Cursed Coin

Cursed Coin is a book discovered among the treasure looted by the Legion of the Black Hand.

## Description

Cursed Coin appears to be a series of short stories detailing poor investments, unfortunate merchants and the trials of the particularly unlucky halfling Lerry Cherrycheeks.

## Research

### Completed by Hassk

The prophets of Ilemer give a clear and concise message - never turn down an opportunity when it presents itself, particularly when it facilitates the betterment of yourself and others alike. Despite it, there are countless accounts of merchants throughout history, both petty and major in stature, that have been caught out by a turn of fortunes personal and external. For none is this more true that the Westdell-native Lerry Cherrycheeks. When Lerry was born upon Writ's End on the final day of Otealt, it was seen as a sign of his life in business and finance ahead, blessed as he was to be born on the day dedicated to the Guildmaster's Master. Taking quickly to letters and numbers in Common, Halfling, Elvish and Dwarvish alike, he was quickly petitioned off to work as a shophand in a general store near the city centre of Kingbourne, a moderate walk from his family home. More oft than not he served to translate the wants and wishes of the numerous passersby and visitors between rearranging the shop's stock, plucking loose threads from the range of Giadoese rugs or keeping a watchful eye for quick-fingered rapscallions but despite it, misfortune would soon show itself in the long shadows for Lerry however, come adulthood and the customary celebrations on his twentieth birthday.

Writ's End is the traditional day for the revisiting of annual contracts by involved parties with the purpose to stimulate discussions on matters of modificiation, alteration, renewal or cessation. Emboldened by his coming of age, Lerry moved to renegotiate his salary to the shopkeep of The Olive Branch and found moderate success. Initally Master Herkin scoffed at the idea, declaring in jest that Lerry's breeches were not strong enough to hold the weight of the coin he asked for, but in time would relent when the Halfling brokered a lucrative sale to a dragonborn - having learned conversationalist draconic a few months prior and was quickly persuaded to part with his cache of ancient trinkets and coinage. Seeing as it a sign of approval from Ilemer, Master Herkin paid Lerry a commission on the sudden surge in profits and agreed to the contract. Giddy, Lerry continued about the rest of his day before departing with a jaunty step in his stride - and a heavy jingle in his pockets. Swinging by a jewellers, he had one of the runed platinum pieces crafted into a pendant, before deciding to walk a longer route home, pausing for reflection upon the Jubilation Crossing, a decorative marble bridge connecting the islands in the southern banks of Lake Endeen. Dancing between the pillars Lerry span and span - before a loud tearing sound and subsequent splash brought his gait and celebrations to an end. Diving after the coinpurse, he found naught but clay and silt, his fortune gone.

A few years later, Lerry, now operating a bakery in midtown Westdell was left a generous inheritence of cinnamon, cloves and ginger following the passing of Master Herkin - whose employment he had departed from amicably shortly before and whom had suffered the misfortune of tumbling from his balcony. Having struggled to find larger orders from wealthier clients to bolster a steady but modest income producing breads from the common populace, Lerry invested significantly in the towncriers and heralds to advertise his business in the upper streets, finding interest in supplying fragrant pastries for a feast following the union of two noble houses in wedlock. Eager to impress, Lerry formalised his recipes utilising the newly acquired spices with small test batches to resounding success. Flawlessly baked and decadently aromatic, crisp but drowned in cloying honey and syrup - he declared them perfect and started the process of systemically batch-baking the hundreds of pastry slices. Disaster sprung once again - the sustained heat igniting the sacks of flour, starting an inferno that consumed spices, pastries, equipment and the store itself. Lerry fumbled out of the blaze in shock, with only his scorched clothing and coin pendant in his possession - and after a misunderstanding with a city guardsman was nearly arrested under the assumption of arson.

His next venture involved supplying trained farmhands to lords during times of unexpected bountiful harvests - for a decade the region underperformed agriculturally. He later opened a store specialising in the enchantment of mundane items with the intention to sell them on to court wizards and adventurers - only be cursed with a plague of boggles following a failed incantation accidentally opened a portal to the Feywild. Lerry's enterprise as a cordwainer came to an abrupt end following raids by The Lowing Kine, the band of brigading minotaurs rescuing herd after herd of their perceived 'kin' and depriving him of the necessary leather of his craft. The Halfling would fall foul of bandits too for a time when a merchant ship he was travelling on capsized in a squall in the Hempweed Straits, stranding him on the southern siltflats of Galkyr. He would only escape when an ooze consumed the bandit leader in the night, slipping away with nothing more than his coin pendant and his boots as the surviving vagabonds turned on each other. Wherever Lerry went, troubles followed - until one day when his fortunes suddenly turned.

He had awoken early in the morning, stirred by a noise at the wheels of his wagon. Fearing further banditry, he stirred his oxen Bumble into wakefulness and set off but found himself adrift when the lynchpin of his wheel snapped in two, sending the wagon careening into the mud. With a grumble, he shifted to realign the axle but found himself stopped by the feel of cold steel against his throat. With little in his possession beyond the now broken wagon, the steer pulling it ineffectually deeper into the grime and the pendant at his neck, he was quickly parted from all three and sent upon his way by the highwayman. Decrying his rotten luck, he slumped at the base of a tree in sorrow, lamenting why the Goldhand had cursed him so, gnashing his teeth and clawing at the dirt. His fingers clasped something smooth and damp, leather and cloth bundled tight. Wishing upon the Mulberry Prince that it was a misplaced meal to sate his hunger, he instead uncovered an incredible haul. Gemstones, spellscrolls and a greatsword glimmering and sharp despite the ravages of time. Delivering it to a nearby lord, the weapon was identified as belonging to the legendary warrior Xorithromlax, thought to be lost in one of numerous clashes with the Eventide League centuries prior. With freshly-reinforced pockets filled with the reward, he danced upon the bridge once more - without incident.

The highwayman was captured and executed not a month later, his talent and luck to slip away just in time to avoid military patrols suddenly abandoning him.