The Scarlet Knuckle

There is a foulness most establishments can only dream to attain, a richness of character that stains the most seasoned walls and brings to mind the worst representations of the lower strata of society. Depending on your point of view, Scarlet Knuckle is all the worst and all the best in quality for a proper tavern in the Admiral's Fen. Past the heavy, oaken doors of the 2-story establishment, the miasma of smells and filth can be overwhelming for those not from the area. But then again, the stench of the swamp is waiting just outside like a drunk collapsed on your doorstep in a puddle of his own vomit. Scattered amongst the round tables of the common room, the denizens are dock workers, most coming off a day-lighter and ready to drink or gamble their wages in one of the more notorious taverns in Admiral's Fen.

There are dice games, assorted card games ranging from Rook to a clutch of older men in a corner table with a Harrow deck for an ancient game of Towers. 

Amid the stink and the drink and the laughter and the curses there is no shortage of weaponry. Short-swords hang openly along with cudgels and daggers, a rusty cutlass or two on the hips of bravados, over in the corner a crossbow leans against one table where three men and a Halfling play a game of cards. Even the five serving girls carry knives with the history among them for taking a finger or two from those men unwilling to guard themselves from straying. So being unprepared for a fight is frowned upon.

The proprietor is a particularly foul-tempered dwarf, his hair and beard the deep colors of flame to match. Those outside his hearing call him Outhouse, not for the unfortunate face Torag had forged at his anvil, but for the rancid odors wafting from his curse-ridden mouth. His given name is Rivens Cogsetter and his best friend is the heavy Ash, iron-banded cudgel at his hip he calls Bruiser. That weapon receives all the affection the surly tavern owner can manage to squeeze out of his blackened heart. All his other emotions dwell within the till behind the bar. It’s not in the black, he makes sure there’s red on the floor.

Anything strike your fancy?  Well, if you survive the night, maybe we can talk business.

The Halfling's Tale

Safe aboard the Lamprey, a modestly sized galleon out of Korvosa, Beckett and his mentor - Lord Valdur Bromathan - find themselves among friends when they learn of the ship's Halfling contingent and their worship of Sarenrae.  As the last hours of their journey unfold, cleric and student lead the halflings in a sermon to welcome the dawn. But in the light of the Dawnflower, Beckett comes to understand the less than fair contract that binds the attendees to the Lamprey and her captain.  After careful deliberation, Beckett accepts the request of Linkah to aid the halflings in buying out their contract.

But this means journeying to the darkened alleys of the Admiral's Fen.  A home to vagabonds, cutthroats and rascals that could put Korvosa to shame.  Linkah requires that the young Inquisitor protect him as he delivers something of great value.  What that object is, only time and a watchful eye will tell...

Of Storm and Sky

Gozreh is a fickle god.  The storm and sky answer his call, providing both gentle breeze and gusting torrent by turns.  Upon his winds the gull and hawk can take flight or be smashed against the rocks should his temper flare.  Yet there are many adherents to the god who existed long before the skies above. They cast their lots to the sky and the land nourished below by the rain and the sun peaking behind cloud.

Deep within the great expanse of the Verduran Forest, Lavios Daleborn grew up under the wisdom of loving parents and a village dedicated to the of nature and sky.  But into this village a storm of unimaginable ferocity blew, bringing the sword and ax and fire with it.  The young Lavios saw his father felled, and his mother and fellow villagers taken by the bandits who saw the village as one more obstacle to be burned.

The fire of Gozreh's anger swirled in his core.  Armed by with his father's sword and the wisdom of a village elder, Lavios set his shoulders to the wind.  Broken and humbled, all that remained in the young man was vengeance and the desire to see his mother safe.  His prayers for wisdom and strength cast to the winds of his god, Lavios assumed the mantle of Inquisitor and departed for Cassomir.  The bandits, branded each with a tattoo of a stag holding a horn in his mouth, were going to the port city with the goal to find passage to Absalom.

Here and there, in passing farm houses or an occasional traveler, Lavios has heard rumors of a group of rough characters.  Rumor of the same tattoo and the proclivities of kidnapping.  The larger mass of this band of half-castes and filth kept to the clearings and the smaller roads off the main.  But on occasion, they do sent smaller groups into towns for supplies.  For the most part, they pay , intimidating sundry shops to lower their prices.  But one tale unfolds a battering of a blacksmith in Glimmervale a few days past.  The blacksmith, a well-muscled man of stout frame called Reph, said they accosted him late in the evening.  A group of eight ruffians roused him from his sleep and set about pummeling him until he agreed to show a string of horses.  But in Reph's account Lavios has garnered the first draught of solid information in weeks.  The group had wanted horse shoes better suited for soft ground.

His connection to nature told Lavios that this meant the bandits sought the refuge of the Blackwood Swamp.  An insane prospect given what the young Inquisitor knew of the place.  But with regular patrols along the main road, it made sense.  Could Lavios intercept them before they reached Cassomir?

Lavios has sought passage on a lone cart traveling for Cassomir along the causeway, the main road through the Blackwood. It is here where our story continues...

The Coming Dawn

Beckett Foxglove is a man haunted by a singular nightmare. It hounds his sleep and gives only obscured hints to the event that gave it life. But he does not let the horror define his future.  Instead, time and trial have seen him commit unwavering submission to the cause of Dawnflower.  He is an Inquisitor of Sarenrae, his life dedicated to the downfall of anything that would shade the dawn from the eyes of the innocent. 

But still the nightmare of his past follows and goads.  The terrors in the dark of sleep still stalk, but the night always gives way to the dawn.  And his fears give way before the iron will to see his duty through. 

Beckett Foxglove sails with his mentor to Cassomir, the largest port of Taldor.  There he will find passage on the Prince Rhineholdt bound for Absalom, City at the Center of the World.