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Who are the authors for the backmatter?

"I don't know about you," says Derrick, "but considering we're in sh*tty shape, I'd say we make our way out of here. I'd rather not be in thsi death trap a moment longer."

Ulfak is looking bad, but at least he'll live.

Derrick rushes over to the sarcophagus and waits. The swarm crawls over to him, ready to overwhelm him. He waits until th last second to toss the lid off, causing an eruption of flames which burns the beetles to a crisp.

Derrick falls onto his back, patting out a small flame on his shirt.

"So, just how much are we getting paid to explore this sh*thole?"

Fire damage: 1d4 ⇒ 3

Belok gives a glance over to Salty, granting him a nod. The dwarf again attempts to grab onto Belok, but the half-orc slips through his fingers, as if water flowing from a hand. Belok lets out another assault on the dwarf. The dwarf falls to his knees, throwing his hand up into the air.

"We have a surrender! Ladies and gentleman, your winner in rare form today: Belok Talorg!"

Cheers and whoops spill forth from the crowd. The bookie strolls over and rewards the group with their appropriate winnings.

There's 5 feet between you and him.

I realized that Derrick would have actually avoided the swarms as he stepped off the dais to flank the spider. He's okay! Vedic, although you are at 0, you are only staggered. You can still move away!

Derrick rushes around behind the spider creature and attempts to strike with his rapier, just missing his attack.

Rapier: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (6) + 7 = 13

Ray of Enfeeblement has some sparkling and flashing. Best avoid that spell.

The half-orc hears the call for advice. Obviously ignoring it, he takes a moment to make a small prayer, obviously angering the dwarf. The dwarf rushes in and attempts to grapple his opponent. His arms quickly wrap around the half-orc and a triumphant smirk takes his face. Belok rolls his eyes and slips out of the grab almost as if made of jelly. He retaliates with a whirlwind of jabs. The dwarf takes the full set of blows.

There are plenty of people watching. You would be able to cast some spells subtly such as charms. However, anything with a big obvious effect, such as a fireball or color spray, will be seen.

Here's the info on the fighter's, for those scared of peeking into spoilers:

The dwarf is not anyone special, he's obviously a newcomer. However, Belok Talorg is a former member of the Wave Riders, the band that bravely and unsuccesfuly attempted to take on the Kraken. The half-orc is a mighty holy warrior and a feared priest of the God of Strength and Battle, Bowbe. He was once champion of the brawling league at the Skull, but has since lost his title to the mysterious Jin.

Heh, what are the odds on those rolls?

Ah, I forgot to mention, feel free to make a Knowledge Local check to identify the fighters.

Vedic, your readied action goes off.

The crowd begins to clap to the beat of the fiddling, giving a cheer as the next set of brawlers make their way out. On opposite ends are a squat looking dwarf and a tall, muscular half-orc. A man yells out the introductions.

"Alright folks, I know you've been waiting for this one. Here we have our stout, little newcomer, Mirlon Bronzefoot." The crowd stays mostly silent. "Will he be able to take on our beloved Belok Talorg?" The crowd yells out a combination of whoops and jeers as the fight begins.

A maid makes her way to the table, taking orders.

You continue on to the Bawd District. Through a wide arch of crumbling stone, veined with cracks and fractures, the mercantile bustle of Tide district gives way to the thrum of Bawd. Bawd ambushes visitors, swelling upon them as they leave the wooden docks behind. The district assaults with its heat, its carnivale cacophony, and its reek - a thousand spices, perfumes, old moldy paper, stone-ground ink, fresh-baked bread in kilned clay, cattle dung, cauldrons boiling pungent herbs to melt snake’s blood into soup and not least the flatulence of dysentery-ridden beggars.

Progressing, you eventually find yourself at the Broken Skull Inn. Attracting vicious souls, prizefighting contenders, and a crowd of despicable knaves who pay to see men smash one another into oblivion, the Skull is a large, two-block converted warehouse. Inside, the roar of the crowd deafens, and the tables are arranged haphazardly around a circular pit in the center of the establishment. The meaty, unmistakable sound of fist on face resounds from within, echoed by cacophonous cries of savage joy from the crowd.

