Chapter Two: The Hippocampus on the Cracked Lintel

The fisher seems somewhat taken aback by the offers of coin, even as they accept the payment in their small, gloved hand. "Oh...I assure you, this isn't necessary...ah...thank you."

Everybody ready to head out?

Green leader, standing by.

So, the fisher heard Mordred mention Zora Kells, which in retrospect, was unwise. Perhaps they are just a weird little fisherperson, but I do not trust them, and I am thinking that they have at least a connection to the Six-Pointed Crown. I'm afraid our little ruse to trick the men that Zangua and Shamush were supposed to meet is going to be revealed, but honestly, I don't have any ideas other than to go ahead with it as planned.

I'm not seeing a post from Shamush since 12/24; if he doesn't resurface we're going to retcon that he wandered off to make his own fortune at some point during the night.

You bid farewell to the fisher and head off southwestward toward the village. By mid-afternoon, Zangua is able to point to a cluster of buildings in the distance, near a large pond at the edge of the marsh. Your destination.

Soon after, you reach a berm that heads to the village. To your left, two skiffs move across the surface of the pond, piloted by children with fishing nets, who watch you intently as you pass by.

The village inn is a multi-story thing that looks to have been rebuilt and expanded and added-on to many times over the years, and extends out into the pond on stilts, much like the fisher's hut, with a dock to which a few rowboats and skiffs are tied. The only other building of note, back behind the inn, is an octagonal wooden building, probably a shrine or meeting-hall or most likely both, with a sagging roof. You count about a dozen houses. There are some low hills and stands of trees to the north, past the village, and beyond that is the main road.

A few wandering chickens scatter from your path as the party approaches the village. A young woman peers out from a high window in the inn, watching, then ducks back inside. Near the octagonal building, a man is attempting some sort of repairs on a cart wheel.

Zangua recalls his earlier visit here. The nearest entrance to the inn leads to a general store of sorts; from there a hallway leads left to a tavern room which opens up to the dock. A strong yeasty odor wafting on the breeze reminds him of the ales brewed in the back warrens of the inn and the name of the village: Beerpool.

Zangua finds the shelves much as he did the last time he was here: lots of fishing and boating supplies, travel provisions, jars of fish sauce, bags of spent grain, and the like. Same shopkeeper as before, too: a bald man of about sixty with jowls like a tracking dog's. He nods at Zangua's entry and mutters something that was probably "good afternoon." If he recognizes him from before, he doesn't show it.

Mordred, meanwhile, searches the octagonal building. The young man with the cart stops his work to watch him. The building is simply made and very old, with visible repairs here and there. Lichen and moss creep up the sides. The entrance, a set of plain wooden double doors, faces the pond; behind the building is a large plot of land with a low fence full of plants and small fruit trees, a community garden from the looks of it. A gray goat stands with his head over the fence, chewing on the leaves of a sprawling shrub. Nearby, from one of the houses to the west, Mordred can hear the tink-tink of a metalworker at his trade.

On Mordred's second pass around the building the man with the cart touches his hat and says, "Hello, stranger." No sign of the crown can be seen on the building, as far as Mordred can tell.

The octagonal building almost certainly serves a dual function as a meeting-hall and shared house of worship for whatever gods hold sway here, such buildings are common to villages in Northern Bload. As such, it would be open to the public at all times.

Here's a rough, not-100%-to-scale map of the immediate area. There are more houses past those you can see on the map.



That arrow indicates the direction the party came from.