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They seized his entire expansive estate, including, to his great dismay, a full library filled with The Classics of modern romance, high adventure, and derring-do. The irony being all this talk of freedom with the left hand, then curtailing that of enterprise with the right. He had to admit, however, that the political sleight of hand was, as a matter of sheer skill, fundamentally impressive, even as he found himself, by deign of birth, on the "wrong side of history", as it probably would go down, seeing as it is always recorded by those who employ the scribes.
The handsome man of Taldan phenotype and complexion turned his thin neck around 135 degrees once more, to look up at the Final Blade now just within his peripheral vision, and feeling his soft pampered hands firmly bound, swiveled back around, made his peace with Iomedae staring into the empty bloody basket below, and closed his long-lashed eyes...
And there it was, his life flashing before him, his childhood spent in horse stables and countryside, his aging parents passing of sudden complications, his house staff kindly stepping in as surrogates, his home-schooling, endless books, his brief decent into a debaucherous checkered young adulthood, "the one that got away", the developing onset of alexithymia, his retreat back into literature, his not leaving the villa for weeks, turning months, turning years, his bout with malnourishment and anemia, his firing of his house staff, his manor falling into utter disrepair, the peasants knocking down his doors, being dragged to the townsquare, being tied up, jailed, the sound of the descending blade...
Don Jurri opened his eyes, but his ears, inner and outer, went a blur. Now they are untying him, now they are leading him back to the cell, now they are throwing him back into a batch of thirty-something other disheveled and disgraced nobles. Now him blacking out once more...
Waking up to overhear a guard (really: a farmer with a stolen military-issue handgun) explain to another how "they got it fixed now", Don Jurri sits up. He feels... different. He can feel his legs, his fingers, his face. He can hear himself think. Clearly. As if the fog has receeded, giving way to a breaking dawn. He looks up. They are debating, pointing their fingers, at him and a man next to him, "which was it?" one saying back to the other. By luck, they snatched "the other", screaming now, and kicking, crying, and pleading. Don Jurri thinks fast. With a deft hand he snatches the guard's key, and feigning a cough, slides it into his mouth. The guard almost catches him "Back away, dirty 'crat" but instead delivers a battering elbow, nearly causing Don Jurri to swallow the key. But he doesn't! Choking on it instead. And for the first time in a long time, Don Jurri begins to make a plan for Tomorrow. He bides his time, throwing off the guards further by writhing in 'pain' on the dirty floor. They leave with the other man. The other inmates resume looking at the floor. Perhaps they too are now taking stock of their lives.
Don Jurri rises. He walks to the iron door. He spits the key into his hand, inserts it into a lock, and with a Click!! unlocks the cell door. Immediately three things happen. First, his heart starts racing a mile a minute. Second, the other guard looks over. Third, the other inmates look up. Don Jurri seizes the moment!
Chaos ensued. The one guard signaled the others, the inmates stood up and rushed the door, bowling over and trampling poor Don Jurri, the cavalry arrived, a bloody brawl, blacking out once more...
...And waking up once more! Out of one eye - the other swollen shut - fifty or more men and women, nobles and peasants, inmates and guards, bodies strewn everywhere, either lifeless or consciousless, fallen in the Great Battle. Don Jurri rises once more, and spotting that guard from earlier, rolls him over his belly, takes his modest firearm - out of ammunition - and he scurries away from the horrific scene, and off into the night, riots, flames, canons, piercing the cool air, covering his tracks, as he slinks to Freedom...
...of course, that was years ago...
...our chivalric hero now finds himself attending a lecture on 39rd Century Romance, totally enthralled, taking notes and talking unquietly to his elbow-mate (half-passed out themself) trying to "guess" what the lecturer will elucidate next...
...but just who is this interrupting!
"How dare you, you Fool!" thoroughly miffed and positively flush with rosy inconvenience!
