Fizban shops for pearls

You and your companions have spent the last two days cleaning out Candlekeep. The remaining Bear Gard have been wending in and out, toting bodies, bones, bloody viscera, and other disgusting body parts to a pit for burial, while village members, notified of Queen Mab’s defeat, have been wandering in to claim their loved ones—whether alive (unlikely) or dead (very likely). Several mothers wailed disconsolately outside the keep when they found their infant children had been killed; eventually, Lord Gaspar Sewell stepped in and organized a processional and a respectful funeral, conducted by the local druid and attended by the entire village.

On the first evening, the Bear Gard built a pyre and held a solemn ceremony to send their deceased brethren on to the afterlife. They invited you and Faerith and King Runard (Mish Mash) to attend, although you noticed they seemed to give King Runard a wide berth. A number of them grumbled something under their breath when he wasn’t nearby, but their voices were too low and the wind too loud to be overheard. During the ceremony the remaining Bear Gard members took turns recounting the heroic deeds of the fallen before solemnly lighting their pyres. Afterwards, they drank like only warriors can—deeply, thoroughly, wantonly, and raucously.

You commandeered Murray to help you with the task of cataloguing and packing the hag’s library into wooden crates Lord Sewell obtained from the village. Murray was only too happy to be pulled away from cleaning duty.  All told, you found 46 tomes, 73 books, 19 scholarly scrolls, and various other writings (including a doodle of a giant crone-like woman rampaging through a village, stomping on miniature stick figure people). Most seem to deal with forbidden rituals and blood magic, but there are some priceless tomes about such things as planar travel, the nine hells, demonology, the mating habits of trolls, how to drain someone’s life away by giving them nightmares, and a very old bestiary to name a few.

It was nearing the evening of the second day when you decided to head into the village for a pearl large enough to use for an identify spell.  As you head down the last flight of stairs and pass through the front gate, you once again stop to look at the odd bas relief sculpture on the wall just inside the door. You run your fingers over the odd maze-like lines surrounding what appears to be a sizable tome, lines of power emanating outward from it. Outside you notice a light fog has rolled in off the bay. Murray is standing by the carriage feeding a carrot to one of the horses.

“Ever driven a carriage?” you ask Murray as you pass him.

“My mother had an old mule cart we’d drive to market days, sir.”

You reach up and unlatch the door, giving Murray a crooked smile. “Basically the same thing. C’mon, drive us into town.”

The terrain surrounding the tower has changed drastically since your initial arrival. It seems with the demise of the hag, the land of Eltur has begun to reassert itself. The swamp has receded, the trees have put out blooms, and even some flowers have sprung up amidst the sedge. But the fog keeps returning.

You are staring out the window, contemplating an interesting passage you had been studying in The Otyugh, Not as Ugly as You Might Think, when a flash of red cloth snags your attention. Something or someone had been standing near a tree about 50 feet off the road, but moved out of sight at the approach of your carriage. Try as you might to pierce the fog, the encroaching evening and dense foliage make it impossible to see much. Scanning the terrain, you see nothing but trees, shrubs, and mud.

Murray, oblivious, keeps the cart trundling on, its rear wheels slipping only slightly in the mud. Shrugging, you decide not to stop him. It’s probably just some shy villager out gathering herbs or dung or something. Twenty minutes and a couple of miles later and you find yourself clattering through the tiny village of Misty Bay. Small waddle and daub huts huddle together around the only sizable house, a two story clapboard manor belonging to the Burgomeister.

Boasting a little over a thousand residents, it takes Murray about two minutes to pull up at the wharf, which consists of a single dock with about four boats (little more than dinghy’s) tied up to it. An ancient mariner mending nets points you to the only building, a rickety shack sitting next to a mound of shucked oyster shells. Faint yellow light leaks from the gaps of the seasoned boards; voices raised in anger emanate from within.

Your knock is answered by an old potbellied Halfling. His skin is weathered and wrinkled, knotty and brown as old dried wood. He squints up at you, light spilling from the door silhouetting his diminutive frame.

“Wat kin I doos for ye, M’lord?” he asks after a silent moment.

“I’m trying to buy a pearl,” you reply. “I’m told you are the person to talk to.” You then describe the size of pearl you would need.

He studies you for a moment, tiny, sunken eyes staring at you from a haggard face. The skin of his lips is cracked, his greasy gray hair looks like the only thing that combs it is the wind. “Afurd, I kin’t helps ye, M’—“

“Who is that, pa?” the old Halfling is interrupted by a melodious voice from within. The door swings a bit wider, revealing a comely human girl sitting by a small fire, shucking oysters.

“Wh-who…is that?” Murray’s voice nearly startles you. He had been standing so quietly behind you. You turn to see a strange look on his face, eyes wide and mouth slack.

“Wat’re ye on abouts?” the old Halfling grumbles. “Tha’s me daughter. Kin’t ye tells?”

Murray manages a mumbled apology without taking his eyes off the girl, who returns his look with a shy smile.

“As I was a sayin’” the halfing continues. “I is outta pearls. Sol’ me whole stock to dat silly wizard guy nie on a week ago.”

“Wizard?” you ask.

“The strange looking fellow, shaved head, lots of tattoos. From Thay I think he said,” the girl by the fire explained. “ Came here about a month ago, shortly before all them troubles up at the tower, said he was travelling the coast buying up pearls. Bought up all of pa’s supply.”

“Yeppin’ jus’ as she says, M’lord,” nodded the Halfling. A startled cootie fell from his thinning hair. “E’ery las’ one.”

“Well…not every last one, pa,” the girl said, somewhat reproachful.

The Halfling glared at her and clucked his tongue. “Devil git yous girl,” he said before turning back to you. “Oh, aye, she speks truth a’ight. I found a big’in yesterday.”

“Well, perfect, sir,” you reply, pleased with your luck. “I only need one for now. I’ll take it.” And you reach for your coin pouch.

“Wells, M’lord, tha’s da ting, ain’t it?” the halflings eyes gleam in the dim light, and he runs a thin tongue over his dry lips. “Dis is the las’ pearl der is…” his eyes linger on your pouch. “In fac’, whats was it the wizard said, Rose?”

The girl looks a little uncomfortable as she shifts her look from Murray to her dad. “What do you mean, pa? About how he thought you had nice teeth? Or about what a beautiful house we have?”

The Halfling whirls around at her and hisses disdainfully at her. “Abouts me teeth, she says! Da Gods saves me from such a daughter!” He turns back to you and rubs his hands. “Naw, nots abouts any o’ dat. Abouts how he’s jus’ come down from Caer Rima. Bought all a der pearls, too, he has.” His eyes gleam a bit more brightly as he shuffles forward a step towards you. You hear a foot scrape behind you and a muffled gasp as Murray retreats a step. “Tells ye wat, M’lord, I’ll sells it ye fer 300.”

Okay, what do you do?