The Floating City of Volland
The floating city of Volland was unlike anything the Roving Adventurers had encountered before. Built entirely atop Lake Vollous, it consisted of wooden platforms and buildings lashed together with thick ropes, bobbing gently on the waves. Wooden bridges spanned the channels between clusters of houses and businesses, while larger walkways served as the city’s main thoroughfares. The scent of fish, damp wood, and fresh lake air mingled in the breeze, carrying the calls of gulls and the creaking of moored boats.
Taking in the Sights
Makhulim Metalbrewer stomped across a thick wooden plank connecting two floating districts, his heavy dwarven boots thudding with each step. He paused, scowling at the gentle sway beneath his feet.
“I dinnae like it,” he muttered. “A whole city built on water? That ain’t natural. What happens when the lake decides it’s had enough of holdin’ us up?”
Marcho Longbottom, ever light on his feet, strolled beside him, hands casually tucked into his belt. “Then we learn to swim real fast. Except you. You’d sink like an anvil.”
Makhulim grumbled. “Aye, well, I ain’t plannin’ on takin’ a swim, so that’s just fine by me.”
Faylen Naemenor, walking a few paces behind them, took in the sights with wide, fascinated eyes. “It’s beautiful,” she murmured. “A city that moves with the water, adapting with the currents instead of resisting them. There’s something poetic about it.”
“It’s unstable,” Makhulim countered, shifting uncomfortably as the platform beneath him swayed.
“I like it,” rumbled Nayzungit, who towered over the rest of the group. He took a deep breath, relishing the scent of the water and fish. “A city that must adapt to survive. If it falls, it is simply Angradd’s will.”
Makhulim groaned and threw up his hands. “Yer god does not dictate whether or not we drown in a bloody lake!”
Nayzungit merely smiled, as though Makhulim had just reinforced his faith.
The group continued through the bustling floating markets, where merchants hawked fresh fish, exotic lake herbs, and even goods from the surrounding regions of Shalannan. It was here that the sounds of heated conversation caught their ears—two fishermen, arguing near a stall lined with empty nets.
A Fisherman’s Plight
The two fishermen, one an older man with a gray beard and sun-creased skin, the other a younger, wiry fellow with a weathered look, stood near the dock, their voices rising with frustration. The older man waved a half-empty net in the air.
“Not a single catch all morning!” he exclaimed. “And it ain’t just me—no one is bringing in fish!”
The younger fisherman scowled and crossed his arms. “We know what’s causing it, too. Damn sahuagin.”
At the mention of sahuagin, Makhulim’s grip on his axes tightened. “Bleedin’ lake devils.”
Marcho raised an eyebrow. “You sure it’s them? Could just be a bad season for fish.”
The elder fisherman scoffed. “Oh, aye, and I suppose the fish all just up and decided to move on their own?” He jabbed a finger toward the dark waters beyond the city. “We ain’t seen ‘em yet, but we hear ‘em. Guttural croakin’, splashing at night. And next morning, the fish are gone.”
The younger man nodded. “They’re stirring up trouble below, scaring away the schools. We need someone to get out there and deal with ‘em.” His eyes roved over the adventurers, assessing. “You lot look capable. Maybe a little mad, but capable. If you could run ‘em off—or hell, just talk to ‘em if that’s your fancy—we’d be in your debt.”
Makhulim cracked his knuckles. “Reckon we just start splittin’ fish folk in half ‘til they get the message.”
Faylen rolled her eyes. “Why is violence always your first answer?”
“‘Cause it works.”
Marcho tapped his chin. “I mean, it’d be good to know for sure if it is the sahuagin. We might be running into something entirely different.”
Nayzungit nodded solemnly. “If it is the sahuagin, we should bring them to the light of Angradd.”
Makhulim groaned so loudly that a nearby gull squawked in protest.
The older fisherman frowned. “I… don’t know if they’ll be up for conversion, but if you lot can fix this, that’s all we ask.”
Faylen sighed. “Alright. We’ll investigate first. Then we’ll determine if we need to use diplomacy, divine intervention, or Makhulim’s particular brand of ‘problem-solving.’”
Into the Depths
A small wooden raft, courtesy of the fishermen, carried the adventurers toward the deepwater channels where the fish had vanished. The water beneath them turned darker as they left the shallows, the sunlight unable to penetrate the depths. Faylen peered over the edge, her elven sight straining to see what lurked below.
Marcho dipped a hand into the water, only to shiver and pull it back. “Cold. Too cold for comfort.”
Faylen muttered a spell under her breath, and her longbow Charm thrummed with energy. The spectral voice of its former owner whispered into her ear.
There is something stirring beneath, my dear Faylen… something old.
She tensed. “Something is definitely down here.”
Before anyone could respond, the water exploded.
A quartet of sahuagin erupted from below, their scaled bodies gleaming, water cascading from their sleek forms. Their webbed hands gripped spears, but they did not attack immediately. Instead, they clutched their weapons defensively and hissed in their strange, guttural language.
Marcho, always the quickest, raised his hands. “Whoa now! We’re just here to talk!”
Makhulim grunted. “Don’t see why.”
The largest sahuagin, its scales a deep shade of blue, stepped forward and spoke in rough, heavily accented Common.
“Two-legs… you invade our waters. Why?”
Nayzungit stood tall. “We are here to see why you drive the fish away from the fishermen’s nets.”
The sahuagin warrior snarled. “We do not! We hunt as we always have! But the Deep One has awakened… and it steals our prey.”
Faylen frowned. “The Deep One?”
The sahuagin’s gills flared. “A shadow below. A mouth that never closes. It has taken the fish. It will take more.”
Marcho paled. “That… sounds like a problem.”
Makhulim groaned. “You’re tellin’ me we came all the way out here, expectin’ a fight, and instead we get another bloody job?”
The sahuagin warrior narrowed his yellow eyes. “You wish to fight? You may face the Deep One. It waits below.”
The Roving Adventurers exchanged glances.
Faylen sighed. “Well, we did say we’d solve the problem.”
Marcho crossed his arms. “Maybe next time, we let Makhulim pick the first plan.”
The dwarf grinned. “Aye. ‘Cause this time, we are splittin’ something in half.”
