Prologue: Whispering Widow Woods
Issudy, Ashalon 10, 546 Palatis Necromium
The Front Line, 285 miles from the gates of Nixmir City

Searo studied the man pacing back and forth inside the tent. For all the time he's known Solomon, he's never seen him this broody. The war against Nixmir has taken its toll on the man. Searo himself was seated in Solomon's own chair at his offer. Obviously, the King of the Western Kingdom and the Lord Protector of Devlinsgrimm could not sit still anyway.

"My king, regardless of the toll, something must be done. The halflings of Tallfellow Pines have been fighting with the forces of Brocitania for months now, and it should surprise the hell out of you that you are just now hearing about it. If you order your forces in the south to mobilize, they will not be able to engage until Spring and by then, well, King Brocitas will control the entire coastline from Griffon's Mane to the Mordran Mountains. Something like 2500 miles of coastline. From what I understand, the Scholars have made some kind of deal with the halflings and have given them one of the Ten Secrets to defend themselves, so the fighting will not be easy. And what's more, I have heard rumors that Brocitas himself isn't even aware of this military movement. You know how those Eastern Kingdomers are... Matriarchal."

Solomon grunted his agreement. "If Sarrius Brocitas is not in command of his army, then who is? I need intel, not more questions. We are on the cusp of a siege of the single greatest threat to mankind ever, and the coalition is falling apart. If Brocitania and Devlinsgrimm lose interest in this war with Nixmir, all that death, all that suffering, will be for naught. I for one do not wish to see another tragedy like Duncan."

Searo gripped the arms of the chair tightly at the mention of his home citystate. Duncan was once a proud and majestic city, the greatest walls in the Realms, and now little more than a ruin with haunted shades and fearful wretches afraid to go out at night. Duncan lost more than 60% of its population in the first night of Nixmir's attack. Searo stood up and faced his king.

"Lord Protector, please. I need only a little time to locate them. Corren Dalcash and Alain Pathfinder..."

"Are as useful to us now as three roosters in a bucket. They threw their lots in with Erick Babbington and the Tallfellows, and we already know that they think I'm behind the attack on the Pines. I need some people with some guts. I need real quality. You find me the best of the best. Quit wasting your time trying to curry favor with spoiled self titled 'heroes'. Deeds make heroes."

Searo's expression only barely revealed his disappointment.
"As you wish, My king. Leave it to me." And with that, Searo saluted and bowed. As he did so, he began the stirring of the magical energy with slight gestures of his fingers and wrists. He straightened and held up one finger in a slight crook. White light enveloped him and then there was a pop-whoosh as he literally ceased to be in the tent. The tent flap breezed inward as the air rushed to fill the spot where Searo DeCorwyn once stood.

Solomon grunted and returned to his battle map. It is a shame that I have to ride him so hard. I wish I had ten more just like him.

Warday, Ashalon 16, 546 Palatis Necromium
Gates of the Eastern Kingdom, Brocitania
Temperature: -11 F, windchill -34 F, light wind (10 mph)
Clear skies, roughly 3:00 PM


The Eastern Kingdom is a rich city-state lying on the Myrdell River to the east of the Western Kingdom. It is a matriarchal society with ownership of land and political importance reserved for women. In the hyper-elite draconic nobility, the eldest female controls the wealth of the family name. Each major family is said to be sitting on a dragon's hoard. This gender based system extends all the way down through the landed middle class and merchants to the peasants, where the females assume positions of authority and men only own what their mothers or wives allow them.

The city itself sits on the craggy outcroppings made by the river’s centuries old meanderings. The town is separated and joined by the Myrdell River, with piers and boatyards lining the banks. Most of the architecture of the Eastern Kingdom is picturesque, white and tall with red turrets on the towers, rising above the miles of winding river. Perched atop steep cliffs cut from the riverbanks, the towers rise high into the sky. On a clear day the lookouts can make out objects at two hundred leagues but cannot make out any detail until about fifteen miles.

Kilton Oprium arrives at the north shore of the mighty Myrdell River, finally arriving at the summons of the court of the Queen Brocitas. He has journeyed from the Blue Tower, some four days travel in the current freezing conditions. The tower had been his home for years, studying under the tutelage of his masters. This is the first time he's been more than fifty miles from the tower since he arrived there. The letter he carries bids him to appear before the court at the palace, but explains nothing about why.

