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The usual lush unbroken coastline of Cibola has been interrupted by the aftermath of the recent battle of its shadow path. Derelict ships that could not reach the Port of Antukt City are at anchor or have run aground. Over a month ago, one such vessel had beached itself spectacularly in sight of the Port but far enough away to be within the domain of the jungle rather than civilization. The ship is fully out of the water after making a significant furrow and jammed up into the treeline. Its hull, rigging and sails create a backdrop, like some sort of theatre stage backing, against the dark forbidding Cibolan jungle. Perhaps a ghoulish nautical sight for shipwrights. A number of more recent longboats and skiffs are pulled up onto the beach after having disgorged some Pathfinders that required ferrying to this location. Torches have been lit and thrust into the moist sands, lanterns hung from the ship. And snakes. The rigging is snek town, tongue-flick county. Ssssso many sssnek. The side of the hull has a piece of canvas hung from it. Something is cooking on a spit nearby that has many vertebrae. And there's a barrel of spirits nearby to disinfect the palette. There's a faint breeze to carry the scent of the food and the heat of the day along the coast. The sounds from deeper within the jungle promise interesting times for the unwary.
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The Hawsepipe Tavern usually caters to those that work at the Docks and ships that harbour there. It is well supplied in spirits and high caloric meals, with nothing getting too fancy. The menu is not high gastronomy but it doesn't pretend to it. The tavern and its back rooms have been rented out for a couple of days for the Pathfinder Corps. Staff has been retained and paid to slings drinks at the bar, cook up uncomplicated mass-quantity meals and keep a beady eye on the particular patronage. The tavern is usually given over to multiple scattered tables for waitstaff to rove between. Today these have been mostly pushed to the edge of the room. A set of four have been pushed together at the center and hold a large parchment map of Amber with spokes of sea routes and paths that lead (sometimes more aesthetically than accurately) to Golden Circle realms. The edges of the big parchment are weighed down by an assortment of knives and tankards. Objects sit on certain realms like monopoly pieces, and Ruby's bias towards the different GC realms is blatant.

Those entering will be welcomed by a scent of pipesmoke, alcohol and meats that have sazzle. The beams of the ceiling have been inundated by a blue haze of the aforementioned puff-puffs. There's no one to take hat or coat but plenty of places to hang or fling once out of the dockside weather. It's sporadically populated by perhaps two dozen other individuals.
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