"So tell us about Durn and those who are with him. Do they have spell casters among them?" Arlynn presses on, eager to know as much as possible before they face the rest of the slavers. "Also, how would they expect to be greeted once they are back?"

Gideon’s head leans back against the cold stone under him, a bitter smirk flashing briefly as Arlynn continues the interrogation.

“You’re thorough, I’ll give you that,” he mutters, voice hoarse.

“You want to know about Durn?  Fine.  He’s smart.  Patient.  A hunter first.  A dwarf more at home in the fields and streams than in the mines.  He can track just about anything that leaves a footprint in the muck.  But no spells.  None of us dabble in that. Closest thing to a caster we had was Karg, and you’ve already dealt with him.”

Arlynn focuses, skimming his surface thoughts:

 
Gideon exhales sharply.  “Of the others... Mara.  She’s a wandering tough.  Knows how to handle a blade, and talks her way out of more trouble than she fights.  Quick, fast hands.  And Silas...”  His lip twitches.  “Big.  Mean.  Strong.  Stronger than anyone I’ve ever met.  He put the dwarves to shame.  Doesn’t care much for plans.”

"When they return?"  Gideon chuckles grimly.  “They’d expect the gate to open for them.  See me posted on watch, to signal them back in.  If they see nothing moving, or worse—signs of trouble—they won’t just walk through the front door.  Durn will see to that.”

 He eyes Arlynn again, measuring her.

“You’re not wrong to ask these questions.  You’ve got maybe a few hours before they’re back, and once they get close enough they'll spot something’s off.  After that… well, you’ll get your fight.”

But things do not play out quite as Gideon may have hoped.

As the afternoon wanes and the last light of the sun filters low across the swamp, the party keeps careful watch, hidden behind the parapets of Bale Keep.  The wind carries only the distant croak of frogs and the soft buzz of insects.  The expected approach never comes.

Suddenly, Sylraeth, who has been sitting quietly near the battlements, stiffens.  Her head tilts slightly as if listening to a distant whisper only she can hear.  Her expression tightens—part surprise, part worry.

She turns to the others, speaking softly but urgently.  “Granmire… she has reached out to me.”

The others gather quickly around her.

“She says… the intruders will not be returning.  She has… dealt with them.”  Sylraeth swallows, her voice uncertain.  “She didn't say how.  Only that they’re no longer a threat.”  She lowers her gaze.  “I asked… but she would not say more.”  Silence hangs in the air as the implications settle.  

After a pause, Sylraeth continues, her voice growing quieter.  “She… she is calling me home.  She says it’s time for me to return, that I’ve learned enough.”  She glances at each of the companions in turn, uncertainty plain in her wide eyes.  “But… I don’t know.  I feel like I’ve only just begun to see outside her shadows.  To meet people who fight not for themselves alone, but for others.”

She breathes deeply, as though steadying herself against some invisible pull.  “I am not sure if I am ready to go back.  Not yet.”

Interrupting the conversation, the bound Gideon looks over at you.  "Hey?  What are you lot conspiring over now?"

The blue-haired half-elf listens attentively to their prisoner, processing the information and making plans to greet the others, all for naught...

Arlynn nods to Sylraeth. "I wouldn't think to much about their fate, I have the sense they might have deserved whatever Granmire greeted them with." She says grimly, then pondering a moment before continuing. "You should come with us then. Do you want us to go back and explain that you want to stay on the road for now or are you worried Granmire wouldn't accept your choice?" She asks with a small reassuring smile.

"No conspiring on our part but it seems we will not have the pleasure of meeting your companions after all. You will come back with us to Saltmarsh and whatever fate awaits you there will not be worse than that of your friends." She says grimly to Gideon.

Fane spends the day in Trance. When she is done, she approaches the others. "I have an idea. I can create an illusion of Gideon, like I've done with the Hydra's. Have him signal the others that it is safe to return. Perhaps catch them off guard as they enter."

As she continues with her plan, Sylraeth updates them with news from Granmire. "Well that simplifies things I guess."

She nods when Arlynn says they'll be taking Gideon back to Saltmarsh.

