THE GILDED DEBT & THE FOG THAT AIN’T WET

Supplies (Post-Alepocalypse):
 
Mug (half-blessed)
Chainmail (still functional, mostly)
Four light hammers (two named Regret, two yet to be named)
Backpack (mildly scorched)
Warhammer (faithful)
One gold coin (emotional support currency)
 
Things I Am Definitely Not Journaling:
 
I’ve been in this town a month. Long enough to outdrink every keg from the harbor to the high street and short enough to forget that Mira—the stone-hearted stool-counter from the Guilded Goblet—keeps track of what I owe in furniture. (Five stools. Maybe six. One imploded.)
Was trying to buy just one more mug of ale when Mira decided I’d volunteered for a quest. Said I “looked like I needed work.” Rude. Also true.
Next thing I know, there’s a Tiefling (Zardic) yelling about killing ten goblins. Mira said it was six. I like her honesty.
Then this human lad—John—starts chatting with Zardic like they’re old drinking buddies. Mira says the quest needs four people. John and Zardic say “we’ll go alone.” Mira says “you won’t.” Then the cat volunteers.
Yes, a cat. Was sitting behind me on a barrel like it owned the room. Turns out it’s a druid named Kapher. Still calling him “the Cat.” Fits better.
Anyway, I tried to buy ale, ended up in a party. That’s how these things go.
 
Quest Details (What I Remember):
 
Mission’s from a baron named E. Van. Fancy, not too pompous.
Ship called the Wind Rose went missing. Big one—black wood, black sails, gold roses.
Last seen heading west then up the coast. Cargo? Classified. Probably dangerous or stupid. Maybe both.
We’re to find it or bring back news. 150 gold each. Bonus if we recover a special crate. “Tournament-related,” whatever that means.
I owe Mira stool money, so 150 gold sounds like redemption.
 
Travel Highlights:
 
Horses cost too much. I have one gold after paying for one, dumb beast.
The Cat said the fog “isn’t wet.” That’s when I knew we were in danger.
Something about a tree talking to him. I don’t trust trees that whisper unless they’re on fire.
We found a boat near Crescent Cove. Blood everywhere. I tasted it. Rotten. Not wine. Definitely a bad sign.
Zardic and I shared a look. One of those “welp, here we go” looks.
Climbed into the rowboat. Cargo net’s still up on the ship. The other lifeboat’s gone.
By the time we reached the wreck, I realized something horrifying:
I was sobering up.
 
Kord save us all.
 
This is NOT a journal.
This is tactical recollection. For legal, divine, and stool-related purposes.