“Bitboh wood… Scarp Burrow… The Tannery.”
The spelling is shaky and the penmanship appalling, but the map is still interesting, if not entirely accurate. Rather than miles, the distances seem to be measured in something called ‘horse-ride-days’. A few of the scribbled annotations like; ‘Rattman’ are less fun though, as beside ‘Scarp Burrow’, the mapper’s scrawled; ‘Captain De Liar!’ and ‘Posho De-Dick-face’.
Pushing aside his annoyance at the unsubtle slurs, he’s curious why the amateur cartographer had written ‘Scarp Burrow’ rather than the commonly accepted ‘Scarborough’ though, as no one’s referred to this village by its original name for almost thirty years.
The map is freshly drawn, so what does it mean?
Unfortunately, Captain DeLeón‘s men had confirmed that, whoever made the map, left with the adventurer group. It certainly wasn’t any of his men or Cookie the wagoneer and it was highly unlikely that the educated Dwarf; Banaal or the urbane ‘Slightly-Elf’; Rifkin had anything to do with it. That left the earthy smelling, cauliflower-eared Halfling and the scar-faced, heavily-armoured Human Gladiator. Considering the last conversation he’d had with them, his money was on Fortu.
Glancing down at the map again, Captain DeLeón finds himself suddenly sniggering, despite his earlier annoyance, as he notices the arrow pointing East towards…
‘FART-Haven!’
