Working under contract for the Merchant’s guild of Alvar, Devrentor, Gimli, and Nixya land on the muddy, swampy coast of Dagger Wound Island. A faint stench of bog rot and carcass clings to the ruddy shore, sweeping the party with a general nausea akin to the place. At least, for all intents and purposes, its quiet.
The wagons, laden with unknown freight are slowly winched off just past the muck while the horses are walked off the ship. It was the Regnans previous raid that destroyed the docks, and it certainly is the Regnans’ presence that brought about the need for extra manpower to protect the Guild’s cargo. After all, its pirate season.
The caravan master, a hulking minotaur named Baltazar, scans the shore while loading his pipe with tabac. “Filthy Regnans…” he mutters to no one in particular, when he catches sight of a hooded figure trudging towards the loading zone.
“Halt! By authority of the Merchants Guild of Alvar, I demand you keep your distance from our operation. If you… uhh… ?”
The hooded figure moves directly towards Balthazar, holding hands out, open, and unmoving. Beneath the cloak, she smiles. “Do not be alarmed by me, for I am most certainly here to help. I have a good eye, and I know these shores well. This token should prove I’m trustworthy, yes?” She produces a playing card, with a picture of a stream forking around a tree. The minotaurs’ eyes widen.
“You! Yes, of course, please, my lady, come with us. What brings you here, if I may ask?”
“Why, I have been speaking with the savages on the south tip of the island. The frog-people. an interesting lot, they are. Anyway, you are on your way to the village, yes?”