"As I wandered the dusty hazards of Bonekeep, these ne'er-do-wells took it upon themselves to relieve our people of their hard-earned Chronicles", Ritten mutters as he rebuilds his beloved handguns. Taking time to smear a glob of silvery weaponshine onto the barrels, he grunts softly.
"The Paracountess be damned. Her desires have little bearing; without those Chronicles our allies are dead in the water."
The lithe gunslinger holsters his trusty weapons, rises from his workbench, and steps through the doorframe and into the salty air of Magnimar harbor.
"... and with those Chronicles those pirates are, too."
