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Letter to Bad Bigby, left in the Crone

The scrawled and hurried nature of this script is concurrent with the rushed, urgent way in which Clarion's speech is usually delivered. The parchment is old and seems to have been used as a campaign flyer. The note is scrawled on its back.

Bigbers,

Let me tell you a whit more about the deal. It's simple. I ain't got no silver tongue to be handling a group of thirty mercenaries, and neither do you, and neither does nobody, or they would be. But what we can do, is round up as many of us sellswords as we can, into a union of sorts, and then sell our services, bound by contract to the highest bidder, for a set period of time, cartel-like. Given that the Spellguard and Seekers been dying to get a shot at each other, if we can get, say, twenty or so strong, able-bodied and trained fellows in with us, I'd say we'd be worth a good pot of gold, for a month or two.

Get back to me,

Gelsig

Bigby reads the message and eats it so that no one else will know its secrets.

Sig-

I know a guy. Jeomar. Red and black armor. Uses a axe and wears a spiky sort a helm. Probably stays at the Bitch.

Bigby

Sig-

I know a dame. Rose. Red hair, red armor and axe. Big. Stays at the Bitch.

Bigby Woof

Sig-

I know a guy. Halfman. Doisur. Works at the Bitch.

Bigby

Sig-

I know a guy. Myre. Wizard. Makes potions. Stays at the Bitch. Leave me word.

Bigby