Epistle (Continued)

More Excerpts from the Secrets of sha-Arthan 'Zine

0306 Jorn

Population: ~900

I’ve arrived in Jorn, a soggy little town where the buildings lean like old men and everything smells of fish, smoke, damp wood, and tanned hides. The streets are slick with muck from the marshes and the fog never quite lifts but just clings to everything. Still, there’s life here. Barges come in daily from Dotara and Axtarval, unloading cargo, gossip, and the usual share of trouble. The locals mutter about shapes in the mist and sounds that rise out of the Tarazat Marsh at night. The elders are quick to warn you about the yanga — some kind of marsh spirits, I am told, said to guard secrets better left alone. Even so, the river keeps calling and folk keep answering. There’s coin to be made in Jorn, if you’re not afraid of what might be watching from the reeds.

Points of Interest

I spent much of yesterday wandering the Mossy Quay, a ramshackle tangle of docks and piers where every beam is slick with moss and green lanterns cast a sickly light through the fog. Boatmen loiter there, bartering and gambling with the casual wariness of men who trust no one. Dockhands eye every newcomer and the ill-tempered harbormaster misses nothing that passes through his crooked little kingdom.

Later, I found my way to the Assembly Hall, an ancient, sagging thing of blackened timbers where the town’s oldest Ironian families still gather to settle disputes and boast of their lineages. Bones and driftwood charms dangle from the rafters, clacking softly whenever the river wind slips through the cracks. They say these trinkets ward off the yanga, though judging by the creaking walls, I wonder if they’re really intended to ward off the collapse of the building itself.

As the evening drew in, I took shelter at the House of Flowing Wine, a riverside tavern thick with the smell of marshroot-ale and river silt. Traders and bargemen crowd the benches, swapping lies and half-true tales over cracked mugs. I’m told there’s a back room where quieter dealings take place — some blessed by the town council and some decidedly not.

Notable Inhabitants

Among the many characters I have encountered in Jorn, none stands out quite like Hatandur “Nine-Toes” Envan, a river trader with two battered barges and a seat that might as well be nailed down at the House of Flowing Wine. They say he once smuggled goods up and down the Senok, but now claims to be an “honest merchant,” though no one believes that any more than he does. If there’s cargo moving on the river or secrets tucked beneath it, Hatandur has heard of it first.

The docks themselves are ruled, if that’s the word, by Salhad Weno, the harbormaster. An old river-worn fellow with a voice like waterlogged rope and eyes sharp as fishhooks, Salhad keeps a ledger of every crew and crate that passes under his watch. He misses nothing and the boatmen know better than to think they can slip anything past him.

Lastly, there is Toiben Silan, who keeps the House of Flowing Wine with a quick tongue and a sad smile. A woman of mixed Chomachto and Ironian blood, she holds this battered town together better than any council or charter could. The beer may be thin some nights, but the news she serves with it is rich indeed, if you know how to listen.

Adventure Seeds

• Mist Without Footsteps
  Several local children have gone missing, vanishing near the marsh’s edge. Locals blame the yanga, but there is no proof of their involvement (or existence). A trail of broken marsh charms leads to a sunken ruin visible only at low tide.

• What the Bargeman Found
  Ravar Lan is desperate for aid. He dragged a carved stone idol from the river, snared in his nets. Since then, his crewmen have vanished, died strangely, or rave in fevered tongues. He swears the thing is cursed. Now, merchants, scholars, and smugglers whisper offers of gold to claim it for themselves, no matter the cost.

• The Third Bell
  Jorn’s watchtower bell is supposed to ring thrice at dawn: once for the river, once for the marsh, once for the sky. This morning, the third bell fell silent. Birds fled the trees and something large was seen dragging itself into the water. Old-timers say the last time the bell went silent, the river reversed its course for a day.

0308 Dotara

Population: ~4,200

Dotara sits where the Uthiakai divides and the Senok is born, rising tier by tier in stone and timber like some rough-cut jewel tossed between the rivers. The Lower City hums with the noise of bargemen shouting, fishmongers calling out their catch, and hammers ringing from the boatyards. It’s a tangle of warehouses and alehouses down there, always in motion. Above it all, the Old City clings to a bluff, all winding lanes and high walls, watched over by Gurjad, the Ashem, as the imperial governor is called. He’s some kin to the King-Emperor, they say. Everyone’s got a tale to sell in Dotara: treasure buried beneath the streets, moonlit dealings in the alleys, bandits hiding out in the marshes. Whether there’s truth to any of it, I couldn’t say, but in this place, it’s hard to tell where the river ends and the stories begin.

Points of Interest

The Dock Maze is a sprawling complex of docks, cranes, rope walks, and rivermen’s stalls that stretches along both rivers. This is the commercial heart of Dotara, chaotic by day and dangerous by night. Anything that floats has likely passed through here.

Governor’s Bluff is a fortified precinct atop the bluff that includes the Ashem’s Residence, an imperial garrison, and shrines to river gods both ancient and sanctioned. Outsiders require a writ to enter, because its view of the river fork is unmatched.

The Drowned Vaults is a series ancient storm drains and forgotten cellars beneath the Lower City that flood and drain with the rise and fall of the rivers. Smugglers make regular use of them, some of whom report that other things dwell in the silt-choked dark.

Notable Inhabitants

Gurjad of the House of Magdor, is Ashem of the Eshkom District. He is the shrewd but politically isolated cousin of King-Emperor Trelu. More administrator than aristocrat, he is keen to keep Dotara profitable and quiet. Gurjad tolerates the local black market as long as it doesn't disrupt order.

Noma Jatsano, known as the “tide mother” of the Dock Maze, is the matriarch of a powerful Ironian merchant family. Noma organizes barge routes and caravan protection contracts. She speaks with a low voice and holds grudges like precious stones.

Rojash is a priest and keeper of a small library-temple near the base of Governor’s Bluff dedicated to the god of art, crafts, truth, wisdom, and writing, Sha. Rojash trades in rare scrolls, river-charts, and wild-eyed theories. He believes the rumors about the Drowned Vaults are true – all of them.

Adventure Seeds

• The River’s Debt
  A barge belonging to Noma Jatsano vanishes between Dotara and Jorn. It was carrying not only goods, but an envoy from the King-Emperor. Noma wants it found discreetly, but Gurjad suspects sabotage and wants to know who among his court might be involved.

• Coins of Old
  Children playing along the banks find a pouch of strange silver coins bearing the likeness of a long-dead Ironian King-Emperor. Rojash believes they mark the entrance to a lost treasury, but others fear they’re the sign that the Sunbound, a subversive faction seeking to place an Ironian on the Solar Throne once again, are active in Dotara.

• The Fog
  During storm drain repairs in the Lower City, workmen open a strange vault. Soon, a creeping fog begins to cling to the streets at dusk, unaffected by wind or weather. It moves with a mind of its own, curling up walls and slipping beneath doors. Lights flicker and fail when it passes. The dockworkers say they’ve seen figures standing still within it — tall, still silhouettes that vanish when approached. Ashem Gurjad quietly assembles a team to investigate.