Dalmor emerged from the dim cabin,
the bright morning sun nearly blinding the young man. He raised a
hand in vain attempt to block the sun from his eyes, but to no avail.
The cry of gulls, the call of sailors, and the crash of waves filled
his ears. He smiled, knowing that his journey would soon be at an
end, this months long trip up the coast with nothing but moldy bread
and fish to eat. He longed for the taste of real food once again,
roasted pheasant, spiced potatoes, and candied fruit. A silent vow
passed his lips that he would never dine upon fish for the rest of
his years.
As his eyes adjusted and the world
cleared before him, the harbor swam into view, with a hundred sails
belonging to countless ships gliding upon the water. Numerous ships
sat at the docks, awaiting their masters to send them forth once
again into the uncaring seas. Beyond them were the familiar spires of
Waterdeep.
He turned at the sharp bark of several
rough sailors carrying the heavy iron lockbox that he had recovered
mere weeks ago. Quickly moving out of their way, he smiled at his
apparent fortune. Others had spent countless years searching for the
treasure that lay within, secured in a chest that could only be
opened with an intricately crafted key. A key that his cousin kept on
a chain around his neck.
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