April 1st - Not a joke.

[whyemmdee]

A sailor sits by his lonesome at the Krak des Roses, served by the good man Jodfry. Nursing a wine cheaper than water, the sailor attempts numerous times to strike up a conversation with the Master of Wines, but the latter proves no good company to someone penniless and smelling of strange smoke, old salt and cheap spices. At long last he instead turns to you for company. Within minutes, the sailor's silvered tongue uncoils and enraptures not just you, but an audience nearby. He speaks with the practiced cadence and charismatic confidence of a man whose only purpose in life up until this point seems to have been to meet with you, here, tonight, solely so that he could tell you these words.

Do you listen?

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Strange Sailor: The Sea of Pearls holds many mysteries. Rare ruins lost below her azure and emerald waters and terrors of the dark even lower beneath where sunlight finds no purchase. Dark things lay there, anchored and awaiting, darkly dreaming. Furious things there slumber with too many eyes and too many teeth. But those are not the tales to be told to you tonight. No, instead, I shall spin you another yarn.

Strange Sailor:  Tell me... have you heard of the Dead Siren? They say that the black ship is so fast on the open waters that it may outpace even death itself. Three-hundred years have her black sails terrorized the shine of our seas, helmed by the captain Liva Trazant.  Ceaseless, they call her. Undying. Immortal.

Strange Sailor: And her treasure, you ask? Stolen from a sultan ages ago, but said to never have been spent. Which means it must still be out there, somewhere...

At that point the sailor smiles to show salt still lingering his lower lip, even so far away from the nearest port. He pulls out what appears to be an ancient fragment of a map and holds it out for you for you to take a better look, but only for a moment: he seems quite possessive of it. You catch a glimpse of the name of an island, somewhere amidst the Sea of Pearls. Luca Ferra. The sailor turns to face you, catching your gaze and holding it with his own. He raises an eyebrow as crooked as his smile.

Strange Sailor: So. Will you help me look?

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