Privateers of Lssthp II [IC]

[TriciaOso]

Spoiler: F'rrkkk

Show

Spoiler: Back on the Goblin Ship with Nibum:

Show

Fork was silent for a moment. He nodded. "Thank you for sharing your personal wisdom, old friend." He said. "I am bound to little under fifteen years of service left. And I don't plan to regret a second of it." He was silent for a while longer.. "But the privilege of determining my own purpose after that time is something I hold dear, and it's something I will put a lot of thought to when that day comes."

Fork studied his quarry as much as he could in the short time before they spotted Baratano. The known items he was likely to have on his person, his looks, mannerisms and his most notable feature: his shell. When the crewmember in the crows nest finally signalled land in sight, Forks companion, the Drake, took off with purpose. Around his neck a leather tube with a letter in it.

As soon as the gangplank hit land, Fork was off as well. He made a beeline to the Wyverns Roost. He was dressed different. Gone was the stiff uniform. Instead he wore crocodile leather armour, straps and pouches. His blade and hand crossbows carefully concealed. His large crossbow, the one he'd bought on the Goblin vessel, was strapped to his backpack and visible enough to make ruffians think twice before harassing him. A dark cloak with a hood draped over him in a half concealing manner.

At the Roost, he took a side entrance. A small wooden door seemingly forgotten about.

It led to a narrow stairs going up and after a few curves another small door. He rapped a signal before he opened and entered the small office type building built onto the side of the Roost overlooking the south side of Pierholt from atop the bridge. A peculiar grung, bespectacled and with a few white hairs on the sides of his otherwise bald head sat at his desk, flanked by stacks of paperwork. Behind him more books, scrolls and stacks of paper. Several empty ink pots were strewn about and he was just about to dip his feathered pen in a fresh pot when he looked up at the intrusion.

"Ah." He said with a croaky voice. "Sooner than expected."

Fork threw his hood back and smiled. "Archibald. You got my letter?"

Archibald was a tight friend of the family, and quite the accountant. He didn't look like much, and it was precisely therefore he got around without much hassle. A staple in Pierholt in his own right and his connections with the FarSeers largely forgotten, there wasn't much that happened without the nosy old Grung knowing about it. If anyone could help Fork look in the right, or at least likely direction worth looking, it was Archie.

Archibald has much to tell you, although he hesitates and wavers often. You rely on your insight into his fears and mindset to read his pauses and halts as clearly as his words.

He looks at your sketch of the gold-sealed cracks in the back of Trionyx, and nods gravely. "Yes, he's been seen. He rbbt tried to stay at the Roost and was pushed out. Quite rbbt a disturbing fellow, I'm told. Unwell-looking. Fires and lamps extinguishing themselves around him. Salamander hounds and wyverns rbbt unsettled. Nasty business."

"The Apophians tried to take him in--gods know why--but rbbt the neighbors wouldn't have it. They pushed him all the way out of town, into rbbt my people, with the other unwanted things."

He also shares a variety of other information which seems trivial at the time; only one of these becomes important later in hindsight: the Broken Wing was seen at anchor overnight at the cape south of Frogtown a few days ago.