Hear ye, hear ye!

A salty old sailor drank his beer from a frothing mug as he paused. He had a sizable crowd gathered round him, perhaps even twenty, all with attentive ears. Those with sense enough to pay attention knew that news was a valuable commodity, and knew the old dog had quite a bit of it. He drained his drink and set it on the bar, confident that someone would buy him another.

Someone always did, after all, if they wanted more news. He glanced this way and that, and hushed his tone for a moment.

“A neighborhood in Knife’s Edge is no more, friends, and let me tell you, it was not the work of normal men. A fire ravaged part of the city, and went on burning even when the water was brought. Word is there’s a powerful wizard cast an unquenchable fire on it. The Sway say it’s not magic business, but I says they’ve got their witch-hunters ‘round and snooping.”

His audience looked on. A wizard in Knife’s edge? The Inquisitors investigating? A few of them knew all too well that to an Inquisitor, everyone was suspect. The old sailor began anew, after sipping from his mug of course.

“News from the Tular Plains also, friends. I ain’t seen it myself, but there’s talk of beasts and monsters roaming in that evil land. They say, for they always say of the folk there, that they serve the Queen of Exiles. Heard it in Noria, I did, and let me tell you there’s an impressive bounty on the heads of these beasts.”

The sailor’s voice lightened and he took another drink. “Ah! But you didn’t come for just the bad news, did’ye? Lemme give ye a snippet o’ the good stuff. Those elves in Raieria say they found themselves a way to fight the plaguelands and fix what the Forgotten One did.”

“Though I suppose that’s nothing compared to what ye’ve all got to deal with here, eh?” He asked, knowing that the boom in the merchant economy of Corone came also with an increase in piracy, which drove the price up on every commodity the island imported. The boom had also forced cities to build new ports, as many ships saw their cargo spoil while waiting to dock and sell. There was a long pause as the seaman finished his drink and obtained more. He grinned.

“And, for the kicker of the week, friends, I will tell you a secret. Call it thanks for blessing me with such fine drink.”

The crowd leaned in a bit as he glanced around.

“A star fell in Faillien. Bright as the sun, it was, fast as anything I’d ever seen, I saw it pass right over the Zailea mountains and land somewhere past there. The entire island is in an uproar and they say there’s a king’s ransom in it for whoever can find the pieces first.” He smiled broadly before draining his glass. “Thought about doing it m’self, but I don’t think these old bones can handle the desert. Well! Glad to speak to ya, lads, and glad ya quenched my thirst, but I must be off!”

With that, he was gone out of the tavern and into the night, no doubt back to his boat to sleep off his drunkenness. Perceptive eyes turned toward the board to the side of the bar, where more formal news was posted. There was a new paper, not creased or wet with beer. It read:

Illios Silbermond; Director of Archives, Chief Librarian at Ankhas,
Coranzen Gitzwig, Director of Ancient Texts & Lore at the Alerian Academy of Sciences,

Hereby is a bounty placed on the recovery of “The Forms of the Soul” which was stolen from the library Vaults at Ankhas. The text reputably is one of the foremost texts written by the legendary Alerian Omareth Silbermond regarding Phayā Angol, a text that many believe holds the secrets of how to restore the plague lands to their former state. The scribe working the matter, one Quave Austrink under the guidance of the two directorates, and ambassador Faust Annehmen, were injured during the theft, but show signs that they will recover.

The individual responsible for the theft is described as being a dark skinned human, of average height, solidly built, with black eyes and hair. No other distinguishing marks were given. Regarding the text however, it is a tome of goodly thickness, bount between plates of interlocking blacksteel, with the title stamped in silversteel on spine and covers, whose protective runes ensure the pages cannot be removed or damaged through tare, fire, water, or inks.

Any information leading to the capture of this invaluable tome is worth five hundred sovereigns. The thief himself, dead or alive, is worth seven hundred sovereigns, and the safe return of the tome will be worth one thousand sovereigns.