"So Granmire can contact you from afar? That is interesting. As to staying with us or returning, that is up to you. I will say, as far as seeing the world, you have only taken one step from home.

"You all want to rest here for the night, then head to the ship tomorrow? We can take turns watching this one" she says, nodding at Gideon.

The night passes quietly in the reclaimed halls of Bale Keep.  The flickering firelight in Karg’s old tower casts long shadows over the damp stone as your group settles into a much-needed rest.  The air still carries the blood-tinged scent of battle and magic, but there is a strange peace in knowing that, for now, the keep is yours.  The cries of marsh birds and insects echo across the moor as dawn rises red and misty on the horizon.

In the morning, you discover a folded note left atop one of the casks near the parapet.  Written in graceful Elvish, it bears Sylraeth’s delicate hand.  The message is brief but heartfelt:

“I am grateful for the time I spent with you, and the light you brought to these Marshes.  Granmire and I spoke again during the night—of the past, the future, and of our people.  While I long to see the world, I realize now that my home still needs me.  The others fear too much and hope too little.  I will return to them with stories of your bravery, and perhaps in time, they too will begin to believe in something more.  Thank you for everything.  May the wind, sea and sky favor your journey.”

By midday, your familiars wing through the skies, swift and sure, seeking The Lady Saradie.  And by the following afternoon, her sleek deck is once more beneath your boots, cutting east through the clear waters of the Azure Sea, sails billowed and crew content.

You make one final detour before returning to Saltmarsh... back to the lizardfolk stronghold.  There, in the echoing chambers of stone and reed, you deliver your report.  The twin chieftains listen silently as you recount your success at Bale Keep.  To confirm your tale, they summon their shaman, a weathered figure cloaked in ceremonial shells and swamp moss.  A ritual is performed, calling upon ancestral spirits to speak truth.

The spirits answer.  They confirm your words that the keep is no longer in the hands of human or dwarf invaders.  They whisper—uncertainly—of those who fled into the deeper marsh, but of them, no clear vision comes.  Still, it is enough.  The chieftains rise and declare your mission complete.

That night, a feast is called in your honor.  Strange and steaming dishes are brought forth: platters of roasted giant lizard, sticky bowls of spiced rice and root, fillets of raw marsh fish wrapped in broadleaf.  The food is hit-or-miss depending on your sensibilities, but the gesture is generous and the atmosphere lively.  In the flickering firelight, the chieftains proclaim your party "Eghreth-zoka" — not like us, but like us — a the highest mark of respect that soft-skins can earn among their kind.

In the days ahead, the tribes will send a representative to Saltmarsh, an emissary to act as a go-between for trade and diplomacy.  A small but remarkable step.

Soon after, you cast off from the swamp stronghold and set sail once more for Saltmarsh, your ship riding fast in the water.  The winds are favorable, and in just a few hours, the familiar silhouette of Saltmarsh comes into view.

The dockside is unusually busy.  Dozens of ships crowd the harbor—merchant vessels, fishing boats, and deep-haul ships from across the coast.  There’s an air of urgency, of business brisk and booming. 

As you draw closer, you spot a large caravel moored at the deepwater dock.  Its sail bears the unmistakable black-and-red skull of Iuz.  Dark-eyed northerners with thick accents and sullen expressions haul massive barrels of salted fish onto the ship’s deck.  Sailors and stevedores alike give the vessel a wide berth.

Stepping off your ship and making your way through the bustle, your eyes are drawn to a figure seated on a crate near the wharf: a bard, lute in hand, a polished instrument strumming out a cheerful, foot-tapping tune.  A ring of children clap and dance around him as he sings and plays with great skill.  The melody is bright, infectious, but there’s something about the lyrics... subtle invocations of change, of safety through strength, of rising storms that wash away the old and usher in the new.  He nods as you pass, a charming grin beneath storm-green eyes.

You leave the docks behind and soon find yourselves once more in the familiar chamber of the Saltmarsh town council.  Eda Oweland, Anders Solmor, Manistrad Copperlocks, and Eliander Fireborn hear your report with interest.  News of the liberation of Bale Keep is received with approval.  Eliander knows well the group you describe... he himself evicted them from Saltmarsh many weeks ago for causing trouble.  He takes the prisoner into custody, with plans to question him directly and then decide on an appropriate sentence.

