BE7's The Ghosts of Saltmarsh

The rain had followed you for three days.

Not a steady downpour, but the sort of cold coastal drizzle that seeped into cloaks, ruined costumes, and turned every mile of road into a muddy slog. The painted wagon that carried your troupe groaned and rattled with every rut, its faded banners fluttering limply in the sea wind.

Coin was running low; dangerously low.  The last village had paid in stale bread and promises. The village before that had offered lodging in exchange for a performance. Even the noble's feast in Burle had ended with the steward claiming the lord's coffers were "temporarily unavailable."  Your purses now held more copper than silver, and more hope than either.

As the road crested a final hill, the sea came into view.  Beyond gray waters and jagged rocks sat Saltmarsh.  Fishing vessels crowded the harbor. Seabirds wheeled overhead. The scent of salt, tar, fish, and woodsmoke drifted inland on the wind. It wasn't a grand city by any measure, but to desperate entertainers it looked like opportunity.  A place with taverns.  A place with sailors eager to spend their wages.  A place with merchants, fishermen, smugglers, and travelers looking for distraction from hard lives.  Most importantly, a place with people who might pay.

As your wagon rolls toward the town gates, you notice something unusual. Small knots of townsfolk gather in the streets, speaking in hushed tones. Faces are tense. More than one shopkeeper glances nervously toward the cliffs east of town.  Business should be booming in a port this size, yet many establishments appear strangely quiet.  A weathered fisherman hurries past your wagon and mutters to no one in particular:  "Another one gone. Third this month."  He spits into the mud and quickens his pace.

Moments later, a large wooden sign swings into view:

WELCOME TO SALTMARSH

Beneath it, freshly nailed and fluttering in the wind, hangs a notice:

REWARD OFFERED FOR DISCREET INVESTIGATORS. INQUIRE AT THE EMPTY NET TAVERN. PAYMENT NEGOTIABLE.

The troupe's stomachs growl.  Your coin purses feel light.  And for the first time in weeks, fortune may finally be calling.

Riding at the front of the cart, Gale stops the horse and rises slowly, stretches, and strolls over to the notice, carefully removing it, before heading around the cart to their companions.

"I cannot say if we are suited for such work, but I certainly am suited for a heavier purse", Gale opens, "And we doubtlessly shall be visiting this Empty Net Tavern regardless. Would any of you be willing to take up this flyer's offer?"

From somewhere in the back, under the tarpaulin and a heavy and threadbare cloak, Joni La’Noir pokes her head through to see the flyer Gale hands back. Dark smudges of makeup surround her eyes, and her pale horns turn around the brim of a top hat that they keep wedged firmly on her head. 

“Hmmmm. If they won’t pay us to perform, then yes. My stomach’s growling so loud I thought that my dulcimer was rusting.”

Milo perks up, looking around Gale to take a good look. 
He rubs his hand across his chin then speaks.
"Something seems amiss with the locals."  he nods to a group close by, noting their expressions then pauses and sighs. "And here I was hoping for a good stage, hot meal and maybe a pretty face or two but..."
Milo takes a quick side glance at the flyer as it passes from Gale to Joni.
"We may not have a choice, at least till the locals warm up to us." he says. smiling at his companions. 
Milo quickly moves to one side, looking frantic, hoping he hadn't sat on Isa, again.
"What do you think Isa?" he asks, looking around for the halfling.

Isa Holberry appears from behind some of their stored gear "Do not fret Milo I was just resting my eyes" Isa is a halfling that is short even for her own people. She wears a blue woolen dress with polished wooden buttons and linen stockings. On her feet are leather shoes that were in fashion a decade past. She has olive skin and chestnut brown wavy hair with eyes the color of palm leaves in summer, a vibrant green. 

She walks on over to take a look at the notice "Well as my coin purse is practically empty and we can't live on promises alone, I say yes let's put on our investigator hats"