Elias took me through the dust filled streets of Bayview today, hunting for a band of gypsies known to sniff out dragon dens and strip them bare of their riches. He was sure that if anyone had the knowledge we sought, it would be Rom Baro, the Gypsy King. But the trouble with gypsies is that they never stay in one place, always drifting with the wind.
Our search led us to the halls of The Salty Serpent. We pried some information out of the bartender after a few pints of grog, and the company of a couple of beautiful ladies didn’t hurt either. By nightfall, we had a lead—just enough to point us toward the shadows, where the gypsies were rumored to drift.
When we found them, Rom Baro was waiting—a thin, gangly figure, more shadow than man, with a pipe that filled the air with smoke thicker than the morning fog that shrouds One-Eyed Isle on a cool day. The man had a way about him, speaking in riddles and half-truths, his voice drifting like the smoke from his lips. I tried to press him for clear answers, but every time I thought I had him pinned down, he’d slip away like a fish wriggling free of a net.
He spoke of an isle forged in the flames of an ancient dragon—its fire so fierce that it turned the bedrock to gemstone. He claimed it’s where Skalebreaker might be hiding, buried deep within a lair of glittering stone. And then, with a grin that made my skin crawl, he handed me a ring. “The soul of a slain dragon rests in its stone,” he said, his eyes gleaming in the dim light, a crooked smile playing on his lips. He pressed the ring into my hand, and for a moment, the air seemed to chill.
“It’s a key,” he whispered. “Where it leads, that’s for you to find out. It could guide you to treasure—or to your doom. Some say it shows the way to places no man should go.”
Whether Rom Baro’s words were the truth or just another tale spun in the night, I can’t say for sure. To me, it looks like a simple trinket, nothing more. But what does this old sea dog know about such things?