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Soon a tall elf approaches spotting Don Jurri in lecture, he gives him time to finish his read. Figure is dressed in wizard robes, but wears breastplate on top of them, on his side he carries large Falchion, and on his belt hangs a large book incrusted in arcane symbols. His hair are blond falling into white and his young look is contrasted with his eyes who seem to belong to an old man, eyes who saw plenty.
Finally when Don Jurri looks outside his book
"Pardon me, i did not want to interrupt, I am Aerin, Aerin Airendil and I think I will be your partner in crim for the next mission. What kind of book caught your interess?"
Famed Pathfinder agent Eando Kline enjoys offering courses to share his wisdom, yet with his busy and unpredictable schedule, only agents who happen to be milling around the Grand Lodge when the inspiration strikes him are fortunate enough to attend.
Today’s course concerns the Maze of the Open Road, the magical hedge maze full of portals that connects many prominent Pathfinder lodges and locations of interest. Kline begins the course with a tour of the Maze’s most frequently used portals, before returning his students to a classroom for a lecture on its history. He recounts the tale of Forest King Narven, who cultivated the grounds of the Woodsedge Lodge in Galt centuries ago, connecting to other portals throughout Golarion. By the second hour of the lecture, students who came for greater insight into the maze’s less well-known portals are beginning to zone out.
"...if you're losing attention already, how do you expect to... never mind. How about we take a brief break? Go ahead, chat amongst yourselves. I'm going to get some water." Kline shakes his head and mumbles as he leaves.
This gives you a few minutes to speak to other Pathfinders, and soon you start breaking off into small groups.
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Fantasizing about a Romeo and Juliet story of lovers continuously endeavoring the brave escaping of the the stifling confines of proper aristocratic life sneaking into and out of an Interplanar Maze to seek true love on the lam from monied relations and their dutifully subordinate agents - our chivalric antihero snaps back to attention!
”No no, not you. That fool over there!” he points to the ghoul in the room.
And retorts defensively to the ancient elf, presuming from his youthful expression that he, Don Jurri, is the eldest among the two, thus deserved of certain privileges earned or otherwise ”I have committed no crime! What in all of Taldor are you implying!?” offended once more!
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And retorts defensively to the ancient elf, presuming from his youthful expression that he, Don Jurri, is the eldest among the two, thus deserved of certain privileges earned or otherwise ”I have committed no crime! What in all of Taldor are you implying!?” offended once more!
Aerin spots the sprite and turns back towards human. "I did not mean that ..." he pauses and tries to remember, he was already in such situations ... once speaking with Champion, two times with clerics and couple of monks. He tries to recall what explanation caused the situation to de-escalate
"I am sorry, I was taught common by a transformed memeber of thief guild, who assured me that partner is crime was a way to say collegue. I meant fellow agent, I did not want to imply"
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At the mention of crimes, the halfling in the red coat initially tries to sneak out of the room. Once he hears Aerin explain that it was a figure of speech, he pauses and decides to sit back down. "Ah, yes. A figure of speech. No actual criminals here..." He pulls out a cup and begins making himself a vanilla latte.
"Whoo, I don't know about you all, but I need a little pick me up with all this. I mean, I'm getting it, but it's more about the endurance if you know what I mean." The halfling pulls out a piece of shortbread and dips it in his coffee before munching away. "Oh, I'm Argoni, by the way."
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A dwarf with a dark bushy beard stands up from near the front row and stretches his legs. Some of you may take a minute to recognize the one, the only Kernal Klank. Its not often you see him without his shield and full plate. "Exercise in endurance I can handle. Mystic mumbo jumbo about that crazy maze is another. Just give me a map and an end point and I'll clear a path." He offers his heavy hand up for greeting.
"Name's Kernal Klank, blacksmith by trade, Pathfinder on the side." He keeps a straight face, knowing full well his free time recently has taken a hit with more missions.
Eando Kline returns to the lecture hall with a tea pot and a bundle of herbs. "Now then. Don't worry you'll have time to muster and form parties later. On with the lecture!"
