The lure of Penmawr treasure had piqued my interest, and thus I began searching for clues. While it may look like a tropical paradise, I gathered there was a great deal of treachery, drunkenness and the penchant for stabbing newcomers in the back. This last nugget came to me when I was indeed stabbed in the back.

I turned upon the drunken vagabond and declared, “You will get nothing from me you flea-ridden, pimply-faced, poorly dressed, scurvy dog!” The flaming sword was instantly brought to bear.

To my shock, the swaying dragoon dropped his sword, placed his face in his hands and turned away. I then heard the sound of sobs.

“I say, we are in the middle of duel here. Would you be so kind as to turn around and participate. It would be bad form, and most likely against the rules of engagement to stab you when you aren’t ready,” I said. “I’m not against it mind, but I’d like to give you a fair shake.”

The sobs only grew louder.

“Excuse me? Are you alright over there? Have you suffered some sort of debilitating injury before we have even begun?”

I took a step forward, placed my hand on the lads shoulder and realized he was quite despondent. Indeed on the point hysterics.

“That really hurt my feelings,” he said through the sobs. “I’ll admit to the poorly dressed part, and maybe I have a touch of the scurvy, I am a scoundrel pirate, but the rest of what you said was just plain insulting and mean.”

“Oh my,” I started. “I was merely casting aspersions to make ready for battle. A battle cry if you will. They were not personal insults. I’m sure under this layer of grime you are fine lad with many noble qualities.”

This did nothing to settle the mood and soon a gang of ruffs stumbled upon the scene. Noting the dire situation of their comrade, they immediately began to question what I had done and demanded satisfaction.

“That dirty ratfinkovich made Billy cry,” one of them shouted. “Nobody makes Billy cry but us! Get him!”

The fracas was on before I could air my apology. I was taken off guard and received several debilitating blows upon my person. Several stinging hits of the cudgel sent me reeling.

Crashing headlong into the crates and fish netting was the exact diversion I needed. While they laughed at my ill treatment, I produced the flaming sword and readied the full onslaught of Stone Fist. I unleashed a pulverizing blow right to the chest of the fellow closest to me. The snapping sound was unpleasant to be sure.

I followed this with a frenzy of wildly overreaching sword strikes that took them all by surprise. Everything incurred my wrath including an innocent boat oar, several bottles of whiskey I would like to have saved for later and a small boat that needed to be put out of it’s misery anyway.

I complimented my assault with a debilitating blast of Ice Fist and a rousing dance of Whirling Blades. This brought the laughter and most of the breathing to an end. Seizing the moment, I body slammed one chap right off the peer. He screamed in horror as the briny water scrubbed him clean.

Weeping Billy gave up the fight and made a retreat, but not before wantonly hurling several perfectly good rum bottles in my direction.

“Good thing those were empty or there would be hell to pay!” I warned. But my words fell on deaf ears as he raced down the pier and disappeared out of sight.

With that, I made my way to the alcove of Captain Kennet. And it was indeed a grim sight. There he sat, regal in his chair, but missing a few regal bits. I located one of his extremities lying just off to the side and after surveying the scene my keen adventurer senses told me it would be to my benefit if I found the rest of him.

Having cleared the dock, I found several clues pointing me in the right direction. These scalawags are quite liberal with their posting of mysterious treasure maps and cryptic clues on the walls of their bungalows. But I don’t see why anyone would hide a key in a crow’s nest. That’s just silly. As we all know, keys should be secreted on a night table or swept under a rug for safe keeping. Jumping from rooftop to rooftop and scaling rickety boards to reach such an outpost is foolhardy business and sure fire way to break one’s neck and miss out on all the good treasure.

But after carefully committing the three maps to memory and absconding with a few golden goblets as trinkets for my trouble, I set off to search the island for the secret hiding places of the stash. I am an expert at diving the location of hidden wealth and riches, and it’s the perfect opportunity to use the trusty, rusty shovel I took from the thug that somehow had it concealed in his leggings.


Oh dear me, it looks like you could use a hand. And there is it right there. Allow me to get that for you.

More brilliant musings about my adventures in New Britannia

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