The salt air of the port city reeks of rot and wet timber. Ben stands upon the creaking deck of a cog, his boots braced against the sway of the tide. Beside him, a grim-faced man clutches a splintered wooden cross.
Haldan
The walls are buckling, dwarf. The hermits preach of salvation, but the serfs outside the gate have only iron and hunger on their minds.
Ben
This isn't the crew I was scouting. If the port falls to this uprising, my map and my head will end up in the Black Guild’s collection.
Haldan
We weigh anchor in an hour, or we stay to feed the scavengers. What say you, barkeep?
Below the ramp, a stone is hurled, shattering against the hull with a deafening crack. A surge of shouting peasants pushes against the harbor guard, their makeshift pikes bristling like the spines of an angry beast.
Ben
I have the axes to clear a path, but is it worth spilling blood for a ship that might sink before it leaves the bay?
+ Scene Quest Added
Escape the harbor uprising
“Do I know why the people are angry?”
YES (Likely, rolled 25)
Ben spots a discarded, mud-stained proclamation pinned to a nearby crate, its wax seal broken and the ink smeared by the damp harbor air. The text details a brutal new grain tax imposed by the local magistrate, a decree that has effectively starved the port workers to line the pockets of the Black Guild.
Ben
So the hunger isn't just a rumor; the magistrate has been hoarding the winter stores to drive up prices while the city rots.
Ben
You look like you have seen a ghost, dwarf, but that paper is just the reason we are all going to die here today.