Sam Underwood speaks

“Why did I leave the ship to become a thief? Well, I  never thought much about it before. I had been sailing on the river for several years, and was getting tired of it. Upriver, downriver, upriver, down… there’s only so much of that anyone can stand.

I’d been thinking of going ashore, looking for some other way to spend my life. I remember being in some little town well down the river, waiting at a merchant stall to buy a brooch. It was a delicate little piece of emerald set in silver (so they claimed, at least), with stars and moons etched in the metalwork. I was sweet on a girl in the next town, and planning to get it for her.

Anyway, the merchant was down at the far end of the stall chatting with an old beggar woman – ‘I know, oh, I know. No, that’s not right, no. Oh, I know’ and so on. I started wondering if she’d ever finish jabbering away. Well, at some point, I thought, what if I just picked it up and walked away. It was that simple. I thought, I looked around, I thought again, smiled, and did it.

My knees were like jelly. I walked about two stalls away before I started to relax, then someone yelled ‘hey, you!’ I froze, and turned. A dirty fellow came running up holding a coin purse. ‘You dropped this,’ he said. ‘Thanks,’ I replied, taking it. He disappeared in the crowd, and I returned to my ship. We pulled out that night, and I realized I’d found a new calling.

Before we reached the next town, I looked through the purse he’d given me. There was a single electrum piece, and the name of an inn in Waynesburg written on a little note. ‘Buy a rum with this,’ it said. When we got to Waynesburg, I found the inn, bought a tankard of rum, paid with the electrum piece, and found a seat. Within minutes, a dapper fellow joined me, and we talked.

He was in the Thieves’ Guild, and asked me to help him with a job. If it went well, he’d find a place for me in the guild. I accepted. Later that evening, another fellow came to find me and we went to work. The job was absurdly simple, and we were soon done with it. We took the item to an alley away from the waterfront to meet a fence. While waiting, I was sapped.

I awoke in the morning with a nasty headache, a set of thieves’ tools in my belt, and a purse with 2 electrum pieces in it. I went to my ship’s berth, and found it gone. I asked, and was told they’d left at dawn. Some time later, I asked my contact about the ship, and they told me they’d squared things with the captain. I never thought about it again.

Eventually, I discovered they had told them I’d been killed in a drunken brawl, paid him 5 gp for their loss of crew, and urged the ship to leave town. They left town.”

A Trolly Story

There was a troll in the sewer. The story started to be whispered around, and it did not take long for Nancy and her companions from the kobold fight to hear,a d decide to try to help.

A worried looking official told them what had happened. The troll isn't the real danger, he said. The troll got in through one of the windmill pumps, and broke it - when they sent men to fi it, he came back and attacked, and one of them was killed Now, though, no one is willing to try to fix the windmill, and they were worried that the troll would break another one. He had been spotted by one; he seemed to know there were people there he could prey on. "If you could get the troll, you would save the city - if the pumps fail, the sewers will flood, maybe the water supply will flood, maybe the drainage will fail and the whole city will flood." Nancy said they would try.

The party was given oil and torches, a potion of healing, and the officials wished them godspeed. They went in, very carefully, and almost immediately found the troll. They laid a careful ambush for it - letting Bonnie Prince Charlie, the ranger, hide in one alcove, while Guinness the fighter hid (invisibly) in another, and the rest waited at the end of a passageway, hoping to lure the troll in so the fighting men could ambush it. It worked: the troll saw the others and came after them, though he spotted BPC quickly and made for him. They tried to get him with oil and fire, but Ichi the monk missed with the oil he flung at him, and the others did not have time to ignite the iol they put on the floor. But they were ready.

Nancy had magic: she cast a spell that terrified the troll and sent him running away from her at speed. As he went, BPC and Guinness attacked him, hitting him hard - and then both dashed up and Guinness was able to douse him in oil, in preparation for burning. Then Spencer the wizard stepped up and cast a sleep spell - enough to knock the troll over. they quickly set him ablaze and that as the end of him.

