The Southern Coast: Salt, Smoke, and Secrets
Where land meets sea, fortune and folly walk hand in hand. The ports brim with merchants and scoundrels alike, their trades oiled by silver, steel, or something far less tangible. In the alleys and backrooms, whispers hold more power than coin, and a single promise can be worth more than a blade—if one knows the right hands to shake. Beyond the city’s reach, the wilderness looms, untamed and waiting, sheltering those who prefer their dealings far from prying eyes. Here, on the edge of civilization, the tides shift fast, and those who cannot keep their footing are swept away.
The docks creak beneath heavy boots, the scent of salt and spilled rum thick in the air. Laughter and steel ring out in equal measure, deals made and broken in the space of a breath. A man leans against a weatherworn post, eyes sharp beneath the shadow of his tricorn. "This place’ll eat you alive, stranger," he muses, flicking a coin between his fingers. "Unless, of course, you learn to bite first."
The candle flickers, its light barely holding back the suffocating gloom. The ancient tome before you is heavy, its pages brittle beneath your fingertips. A voice cuts through the silence—measured, knowing, laced with something unreadable. "Understanding is not granted. It is earned." The air feels heavier as you turn the page. You begin to wonder… is it the book that watches you, or something else entirely?
"Payment first." The figure leans against a crate, fingers drumming on the damp wood. "You don’t trust me?" A smirk, the flicker of firelight against salt-worn faces. "Not in the slightest." The pouch is tossed, caught, weighed with a knowing glance. A nod. The deal is struck. In the cove, business is simple—pay, trade, survive.
The underbrush shivers, though no wind stirs the leaves. "Did you hear that?"
"It’s just the jungle." Yet the feeling lingers—something unseen, just out of reach. Watching. Waiting. A flicker of movement, golden eyes catching the light before vanishing into the shadows. By the time you turn, whatever was there is already gone.
Nice ship. Yours?" The voice is warm, friendly—too friendly. "For now." The sailor doesn’t stop moving, eyes scanning the crowd. Behind them, laughter rises over the sound of coins exchanging hands. Every smile here has teeth.
"Looks peaceful." The sailor squints at the tree line, just beyond the curve of the bay. "That’s how it gets you." The guide spits into the sand, eyes never leaving the jungle. Birdsong echoes. Then silence. The trees wait. So does something else.
The sea takes, the city cheats, and the forest lies—only the cunning survive.