The piers run the entire length of the city along the north shore. They smell of dead fish and... something else. Some unrecognizable stench. The water moves too quickly for ice to form except along the edges. As he arrives, an old ferryman greets him.

"Crossing over to the city, young master?" His gravelly voice is thick with the Western Kingdom accent. His wool cloak is moth eaten in places, revealing more layers beneath.

"The ferry is usually three copper, young master, but you my lord, you are surely from the Tower. For you its only one, master. S'good bizness to keep relations with the Blue." He tries to smile ingratiatingly with his sparse nubs of teeth, but his fear of magic is evident.

“A letter has arrived for you young Kilton.” The voice of Archmage Irtrill, Kilton’s foremost master, rings out over the wind. Kilton looks up from his scroll a most vexing spell. He lays the spell to the side and rises. Grabbing his staff Kilton makes his way to the Archmage’s study. The Blue Tower as its called isn’t so much a single tower but more like a demi plane shifting to accommodate the current Head Archmage. Which wasn’t surprising considering the two facts about its creation. One it was built by magic and not hand, and two it was built for mages. Archmage Irtrill lived and studied in a room on the top floor of the tower and Kilton being a seventh year student studied on the third floor. Which meant that the journey to Irtrill’s study was taxing, but Kilton had made it every day for many years and so he didn’t notice the burn in his legs when he finally made it to his destination.
“Welcome young Kilton,” Irtrill invited his favorite student in. “Here is your message.” The Archmage handed Kilton an envelope sealed with the royal seal of Brocitas. Kilton’s eyes widened as he recognized the seal. He carefully opened the envelope and pulled the letter free.

Kilton Oprium by order of the queen of Brocitas you are to report to Her Majesty Immediately.
Signed Queen Brocitas.

Kilton looked at his master.
“That sounds urgent young Kilton.” Archmage Irtrill said as he smiled.
“It does indeed and as such I regret to inform you of my parting.” Kilton said as he spun to head back to his room. “I wish you health Archmage.”
“And I you young Kilton” The Archmage said turning back to her scroll. “Safe journeys.”
“Thank you Archmage.” Kilton rushed to his room gathered up his few belongings and left the tower. It would take him four days of travel to arrive at the palace. Four days he was not looking forward to after all this would be his first time away from the Tower since his arrival. And it had to be winter. Kilton thought I hate Winter. He huddled his robes close to himself and started on the trudge wondering what could be so urgent as to summon a wizard from the Blue Tower in the middle of winter (it wasn’t really the middle of winter, but when you’re cold it seems like it and you don’t care.) And wondering why summon him. Kilton was only a journeyman at best there were surely better options available.

Kilton had finally made it to the north shore of the Myrdell River. A stench death and just downright stinky assailed Kilon’s finely tuned and not often offended nostrils making him want to puke. The ferry man is old but strong as though he’d worked in the sun most of his life.

"Crossing over to the city, young master?" His gravelly voice is thick with the Western Kingdom accent. His wool cloak is moth eaten in places, revealing more layers beneath. 

“I am” Kilton replies looking questioning at the craft the ferry man offered. It too looked like it had worked in he sun for most of its life.

"The ferry is usually three copper, young master, but you my lord, you are surely from the Tower. For you its only one, master. S'good bizness to keep relations with the Blue." He tries to smile ingratiatingly with his sparse nubs of teeth, but his fear of magic is evident.

“And how much is it for someone on the Queen’s business?” Kilton asked showing the letter with the royal seal.

((Very nice post, by the way!))

The old ferryman's eyes widen at the sight of the royal seal. He touches his right hand to his chin and bows low.

"My young master, it is my honor to convey you to the Royal Isle for nothing. Bizness of the King and Queen makes it on my pleasure."

The old man offers to take your baggage aboard and also tosses his own gear onto the boat. The boat itself, having obviously been on the water for many years, is a retired fishing boat. The net lockers are cleared for cargo storage and extra seats, but there are no other passengers. 'Bizness' is slow during the autumn and winter, especially on the north shore.

"Ole King Sarrius is why I even have a living at all. Weren't it not fer 'im, I'd prob'ly be dead. E's a great man, that one. You an' 'im kin?" The old ferryman keeps his head bowed but peers at you sideways, obviously confused between his reverence for his adopted king and his fear of wizards. His nervousness shows through by his idle chatter.