The idea of friendly relations with the lizardfolk, even cautious ones, surprises and pleases the council.  The talk of military alliance with them, however, inspires more hesitation.  The councilors exchange glances, and Eda finally voices the consensus: “That’s deep in the marsh, far beyond our patrol lines.  If this lizardfolk king stirs, it might mean trouble down the road, but for now... Saltmarsh can’t afford to chase ghosts in the muck.”

Still, your efforts are acknowledged and praised.  Your reputation in Saltmarsh grows further.

At last, as evening draws on, you return to the Wicker Goat—the familiar tavern where outlanders gather and the drink flows just enough to loosen the bones after a long journey.  The walls are still decorated with banners and tapestries from the military forces of Keoland.  The royal shield of Keoland, a black lion rampant on a red field, is displayed behind the bar, next to a naval flag of some sort.  There are also a number of different banners displaying different variations of a red cross on a black background.  Also behind the bar is a large wicker goat, just a bust, with bushy straw whiskers.  A single mirror runs half the length of the bar, making the room look a little less narrow than it is.  

The barkeep Lankus Kurrid recognizes you at once and sets put a bottle of Royal Reserve Whiskey and one of Dwurhammer Rum.  "Courtest of Manistred Copperlocks.  Apparently you folks have done a great service for the town or somesuch.  So here you go, on the house."   There’s music here, too, and company, both old and familiar.  The ships have brought a fresh round of travelers and strangers to Saltmarsh

The fire crackles, the mugs are full, and for the first time in what feels like weeks, your boots are off and your weapons sheathed.  The road ahead is uncertain.  Shadows seem to creep everywhere.  The lizardfolk alliance may yet bloom or wither.  But tonight, the Goat is friendly, and the danger is far away.

[Welcome to the new members... Everyone can introduce themselves as they gather at the tavern for the evening....]

Sitting at the bar is what must be a newcomer to Saltmarsh. She is a young-looking female elf with short dark brown hair, tan skin, and bright, amber-colored eyes. A swath of freckles are sprinkled across the bridge of her nose.  And at the moment her cheeks appear just the tiniest bit flushed. She wears a simple dark tunic with bits of embroidery with soft leather pants and belt.  Perhaps most striking are her heavily tattooed forearms and neck, though presumably they continue even more beneath her clothing.  There are even markings on her cheeks and along her long ears. The ink does not seem to be strictly black, but a deep dark brownish color with perhaps even a hint of an earthy green tone to it.  Her only other adornment seems to be the earrings that dangle one from each ear. They have a star shape to them but seem to be made entirely of wood and string. 

Currently she appears to be speaking with a very worn-down and rugged looking man. He has a disheveled look to him, and the human seems to be paying close attention to her as he speaks.  Suddenly, the elf woman laughs at something he said. "Oh, I find that story very hard to believe!" she says in a light, easy going voice. "But are you really planning to travel inland? Soon? Because I'll tell ya, your stories sound like a bunch of shriveling croaker shoes!" The harsh words seem a bit strange being said in such a sweet tone. As she watches the man for his response, she lifts her cup of ale and drains it, setting it next to another pair of empty drinking vessel. 

When the trio is seated and Lankus offers them some bottles as a reward 'for great service for the town', her attention shifts to them.  She doesn't turn to look directly at them but rather watches them reflected in the long mirror behind the bar.  The man is still speaking to her, but it's unclear whether she's even hearing anything he says.  

Arlynn would have slept reasonably well in the liberated keep. Plans should be made for future use of the place, something to bring up with the council in Saltmarsh in time. It is with mixed feelings she reads the farewell note from Sylraeth in the morning. She would miss the brave elven girl but she had a feeling they would meet again some day. She saves the note among her few personal belongings.

She would relish in being back on the Saradie, enjoying the view from the foredeck over the welcoming sights of the Azure sea. She would offer to report in full to their Lizardfolk allies, seeming quite content that they could verify it to further build trust between them. She would enjoy the festivities thrown and pledges that she would return once the Lizardfolk have more information on the activities of the Blood of King and Bone.

