It was the summer of 844 when I first set out on my grand adventure. A year prior and at the bright eyed age of 22 I had won a talent competition in the newly built city of Denmor. The prize was a small fortune, a large estate in the upper district, and all the fame and notoriety that came with it. I spent nearly a year researching what kind of adventure I should embark on when I stumbled upon a poem in the library that caught my fancy. It was none other than Dominick Alazias' poem titled "The Salt Sparrow Heart". It was then I asked the librarian, a rather cute and meek pale woman with long brown hair and glasses, if I could find any other of Alazias' work. Unfortunately, much of his work had disappeared with the passing of time, to include the book that was meant to accompany the poem of the same name. Distraught, but certainly not defeated, I redoubled my research and came across a journal entry written by a great, but now dead author that touched on the story itself. The poem, along with the journal entry, is transcribed below.
The Salt Sparrow Heart
By Domonic Alazia
Have you heard the tales of the Salt Sparrow Heart
They say great wisdom found there will impart
To those that journey, and find it at their end
But great troubles will come to those that start
For through great hardship you shall transcend
And claim the wisdom of the Salt Sparrow Heart
But learn this caution, for those that seek
To gaze among the valley comes with great cost
Follow the cries of the winding creek
Find the cave adorned in frost
Tangle the beast and his dark art
Pass into the Valley of the Salt Sparrow Heart
Beauty and grace, come to those that claim
Peril and danger, the ultimate quest
From then on all learned my name
After the great journey I took to the west
“I remember reading Domonic Alazias' story accompanying the poem, and how grand it all seemed to me as a child. I think back on all the time I spent dreaming up what it all actually looked like, I wanted to see the cave that the so-called beast dwelled in, surround myself with the hallowed bones of its dark arts. And how I longed to hear the soft cries of the Salt Sparrow as they playfully followed the winding creek, all while they had to watch out for Jappers in the waters. Alas, as I face my 64th year on this plane, I don’t think I will ever find the Salt Sparrow Heart, part of me thinks it might not even exist. But undoubtedly, the name Dominic Alazia first began to appear with that poem. All there exists today is a few scattered records and ship logs that indicate the journey did happen. The problem always was figuring out what he meant by west. West of what? Damn you Alazia! Not even in your book did you mention where you started off! Though I suppose if one finds 6 islands of all similar appearance, then surely one has found where to start looking.”
* Excerpt from the journal of Lucas Ellenhar, author of The Mystery of the Salt Sparrow Heart
With the mystery before me, I knew I had to continue my research and see if I could find a shred of evidence that someone might have overlooked. So I searched, but alas, not a single clue worth mentioning ever cropped up. From there it was a shot in the dark but I knew in my own heart The Valley of Salt Sparrow existed, and I felt like I would find it if I only searched. I tried to find a copy of The Mystery of the Salt Sparrow Heart for myself, but again, just like many other books, it was lost to the passing of time, that or the library in Denmor just didn’t have a copy.
It took less than a month to find a suitable ship that would take me on the journey. It was a dwarven ship that happened to port into Denmor during the annual festival celebrating the rebuilding of the city. The Captain of the ship, a stocky sea dwarf named Brindle Buckwater sat down with me and we discussed the mystery and everything that surrounded it. Brindle was a rough looking man who had seen many years beneath the hot sun. He had a large red nose, rum stained lips, and an eyepatch over his left eye.
After hearing my desire, he expressed his own interest in accompanying me and even more to my delight, he and his crew were all seasoned sailors. As he said, "all we be needing is mercenaries for protection." Like most Sea Dwarfs, he had a very gruff way of speaking, often leaving out words where they were not truly needed.
