A storm has closed the harbor for the night and the Drowned Lantern is packed with stranded sailors, smugglers, and at least one person who isn't who they claim
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A storm has closed the harbor for the night and the Drowned Lantern is packed with stranded sailors, smugglers, and at least one person who isn't who they claim to be. you has just come in out of the rain.
The door bangs open and the storm shoves its way in behind you: rain, lamp-smoke, the reek of tar and wet wool. Forty heads turn. Forty heads turn back. Behind the bar, a broad woman with a grey-streaked braid doesn't look up from the ledger she's writing in. She finishes the line, blots it, and only then lifts her eyes.
Chain's up. Nothing sails till morning.
She sets a clay cup on the bar without asking and pours something dark into it. That one's on the house, on account of you looking like a drowned cat. The next one you pay for.
She leans on her cane and studies you the way a quartermaster studies a bill of lading. So. What brought you to Saltreach in weather like this?