“If Venture-Captain Eliza Petulengro hadn’t sent that team of Pathfinders through the Maze to the Mwangi Expanse, Venture-Captain Kyalla would have fallen to Hestram’s blade as Eddington Keel had only weeks prior, and we never would have known about the broken portal in Corentyn. But that’s when Eliza’s problems with the Maze truly came to light. The Decemvirate, as it stood back then, had far too little regard for the safety of agents. Many of the connections had overgrown, and without some kind of magical reinforcement, the trails of the Maze had become nearly too dangerous for the most experienced Pathfinders to even attempt to–” Kline’s voice trails off as Venture-Captain Taiwalei clears his throat, leading a ghoul in a well-tailored suit into the recessed classroom. Eando Kline’s scarred, bearded face drops almost instantly as he acknowledges his fellow venture-captain. “Taiwalei?”
“Please pardon my interruption, Venture-Captain Kline, but this is Marcon Tinol. He has come through the Maze of the Open Road seeking our—well, your—assistance.” With a kind smile, the younger venture-captain gestures for the ghoul to approach.
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A lithe, young elven woman looks like she's going to jump out of her skin sitting through the lecture. It is, perhaps, not her thing.
Around her on the ground are a pack, a longbow, and a fur-lined cloak, heavier than one expects in these parts.
Kline leaves and she finally burst out Ye gods, make it stop!
And puts her head back down on the desk. Until some of her classmates get active. She turns head to the side on the desk and watches and listens.
Hello. I'm Endra. And I do not have the endurance for this.
Shortly after the instructor returns, then another VC with a ghoul.
Well... that's new. she mutters. But it's not entirely enough to "wake" her up from the boredom the lecture had lulled her into. She's getting there slowly...
Venture-Captain Talwalei shifts his position to cover the ghoul as some of the agents begin to react. "Ah yes, this is Marcon Tinol. A group of Pathfinders had found him locked underneath the Puddles District. Venture-Captain Dreng said he can be trusted not to feed on living flesh. Tinol has kept to his word. He traveled from his home of Deadhaven through the Maze of the Open Road, asking to see Eando Kline."
“Kline?” the ghoul begins hesitantly. “Art thou Eando Kline? Verily, thou art the trusted companion that Captain Dreng said I should ask for assistance! Deadhaven is in danger, the Tyrant’s forces have come, and Drandle said if thou canst help us, then none could keep us from doom.”
Eando springs to action, grabbing his trusty pack off a nearby bench, “The Tyrant’s forces? How bad is the situation? Are we talking a full-on invasion? Is the Maze compromised?” Taiwalei raises both hands “Let’s not be too hasty! Marcon has a flair for the poetic. As far as I’ve been able to gather thus far, he suspects a hidden agent of the Whispering Way is looking to make inroads in his home village.”
Kline hesitates ever so briefly. "Gods, I thought this was an outright invasion... Alright, time for a field trip." He points at your group, nicely bunched up.
"You lot, go with Taiwalei. And while you’re there, I have an extra assignment for you. The portal to Deadhaven is a relatively new one, but the mages who created it noticed that it took far less effort than normal to establish a stable portal. Study the island and seek out reasons for the connection’s strength. What you learn may assist us with improving the Maze’s stability and security. Do well, and your names will be in my next lecture on this subject. And as always—if the situation looks too dangerous for you to handle, don’t be foolish. Come back here, report in, and I’ll assign a new group.”
Kline turns his attention back to the rest of the class. “As for the rest of you, where were we? Ah right, the portal in Corentyn..." The other agents look at you with a mix of jealousy as you leave.
Venture-Captain Taiwalei hustles you and Marcon Tinol out of the classroom. “Venture-Captain Kline has prepared you to travel the winding paths of the Maze. Go with Marcon and offer our continued friendship to the Mayor of Deadhaven. Continue Marcon’s investigation and see if the Whispering Way is truly making a foothold there. If so, stop them.”
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A smile starts to spread across the Dwarf's face as their group is excused for something useful "We'll secure the Isle." And gives a crisp salute to Eando.
