Whizbang Dustyboots
Gnometown Hero
It is the first day of Moons in the 720th year since the founding of the Tarsisian Empire. It is raining in Ptolus.
Those that make their living on the Whitewind Sea had hoped winter would bring relief. It was a rough summer: Unusually warm weather meant more Nallsman longboats than normal raiding up and down the coast, along with increased pirate activity. The dwarf pirate Firebeard sacked and burned a ship moored in the Bay of Ptolus. And the sahuagin used the summer storms as cover for yet more raids on coastal settlements and they were repeatedly found within Ptolus itself.
But on the Docks quarter of Ptolus, winter has brought no relief. Savage murders are taking place and the dockworkers, shipwrights, fishermen and prostitutes are all saying the same thing: After more than 100 years, Longcoat is back.
In IA 596, a serial killer killed five prostitutes living and working down on the Docks. Dubbed "Longcoat" by the city's broadsheets after the description of an alleged eyewitness, Longcoat was never caught and, after the fifth murder, vanished without a trace.
The shade of his last victim, Coraithe Whitetree, has been known to wander Salt Spray Street near her now-empty hovel, but of Longcoat himself, there never was any sign.
But when the savage attacks began over the last four weeks, his name was the first to spring to many lips.
The new attacks have had the same sort of savagery that Longcoat's were said to have had, with the victims disfigured and dismembered instead of being just merely killed.
The City Watch spend most of their time on the Docks doing the Dockmaster's bidding and enforcing tariffs on balky sea captains and arresting the clumsiest smugglers. Their way of handling the nightly brawls at the Savage Shark on Wharf Road and Salt Spray Street is to wait outside until they're done, stand up and brush off those who participated and send them on their way, unless someone was foolish enough to brandish a weapon, at which point, they take that isolated incident seriously. They don't worry about "someone putting away a few whores," as they indelicately put it.
But the murders have been more than just prostitutes: Men have been killed and the elderly and, in one case, a young girl apprenticed to the Shipwright's Guild.
And so, this afternoon, when the rain is so heavy and the sky so dark that it makes it seem like night has come hours early, those crowded into the Savage Shark are of a somber mood. No one sane goes anywhere in the Docks these days alone, and although few will admit it, everyone is huddled into the Shark for both safety and comfort.
The Shark is just the sort of rundown dockside tavern that bards insert in their songs: Perpetually in danger of collapsing, dirty, filthy, dangerous and the drinks are even worse. The bar's owner, Hanthan Yan, is as surly as any bartender in a bard's tale.
Today, though, he has the haunted look the patrons all recognize in themselves. He rubs a dirty rag inside a dirty mug, staring at the rain through the grimy windows that flank the tavern doors. Over the sound of the pounding rain outside, few hear him sigh, or his first words, but he repeats himself a moment later, putting down the mug with a thump.
"I said, 'someone ought to do somethin'' about Longcoat." Yan puts his fists down on the bar and glares around the room at the assembled sailors, shipwrights, fishermen, travelers and down-on-their-luck would-be Delvers. "Bring me proof that these killin's is over, and I'll give ya 500 gold Imperials and I'll get the Dockmaster to kick in as well, by Rajek."
Most of those in the Shark look down into their drinks, avoiding his gaze. But a half-dozen or so patrons do not. As you look around the room, you realize that there might be others willing to face down Longcoat and stop him for good this time.
Those that make their living on the Whitewind Sea had hoped winter would bring relief. It was a rough summer: Unusually warm weather meant more Nallsman longboats than normal raiding up and down the coast, along with increased pirate activity. The dwarf pirate Firebeard sacked and burned a ship moored in the Bay of Ptolus. And the sahuagin used the summer storms as cover for yet more raids on coastal settlements and they were repeatedly found within Ptolus itself.
But on the Docks quarter of Ptolus, winter has brought no relief. Savage murders are taking place and the dockworkers, shipwrights, fishermen and prostitutes are all saying the same thing: After more than 100 years, Longcoat is back.
In IA 596, a serial killer killed five prostitutes living and working down on the Docks. Dubbed "Longcoat" by the city's broadsheets after the description of an alleged eyewitness, Longcoat was never caught and, after the fifth murder, vanished without a trace.
The shade of his last victim, Coraithe Whitetree, has been known to wander Salt Spray Street near her now-empty hovel, but of Longcoat himself, there never was any sign.
But when the savage attacks began over the last four weeks, his name was the first to spring to many lips.
The new attacks have had the same sort of savagery that Longcoat's were said to have had, with the victims disfigured and dismembered instead of being just merely killed.
The City Watch spend most of their time on the Docks doing the Dockmaster's bidding and enforcing tariffs on balky sea captains and arresting the clumsiest smugglers. Their way of handling the nightly brawls at the Savage Shark on Wharf Road and Salt Spray Street is to wait outside until they're done, stand up and brush off those who participated and send them on their way, unless someone was foolish enough to brandish a weapon, at which point, they take that isolated incident seriously. They don't worry about "someone putting away a few whores," as they indelicately put it.
But the murders have been more than just prostitutes: Men have been killed and the elderly and, in one case, a young girl apprenticed to the Shipwright's Guild.
And so, this afternoon, when the rain is so heavy and the sky so dark that it makes it seem like night has come hours early, those crowded into the Savage Shark are of a somber mood. No one sane goes anywhere in the Docks these days alone, and although few will admit it, everyone is huddled into the Shark for both safety and comfort.
The Shark is just the sort of rundown dockside tavern that bards insert in their songs: Perpetually in danger of collapsing, dirty, filthy, dangerous and the drinks are even worse. The bar's owner, Hanthan Yan, is as surly as any bartender in a bard's tale.
Today, though, he has the haunted look the patrons all recognize in themselves. He rubs a dirty rag inside a dirty mug, staring at the rain through the grimy windows that flank the tavern doors. Over the sound of the pounding rain outside, few hear him sigh, or his first words, but he repeats himself a moment later, putting down the mug with a thump.
"I said, 'someone ought to do somethin'' about Longcoat." Yan puts his fists down on the bar and glares around the room at the assembled sailors, shipwrights, fishermen, travelers and down-on-their-luck would-be Delvers. "Bring me proof that these killin's is over, and I'll give ya 500 gold Imperials and I'll get the Dockmaster to kick in as well, by Rajek."
Most of those in the Shark look down into their drinks, avoiding his gaze. But a half-dozen or so patrons do not. As you look around the room, you realize that there might be others willing to face down Longcoat and stop him for good this time.
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