((Just want to make sure to point out that you are in the Eastern Kingdom and the ferry man is very clearly from the Western Kingdom. ))

((Edited for symmetric verb tense))

"My young master, it is my honor to convey you to the Royal Isle for nothing. Bizness of the King and Queen makes it on my pleasure." The old ferryman did a double take at the seal. I suspected as much. Kilton thought to himself.

"Thank you." Kilton said politely as he handed over his pack. Kilton eyed the rickety boat and the water it floated on with a sense of mistrust. It wasn't that Kilton was afraid of water or that he couldn't swim; just that he couldn't swim well and this water had an odor to it that for some reason Kilton didn't trust. Oh well guess it can't be helped. Kilton sighed as he carefully climbed into the boat. Kilton looks around the boat and to his paranoid dismay realizes he's the only fool desperate enough to take his voyage.

"'Bizness' is slow during the autumn and winter, especially o the north shore." The old man offers seeing Kilton's dismay. The idea that the old man would take this voyage without compensation and the fact that a man as old as he probably had a family twinged at Kilton. It can't be helped. Kilton thought, I don't have a lot of money on me. It's not like I made money as a student even with my 'business.'
"Ole King Sarrius is why I even have a living at all. Weren't it not fer 'im, I'd prob'ly be dead. E's a great man, that one. You an' 'im kin?" The old ferryman keeps his head bowed but peers at you sideways, obviously confused between his reverence for his adopted king and his fear of wizards. His nervousness shows through by his idle chatter.

"No, I have no kin." Kilton answered the ferryman using the idle chatter to organize his thoughts and prepare himself for the next step into the unknown dance it seemed he was now a part of. "It seems that the King is in need of my services and so I answer his summons." Kilton settled against his belongings on the boat slightly nervous and uneasy himself.

((Correct, Solomon is the sovereign king of the Western Kingdom and the Lord Protector of Devlinsgrimm. Sarrius Brocitas is the King of Brocitania, the Eastern Kingdom. He also holds the title Baron of the Myrdell. As an aside, the empire of Brocitania includes Devlinsgrimm, and Solomon rules that country by the grace of King Sarrius, so the situation is somewhat complex.))

The old ferryman takes your answer as a cue to mind his own, and he nods politely and stows your gear. Untying the mooring line connecting the old fishing boat to the pier, he makes a gentle shove on the pier's bollock. The boat tips gently and slips away from the wooden board walk.

The river is at least six miles across at its narrowest, so wide that the shore cannot be seen except as a grey band along the "horizon". ((Pellios is so large that the horizon blurs out at maximum visual range before the curvature of the planet blocks the view. The result is that the horizon on clear days is a blurry band instead of the sharp line as it is on earth)) Where this boat is on the river, the pillars of the Eastern Kingdom's islands are about three and a half miles away. As the ferryman tips the sail and tacks the small boat's heading to intercept the islands, you notice that you are not heading straight to the islands in the center of the river. The boat follows the western flow of the river and at the same time is driven southward by the small sail. From your perspective, the boat seems to be moving in three directions at once: south, west with the water, and slightly east against the water.

As you approach the city, you start to make out the tall towers through the haze. Suddenly, it grows dark. Glancing up, you see that the sun has passed behind the Slow Dragon, the large moon. The lanterns on the boat are now the only light you see. The Stillness had only been a few weeks since the Stillness, where the Slow Dragon and the Sun matched paths in the sky, and they still cross each other sometimes. In the darkness, you see the ferryman utter a quiet oath to the saint of the sea.

"Akhmed, please guide our path." He pats the tip of his rudder and touches his forehead. The lights of the Eastern Kingdom shine in the darkness, revealing how large the city actually is. From what you learned at the tower, the city contains over a hundred thousand souls. The war in the Western Kingdom seven years ago caused the city to swell in population. Refugees from the Western Kingdom were welcomed in the east and the great majority of them never went back home.

In about an hour, the sun returns to the sky and in a couple of hours, the city looms above you. The high towers perch atop the bluffs of the islands and make for a very imposing sight. As the boat closes with the city, it mixes in with the other river traffic. Fishing boats, ferries and warships of all manner of sizes and types sail up and down the river on all manner of business. Ships of the Eastern Trading Company, the Merchants of Chuul, Talelore Shipping. Brocitania Imperial warships, Griffon's Mane vessels, even the rare Western Kingdom vessel. You even spot a single Galleon that appears to be fashioned out of driftwood and sticks. It flies a banner of green with an unearthed tree and a rising sun.
"Wood Elves." The ferryman spits over the side and glares with narrowed eyes.
"From the east. Diplomatic vessel. My arse. Them's cannibals." He spits again, this time on the deck.
"Akhmed protect us."

