Sharps: The town itself seemed rather standard, filled with the usual peoples one would find living in such a place, yet there was a distinct lack of diversity.  The edges of the town were definitely not visible from the shoreline suggesting it was a rather large place; the large ships docked also would lend to that theory.  Yet, by and large, the town was rather singular in its composition of citizenry.  The language spoke was most certainly common though the accent you could not place to save your life.  The coinage, too, seemed both familiar and yet alien.  The alloys seemed the same...gold, silver, etc..., but the visage stamped upon it was unlike any you had ever come across before.

As far as bottle vendors, you can find a few merchants around that sell glass vessels, as well as apothecaries and the like with various substances in glass containers but as far as alcohol, the only thing you can find (nearest to the docks you were next to anyway) is a lone tavern the name of which cannot be deciphered as the sign above it is extremely weathered and neglected.

"Damnedest place, this is," Sharps says. "Almost like a dream."

He tries to actively disbelieve his eyes and use all skills to detect magic in the surroundings.

Should that fail, Sharps will take a big sigh and turn to the tavern. "I better not be payin' for a drink, only ta find out it's ghost ale or some shiite like that." He hesitates.

"Well, I would give a copper for something ta drink, even if it is ghost ale. If this is all a dream, might as well enjoy myself. Let's go see what spirit titties look like."

With a bounce in his step Sharps makes for the tavern and enters the establishment.

Despite the lack of care given the sign above the entrance, the inside is rather well lit and, for the most part, clean.  However, the presence of extra beds crammed into each corner and curve of the room was definitely something new.  A large, rather unsavory gentleman stood by the door; a permanent scowl ran the length of his face as he watches you enter.  The place itself was rather empty so finding a spot to sit was a simple matter of choosing.  A barmaid stood behind the counter wiping down several glasses.

Sharps ignores the man at the door and slides into a stool near the barmaid.

"I'll be needin' three things from ya: a whisky, the name of this place and your name, as well, if ya don't mind sharin' the information." He looks around the room. "Did ya have a bit of a sleepover here, eh?" Sharps inquires, in the nicest possible manner.
This message was last edited by the player at 14:16, Sun 01 Sept 2019.

The bartender, a stout, broad-shouldered woman, slides a glass towards you.  She towers at a massive 6'2" with arms that would make most men feel ashamed.

"The name is Javoari and you're sitting in the Broken Bilge."

The liquor is actually quite palatable considering it was a local strain with ingredients you may or may not know.

Sharps sets the glass down and orders another. "Well, Javoari, well-met. I find myself in need of a horse and tack. Any places you could recommend?

"And as a follow-up, why do you have so many sailors sleepin' in the bar every night?"

"A steed?  You are definitely new around here.  Almost no one ventures past them walls, especially for great length.  As for my sailor friends, well, the sea is even less safe."

"Well, that sounds like the beginnin' of a right scary story, and it so happens I like them stories," Sharps says, settling in.

"So, here's the thing: I'll tip ya if you can be as specific as possible with the details, and I'll tip ya again if you get all long-winded and tell me the whole story about what lives in the waters and beyond them walls. Now, take yer time and give it all to me. I love a good story, and, bein' new 'round here, you just might save me life by the telling," Sharps says, positioning himself on the bar stool so he can see both the enormous barkeep and the huge man at the door.

"A scary story, huh?  That's the understatement of the year.  Whole towns been upended, it would seem, and no one really seems to know what's going on.  In fact, the whole damn island has gone screwy.  If you ask me, it's some super dark magic.  Probably from those damn goblins."

She looks around the almost entirely empty room and leans forward, as if some monumental secret were hidden behind her lips.

"Can't really give you detail if there isn't much to give in the first place.  Beyond the walls?  Well, the rest of the island but more importantly, it would seem death is the new stock and trade out them gates.  We haven't even seen a trade caravan or merchant cart in...oh...probably 3 or 4 months now."

Leaning backward to stand straight again, she pulls an anonymous bottle from the shelf and pours herself a small glass of whatever the golden hued liquid was.

