5. The Drowned Cottage

Just off the crooked bend of the Low Road, where the marsh mist curls thick over the reeds and deadwood, sits a decayed structure known simply as the Drowned House. Long abandoned by its original owners and overtaken by nature’s rot, it has quietly been reclaimed—not by villagers, but by a hidden cell of The Crimson Reapers. Under secret orders from Rom, this seemingly forgotten ruin now serves as a covert checkpoint and observation post for cult forces aligned with the Temple of Elemental Evil.

Exterior Description

The Drowned House leans precariously near the marsh’s edge, its foundation swallowed by muck and water. Green-black mold coats the once-white walls, while the porch groans under its own weight. Ivy, moss, and rot consume the outer shell, blending it almost seamlessly with the surrounding swamp.

• Chimney: Collapsed and overgrown with creeper vines.
• Door: Barely attached, swings open in the wind with a sound like a dying breath.
• Windows: Boarded, broken, or missing; only the insects find shelter in the frames.
• Dock: A rotting fishing dock stretches a few yards into the Imeryds Run, sagging with every gust of wind and barely usable—more trap than pier.

Interior and Usage

Inside, the cottage is cold, damp, and filled with the musk of decay and damp cloth. The floorboards have begun to buckle from beneath, and the walls weep with condensation. This ruin has been repurposed into a clandestine post for the Crimson Reapers, stationed to watch and control travel in and out of Nulb.

• Front Room: Used for surprise confrontations—rough-hewn benches, a warped table, and shackles embedded in the wall.
• Back Room: Sleeping area for the stationed Reapers, equipped with mildew-ridden cots, a sealed crate of dried rations, and a hidden cubby containing coded dispatches.
• Overwatch Point: A slit carved in a rear wall overlooks the road junction, allowing unseen observation of travelers.

Function and Objectives

The Reapers stationed here are not present to engage openly—but to watch, intercept, and report. All merchants, wanderers, pilgrims, and adventurers are to be stopped and questioned. Suspicious individuals may disappear without a trace.

Primary Objectives:

• Monitor High and Low Roads into Nulb.
• Interrogate travelers about their destinations, contacts, and cargo.
• Relay reports to Rom or Zelt the Bat via magical means or runners.

As the adventurers cross the timeworn stone bridge into Nulb, the river mist curls low around their boots. From the ruined shell of the Drowned House, two shadowed figures step out, crimson sashes just visible beneath weathered cloaks. Their weapons are sheathed—but close. Their eyes are sharp. They say nothing at first. The silence is oppressive.

• Watcher Vask (voice flat and gravelly, arms folded across scarred leather):
  "Halt. You're two steps from a grave if you take another without speaking."
  (He tilts his head, birdlike.)
  "This is Nulb. Not a place for sightseeing or sermons. So—who are you, and why are you pointing your boots toward our doorstep?"
• Threlk (leaning on a rusted pike, smile devoid of warmth):
  "Don't lie. We’ll smell it. We’ve been listening to liars long before your gods ever heard of you."
  (He taps the bridge with the butt of his weapon, a slow, hollow thud.)
  "You carrying coin? Scrolls? Trouble? Say the wrong name, and we’ll assume you’re Temple bait."

Should the adventurers respond with vague or evasive answers, the Reapers grow colder, more precise.

• Watcher Vask (interrupting, tone like a vice tightening):
  "Enough. I’m not here for chatter—I’m here for clarity. Who sent you? What’s your trade? And who in Nulb expects you?"
• Threlk (lowering his voice to a whisper):
  "Because if no one’s waiting for you... maybe you stay out here with the river rats. Nulb doesn’t welcome strays—unless we’re feeding them to something."

If the party offers a name or contact:

• Watcher Vask (grunting):
  "Mm. We’ll see if that name opens doors... or graves. You’ll be watched. Eyes don’t blink much ‘round here."
• Threlk (stepping aside, smirking):
  "Move along. And remember—sometimes, being watched is safer than being ignored."

The adventurers, cautious but pressing forward, pose their questions to the watchers in the mist—about who holds the reins in this swamp-stained corner of the world. The response is slow in coming, like a knife being drawn. When it comes, it's wrapped in humor sharp enough to cut.

• Watcher Vask (snorting, eyes never leaving the party):
  "Who runs Nulb? Depends who’s bleeding that day. But if you’re asking whose knife is deepest in the table—Lady Nysera. Cold hands, warm smile. Talks like a priest, kills like a butcher."
• Threlk (scratching a scar across his neck):
  "Don’t let the moss and the rot fool you. She runs this place like a chessboard. Every pawn, every drunk, every whore and whisper—they dance to her tune or they vanish into the water."

The two share a glance, and something close to amusement passes between them—fleeting and hollow.

• Watcher Vask (deadpan):
  "Bandits, pirates, smugglers, cult freaks—they all think they’re players. Truth is, they’re tenants. Rent’s paid in gold or blood. Mostly blood."
• Threlk (tilting his head, voice dropping):
  "No laws here. Just arrangements. And if you break one, there’s a shallow patch of swamp out back we call the ‘Nulb court.’ Jury’s quick. Verdict’s quicker."

They both step back just enough to let the adventurers pass—but not enough to let them forget who opened the way.

• Watcher Vask (flatly, as if it’s a promise):
  "Eyes are on you now. Every alley has ears. You keep your feet clean, maybe you walk back out. Or maybe you feed the fish. That part’s up to you."
• Threlk (with a grin like a cracked blade):
  "Welcome to Nulb."