Well, friends, come the evening I found myself STRANG’LY LIVELY and NOT AT ALL fatigued, so I thought to take a stroll and the pulse of the town. Went this way and that, and soon coming to a likely tavern, who did I see but my old chum.
“Long memory,” says I, for we goblins used to rule the world.
“Long knives,” was his reply, for we will again.
And we spat our hands to shake, and sat down to a drink.
After a while I said, “Well the beer’s not too sour, but your face is. What’s the trouble?”
“Ah,” he said. “It’s the fish men. They’ve snuck into the canals and into the pockets of our marks. Can’t hardly make a living no more.”
“Oho, the fish men then. They’re a slippery lot, and not just because they are. Tell me what you know, mayhap I can help.”
He thanked me, and gave me some particulars. And he said the fish men’ve made some rich hauls of late. Merchant boats. Warehouses. And he gave some hints that beyond his own gratitude, a defeat of the fish men might bring the same from the burghers of the town. I suppose they prefer honest thieves to that lot!
I told him I’d see what could be done, and came straight back here to the inn.
So there we are. An adventure, with gold at the end of it — the best kind! And p’raps some leverage with the gentry, as might help with our present endeavors. Who’s in?