Wyrd Tales in Port Doom
A decidedly creepy fellow.
In Port Doom, to call someone “fey” isn’t necessarily an insult. Originally it just meant “faerie,” and some of the older folk in the Elven district still use it that way. Of course, some of the older folk in the Elven district are probably older than most of the neighborhoods in Port Doom, and the rest of the city has moved on without them.
Which brings us to Ja’an – a fey fellow if ever there was one.
For months, he set a wide net and trolled the low neighborhoods, looking for laborers for one project or another. His original claim was that he was doing construction for the Grand Caravan, but that turned out to be false. No new buildings went up under his watch. No, his work was something else entirely.
That the men coming back from work were close mouthed about what they saw and did was unsurprising. Everyone knew that Halrathrin paid good coin for strong arms and better coin for shut mouths. It went on that way for a while, until he suddenly disappeared from view, taking a large group of laborers and sell swords with him.
No one really knew what Halrathrin was up to until it was too late. Some intrepid souls found evidence of his passage – an altogether horrible site from what I heard third hand, with signs of blood and death all around. Word is that he dug something big out of the ground. Something as big as the Guardian herself, one wagging tongue said, though my guess is that the size had grown in the telling.
No one has seen him since, though there have been stories that some of those sellswords escaped whatever fate befell the others, and those same sellswords are now flush with gold of a peculiar square stamp, with a face and motto that hasn’t been seen in living memory – save maybe for those old, upright citizens in the Elven quarter.