[Another Man's Treasure, Main Deck]
The deck has collapsed and is now lying in the battered hull, leaving only open sky overhead. Broken boards scar the floor, but paths have been blazed between crates under portholes that have survived whatever tragedy befell this once-noble ship. A fork in the path wanders off to an open archway in the facade of the wheel house, now leading into the lower bunk room. Gaps in the hull have been covered with rotting fishnets secured by frayed sail rope to keep the seagulls and other creatures out. You also see a hand-written note tacked between a sign and a notice, a shell-shaped letter, a Animoni list, a Ichthyo list, a tangled mass of nets with a salt-encrusted shell on it, an irregular doorway and a curtain of dessicated seaweed.
Obvious paths: none.
A hand-written notice reads:
My wife and I will be around occasionally to alter items. A few guidelines before we are here.
The adjacent sign and notice give some do's and don'ts about our services.
Ichthyo and Animoni
A Do sign reads:
I have a reasonable supply of various materials that I've found in my quests for treasure that
I'd be willing to part with for a price. I can work with leather, but cannot change its
properties, only its appearance. Limit the length of your descriptions, the longer your
description is the more likely I will edit it. Have several alternate descriptions, I'm a
patient man when it comes to dealing with dirt, but not with arguing.
A Don't notice reads:
I do not work with metal of any kind because of a skin condition. I do not work with exotic
materials, whether you have them in hand or not. Don't argue. If you argue, you will be sent to
the end of the line, and there is no guarantee that I will get to you again.
A shell-shaped letter reads:
While I am here I will only be painting on the shells. I do not have much supplies at the moment,
so I can not do many. If I get more supplies, I'll do more. Thanks!
[Another Man's Treasure, Lower Bunk]
Being the home to all the sailors at the bottom of the pecking order, this room is very closet-like, yet has bunks for eight people. Each bunk is very slender, and the sailors barely had room to sleep on their sides. The eerie silhouette of a skeleton lies under a blanket on one of the middle bunks, its hand reaching slightly over the edge clutching something that has become barnacle-encrusted from many years in the sea. You also see a disfigured archway, a decaying hamper, a mangled claw-shaped hook with some stuff on it and a salt-battered boot rack with some stuff on it.
Obvious exits: none.