Malthas,
The more vocal Standishtowner looks around nervously, then quickly shakes your hand and sits down on a barrel nearby.
"Alright," he says, with a distinctly unhappy look. "This is what happened - but...don' let this get around, see?
Yesterday, early in the afternoon sometime, we was hired to ferry some sailors upriver - a sea captain, Captain McCrenshaw, he said his name was, an' with him, his clerk, I s'pose, was the queerest sort o' man I ever saw. Thin an' wispy-lookin', with a sort of elven look to his face, but his hair was dead white an' his skin was dead black. He had red eyes, too - they even glowed in th' dark.
So, we're making good time upriver, to the plantations, when the fog closes in. Not natural fog, either - went from clear day to pea soup in no time flat. You could cut thet fog with an old rope, an' then build a wall with pieces.
Now, of course, we - me an' my fellows, I mean - think it's a good idea to turn around; this fog smelt of magic, an' it was the oldest trick in the elvish book. But McCrenshaw insists we keep going.
All th' same, we're still at least 20 miles downriver from the plantations by th' time night falls. So we have to go ashore and make a camp.
Thet was when ev'rything went to hell. In the middle of the night, the elves attacked. They had pets with them two - a pair of huge wolves, one of which....one of which..." Here he goes slightly green and looks sick at the memory. He swallows hard and continues unsteadily, "one of which I saw rip th'...th' throat out of my friend. And th' damned elves were hidin' in th' mist, shootin' us like fish in a barrel, an' we couldn' see them to shoot back. So we left.
It was only when we had gotten well away when we...err....realized thet th' Captain an' his clerk weren't...which is to say, I thought they were right b'hind me....but they...weren't...."
Malachi & Vemuz,
Speaking of Stout and Sanchez, they soon come tramping aft, apparently having raided the arms chest on the way; they both carry a pair of muskets each, and cartridge boxes, powder horns, and shot pouches for the guns. Stout has a cutlass stuck in his belt and Sanchez is carrying a worn, battered, and apparently well-used rapier of the southern Espirantish style.
The two sailors come to something vaguely resembling attention; Sanchez making a movement halfway between a salute and a casual nod, and Stout knuckling his forehead in a slightly more military style.
"Mr. Ames' compliments, Mr. Legba, Mr. Thrice-born, Mr. Arfaliunium, an' he said we were need for some kind of expedition," Stout says.
aze,Detect Magic,Light,Mending
