The Southlands were hot. Most people probably think they know that but unless you  have been there you really can’t appreciate the fact. You can be warm in Andred or Vrettonia on a summers day and you can certainly be hot in Arad Lund, but you cant be really hot unless you are in the southlands. The air clung close around me as I walked through Thornton. It was a dirty little town of half warped jungle wood and thatched rooves, though a few of the more prosperous places had tiles of unglazed clay. Everything stank of the river mud and rot. Even the streets were little more than dirt, indifferently finished with corduroy road that was probably more dangerous for age and decay than the quagmire they covered would have been. Civilization had landed here and then grown sick of some tropical disease, stalling out on the coast and withering like a lettuce plucked from the ground. Human civilization had anyway. Rumors had always abounded of older civilizations further inland, long decayed or simply hidden. Yellowpatch made it difficult to know, as most expeditions returned decimated by the disease, if they returned at all. I was counting on those rumors and doing my best to quietly encourage them. Of course the plan had been to simply sell the ‘ancient map’ I had uncovered in my ‘family library’ to this party of Vrettonian rubes. It was a scam I had run more than a few times, hammer a few pieces of lead into exotic form, guild them with magic to make them look like gold, tell a few tall tales to encourage people to think I really knew of some ancient ruins in the southlands. The trick was, as always, not to appear too keen to part with the knowledge. People always trusted knowledge more if they had to drag it out of you, and if I could get a few meals out of it who was I to argue. I had not counted on this particular group of marks though. Gauln, the leader, was a Knight of Vrettonia, though his lineage had been in decline for many years and had seemed an easy mark. I hadn’t counted on his romantic streak however. My own story of being from an ancient but impoverished line had clearly struck a nerve and at the last minute he had refused merely to buy my alleged map. Instead he had insisted I come with him, so we could restore our houses together. Id tried to plead of, but he had been insistent and promised more money, worst of all I could see in the eyes of his grim faced squire that he was beginning to get suspicious of my reticence to accompany them. That bit about people trusting things they had to work for worked both ways, there was only so much objection I could raise to something that would clearly appear too good to be true.

 

“According to the map, we have to travel up river to a falls and then procced overland,” Gauln remarked for the hundredth time. I thanked the Gods that I’d copied an actual map of the Southlands when I drew it.

“We will need to find a boat to take us upriver, it would take us months to cover the distance on foot,” I said sagely. In truth I knew little to nothing about trekking through jungles. My only goal was to find a good time to slip away from Gauln and his band, preferabley once they had committed to going up river and I had relieve them of what little gold they had left.

 

“We should buy supplies,” Locke, the hardfaced squire said. He gave me a look that mingled desire and skepticism. I certainly was dressed like I was an Andredan noble heading out into the jungle. A broad black hat of dark leather with one side folded up in musketeer fashion. A leopard skin shawl over a linen mantle over a cotton shirt which covered me to the wrist. I even wore dark grey gloves of soft doeskin to protect me from the ever present mosquitos. I had stout trouser which tucked into knee high boots of polished leather and I carried both a sword and a slung fusil along with a cartridge box and several other items of adventuring gear. Most of it was as foregin to me as this stinking town was, but with luck it would only be a few days before I was on a ship headed back north. Perhaps to Arad Lund, or one of the Islands. I had heard that Calaverde was nice this time of year.

 

“I can make the arrangements,” I declared blithely, eager for a chance to spend Gauln’s gold and skim a bit more off the top for my own use.

“I wouldn’t dream of it my lady,” Locke simpered, “afterall you need to find us an appropriate boat, a much more essential task.”