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The Burrow
Brandar the Burned
The heat that permeated within the bayou was enough for anyone to drown out of water. It clung to the skin, saturated clothing, and drained the bones' sweat, culminating in an uncomfortable, humid environment. It was the perfect environment for vermin and insects alike, be it above water or out. Here crocodiles and deadly water musicians made their home, slithering through the mangroves for their next meal. It was a near inhospitable environment, save for those who could use it to hide from the world and governments who would arrest them.
It was a smugglers haven, with nooks and crannies amidst the mangroves and many hidden water caverns to stash pilfered fortunes or two. The Burrow was a neutral area of such venues. It sat within one of the many islands scattered along with the claw of Bayou Garramarisma.
The date when it was founded was lost in lore, and ultimately, didn't matter. A small port and the many buildings were held up out of the water on deep-sea pillars of coral and what appeared to be petrified wood. They gave shacks the appearance as if barely held together by sinew and twine, yet here they remained, after one tropical storm and the next. Perhaps the mangroves protected the shadow port. Or maybe rebuilding efforts were on point. Either way, The Burrow allowed a resting place for smugglers, pirates, and privateers alike. As per the guidelines, any foot set upon the Burrow had to maintain a level of neutrality. Out of the town limits' bounds, anyone was free to determine their own version of justice to right a wrong or an insult given. To break the rule meant to earn the sea's wrath, and there was enough superstition among the sailors over the decades to believe it.
A sign upon a wooden wall posted a wanted ad for a boat and a crew by one Dangeruese Delmare. Coin and profit were to be their payment and seek her out at the Sea Hag's Head for employment queries.