Back at Saltmarsh her eyes would narrow at the sight of the Iuz sails, making a mental note to herself to find out it's home port and where it would take it's cargo.
She returns the charming grin from the bard playing to the children at the docks, another interesting acquaintance soon to be made she decided.

Again the young blue-haired half-elf offers to give their report at the council, keeping it thorough and answering any questions from it's members. She would leave the details of any agreement to the council of course but points out that it would primarily be a defense alliance against the looming threat of the King of Blood and Bones while a more immediate effect should be less Lizardfolk raiding, but also lucrative business made with them. Either way, there would be no need to patrol the marshes, instead Saltmarsh would be able to rely on the Lizardfolk to supply them with information on any trouble stirring there.

Once back at the Wicker Goat, Arlynn is pleased with having concluded their mission and is ready for an evening of celebrations, looking around for any interesting company she may find, her blue eyes quickly noticing the tattooed elf by the bar, listening and watching her as she accepts a glass of Royal Reserve Whiskey., raising her glass and giving the elf an inviting smile through the mirror.

Arlynn

Eron would be sure to bring any armor and weapons and anything else of value from Bale keep back to the Lady Saradie.  (The crew must be paid)  Saddened but not surprised by the note Sylrathe left behind, the festivities at the Lizardfolk community are a wonderful distraction.  Eron encourages any among the crew to come along enjoy a rare cultural experience.  Perhaps some culinary inspiration.

As the return trip to Saltmarsh commences there is a great relief easing through Captain Colborn’s demeanor.  It is obvious to everyone that Eron was feeling the weight of responsibility over their maiden voyage together.  As his eyes scan the familiar docks and waters he can’t help but see Iuz’s large caravel, his mood sours immediately.  
  Eron waits as the children cheer for the bards performance, he can’t help himself as he approaches, discreetly he asks, “What knowledge do you have regarding the arrival of Iuz’s ship.  Perhaps meet me at the Wicker Goat I’ll compensate you for what you know or what you can find out.”  
  When the Royale reserve is presented Eron nods at the mention of Manistrad Copperlocks in dwarvish, “May the gods bless her in this life and the next!”  He pours himself six fingers and looks for the bard from the docks.

Somewhere deep in the western Azure Sea, a sudden buffeting cross-gust of wind shears itself from the prevalent southwesterly gale and bears northwest.

Past little-charted blue depths and occasional ships of all manner.  Past those crewed by the Keolish royal navy and those of other coastal nations, ships crewed by privateers, or pirates, or seafarers far stranger, the wind ruffles their full-bellied sails before sweeping onward.  Past Monmurg, causing the banners of the Sea Princes flying there to flutter and snap restlessly, then across the Bay of Javan, swirling towards the shore.  Towards Saltmarsh.

Rushing past the coastal hill where the Temple of Procan waits, chilling the bearded visage of the priest Wellgar Brinehanded in a rough caress as he stands gazing to the horizon, before veering west to the harbor.  Shouldering against the hulls of The Lady Saradie and the black and red-sailed ship from Iuz as they rock gently with the wavelets by the docks.  Over the dockside, bustling with sailors and commerce and music and on to the tavern, The Wicker Goat, where it shoves open the entry door with a force both firm and measured to prevent it from slamming against the wall with its momentum.

In perfect time for Sera'ele Eventide to step inside without having to reach or break her stride.  (Telekinetic Feat, invisible Mage Hand).

As Seri turns and glances almost absently behind her (and the door closes seemingly on its own), a single tattoo, unlike the multitude adorning the wood elf at the bar, peeks from her shoulder.  A vibrant dragonfly, stark against skin that is somehow at once both watery pale and suntanned.  Seri's silvery-blue hair, appearing just soaked by an ocean swim despite being dry, covers the dragonfly quickly once more as she turns back to survey the tavern's interior and clientele.  A driftwood buckler shield hangs at her back, emblazoned with a gold and coral trident piercing a cresting wave, and she bears a strange, dark studded leather armor, appearing fashioned from the skin and sinew of some marine mammal, bound by tough strands of kelp.