"Tell us what you know of this Isle Marcon, before I can leave I need to gather my gear and equipment. No sane man heads to an island of the dead wearing nothing but his office clothes."
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Argoni squints at Eando Kline as he draws up their mission. He glances at the group around them, nodding to Klank, but then mutters something under his breath. "Such critical analysis in to team composition..."
Cheerfully, the halfling hops off his chair. "Sure, save the island of undead from the even more scary undead master." He turns to Marcon. "What would the Tyrant wanting to do by sending an agent?"
"Ah, yes." Marcon looks at Aerin. “When thy fellow Pathfinders rescued me from that... place, Captain Dreng brought me through the magical hedge maze to an island of the Last Azlanti. Canst thou imagine? I had already forsaken living flesh, but the island’s magic made it possible for one such as I to feed from the fallen remains of Aroden’s faithful and to partake of their memories! ‘Twas an excellent conceit to hide me away on the Isle. Better still, the good Captain was of a ready wit to find others of my disposition to bring to our island home. Together, we founded Deadhaven, a village of a sanguine disposition. In Deadhaven, we celebrate and jest, without the vexation of a reckoning. We feed without destruction and learn from our providers to become a greater community. Until a spider found our nest.”
"The mayor has tasked me with taking measure of our supplies. Ardoen's faithful is our most precious resource. We feed on their flesh and live their experiences. And yet their bodies restore naturally. It is important that we keep tally on our portions. But I found a discrepancy. Sailors in a small cove had lost their lives. Died in their sleep with a terrible scent. Their mouths had been mutilated. I took the mayor to see the evidence, but the bodies had been removed. The mutilation is a trademark of the Whispering Way." He shudders.
"We have a newcomer, Ghessa. She resents her undeath. I know she does not feed on Aroden's faithful. She leaves nightly into the forests away from Deadhaven. She claims she washed to Deadhaven on a shipwreck, but our patrol ship, Ghoulship Rapscallion, can't find it. The mayor has lost her patience with me and forbid me from looking for more evidence." He hangs his head low. "So, I call upon my allies for aid. I hope I am wrong, but if Ghessa is suspicious, it is only a matter of time..."
Kernal Klank surmises the Maze of the Open Road must have been linked to the island from the beginning. Was the Forest King using Aroden's Portal as a "gift" for the Pathfinder Society? It must be over 200 years old!
Jurri has heard of that theory. But he also knows divine magic must be maintaining a state of eternal repose. It keeps them preserved in their last moments of life, so ghouls could eternally feed on their bodies without long lasting harm.
Argoni figures the same divine magic must keep the Maze of the Open Road intact without need for maintenance or repair.
Aerin makes a critical discovery. Important temples like the Crypt of the Vibrant Dead were connected by portal magic similar to the Maze of the Open Road. No wonder the Maze connected to the island! There must be a large religious icon embedded into the building's structure. Dreng must have anchored the Maze to such an artifact, even without knowing what it is.
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"Do well, and your names will be in my next lecture on this subject.”
Ah, great. Using our name to torture more students. Endra mutters under her breath. Likely only a couple of other students hear it.
Endra is clearly tense around Marcon. When she stands and moves, the party can now observe that she tends to always be "on her toes" and sort of bobbing about with extra energy. But now her form seems somewhat more rigid.
She sheepishly asks him So... how are you able to stave off the desire for flesh?
Then he recounts their supply of "Aroden's faithful", causing her to concede with Oh... You can get by on food from the dead?
"Some of the ghouls who come to Deadhaven would rather waste away than feed again. I would have joined them if Venture-Captain Dreng did not stumble upon the Crypt of the Vibrant Dead. Imagine my joy when I realized I could sate my hunger without harming anyone. The bodies are neither alive, nor dead, nor undead."
"Ghessa is a ghoul, not a spider. But I fear she may be an agent of the Whispering Tyrant. He is keen on growing his army of undead." Marcon looks down. "I am well aware of what I am, and what Deadhaven is full of. A city full of intelligent undead, guarded by a Crypt of neverending life- it would be quite a prize if he were to claim it."
