The party heads toward the Docks to meet up with Guaril Karela at his curio shop. You make good time leaving the Ivy District, cutting across the Foreign Quarter, and winding your way through the Coins District. While in the Coins, you notice a sign on an empty building, advertising a new tavern in Absalom. The sign reads, Coming soon to Absalom, The Frothing Alembic, Proprietor Ezrek Filosten, renowned Pathfinder. (none of you have ever heard of Filosten, but Pathfinders are known to have large egos.). The sickly sweet smell of rotting seaweed announces your closeness to the Docks. With little trouble you locate Guaril’s Curio Shop and let yourself inside. This creepy shop contains myriad odds and ends, most bereft of any discernible use. A number of malformed creatures and creature parts bob in jars on a long, prominent shelf, a tiny fetal devil centered in this macabre lineup. The shopkeeper, a greasy-haired Varisian with a thin mustache, shouts from behind the cluttered counter: “Ah yes, I see the Pathfinders have arrived. I’m glad Ambrus was able to lend a few of his new recruits to help me. Please come in and let me tell you what I need.” Looking around as if to be absolutely certain no customers are browsing the aisles of knock-off Thuvian burial urns or supposed Azlanti porcelain, he begins again. “Well met. I am Guaril Karela. A friend of mine has a warehouse near here and he received a parcel on behalf of me and some of my associates, but there’s a problem. See, Master Gelbane had to leave town in a hurry and our shipment is still waiting at his warehouse. Rumor is he ended up in trouble with the law and the place was seized. I heard tell from someone down at the docks that some creep was snooping around his warehouse just the other night, so I want to make sure nothing of mine was taken. He pauses running his hand through his greasy hair and continues. He keeps all kinds of things, from beer to nails, in that old pelican, but every now and then he stores something really special. This is one of those cases. “There’s a big crate marked with three crows arranged in a triangle. Inside that crate is a smaller container with a few books and papers in it. That’s the only parcel I’m interested in, and as far as I’m concerned, you can help yourself to the rest of the crate. He glances out the window. Honestly, anything else you want in the place too. I’m sure the once things get sorted out, the city will seize most everything else anyway. “My associates and I often work with the Pathfinders when it comes to special relics and documents, getting them in and out of ports and across borders where the authorities ask too many questions. Most people don’t realize what they have and frankly many don’t deserve to have it, so sometimes we help take the goods off their hands. If things work out well and you get this done, I’d be glad to talk with you more and help you out with any future endeavors, as long as you help me out too. I’m good at returning favors, trust me.”
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Rúnar nods at Ygdnur. "Jeg er ikke sannsynlig å bli venner med denne fyren heller. La oss bare gjøre jobben og gå videre."
Turning to the shop owner, he says simply, "We'll get yer books, just point us in the direction of your associate's warehouse."
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After getting an odd look from the coach driver you see him point right down the road and say something to Ygdnur. Ygdnur walks back to the group, saying "On second thought, lets stretch the legs a bit. It's not that far anyways." And with that Ygdnur starts walking in the direction of the warehouse.
As the party travels along the waterfront, passing the piers and pelican warehouses, you find the one Guaril directed you toward. Called pelican warehouses, these buildings perch at the end of piers, allowing a ship to load and unload farther out from the busier docks. Many of them either accommodate smaller vessels that are in a hurry or larger ships unable to find an open dock. Rare these days, most pelican warehouses lie in disrepair, withered from storms and salt, and every year it seems another one falls into the harbor. An increased tax on this type of property keeps many of the owners from rebuilding and some have even relinquished the titles to their small warehouses, allowing them to fall into the hands of squatters and smugglers—or into the bay itself. Smugglers sometimes use small boats to slip under the warehouse, sawing a hole in the floor or prying boards in the night, and sneaking in to loot the place or just drop a crate into their boat from above and paddle away in the night. The pier this pelican warehouse sits on stretches 100 feet from the boardwalk and the docks proper, and stands 15 feet above the water. The planks on the pier are sturdy but weathered. A few local fishermen and some kids sit scattered along the pier casting nets or bobbing lines into the waters below. The building looks abandoned and in disrepair. The windows are dark and dirty and provide no view into the structure’s interior. A small boat bobs in the water below, tethered to the pier by a stout, salt-crusted rope. The warehouse’s heavy wooden front door is locked and the loading door is barred shut.
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Smugglers sometimes use small boats to slip under the warehouse, sawing a hole in the floor or prying boards in the night, and sneaking in to loot the place or just drop a crate into their boat from above and paddle away in the night.
"If no one here is a locksmith, we'll need to find another way in. Perhaps the underbelly is weaker - anyone want to check?"
Smugglers sometimes use small boats to slip under the warehouse, sawing a hole in the floor or prying boards in the night, and sneaking in to loot the place or just drop a crate into their boat from above and paddle away in the night.
"If no one here is a locksmith, we'll need to find another way in. Perhaps the underbelly is weaker - anyone want to check?"
Maybe not, let's just Guaril told you.
After many minutes of searching all around, Gwion dicscovers a hidden key sandwiched between two rickety slats on the building near the doorframe,
Darkness fills the warehouse, the ambient light from outside blocked by a filthy, oily film on the structure’s few windows. Darting illumination comes from light reflecting off the water through a splintered hole in the floor. Throughout the warehouse, crates, boxes, and barrels lean against each other in vaguely sorted stacks. A lingering smell indicates some of
the contents are certainly spoiled. Perched in the middle of the hole, teetering on split planks, sits a large crate stamped with three crows
arranged in a triangle—the very crate the party has come to find. Handholds cut into the stout wooden crate ring the rim. Other barrels, boxes, and crates sit stacked along the walls of the warehouse. Just inside the door sits a handful of crates and kegs of beer. Most of these smaller crates and barrels contain foodstuffs in various states of freshness. Some crates reek of rot. Stacks of simple coffins sit against the east wall. The rest of the crates stacked along the north and south walls contain simple sundries including, but not limited to beer, blocks of clay, coffee, coils of rope, dried fish, lead ingots, nails, nets, raw cotton, rough wool, spare sails, timber planks, various pulleys and tools, and cheap weapons.
As the party moves into the warehouse, you notice a crane, used for loading and unloading boats, clings to a rail running the length of the warehouse, hanging 5 feet below the high ceiling, and can slide out to extend past the loading doors along the west wall.
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Ygdnur, looking up at the crane, then down at the planks, thinks to himself for a second, then addresses the group. "Well, if someone can just walk out there and get it, there'd be no need for a boat, just lash a rope to it and make sure they get across safe. If no one's willing to do that, how about we try for that crane? Either way, we don't want the whole crate falling into the water, now do we?"