Ulfak steps back, reuniting with the group. They sit, holding their breath as the sound of skittering echoes louder and louder from the collapsed shaft. Soon, hundreds of beetles spew forth from the hole. They leave a trail of horryfing residue wherever they walk. Following after the beetles, a strange spider-like creature emerges. A grotesque, misshapen head that consists mostly of a single blinking eye is supported by six long, slender, spiketipped limbs.

"Who cares where I got it? It's the real deal, I swear. Now, just for you, I'mm willing to hold off on my cut. I'll pass this over for 250 gold. I'd go myself, but the startup is too much for a man like me. You all seem like you're destined for greatness," he breathes out with a hint of sarcasm.

Valsaya stands in the cylinder, awaiting Vedic to join her. The creaking and rumbling continues beneath her feet. Realization strikes just as Vedic enters. She quickly jolts out of the device, Vedic in tow as the tunnel beneath collapses. The cylinder falls violently down the shaft at least 50 feet before landing with a tremendous crash.

A ragged man steps out, a scroll in hand. His hand shakes lightly as he presents the scroll.

"It's the treasure map to the Pirate King's lost treasure. I've checked it out and this is the real deal. Whoever finds this hoard is sure to be a rich man indeed. I’d do it myself but I don’t have the gold for a ship. Tell you what. You get the majority of the treasure. Just cut me in for ten percent and half that in advance for the map. Let's say 500 gold pieces."

As they make their way to Bawd, different sights meet them along the way. On all sides, warehouses stuffed to overflowing vomit excess crates and barrels in a bizarre spider web of cargo and netting. Amongst the disorder, three men in patchwork rags strut like beggar-kings through a maze of cabbageladen crates left to rot in the noonday sun. Dirt and blood cling to the three, who appear to the novice eye as little more than footpads, but a sharper glance reveals blackhandled daggers sheathed at their waists and the flash of fine boiled leather beneath tattered shrouds of stitched muslin. A rat the size of a mastiff slinks along the shaded crate-tops nearby, scampering behind the three like a child struggling to keep up with its family.

A whisper comes from behind a nearby crate. "Psst... hey. Hey, buddies. Wanna buy a treasure map?"

You stand on the docks of Port Shaw. The smell of the salt sea rides the breeze, while dark rolling waves lap rhythmically at the pier. Inland, the Dreadsmoke Mountains rise high into the clouds. An ominous sulfur haze clings to their jagged peaks and the black behemoths loom, almost ready to swallow the city in fire. Nearby an egret prances from plank to plank, snatching morsels of corn scattered by a careless dock worker. The lilting calls of the gulls echo overhead. Further south, the dark and sturdy koa wood piers give way to hastily built pine additions, recently erected to deal with a whaling boom.

All manner of vessels moor here. Tulita war canoes rock in the water next to local fishing schooners. Foreign longboats rub gunwales with freighter brigs sunk low with heavy cargo. Enormous whaling barges dwarf the others — save the colossal five-masted naval frigate moored at the southernmost pier below the volcanic rock walls of Fort Stormshield. The forty-eight guns and 146 souls of Bonedeuce’s Pride are the power in the harbor and the only reason various motley bands of pirates, privateers, smugglers, whalers and fishermen have not torn Port Shaw to flinders long ago.

Even in the shadow of the Pride, and despite Commandant Gregory Bonedeuce’s swift sense of justice, the dockside taverns of Port Shaw remain notorious for vicious brawls. Incautious patrons regularly end up with cut purse strings or a blade between their ribs. The city breeds thieves and cutthroats like lice on an unwashed beggar.

Beyond the cresting waves, the green-blue Razor Sea extends into the horizon. The faint outlines of many mysterious isles lie barely visible, like ghostly hints of dreams or nightmares. What awaits on those faded brushstrokes of grey at the edge of the sea’s vast canvas? The ocean lies unsettlingly still. A thick blanket of warm air hangs above the shimmering surface of the Razor. This is the unmistakable calm before a great storm.

Welcome to Port Shaw.

