. You could feel the trembling from earlier hasten as you made your way forward in line. Your body visibly contorted in revulsion as you felt the weight of a stranger's hands in your pockets, and your belongings. The clanking of his metal armor intensified to fantastical proportions as your breathes became heavier. "Stop squirming, and keep your arms at your side," the guard warned. You tried your best to abide his command. Before long he finally seemed content with his search. "You are to remain at the port until further notice," he said rather drearily. You hadn't noticed it before but his accent was Caracan, similar to a shopkeeper back in Redcliffe. It seemed that for now, you were trapped here. The letter you'd been given mentioned a tavern just along the docks.
Your story began at the port of Caracas...
Their torment broke the girl you were. As you could feel the thunk of an anchor hitting the seabed your hands began to tremble lightly. You had been holding a letter in your hands all morning. Every few minutes you'd peer at it again.
To Sir Lion von Wolfram, Warden of the South, and Lord of Wolfstead
Cristo's blessings upon you. It is, today on the 1st of Merrus, 41 Owl that I humbly request your audience regarding pressing matters to the east. Years ago you and my father, Ser Da'ud ibn Salim, established a lucrative and prosperous relationship. Our company has afforded your family some fortune, and has helped to further the legitimate claims you hold as Warden of the South. In dire times such as these it pains me to ask for the services of your banner-men. There are troubling rumors from beyond the Veiled Sea, and we must call upon your house as a last line of defense in maintaining order for the sake of Astoria. We would like to meet with you in the coming month at your earliest convenience, Lord Wolfram.
For the sake of clarity, we are asking that your consort arrive at Lo Porto de Caracas on the 18th of Summerhill in this same year, 41 Owl. Their traveling and lodging expenses will be satisfied per our arrangement. Their passage to the city will see them arrive early in the morrow. Once there, they will meet with one Tali Riverend, one of our most trusted contacts. She is a white-haired city-elf with nipped ears. She’ll await your contact at a caupona along the docks- La Resplenda.
Should you be unable to comply with our requests please know that The North Astorian Trading Company will have no choice, but to render all prior agreements and contracts with House von Wolfram, null. I apologize to you Lord Wolfram for the theatrics, but these are trying times, my Lord.
Your friend,
Mikael ibn Da'ud
Cristo's blessings upon you. It is, today on the 1st of Merrus, 41 Owl that I humbly request your audience regarding pressing matters to the east. Years ago you and my father, Ser Da'ud ibn Salim, established a lucrative and prosperous relationship. Our company has afforded your family some fortune, and has helped to further the legitimate claims you hold as Warden of the South. In dire times such as these it pains me to ask for the services of your banner-men. There are troubling rumors from beyond the Veiled Sea, and we must call upon your house as a last line of defense in maintaining order for the sake of Astoria. We would like to meet with you in the coming month at your earliest convenience, Lord Wolfram.
For the sake of clarity, we are asking that your consort arrive at Lo Porto de Caracas on the 18th of Summerhill in this same year, 41 Owl. Their traveling and lodging expenses will be satisfied per our arrangement. Their passage to the city will see them arrive early in the morrow. Once there, they will meet with one Tali Riverend, one of our most trusted contacts. She is a white-haired city-elf with nipped ears. She’ll await your contact at a caupona along the docks- La Resplenda.
Should you be unable to comply with our requests please know that The North Astorian Trading Company will have no choice, but to render all prior agreements and contracts with House von Wolfram, null. I apologize to you Lord Wolfram for the theatrics, but these are trying times, my Lord.
Your friend,
Mikael ibn Da'ud
Much of the note was above your head, but you knew that Lord Wolfram took it quite seriously. He'd warned you of the assassins that the company would dispense should one fail to fulfill their obligations. Tucking the note away, you headed out from the cabins. From their you could see guards interrogating your ship's captain, and searching each person as they unboarded. You could feel the trembling from earlier hasten as you made your way forward in line. Your body visibly contorted in revulsion as you felt the weight of a stranger's hands in your pockets, and your belongings. The clanking of his metal armor intensified to fantastical proportions as your breathes became heavier. "Stop squirming, and keep your arms at your side," the guard warned. You tried your best to abide his command. Before long he finally seemed content with his search. "You are to remain at the port until further notice," he said rather drearily. You hadn't noticed it before but his accent was Caracan, similar to a shopkeeper back in Redcliffe. It seemed that for now, you were trapped here. The letter you'd been given mentioned a tavern just along the docks.
Your story began at the port of Caracas...
The sounds of blacksmiths, laborers, and merchants at work were ever-present on the path towards the tavern. To the perceptive it seemed that many of the locals were on-edge likely by the number of guards throughout the area. There were whispers of men being killed on the streets. There was the occasional shouting, and more broadly a cacophony of conversations in foreign languages spilling out about the port. Occasional too were the sounds of dogs barking, but it was difficult to see any in the massive throngs of weary passengers, guards, and citizens. Certain shops seemed to be closed with armed patrols preventing entry. In the distance was a scene of one dock-worker forced to the ground with a guard threatening the nape of the man's neck with his shortsword. Such horrid displays did little to assuage the occasional drunkards and panhandlers.