In about three hours total, the small vessel makes its way into the port of the Royal Isle.

The boat got off to a rocky start, though considering the age of the boat and its captain it was probably one of the better starts but Kilton’s stomach wasn’t considering the age. Luckily the ride smoothed out even if it was a bit zaggy. The boat meandered south swaying from east to west. The ride was almost like being rocked to sleep doubly so for Kilton who hadn’t rested well since the four days he’d left the Tower. It seemed sleeping on the ground was an acquired taste and Kilton hadn’t acquired it. The only thing keeping him awake was the smell of the river and his inherent distrust of strangers. Even so he was slowly drifting to sleep when the sky blackened as though a huge shadow had fallen across Pellius. Kilton peered up at the sky calling to mind his one combat spell, not that he figured it would save his life just that he was ornery enough to want to cause some discomfort to an assailant. Peering around he saw no opponent but instead that the sun had been eclipsed by the Slow Dragon, Pelius’ largest moon. It was a phenomenon that had been occurring with less frequency since the Stillness. Kilton had a friend back at the tower that would lock himself in his study for hours after each time and proclaim that doom was coming somewhere. Kilton believed that these phenomena were natural results of the Stillness and so portended no such thing, still he couldn’t help think that it was a troublesome omen and perhaps that doom was finally catching up to him. The idea of the Stillness intrigued Kilton. Even though he was sure that it was a natural event like the centurium flower blooming every hundred years he couldn’t help but wonder what a skilled wizard could do with the energy that the Stillness was tied to. The thought was unnerving in the darkness.

"Akhmed, please guide our path." The old ferryman utters an oath to the sea deity as he pats the tip of his rudder and touches his forehead. While Kilton didn’t worship any one god he did believe they all existed and so added his own silent entreaty to Akhmed.
In about an hour, the sun returns to the sky and in a couple of hours, the city looms above you. The high towers perch atop the bluffs of the islands and make for a very imposing sight. As the boat closes with the city, it mixes in with the other river traffic. Fishing boats, ferries and warships of all manner of sizes and types sail up and down the river on all manner of business. Ships of the Eastern Trading Company, the Merchants of Chuul, Talelore Shipping. Brocitania Imperial warships, Griffon's Mane vessels, even the rare Western Kingdom vessel. You even spot a single Galleon that appears to be fashioned out of driftwood and sticks. It flies a banner of green with an unearthed tree and a rising sun. 
"Wood Elves." The ferryman spits over the side and glares with narrowed eyes.
"From the east. Diplomatic vessel. My arse. Them's cannibals." He spits again, this time on the deck. 
"Akhmed protect us."
Wood Elves Kilton stared in wonder at the foreign ship. While he didn’t agree to the rumored barbarism of wood elves, after all they could sail so they could think, the idea of cannibals did make him take note to be cautious around any elves he might run into. Though here I’m sure they’re no threat, after all we seem to be under no attack. Kilton stirred from his position preparing to leave the rickety boat and enter the next stage of the dance.

The ride was a little troublesome as Anastianna Nailo, a druid of the wood elves, sailed for the large castle of the Eastern Kingdom. She was quite surprized to see the accational Western Kingdom Warships and all other ships by the Western Kingdom. For the last report that the Wood Elves had the Eastrern and the Western Kingdoms were involved in some kind of holy war but of course everyone assumed the Wood Elves to be barbaric so the intel was quite old. The sky darkened as the Slow Dragon passed in front of the sun and Anna could hear even from her own captain a chant to the god of the ocean. Though Anna was spiritual she never believed in a god. She always believed as did most druids that every thing had a soul and no soul was greater then another. Therefor all this talk was false in her opinon but to each their own.
She opened the scroll that the high council had given her. There was an important mission that was about to happen and Anna was to go as a diplomat to the wood Elves to offer their help on this quest though she had no idea what the quest was or how it affected her druidic world she decided she had better ablige her elders and do what she was told.
The boat shifted towards the decks of the city. And Anna got off paying her dues to the captian. She looked up at the sky to make sure that Siannodel her great horned owl that had been with her for many adventures was still in the area. Of course he wasn't. But Anna wasn't worried it had been a few days since they had been on land and she figured that the owl was probably out hunting. Anastianna walked just a little bit before Siannodel landed on her shoulder and dropped a dead rabbit in her hand.
"Why thank you." Anastianna tells her friend as she strocks trhe owl under it's head.