Yet despite her exotic appearance as a slender aquatic half-elf, pretty without coming close to being beautiful, Seri's most striking feature remains her nearly unblinking eyes, dark pupils drowning in deep turquoise irises like tiny black rock specks awash in a sunlit sea.

Those unblinking eyes turn now to the half-elf, shadar-kai and human to whom the barkeep has just presented the fine whiskey and rum, courtesy of the house and of one Manistrad Copperlocks, for their great service.  Unlike the wood elf at the bar, Seri looks directly at the trio with unhidden curiosity.  First approaching the bar to order a tumbler of rum for herself from Lankus, (1sp subtracted), Seri steps towards the trio who are seemingly being honored, addressing them in a semi-formal drawl that can't seem to decide whether it is that of a cloistered priestess or a seafaring privateer.

"I am Seri Eventide, acolyte of Procan from Seaton along the coast to the east and... Navigator.  Until recently, anyway, aye.  I hope you will not take my intrusion amiss, but might I join you for a drink?"  She holds up her own rum aloft as if to illustrate.

"You are... heroes, who have done Saltmarsh a great service?  Are you the adventurers who sought out the Lizardfolk enclave down the coast?  Strange-folk I hear, the scaled ones, yet to be respected.  Making their abodes where the land marshes meet Procan's domain.  Regardless, I seek... any tidings of goings on along the sea's edges, or upon the open ocean itself.  And you three... you three to have a tale to tell, I'll warrant, if you would share it."

Passive Insight:  17

She gestures with her rum glass once more, glancing back at the tattooed wood elf conversing with the worn-down human.  "And she as well, I think."

The tattooed wood elf had continued to casually observe the activity of the others that had arrived at the Wicker Goat.  It managed to preserve the pretense that she was listening to the man beside her, but she had definitely noted the raised glass from the first blue-haired half-elf and the gesture. Suddenly though, as the man puts a hand on her arm, the woman pulls her arm away. The momentum nearly topples her chair, though she just barely manages to catch herself before she falls. The man starts to apologize, offering another drink. "I don't need any more of your drinks or dead wind or drivel or..." She seems to have lost her train of thought, then just says, "Excuse me, think my friend there was trying to get my attention." 

She takes the couple of steps towards the two blue-haired half-elves. "Hello!" she says, a bit too loudly. First looking at the one that seemed part of this group at the table, she continues in a bit more normal voice. "You must be the adventurers the council sent to deal with the lizardfolk. Heard some rumors about you all."  She nods her head towards the bottles on the table. "Must have been successful."  She then addresses the other half-elf. "Did I hear you're a navigator?" she asks with curiosity. Lowering her voice a bit, she introduces herself. "My name's Côlneth Derese. Of... the Menowood I suppose."  She glances at the ground a moment, musing, "Haven't been there in a while. Well, I suppose a few years ago I passed through. But it was some time since I lived there." 

Eventually she looks back up. "I wouldn't mind hearing about your tales, if you don't mind me joining." 

Arlynn looks up at the newly arrived blue-haired half-elf, and then back at the tattooed elf, standing up and motioning for them both to take a seat at the table. "Please join us, both of you." She says with a wide smile, being in quite a good mood and happy to share their tale over a drink or two. "I am Arlynn, and this here are Eron and Fane." She says, motioning to the human and the elf already at the table. "We are indeed back from a mission for the council. I'm happy to share with you all what happened, but may I first ask, what brought you to Saltmarsh and what is your interest in our dealings with the Lizardfolk?"

Eron:

Earlier at the docks... As the final chord of his song fades and the children scatter with giggles and applause, the bard gives a courteous bow, then rises smoothly.  He turns at the sound of Eron’s voice, his smile gentle but laced with curiosity.

“Iuz’s ship,” he says, as if tasting the name like a fruity wine.  “Yes... hard to ignore, isn’t it?  Black sails, grim flags.  It sets the imagination alight.”  He chuckles softly, then lowers his voice, conspiratorial but not cagey.