The sarcophagus turns towards the green tunnel. A cacophonous creaking of stone against stone emerges from the ground below the green lantern. With what seems to be a bit of effort, the elevator rises from the ground, ready to accept its next occupant.

All the corridors have their respective lanterns, save for red. However, only the green one is currently lit.

Well, I would say you should return back up to the false tomb and either search for the face or try turning the sarcophagus again.

Selman keeps to himself in his quarters for the remainder of the trip. A few hours pass as the ship slowly lumbers into Port Shaw. Once docked, Selman once again emerges from his room, some color returned to his face.

"Well friends, we made it. I apologize for the latest ordeal, but you handled yourself brilliantly. I knew it was a good choice to hire you on." He gives a small chuckle. "Now, as was promised, I have your payment."

He hands them each a small box and a simple key.

"Inside, is the one thousand gold pieces as we agreed. It's not all coins, as there are some bars of silver and some gems, but I can assure you that you would be given your pay if you sold the contents."

He shakes thei hands and gives them a pat on the back.

"If I ever have my ship repaired and dare cross Olaus's domain again, I will hir you in a heartbeat. Take care, my friends."

Everything down here is explored. Where to next?

"Он је био убијен од стране Нардоц и његовог рода у великој бици."

"То је симбол мог старог мајстора, Огремоцх. Он више није од велике битке."

"Ја сам ограничен на ову собу.

"Немам појма. Нардоц је био моћан маг. Ја бих се усудио своју магију да буде јака."

"Не знам много, осим што Надроц објаснио.Гробница је намењен велики ветар кнеза по имену Зосиел.Гробница изнад је лажна гроб, мада.Гробница се налази тачно изнад лицем поред једног од фењера."

"Био сам помоћник Нодрац, архитекта овог гроба. Међутим, то није било ни моје жеље да то уради. Био сам везан за његов рад и Нодрац овој просторији. Одрасла сам да волим човека, тако да немам озлојеђеност. Нажалост, Нодрац прошло пре него што је одржао своје обећање да ме ослободи, тако да сам овде од тада, чекајући нека средства за пуштање на слободу."

"Of course it does," he replies with an obvious shake in his voice.

Selman stands around, mouth agape for a moment. His mind seems to return as he looks around, almost in a panic. Finally, he looks down at the leash in his hand.

"Just my luck, I was hoping to save that goat for my dinner party next week."

He takes a moment to speak with the crew.

"Well, it seems we are able to make it to Shaw, albeit at a crawl. The ship is in quite a state of disrepair and it seems she will not sail for some time. At least we are safe, though!"

He gives a small chuckle and makes his way solemnly to his cabin.

Valaravans and Moctezuma would get one.

The creature gives a rasp in almost amused tone.

"Па, то је да се разуме. Водио сам да верујем да допиру до овог нивоа је замка или загонетка неке врсте. У најмању руку, то је како Надроц објаснио. Ја сам Артопханк. Ко си ти?"

Yeah, everything is fine. I forgot to mention my posting days are usually when I'm at work, which is Saturday through Tuesdays. Unfortunately, these two days have been a bit busier than I expected. If you don't see posting outside of those days, don't worry. I'm just on my "weekend."

Olaus puts on a grimace at Zaria's attack. Selman continues to tug along the goat closer to the edge of the ship.

"Ah, my offering. You are quite kind, human."

Olaus once agin lunges forward and swallows the goat whole, almost pulling Selman along by the leash. Olaus makes a dive into the water, his tail whipping up, striking the ship once more. Splinters and boards fly haphazardly from the force. Valaravans watches as the shadow of the beast is quickly lost beneath the water.

The creature's voice is a bit calmer.

"Шта радиш на овом месту? Како сте ушли?"

At Derrick's touch, the egg springs to life, rearranging itself into an anthropomorphic form. It says something in a voice that sounds like like a grating gravelly bark.

I'm just going to speed this part up. Also, have you guys decided on the egg yet?

Derrick examines the door. It appears to be safe, so he opens it up. Inside he finds a washroom.

"I don't know what you mean," he replies full of delusion. "These are my most trusted men. They may seem to be acting strangely, but that's due to their loyalty."

"I'm only to take their warriors. All other will be spared, assuming their cooperation."