You step onto the docks and take a look about. The piers are bustling with activity. Fishermen, sailors and dockworkers hurry along their daily chores. There are military personnel scattered amidst them, all watchful for odd occurrences. Standard business for the capital of Brocitania.

As you make for one of the guards to show him your letter, you are addressed by a high pitched gravelly voice.

"Kilton Oprium of the Blue Tower?" You turn and look to your left, then look down. You see an extremely well muscled gnome standing before you. He has the hugest arms you've ever seen on a gnome before. He is dressed in a disheveled Eastern Kingdom naval uniform with the jacket tied around his waist. His left eye seems to be injured as he keeps it closed. His cap is tilted and his golden hair peeks out from under it. He looks like he just got out from under a very disgusting gnomish machine.

"I am Commander Feljistichranichomitanlinos, of his Majesty's flagship, the Illumorous. You can call me Squiggy. I have orders to escort you to his majesty. I hope you do not mind foregoing the pomp of the royal court. His majesty is... not what you'd call a courtier."

He holds out his hands to offer to take your luggage.

The great diplomatic vessel makes port on the Royal Isle of the Eastern Kingdom, capital city of Brocitania. The Imperial Guard stand in honor at your arrival. The honor guard is in crisp brightly colored uniforms of the Eastern Kingdom Imperial Army. From what you hear, these are the best troops in the world. Queen Brocitas spared no expense.

A band plays a song (roughly translated: Hail to the Chief) as the diplomats disembark. The court officials loudly exclaim their undying loyalty to the treaties that make the Wood Elves of Sylestria and Brocitania. The diplomats of both countries embrace and laugh happily as they try out the other cultures' local customary greetings. It is a grand occasion.

However, as your letter plainly states, and your lord clearly explained to you, this meeting of bared teeth and laughter is not your mission. As you disembark, you are addressed by a very well dressed gnome with bright red hair and a slight limp.

"Anastianna Nailo, I am Chief Engineer Remulka Quiddlewhipplesnipsoniantiallas***on. I am directly in the employ of the King of Brocitania, the Grand Admiral of the Myrdell. My king calls me Bill. My friends call me Soggy Boot Bill, and you can call me either if you like. I am to take you to hold a private audience with his majesty. Allow me to take your bags, it would honor me."

Anna looks at the gnome quite surprised by the fact that he was able to pronounce her elven name. Then she looks at the gnome a little bit and notices that he didn't excactly pronounce her name right. SHe turns to her Elven companions and in elven kindly excusses herself for personal bussiness her companions nod their heads in agreement.



Then Anna looks at the little gnome named Bill, "I would love to let you have my bags young Bill but you see Siannodel here." She points to the great horned owl on her left shoulder. " Doesn't like when strangers get close to me. I've tried to get him to understand that some people are our alleys but he says that even alleys can stab you in the back when given the right chance.


"Now If you don't mind I do believe that his royal highness..." The last word came out with a little more acid then what Anastianna had meant to emply because to her there was only one king that deserved the title his royal highness and that was King Areo of the Wood Elves.
"Wishes my attendance."

As the boat neared the docks the old ferryman pulled the boat incredibly close to the docks. He hopped out and tied the boat to the moor once more looking in the direction of the elven ship and spitting. This time he almost hit Kilton who had begun making his way trepidatiously off the boat. Neither member seemed to notice. Kilton didn’t notice because he was currently looking eagerly at the dock and watching anxiously the greenish water under the boat. Upon stepping onto the sturdy dok Kilton let out a sigh of relief.
“Thnk you for the ride.” Kilton said to the old man who just grunted in reply. There was no one looking for return visit to the north shore so the old man simply climbed back into his boat and unmoored drifting away. Kilton however peered at his surroundings with interest and anticipation. First things first Kilton thought find a guard who can help me find my way to the palace. "Kilton Oprium of the Blue Tower?"  As though thinking of him summoned him a voice called up to Kilton. He peered around until he realized that the voice was below him aand so he looked down. The first thing Kilton noticed was the arms. They were easily the largest arms Kilton had ever or would likely ever see. They belonged to a gnome who by his appearance was a sailor. It was a conclusion that Kilton reached with two facts: sailing was the only thing that could produce arms like that and only a hard life could produce he scars this gnome wore proudly. At the moment this gnome was obviously trying o hide his annoyance. "I am Commander Feljistichranichomitanlinos, of his Majesty's flagship, the Illumorous. You can call me Squiggy. I have orders to escort you to his majesty. I hope you do not mind foregoing the pomp of the royal court. His majesty is... not what you'd call a courtier." 
I wonder what he means by that? Kilton thought though noting the appearance of the messenger Kilton could only guess he wasn’t going to the palace. The gnome held up his hands obviously expecting Kitlon to turn over his luggage.
“Then by all means please lead on.” Kilton hands the gnome his luggage all except the quarterstaff which he leans on in normal wizardry fashion (it’s taught in the wizard’s etiquette classes, they spend a whole week on it) and prepares to follow.