I had figured his crew of sea dwarfs would be enough but he was adamant that he would prefer the added protection. So I acquiesced. I told him to find some suitable hires over the next month while I narrowed down exactly where the voyage would take us. It didn't take long to decide. After reviewing everything and speaking it over with Brindle, I decided our best bet was among the islands that surrounded the continent of Vurr. After all, it is believed that Dominic Alazia lived in Aredas at the time which is just due east from Vurr. For those that do not know, Vurr is said to be a perilous place. One devoid of any human touch, but where it lacks in humanity, it makes up for in sheer beauty, or so they say. There is the rumor of ancient dwarves who reside in its untamed and vast jungles, but if it is true, it is not something I was able to confirm with my own eyes.
Our course was set, and the ship was being prepped when Doubt first crossed the calendar. It wasn’t long until we set a date of Doubt 14th to set sail. We were set to leave first thing in the morning, but as chance would have it, we left the night of the 13th. The mercenaries that Brindle hired seemed to have much to do with that. They arrived before nightfall and greeted me as peasants do a king. I hold no Doubt that they were a little star struck upon our first meeting. Some even held their tongues in my presence and only gave me their name. I was impressed that my notoriety from winning the first rebuilding festival had garnered me such respect. Much to my surprise, there were even a few women among the band of mercenaries we hired, something I told Brindle was a must. They were 6 in number and they seemed worth their skills. I took the time to learn their names after they sat around and enjoyed some free verse poetry I have transcribed next.
The beauty of the sea is one to be contained
So be it for me this beauty I shall claim
The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.
Far be it to shy of me to refrain
Of this great beauty that I shall attain
Oh yes, this quest it I profess
Thy ultimate crucible, my magnificent test
Though I jest, I jest galore
Treasures and glory are what I aim for
Their applause is one I will not forget. It was headed by a young treasure hunter named Solana, who despite clearly being less experienced in combat then the rest, was a welcome addition to the crew. The second mercenary was Amara, a pale and quiet woman who wielded strange powers that I was sure would get us taken in by Scrydell Enforcers if we were not about to push out to sea.
There was an elven man, or at least I think so, his name was one that I had trouble saying, you know how those elves are, all S’s and L’s as far as the hand can write. It was something like Silaraeon, and he, like Sorin, another of the mercs, was a Arcanist, tried and true. Though he made it quite clear that his magic was far more wise and ancient than those found at any academy. He mentioned he was from Neamos on several occasions, and though I had trouble believing he ventured from the land of fey and forgotten gods, I had no reason not to trust him.
Among their crew was a gnome from Windome named Alrick with a strangely phallic last name. Captain Brindle was very pleased to have him aboard. According to him, “There ain’t no beatin Windome Sails!” And after making the journey to Vurr, it was plain why. Last was a quiet man, of little words, more suited to taking action. His name was Bataar and he seemed to come from a monastery on Aredas, or so I believe, he was very vague and never in a chatty mood.
After a brief introduction where I dazzled them with the news I was in fact the son of the Pirate King, Ouran Auslandin, they headed back to town to gather supplies and prepare. While they walked the streets I sat in the captain's cabin with Brindle and discussed the potential dangers we were likely to face.
“We best hope the envy of other Redguar don't run too deep,” he told me as we drank and smoked our pipes. I, of course, was drinking a fine brandy from Zenidar, aged from 788 and infused with arcane so that every sip was at the perfect temperature. Meanwhile, Brindle lapped up his double sized tankard of his homemade Rum. Sea Dwarfs were masters at brewing while on ship. They seldom visited land unless they needed supplies, and there were supposedly large flotillas out at sea that acted as moving cities where the Sea Dwarves grouped up and traded amongst themselves.
“And why is that?” I asked. “Were there several parties of mercenaries who were eager for the job?” Brindle gave a half nod.
“Just one other one,” he replied. He stroked his large dark beard and lost himself in thought. “A group headed by a half-elf named Rueon seemed to have an ax to grind when it came to the party we hired.”
“Let us hope it doesn’t come back to bite us,” I said before I took in a long drawl of my elegant pipe. It was handcrafted here in Denmor using Jorgfinn horn and every drawl was a calm and soothing comfort. It produced the smell of marigold with every puff, and the smoke only lingered for a moment before completely disappearing. A feat only achievable because of the Arcane sigils that were engraved along the side.