Endra remembers some of the less boring lectures and agrees with Argoni's notes about the divine magic. She also thinks Jurri is right about the divine magic, but she doesn't recall anything about the Maze's age or its connection to Aroden.
"Were there any other questions? I know some of you wanted to hear me out before equipping yourselves. I am eternally grateful."
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Don Jurri, perhaps to the existential horror of his compatriots, empathizes with the ghoul.
"Perhaps we may one day find a Crypt of Everlasting Innocence, that I may recover mine" half jest, three-quarters serious.
He hefts his thin blade as if it were as glorious as the longsword of "Iomedae, protect us from the Tyrant - let us take up arms against the Counterrevolution, and behead the Spy should her allegiances prove Unpolitic!"
Radicalized, Don Jurri is ready to lead the way. On his way out from the Lodge, he dashes into the pantry and swipes a Salve of Anti-paralysis "Should I need to loosen up!" heroically and with much derring-do.
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Argoni begins ticking thoughts on using his fingers. "So Ghessa is a ghoul, like you. Uh, no offense. And the Tyrant is looking to expand his undead army. What other types of undead have made it to Deadhaven? Is it all ones who need to consume flesh or have others congregated? If we come with you, will they avoid eating us too?"
"Also, do we have some time to prepare, or do we need to leave soon?"
Marcon maintains his countenance despite Argoni's question. "None of the citizens of Deadhaven shall eat your flesh. I am not required for that. Most of the crew of the Ghoulship Rapscallion are lacedons, similar to ghouls but prefer water."
Argoni is certain ghouls hate sunlight and can crawl on walls and ceilings. Presenting a strong religious symbol and invoking gods' wrath can keep them off your back, though.
With your preparations complete, Venture-Captain Taiwalei leads you through a well-guarded door into the Maze of the Open Road. Currently it has the appearance of a dirt road surrounded by limitless seas on each side. As you move ahead you feel a current at your backside, and you feel even faster than before.
You exit into a small, octagonal room with ambient light reflecting off polished granite surfaces. “Welcome to the Crypt of the Vibrant Dead. I shall bring you to the mayor, we mustn’t tarry,” Marcon pushes the team along.
The chamber leads down through an open doorway to a large religious chamber with marble and granite surfaces, lit alcoves, and gold embellishments. Despite the light inside the crypt, the warm sunlight and ocean breezes assail you with almost as much force as the raucous music emanating from the town built up around the crypt. Marcon gestures around him and adds, “This, on the other hand, is Deadhaven.”
Deadhaven is unlike any other village on Golarion. The coastal town sits along a small lagoon separated from the Arcadian Ocean by a narrow shoal. It consists of wattle and daub buildings, some tall and jutting out at odd and impossible angles, connected around and across the lagoon by wide hanging wooden bridges and boardwalks. The whole community seems to sway with the ocean breezes and tide as if afloat. The buildings and walkways are similarly painted in blue grays, corals, sandy tans, and deeper hues of purple and deep red. But here and there, bright yellow, pale green, and white accents make the village into a cacophony of color. On every corner, doorstep, walkway, and periodically on hanging wrought-iron cradles, skull shaped lanterns cast an eerily cheerful glow throughout the town, blending with the constant stir of fireflies feeding on smaller insects in the tropical air.
From every nook and cranny, music pours out of Deadhaven—a celebratory escapade of musical influences from throughout Golarion. In each building, or along the bridges and boardwalks, ghoulish musicians dance, cavort, and play their disparate instruments in an upbeat tune that never seems to cease, and spreads throughout the town like a wave of spirited mirth.
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Before they depart, Argoni buys an extra moderate ghost charge.
Looking around at the town, Argoni smiles. "A bit macabre, but I kind of like it!" He turns to Macron. "Is it always like this, or is there some sort of festival going on? Is there much activity during the day, or do you come out mostly at night?"
