Level 15 - Grand Lord King Master of Wordsmithy
'Bristlebane ale. Tall.'
Mathus looked up. He didn't recognize the man ordering, but he seemed the type: muscles beneath a layer of fat, a snarling expression with most of his teeth missing, fists like summer hams. 'You want it in a bottle?'
'From the tap.'
Mathus nodded. 'This way,' he said, stepping from behind the bar and into the back room, the 'customer' following.
A fresh-faced young man sitting at the bar looked around, confused. 'Bristlebane? Sounds adventurous.'
'You couldn't handle it, son,' an older man said from across the plank bar with a hint of derision. 'It'd right kick your ass.'
'We came expecting a broken moon or wayward asteroids, but this... I don't think anyone's seen anything of its like. There's an astounding amount of material here. We're looking in the records, trying to match some of the artifacts, but there's nothing like it. I don't know what most of this does, but my God is it complex. We're looking at, at least, what, two decades of potential salvage, maybe more, then the cartography of the local moon for more. We're definitely here to stay.'
- Phaeton Venator, recovered personal log
Bad luck just seems to follow him everywhere. Some say its a curse, others its just in his head. But there's one thing everyone can agree about Poor Josias: he is a sad, sad man.