“I sing many songs, friend.  Some of sorrow, some of war, and some that simply try to make sense of the world... But I’d be glad to share what I know.”  He studies Eron for a moment longer, eyes bright with kindness.  “The Wicker Goat, was it?  I've heard the name and look forward to a new watering hole.  Sunset sounds about right.”

There’s a pause before he adds, tone light, but not unserious,  “It is always refreshing to speak with someone who hears more than just the melody.  I find those are the people most worth talking to.”  And with that, the bard nods, strums a lazy chord, and turns to begin another tune.  It’s slower now, wistful, a ballad from the far north about lost love.

Finishing his drink and not immediately seeing the bard from earlier, Eron tenses ever so slightly as the door swings open just ahead of a familiar looking half-elf.  She has features reminiscent of a sea elf.  Eron pours himself a finger more of the royal reserve listening as Seri gets right to introductions, “If you are a faithful follower of Procan and a navigator to boot, you’re truly welcome at our table.  Sorry I just have to ask do you know the merfolk called Oceanus?”  Eron stands feeling the alcohol begin to move him like waves on the sea…

In his mind Eron is embroiled with thoughts of Iuz’s presence here- he does have one memory of his father telling him about the starvation and mistreatment of those under the feet of Iuz’s rulership.  He’s trying hard to convince himself the barrels of fish will feed the people… but there is a rage burning as he blames Iuz for the loss of both his parents… ‘Where is that bard?’

"Oh, I don't have any interest in the Lizardfolk really," Côlneth says in response to Arlynn.  She nods to Eron and Fane as they are introduced, then takes up the offer to have a seat. "I am more interested in you," she continues before suddenly stopping.  Looking a bit sheepish, she shakes her head, giving Arlynn a grin. "I mean, your group and the tale of your adventures. But as for myself, I came to Saltmarsh in hopes of finding someone. No luck there, but perhaps there's a lead." 

As she settles in, her eyes drift to the bottles of whiskey and rum. However, she is loath to say anything, instead turning to locate a server. "Hey! A bit of ale here?" she calls out, fishing in her pouch for the coins to pay. 

"Ah yes, Captain Colborn here is in dire need of a real navigator to his ship as his current one doesn't really know the first thing about such things. I suppose she didn't mess up the maiden voyage at least though captain?" Arlynn says with a playful smile to the human at the table.

"Well, let's get to know each other and we'll see if we're worth your interest." Arlynn says to the tattooed elf, holding the two bottles in front of her to offer her a choice of spirits. "So who is it that you are looking for Côlneth? Perhaps we can help you with that, we have nothing at our hands right now anyway, adventurers yearning for another good adventure, perhaps you are the adventure that we crave." She says with a grin, pouring the tattooed elf a glass of her choice.

Côlneth tilts her head at Arlynn's words, looking at the bottles a moment. "I wouldn't mind a taste of that rum," she says. "Dwurhammer? Sounds delightful!" She takes the glass once it is poured.  "You know, I've been navigator on a handful of ships over the years.  And I am quite at home on the sea and amongst all of the natural world. You all have a ship?"  She looks over at Eron. "And you, sir, are the captain?"  

Taking a swift drink of the rum, she returns to speaking to Arlynn. "Well... it was my sister I was hoping to find here. I'd heard of someone matching her description that was spotted in Saltmarsh.  That's why I'm here, but I've not found her. But I hear there was a group of elves that arrived here and headed on to Silverstand. Don't really need a ship for that, so maybe you're not the right folks."  She drinks down the rest of her drink then looks down at the table, nudging the glass back over towards Arlynn for a refill. "I am hoping to find some folks to head in that direction though." 

Fane was disappointed in Sylraeth’s departure, but would have understood.

At the feast, she would have cast comprehend languages over and over again, trying to speak and learn what she could of the lizardman tongue.

At the sight of Iuz's ship, she would have been a bit concerned, but said nothing, aware that Arlynn and Eron seem disturbed by it also.

If she believes the authorities would allow Gideon to keep the locket, she will give it back to Gideon. Let him have his memories. If she thinks the authorities would confiscate it, Fane will keep it.