Warday, Ashalon 16, 546 Palatis Necromium
Gates of the Eastern Kingdom, Brocitania
Temperature: -13 F, windchill -39 F, light wind (10 mph)
Clear skies, roughly 6:00 PM

The letter in your hand states that you are to act as goodwill ambassador to the king of Brocitania. The Engineers' Council of Sanctuary told you that this was a mission that only you could undertake. Normally, you don't work directly for the Council, but when they call, it would be foolish to say no.

The trip from Sanctuary led you west from the safety of the foot of the Duergar Mountains, across the "Imapassable" span of the western fork through Black Dragon Pass and Thorwin Kingdom, and northwest until reaching the Myrdell River. Your guides, two very accredited members of the Adventurers' Guild based in Mustaf. You were told that while Sanctuary is not officially part of it, you are to represent the Kingdom of Agoria. Much has changed in recent years and if something didn't happen soon, Sanctuary would be the only "member" of Agoria that had not fallen to the hag's legions. But, as you were informed, that wasn't your responsibility.

You get the feeling that the chill wind carries change with it. Perhaps this meeting with their king is a portentious event. Maybe its just superstition.

After spending a couple of hours in the darkness of the SLow Dragon, your ferry finally arrives in the Eastern Kingdom, capital of Brocitania. Upon making port, your craft is approached by a pair of gnomes in naval uniforms of the Eastern Kingdom.

"Doogan Ferndrum Perrybuck Bobcat Otto Creespire Wilikaloontatakochtitlanroopatototootloon, I hope I got that right... you are welcome here in the Eastern Kingdom. The king bids you to join him on his flagship, the Illumorous. Please, let us take your bags."

Warday, Ashalon 16, 546 Palatis Necromium
The Tower of Searo DeCorwyn
City of Duncan, Devlinsgrimm
Temperature: -25 F, windchill -47 F, moderate wind (16 mph)
Partly Cloudy, roughly 6:00 PM

The chill wind was something of a reminder of the trip from the north. Coming from a hollowed out volcano far to the north the elders call "The Old Man", you are no stranger to cold weather. But here, there is strong magic. The elders told you that you would be working as some kind of ally to this wizard and his king, but it seems more like they sold you. Apparently your skill and ability was seen as a threat?

As you enter the tower, you are greeted by one of the wizard's apprentices. He offers you a warm cloak and some hot tea.

"Ansgar, is it? Here. The tower gets kind of chilly sometimes. Master Searo is waiting for us." He smiles warmly, but it is obvious that he's nervous about your imposing stature.

The gnome escorts lead you both down the long row of piers, passing all manner of magnificent wooden ships. The navy of Brocitania is thought to be the most advanced in the world. This is hotly contested by Devlinsgrimm, since up until a few years ago it was the supreme naval power. After the war, Devlinsgrimm lost to Brocitania and is now a vassal nation. Role reversal.

You both are stopped at a garrison of Imperial guards blocking the way to the private royal fleet and they check your credentials. When you both produce your letters, you notice that they are the same. You are not introduced, but only because the gnomes do not know you.

After passing through the checkpoint, you are led past a fleet of old fishing boats, provate yachts, and a handful of the ships of the line. At the end of the pier is a wooden tower that houses a platform mooring a craft that can scarcely be described as a boat. The ship defies description. It is not sitting in the water; it is floating above the tower over the water, securely moored with huge ropes and a gangplank.

http://i21.photobucket.com/albums/b285/shaithis/Illumorous.jpg

The gnome escorts watch you carefully for your reaction to such a craft, obviously very proud of their handiwork.
The first mate with huge arms named Squiggy bows gallantly.
"I invite you aboard the Illumorous, finest ship in all Pellios."