"As for the sea, well, there's nothing really to tell.  Ships went out, never came back.  Pieces would wash up.  Same with bodies, well...parts of anyway."

She pauses and raises the small glass into the air; her head lowers briefly.  Recomposing herself, she downs drink in one swallow; her face contorting for several moments after.

"Then we've got this wave of murders in town as well as goblins and whatever else they dragged along hounding our gates.  Add to all of that, some of the older captains, the ones that sailed just before the fog set in, claim that we're not near the mainland."

She slams the empty glass down.

"Need more detail?  Ask the guards or one of the dead.  I work for my money."

Sharps slams his glass down, too, in solidarity with the bartender.

"Work you do, indeed, and that story was every bit of what I had hoped it would be. A fine telling, that, and worth what I promised." He settles up for the whisky and the tips.

"And I'll take your advice, head out to speak with some guards or whatszit. One last inquiry: if a man who was really good at killin' goblins was to seek employment doin' the same, to whom would he make inquiry? And, in which direction could that person be found?" Sharps ends, with a smile and a nod of appreciation.

Taking the coins and glass she points absently towards the door...

"Another fool who laughs at death, I see.  Ask for Captain Rasmir.  He's usually by the main gate to the north."

With a slight nod of the head Sharps takes his leave, paying no attention to the huge guard at the door. He walks out and decides to stroll along the docks area as he makes his way north, listening to conversations and trying to piece together what is going on in this crazed port town that seems to be drifting away from the mainland and into a sea of trouble.

He fills his recently-acquired bottle with water, then buys a skewer of meat and nibbles at it while walking, to make his presence less remarkable and more commonplace. He is listening to the complaints of the people, sailors and common-folk alike, as he makes his way to the north gate.

Listening closely as you strolled through the town, you found most conversations appeared normal.  Yet, something in their respective tone was off.  There was a sense of anxiety or discomfort even as they discussed such mundane acts as the evenings meal plan.  However, in hushed tones you would hear whispers of murders in the night and unknown demons plaguing the lands.  To be fair, it all sounded rather normal for a small town.

Making your way to the northern most gates of the town you find a standard stone built archway with large oaken doors held shut by a large plank and several bolts.  On top of the wall archers can be seen pacing about in their duties while a handful of soldiers busy themselves with daily, mundane tasks...oiling armor, feeding the horses, etc.  Peering around, however, you begin to notice that perhaps only a small number might actually be soldiers.  Many look young...far too young to be serving in any military capacity.

As you approach the small training area, from one side of the stone archway, a door opens and a grizzled looking gentleman steps out.  His head is shaved down close to the scalp, revealing a plethora of scars.  His face shows signs of age and wear and his beard, while long and thick, is showing heavy signs of white throughout and a large section is bare; a large visible scar covering the patch.  His armor is simply leather, old and tired yet clearly polished and taken care of, despite the numerous holes and patches.

Sharps approaches slowly. "Well, you have the look of one who has earned the title 'Captain.' I was advised to seek out a Cap'n Rasmir, and if you are he then I am pleased. Sharps is the name an' killin' is my game. I'm seekin' a contract to kill goblins an' such. Barkeep said you were the man ta see about such work."

The grizzled warrior eyes you with the studied gaze of a soldier.  When he speaks it roars like a wild dogs bark.

"Aye, that's me and you look to be yet another unknown person who appeared in the town, about right?  Listen, things here aren't what you're used to.  The things beyond these walls, well...dangerous doesn't even begin to describe it.  As it is I've already had a party go missing out in those damned woods.  You want the work?  We got plenty of it.  No contracts here, we simply pay a fair wage to those who work with us.  Times are hard my friend..."

He fans his arms around him, turning his head to either side indicating the troops around him.

"...and beggars can't be choosers."

Sharps nods as he looks about. "Aye, those are true words. Times are hard, it seems, from the look of your worthy troops," he says, without any disrespect, nodding his head toward a particularly young lad. "An' beggars can not be choosers, also true, but I am not here beggin' so I can afford ta be choosey. My talents would be wasted pulling watch on the wall or standing guard at the door to some buildin'.