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Aerin looks at the village and tries to not show shock, he was old, and was certain that he saw it all ... but that was different. He reaches to his backpack and pulls out a wand, he casts a spell and a small portal appears, Aerin walks inside and dissapears for a moment, after a second he comes out.
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"Music, theater, visual... Deadhaven practices their art all day-and night- long. There are a few quiet areas, for those who wish for rest and recovery." Marcon continues, managing not to change his tone of voice.
Jurri takes a peek through a few windows. The sun falls upon one ghoul featuring dwarven features. She seems to be busy writing musical notes, trying a few measures, then grumbling and rewriting them. She seems to not notice Jurri. Another ghoul halfling is covered in paint, her focus completely drawn on drawing a forest on a canvas. Their skin is blue, their eyes red, and no muscle mass leaves their skin wrinkled on their skeletal frames. Maybe undeath isn't Jurri's taste.
"Mayor Arlandrie is in her office. This way."
Marcon leads you across the village to a large coral and red structure far from the Crypt on the other side of town. This structure was obviously once a large galleon before being repurposed as the town hall and set far up on the stable and rocky surface of the low cliffs at the top of the lagoon, overlooking Deadhaven. “The mayor will be here,” Marcon comments as they approach the odd structure.
You find a stately ghoul with some elven features speaking to two sea-faring guests. Marcon knocks out of politeness, although all of them can see you approach. "Ah, these are the guests from the Pathfinder Society? I bid you welcome to Deadhaven. I am the mayor, Arlandrie Tecarasta." She bows briefly. "And this is Captain Barnacle Barnaby and his first mate, Dead Doug."
The lacedon simply nods and steps aside as the bigger captain looks at you. "Pathfinders, eh? I'll let them speak." He steps aside, near the back of the room.
"Now then, please take a seat." The mayor gestures to the many well-maintained seats in the room. Marcon Tinol shuffles seats around. "How may I help you? We don't find many living people visiting Deadhaven. Unsurprising."
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Aerin looks at Doug and wonders if he should call himself Living Aerin, or maybe breathing Aerin. He nods his head
"Mayor Arlandrie, Mister Doug and Captain Barnacle ... " Aerin gives a look to Marcon
"It is a pleasure to stand before you, as part of special task force we were investigating ways how Maze of the Oper Roads works, and some problems related to it. The connection of the maze with the temple made us look into it."
Aerir says and sit down, but then he raises up and says "Oh and Marcon came to us and shared his suspitions for us to take a look." Then he sits down
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Klank returns to meet the group at the portal into the maze dressed in full battle gear. A dull mate set of full plate covers him from head to toe, including full metal gauntlets and a helmet, its visor raised for better visibility and air flow. His black bushy beard mostly tucked inside but a few tufts poke out after the hurried walk. "Let's hope this maze is fully stable, I've heard it can be unpredictable." He shuts his visor with a clink and is swept through to the Vault.
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"The sea.. and music?" The Dwarf pauses to take in the unexpected scene of bright colors and constant music, eventually shaking his head, not quite ready to fully believe in the scene.
Klank leads the group behind Marcon to the Mayor's ship/office "Kernal Klank, Pathfinder." He nods to each undead, offering greeting but not shaking hands like his usual self. He waits for the others to do the bulk of the talking, chiming in if he thinks something has been said in error.
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Don Jurri curtsies with masculine affect.
”The Insurrection shall not suffer zig-zagging trifle. We are here to inspect the integrity of the program, that its agents conduct themselves in ordinance and coordination. And, should we find in your midst one of duplicitous persuasions, our justice will be mercifully swift!” clicking his high-heeled boots to punctuate his thinly-veiled threat, our chivalric hero begins sizing up everyone he meets - including the ghoul dwarven pianist and ghoul halfling painter.
His immediate conclusion, which he does not share, is that anyone here - mayor included - could be clandestinely operating for the Whispering Way - he thus conducts himself with the colonial authority that he claims by birthright; above and beyond such treacherously petty suspicions himself, of course!
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"Whoa." Argoni says as he sees Captain Barnaby and his shark-head, plus tail.
