The whale moans its last as she finishes up. Portents of the Deep She frowns, unsatisfied. From the corner of your eye you see a little of the method behind it just a little, but enough to see the traces of a pattern in the grooves of a small ivory slate. Wrenching one from the nearest attacker, you easily hold the geriatric horde back with little but pointed gestures. The Haruspex and her disciples are outnumbered, but your contribution to the fray is worth at least ten of the elderly attackers. These zailors look old enough to collapse at a slight breeze. Old Zailors, fixated on one goal: feast on the zee-flesh, whether the Haruspex is finished or not. A cry of "Protect the mistress!" as a flood of naked old men and women wielding primitive bone harpoons charges towards the whale. Whatever she is looking for, the focus it demands exhausts her.Ī sudden sound. Not the most pleasant or reliable way of seeing the future, especially with the organs in question still warm and oozing as she plucks them from the great beast. Her hands move with expert, if incomprehensible, precision. If you choose to side with the Haruspex, you'll need wait until more dead things wash up to interact with the Zailors again. If you choose the Zailors here, you'll gain Gant Pole: The Secrets Old Zailors Keep, which will eventually end up with Gant Pole: A Message From The Dead.Įnsure you have some Recent News to trade with The Fading Haruspex if you wish to immediately speak to her. They're not mutually exclusive (you can do both). You can choose to side with the Haruspex or the Zailors here. Gant Pole: The Secrets Old Zailors Keep ≤ 0, Gant Pole: An Apprenticeship in Haruspicy ≤ 0, When you first visit the Gant Pole, all three of Gant Pole: An Apprenticeship in Haruspicy, Gant Pole: The Secrets Old Zailors Keep and Gant Pole: The Fading Haruspex will be equal to 0, so this event will trigger. An elderly woman in ragged red robes is carving its flesh, attended by a few disciples" A Midnight Whale lies mortally wounded on a small beach of bone and blubber, moaning softly. "The zubmarine surfaces in a pocket of air in the middle of the giant stone heart. Triggered events Where the Zee Goes to Die Where the Zee Goes to Die Scrimshander: A Scholar of Histories = 45 (if ≤ 45) Without breaking stride, her foot slides free and she continues into the dark. A worn shoe squelches in the blubber of a dead beast. I'm free." She wanders down a stone artery. Slowly, reverently, she hands you a small bag of coins and an icon of Saint Croatoan the Lost. "At last, my pilgrimage is complete," She sighs with contentment. What poor soul would come here willingly? But she seems happy, at least. Then it scuttles into the ventricles of the stone heart, chirruping happily at the endless banquet. The carnivorous little mushroom sinks its fangs deep into the endless supply of meat, not seeming to care that most of it is older than the Fifth City. Somewhere on the zee, it had to be considered a delicacy. Unfortunately for it, a not-yet-salted zailor catches sight of it. The blemmigan chirrups with happiness as it sinks its fangs into the endless feast. There's no telling how this one will fare down here. To the Chelonate, however, it probably counts as haute cuisine. Your crew would face starvation a hundred times before adding this still-quivering mass of glutinous blubber to the supplies. The carcass of the last beast to expire in this place still has plenty of meat hanging from its bones. "Ask your captain to deliver this to the Gant Pole." "Go to the Gant Pole and find my pocketwatch." "Tell the crew, tonight we dine at the Gant Pole!" A hilarious jape, when not standing in the blasted place and hoping someone will pay for recent news from it. The Admiralty is unlikely to take it seriously.Īh, that favoured hazing method of many a veteran zailor, saved for particularly wet-behind-the-ears recruits. Triggers event: The Corridors Of The Heart A slight breeze pulses through them, carrying with it a pungent cocktail of salt, stale air and decay. The flame flickers as you approach the dry tunnels. Little light seeps into the maze of ventricles beyond this chamber. She sits in a ghoulish tent made of the bone and hide of long-dead beasts, saving her energy for the next great behemoth to reach its grisly end. A distant drip carves eternity into hours. Ancient blubber bubbles up around paths of bone and hide that squelch with every step. The leathery carcasses of hollowed-out beasts line the ventricles of this stone heart.
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