"So I'll consider your offer, Captain. I have only just arrived an' need ta see the city before I decide where I might do the most good. Your men will receive my aid in fightin' the things that go bump in the night, if they and I are nearby to trouble. Who knows- I might just find my way back here, before long." Sharps shrugs a little. "I feel more at home in an encampment than I do in a noisy old inn, anyway."

After any further conversation Sharps walks along the wall, away from the Bilge, seeing how far the barrier goes and if there are any signs of recent fighting, murder or mayhem.

"Listen my friend..."

The Captains voice seem to soften slightly as he spoke.

"...hard barely begins to describe how it has been.  In fair warning, find some place well lit and full of people before nightfall.  I don't believe in curses, but something dark has taken hold of this place.  Keep your guard."

The wall itself more than likely encircled much of the town.  Running to the east, you could only assume that the wall ran into the ocean, judging from the curvature of the shoreline you appeared on.  To the west, the wall seemed to continue running as far as the town itself.

Sharps nods at the man, his face serious. "Aye, I will be takin' that advice, Captain. You may see me back before the sun sets. You think on it, will ya. Consider what might need doin' that your troops are stretched too thin to handle."

Sharps parts with the man in respect.

--

Deciding that the walk to the eastern edge of the wall is futile, Sharps makes his way back into the center of town. He stops and buys a juice drink from a vendor and asks if there is a silversmith in town.

If so he makes his way there, always listening to people's conversations while never seeming to be eavesdropping. If no silversmith operates in this town he ambles down to the docks to mingle with sailors, ears always on alert.

A silversmith does still operate within the town, though his shop had seen better days.  Very few wares graced the walls and display cases.

Sharps looks about as he sidles on up to the shopkeep.

"Good day, and well-met. Apologies for being brief, but I am looking for a blade made from silver or with a silvered edge. Might there be something like that hidden among your many treasures?" he asks, already suspecting he knows the answer. "In the alternative, might you have silvered arrowheads or crossbow bolt ends?"

Should the shopkeep have nothing of interest, Sharps will linger and ask, "I have been told of some killings in the town recently. It's nasty business, I hear, and as one who would not like bein' dead I am hoping to avoid that. What can you tell me about these murders?" he asks. "Help me stay safe, mate."

"I have nothing of the sort on hand...not exactly a huge rush on such expensive things but they can certainly be fashioned, if that's your fancy."

He lowers his head slightly and leans forward, as if what he speaks is forbidden.

"Nasty business is what it all is.  These ain't your regular ol' murders and the numbers keep rising.  No one is really certain but I think we all agree it's these damn mists that brought whatever it is here.  No one I know has even seen anything but the homes, the places these people were found...well I've never inspected myself but I hear tell that they are absolute horror shows.  Blood on the walls.  Bodies ripped apart.  As I said, nasty business."

Sharps nods, very serious. "You've been right helpful. An'I see that your place is sufferin' from a lack of customers, what with the mists an' all. Here's a few silvers for your trouble." Sharps pulls the coins but keeps them in his hand. "Now, how many hours do you estimate before the sun sets here? And, if I was in the investigatin' mood, where would I for sure find some of these houses what been the scenes of attacks."

"Dark would still be some time off, good sir.  Plenty of sunlight ahead before this day is out.  As for the houses, well, they shouldn't be too hard to find.  Several such homes now sit vacant; can't say I blame anyone for not rushing to buy.  The guards could give you a rundown, if need be, but there's one I know for certain just down the way a spell.  Old apothecary and his wife got done in.  A rather ugly scene from what the rumor mill tells."

Sharps leaves the coins for the silversmith as promised. "You are a wise man, so here's a bit of advice you do not need: don't be a hero. Stay in when ya should be in. If the world turns the right way, I'll see ya on the morrow."

He leaves the shop and makes for the scene of the crime, not necessarily walking in a straight line to get there. He watches to see if he is followed, making abrupt turns around and walking in broad circles, using different techniques.

Upon arriving at the house he does not approach at first. He looks to see if anyone seems to be watching the house. When he finishes he just walks past the building at first, noting all that he can.