“Aye,” he replied and did the same to his own crude wooden pipe. Acrid black smoke billowed from his lips and it was clear he hadn’t cleaned his pipe of grime in quite some time. It was nasty, but I endured it the best I could. We sat in silence for a while longer as we both drank and smoked. After a few moments Brindle spoke again. “Supposedly the crew we hired tangled with One-Tusk Tolgar, though by all accounts he got away and they lost one of their own in the process.”
“One-Tusk Tolgar?” I was unfamiliar with the name. Having spent most of my time planning this expedition I wasn’t caught up on current events. “Is he some kind of criminal?”
“Aye, a pirate,” Brindle replied. His face took on a slight pink hue and I could tell he was bothered. His hand shook slightly as it held his cup and his movements became more deliberate and unnatural as if something heavy was weighing on his mind.
“And you have some kind of history with this vagabond?” I politely asked.
“You could say that,” answered Brindle after a momentary silence. “Remember how I told you I sailed the Line of Sorrow before?”
“How could I forget, it was one of the first things you revealed when I hired you.” Brindle reached into his coat pocket and placed a large broken tusk on the table. It was white and yellow and the tip was stained a dark red with blood that had dried long ago.
“Back then he was just called Tolgar the Terrible,” Brindle brought his hand to his eyepatch. “And I had both peepers.”
“I see,” I replied. “So then you seek some kind of vengeance?”
“Only if I cross paths with him again,” Brindle told me. “Though, if we are sailing the Line of Sorrow, that might just happen. I assume you know the saying ‘Sailing between the Cyclops and the South Sea’?”
“I have heard it a few times before,” I replied before quickly adding, “If memory serves it denotes a certain amount of danger.”
“Aye, it means no good options. The Cyclops is a nasty Deshok who roams the sea with a fleet of pirates who rival even the Pirate King’s fleet. He controls the waters just north of the Line of Sorrow and has his men patrol it to grab up smugglers trying to avoid the Denmor Navy.” Brindle had a thousand yard stare, it was clear he was remembering his past adventure and the troubles he came across. “And you know what happens to those that cross the Line of Sorrow, don’t ye?”
“You enter into Her domain,” I replied. I, of course, was referring to the Remnant of Misery.
“Good on you not saying her name,” replied Brindle. Invoking the name of a Remnant was considered a danger, it's as if you are calling them to you, but with her specifically it was considered a grave error to invoke it while out at sea. Even though we were ported in Denmor, the fact we were touching water was enough of a reason to avoid it. “Not many have crossed the Line of Sorrow and lived to tell the tale, I sure haven’t. I would much rather take our chances with a Deshok ship than face those black waters.”
“Well, hopefully we are not faced with such a difficult decision,” I replied. We ended our conversation there. Brindle headed below deck to look over our supplies, and I headed out to the deck.
The night pressed on for a few hours and as I counted the stars from the bow of the ship, quite a commotion could be heard from town. A score of navy sailors spewed out from the northern barracks like ants emerging from a hill. Some were half dressed, some carried bells, others sabers. All of them were moving to the heart of the city and through their panicked murmurs I heard one of them say something about the library.
Alas, I did not care enough to leave the ship and I sat upon the deck enjoying the serenity of the night. My enjoyment did end rather quickly after this, as the mercenaries we hired all showed up suddenly and with labored breath. Half in a panic, they told Brindle and I that we had to leave immediately. Supposedly they overheard a fellow group of mercenaries, the ones Brindle mentioned earlier, say something about attacking our very ship shortly after we departed. I felt as if this was a mistruth, or rather, only one of the reasons as to why they wanted to leave. The bells of navy sailors could still be heard off in the distance as we pushed off out to sea and said farewell to Denmor. I had practiced a speech assuming when we left it would be morning and everyone would see us off. Because I had put in the time and effort, I recited it to the empty dock and waved my fair city goodbye.