As the travelers finally managed to squeeze their way through the crowds and inside the tavern, alongside fellow passengers, they were greeted by the sight of a rather full tavern. From the door each could see a table of workers playing a card game, a barkeep, a minstrel, and a tiefling. The workers were huddled around a table complaining loudly while the barkeep and minstrel seemed to be discussing something passionately. The tiefling sat alone studying a letter that bore a symbol not unlike the letters each of the travelers carried on their person.
You were the first to arrive to the city, though not by boat. You’d made for Caracas by horse in the dead of night. Despite years in human held territories horses still never seemed very fond of you. Your stature required the biggest, and oft most expensive, mounts and even still they were quick to buck you.
There were heavy patrols throughout the city guarding every gate and port. Luckily, even here, it seemed the reach of the North Astorian Trading Company was felt. You were given little trouble upon entry. Still, you hadn’t received correspondence from your contact, Tali Riverend, in over a month’s time. Even still it was best to do as instructed. The company were mysterious in their machinations. You waited in the tavern, La Resplenda,for Tali and the three you’d been contracted to guard: the Astorian mage, the Wolfram’s brith, and the elven cleric. There was no sign of Riverend anywhere in the tavern. You gripped at the edges of the letter you'd been sent but a month-ago.
Your story began with a ripping of flesh and the sawing of bone. Like so many of your brethren you fled the Pillar Cities. A curiosity beyond the red sands of yesterdays drove you then, and does so still. Thus far, you'd found that war and pain and suffering were not native to where once you called home. It seemed all of Ithea was determined to bring the entire world to ruin. Perhaps it was the influence of the Dread God your elders spoke of, and your justicars died for. Perhaps not. It mattered little; you were payed well enough... either way.
Stirring from your thoughts, you could hear the sound of disgruntled dock workers playing Quartermage from across the tavern. Ahead, at the bar, the tavern’s barkeep and a minstrel were having some petty argument regarding a song the minstrel wrote. All of this was dulled slightly by the sound of bells ringing in the air for a forth time and the influx of patrons seated at a number of tables. One such customer attempted to intrude on the barkeep's argument to little avail. Before long another small crowd made their way into the tavern.
There were heavy patrols throughout the city guarding every gate and port. Luckily, even here, it seemed the reach of the North Astorian Trading Company was felt. You were given little trouble upon entry. Still, you hadn’t received correspondence from your contact, Tali Riverend, in over a month’s time. Even still it was best to do as instructed. The company were mysterious in their machinations. You waited in the tavern, La Resplenda,for Tali and the three you’d been contracted to guard: the Astorian mage, the Wolfram’s brith, and the elven cleric. There was no sign of Riverend anywhere in the tavern. You gripped at the edges of the letter you'd been sent but a month-ago.
I'm glad to hear you're still with us, Reias preserve you. You've always been a reliable contact. I write to you now as the time for our directive draws closer. There is trouble afoot in Caracas. The King has grown ill, and I've heard whispers of familial feuds for the crown. I fear I cannot put to parchment all that I wish to for there are conspirators and liars abound in this strange city. What I can say is that our assignment has not changed. You are to arrive in Caracas by the 17th of Summerhill. Present the seal of the company, and you will be allowed to enter through the gates of the Elven Quarter.
The following morning I will meet you at the tavern on the docks. From there we can expect a meek-mage, a frazzled cleric, and a consort to House von Wolfram. You can expect bouts of grandeur from the Wolfram. Upon the fourth ringing of the bells will you know that the final ship has arrived at the port. If for some reason I am not at the expected meeting place assume control of the mission, and find the Caracan League of Magi. If I am not there, I will be dead, and by then I pray to Cristo that they can help you.
May the Ten guide your path brother,
A friend
The following morning I will meet you at the tavern on the docks. From there we can expect a meek-mage, a frazzled cleric, and a consort to House von Wolfram. You can expect bouts of grandeur from the Wolfram. Upon the fourth ringing of the bells will you know that the final ship has arrived at the port. If for some reason I am not at the expected meeting place assume control of the mission, and find the Caracan League of Magi. If I am not there, I will be dead, and by then I pray to Cristo that they can help you.
May the Ten guide your path brother,
A friend
Your story began with a ripping of flesh and the sawing of bone. Like so many of your brethren you fled the Pillar Cities. A curiosity beyond the red sands of yesterdays drove you then, and does so still. Thus far, you'd found that war and pain and suffering were not native to where once you called home. It seemed all of Ithea was determined to bring the entire world to ruin. Perhaps it was the influence of the Dread God your elders spoke of, and your justicars died for. Perhaps not. It mattered little; you were payed well enough... either way.
Stirring from your thoughts, you could hear the sound of disgruntled dock workers playing Quartermage from across the tavern. Ahead, at the bar, the tavern’s barkeep and a minstrel were having some petty argument regarding a song the minstrel wrote. All of this was dulled slightly by the sound of bells ringing in the air for a forth time and the influx of patrons seated at a number of tables. One such customer attempted to intrude on the barkeep's argument to little avail. Before long another small crowd made their way into the tavern.