After meeting with the council, she would welcome the Wicker Goat.

When the bottles of liquor are put down, the Olv is grateful and quick to give thanks. As Lankus leaves, she pushes the dwarven bottle away from her, remembering her experience with Dwarven spirits when she first arrived in town. She does pour a small glass of whiskey, but doesn't touch it. Instead, she goes back to the Book about Birds that they had found in the Keep. Currently reading about the Blue Tailed Finch, common in the Vesve Forest. "Did you know that the Blue Tailed Finch dines exclusively on venomous spiders..." she says excitedly, looking up from her book, only to realize that they have company. "Oh sorry, I was distracted. Bird fan..."

She introduces herself and welcomes the guests at the table. With a bit of internal disappointment, she puts the book into her bag. The finches will have to wait.

Fane:

"A navigator I was, aye."  Seri's response to Côlneth and Arlynn is strangely wistful before becoming animated once more, rapidly picking up momentum like a rogue wave.  "Though nearly as happy as a deckhand if given the chance to... to chase Procan's horizons.  For I believe in my heart that the Kindgom and wild glory of the Wave Father is to be found NOT in landbound halls, but upon the great swells and salt spray,  And in the deeps.  He..."

The turquoise-eyed half-elf suddenly splutters to a halt, color draining from her face as she glances anxiously around the Wicker Goat, as if realizing that she is close to touching on a partial heresy, albeit one which she as a wayward acolyte seems to believe wholeheartedly about her God.

Taking a hasty swallow of her rum to cover her discomfort, Seri appraises the wood elf and other half-elf as they speak of their own maritime experience, including as navigators.  Subconsciously, she touches the dragonfly tattoo peaking from the shoulder of her light armor.

"Procan willing, three navigators may be better than one, should our collective pride permit it.  And I would happily aid in a quest should any of you wish it, including searching for your sister, Côlneth.  I too seek a family member.  A mother I never thought to see again."  Seri sighs.

"Or at least to decipher the cryptic warning she left for me at the Temple back in Seaton when I returned from my nautical tour of duty as an acolyte.  Something important is happening at this shore of Procan's domain, though I know not what.  Yet.  Beneath the surface, it lurks, treacherous."

Seri turns to the brooding human who must be... "Captain Colborn?  No, I regret that I recall little from before I washed ashore over a decade ago.  I remember my sea elven mother only in flashes, like glints of warm sunlight filtering through a deep kelp forest.  I remember swimming with her as a child beside other Sea Elves.  Folk of other aquatic races too.  Merfolk.  Locathah.  Yet I recall not their names, and I think I would have remembered one named Oceanus.  In my voyages the past few years, we encountered merchant vessels, pirates and other privateers.  Humans, mostly.  My crewmates spoke of Sea Elves, of course.  Of Merfolk, Locathah, and wilder tales of ghost ships and sea devils, whatever those are, yet we never met any."

She suddenly becomes aware of Fane's book-based proclamation and smiles.  "Anything in there about kestrels, ospreys or cormorants?  Or gulls?"

"Yes, very common for any animals to eat venomous creatures. It's the poisonous ones they have to watch out for. But they really only eat venomous spiders?" Côlneth seems suddenly fascinated by Fane's talk about birds, but as the book is put away, the conversation moves back to other topics.

Focusing on Seri she nods. "Ah! I've been deckhand plenty myself. I am familiar with the galley as well and have served several ships as cook. It's always good to meet a fellow sailor. And a Sea Elf at that? Very interesting. I'm not sure I've ever met one in my travels!"  She raises her glass to make a toast with her but realizes it still hasn't been filled. 

When she mentions her mother, Côlneth is sympathetic. "Do you have any leads on finding your mother? The warning that was left for you? I would love to have your help with finding my sister, but we'd have to find your mother too," she says quite earnestly. "Believe it or not, I actually originally set out looking for my mother." 

Arlynn listens and looks between the two newcomers, smiling and nodding, and she keeps pouring glasses as they empty. "So howcome all these relatives are lost to you in the world, are they adventurers too mayhap?" She curiously asks Côlneth and Seri, seeming less enthused about the brief ornithology digression.