The halfling glances at the others and then sighs. "Mr. Tinol told us about the sailors' bodies that were found mutilated. He thought we might be able to investigate, bringing in our expertise to try and identify what happened. We're willing to, if that's ok with you, madam mayor. I've got some experience with, um, arcane and occult rituals and even criminal networks. Maybe we can help."
The mayor sighs. "Marcon Tinol is quite diligent in keeping tally on resources and supplies. He was once an accountant. But when he can't assign behavior to a number, he thinks of the worst. I don't want him to ostracize one of our own, without a solid basis. I'm certain Pharasma would want any excuse she could muster to wipe us out." She huffs and glares at Don Jurri. Captain Barubary chuckles, showing his rows of surprisingly intact teeth.
"But I see that I won’t dissuade you from investigating as you have now involved our friends in the Pathfinder Society." She glances at all of you. "Ghessa mentioned she was going on a multiple-day sojourn into the jungles surrounding this island. She has done this a few times. We provide her with rations and she returns a few days later. We all need to contemplate our existence, and for many it is best done alone. I give you Pathfinders permission to enter her home, near Painters' Alley."
When Argoni mentions the sailors' bodies, the mayor shakes her head. "Mister Tinol will provide you with a map to the cove where he says he found them. I want him to remain in the city."
Tinol frowns for a moment before flipping that into a smile. "Ah perhaps you'd like to see the Dead Ringer? It's the town's liveliest tavern!" Captain Barnaby laughs. "You just want to see your boyfriend again." Mayor Tecarasta nods. "I don't know if the owner will stay objective if you bring Mister Tinol."
The Captain shrugs. "But anyway, if you want to see the ship Ghessa crawled out of, I know exactly where Besmara's Fury is. I can take you to see the wreckage!" He grins again, showing a third row of clean, brushed teeth.
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"To pry into the mind of the Reactionary, one must purchase access to their Unfiltered Thoughts" he whorls on Tinol, balancing perfectly on his heels to enact the spin "An accountant, was it? Yes, I seem to recall my own bloodline is descended from the menial profession - but, I prefer books..." unsure himself if he had meant to insult the ghoul on account of his mode of economics - perhaps a projection? - our chivalric hero's free associative thoughts continue incompletely formed before they leave his unbrushed teeth "Captain - Take us to your ship. Perhaps there this suspicious Ghessa kept a journal?"
Only a fool of a double-agent would record their actual thoughts believing them to be safe from wandering eyes... no, indeed, if such a document is found, it would be because she would have wanted to throw us off her trail...
Don Jurri momentarily wears an idiotic expression as his mind hastens the plot!
"Aaaand we're off!" Captain Barubary tips his hat. "Later Mayor. Bye bye Marcon. Doug, make sure they're safe, alright?" Dead Doug simply grunts.
Captain Barnacle Barnaby leads the way through the thick jungle. "It's faster to get there by foot than to sail. Besides, I'm the dead one, so I'll lead. If I die again, avenge me!" He laughs.
He fends off a snake, turns a thick vine and a branch into a zipline, and cuts down a few more shrubs. "Alright, this is where I found it." Several planks and nearly a full cabin of a sailing vessel are precariously perched on the rocky outcroppings of a coastal cliffside. Symbols etched into the trunks and door on the beach resemble a pair of skulls separated by curved sabers. "Looks good, eh?" He chuckles. "Call me when you're done and we can head back. Normally I'd swim there, but most of you don't have sea legs!"
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Aerin stands and looks, he moves a bit closer
"If I am not mistaken, this looks like The wreckage to be from a famous pirate sloop, Besmara’s Fury. The ship became famous for switching from piracy to ferrying refugees escaping pirates. However, rumors of its destruction date back more than five years. So it would be way to far back to carry someone here just lately."
He looks at the signs on the sand
"Take a look here, the wreckage seems to have been placed on the outcropping and in the sand around it only a few days ago."
He looks closer "Someone is tempering with the evidence, my dear colleagues"