Captain Blackthorn grimaced against the salt air that sandblasted his face. His men were weary, his ship was falling apart and the hold was replete with treasures beyond counting. It was time to head home and enjoy the bounty that years at sea had brought them. As he braced himself against the pressing squall he considered the conundrum of converting said bounty into a transferable asset that could easily be spent without arousing suspicion of the local militia or the jealousy of rival pirates. If only large amounts of wealth could be represented on something as light and unobtrusive as a piece of paper. But then Blackthorn had a idea:
"I know what we'll do! We'll bury it!…"
Walking through the alleys of the docks district of town, you hear an old, mad beggar calling out for alms. He claims to be a god, cast out from heaven and stripped of his powers. The party passes, tossing a few coppers to him. In thanking them, the madman refers to incidents in their childhood or distant past which would have been all but impossible for him to know.