They left, and men moved to repair the windmill. But that very night, a troll attacked another windmill, driving the men away - word spread quickly, and no one was willing to work on the pumps. The story spread - the adventurers hired to kill the troll had failed.Left it to regenerate as trolls are known to do! When they heard this claim, Nancy and the others were appalled. "We killed it - we immolated it! we brought proof!" they said. The officials who hired them tried to reassure them - they knew they had killed the troll, once and for all. It was a vicious rumor, just a rumor.

But it means there are more trolls, Nancy said - and they all knew it was true. So they prepared to go back in, this time, ready to fight as many trolls as they might find.

Up the River

This was an interesting day. We were accosted in the street by a young boy who seemed drawn to our cleric, Geldon. I don't understand why everyone is so drawn to him, but even I sense the attraction. He is nothing like the great Atherton, who spoke of the "endearing wonderment of the ascendant mind."

We met the Lord Mayor of Bywater, who seems a petty figure in a bland drama. But there is coin in his purse, and a willingness to part with it that is commendable to us. It seems his aim went awry in mistaking us for another band of Players who've been making a name for themselves in these parts. "Chewing the suckling tit too harshly," as the great Atherton was wont to say.

We made our way to the edge of town to pick up our wagon of supplies and begin our journey. It nearly ended our quest at its inception. We realized something was amiss, as no one was around to meet us as communicated. We approached the ajar entrance, and were met with a crash, and following oath and silencing command. Our hackles were raised!

What followed may have gone better with hindsight. In the wisdom of Atherton, "tread softly in the darkness, lest the light bite." We boldly crashed another entrance and interrupted a theft in progress. Their nefarious greed gave us the edge on action and we dealt them blows they couldn't return.

There were tense moments as we made our way through crowded stacks of goods and won the day, but win we did. But as Atherton himself always said, "winning dreams see no empty ways." It was a challenging fight, and we moved uncertainly with the test, but victory was ours at day's end.

After reporting what we'd learned regarding the Riflers to the city guard, confirming their ideas somewhat, we continued to Wendell to ensure all was well and trade able to move effectively again. We stayed at the Meeting House, and learned there were more factors in play than just the Riflers. There was a hunter at the inn cleaning a wolf pelt he'd found on a trail into the Wyvern Vale. Tuffy glanced at the carcass and declared the arrows used to slay it were gnoll arrows. We learned of the demonic gnolls at the temple where I studied, demonic beasts of terror and horror.

We made plans with Gareth, the hunter, to travel to the glen where he'd found the body in the morning. There are two other guest here at the inn tonight, Mavis and Terrence. I noticed Terrance speaking with Ildebrun at one point in the evening, but he seemed to keep to himself most of the night. There is something mysterious about him and the way he held himself apart from the festivities of the evening. He reminds me of the temple elders - watching, always watching.

Mavis was a real delight! She is a merchant traveling the river to get behind the mystery of the bandits too. She was everywhere all night, talking with everyone, laughing, buying drinks - the life of the party. She seemed really interested in everything we'd found out about the Riflers and their foiled attempt at robbing the Warehouse. There was palpable shock on her face as we related our tale. She must really feel for the merchants and their losses.

My watch is nearly over, and I'm ready to wake Tehc, our new companion, for his shift. He arrived late in the evening with a message for Attila to return to his order for a special mission, but agreed to travel with us in his place. He's an affable fellow, rakishly decked out with a bugle and flat hat, but sure loves his food! He seems to carry a bag of apples with him. Well, time to pass off the watch and get some much needed rest. As Atherton always says, "there's no sleep like the big sleep."

Tales of the Strange Companions

And it came to pass, that while they the companions were inside the mine, certain orcs had found and stolen their horses. When they emerged once more upon the hillside, they espied the monsters leading their animals away across the moor. They reacted with dismay, and with dispatch set out after the creatures, following then across the moor. The orcs took no special care in their movements, and so the companions remained on their trail without disclosing their presence.

At least they came to a place where the winding track led through the bogs and scrub of the moors, and a small, ruined house rose from the ground. There, they discovered one of their horses, being led about by one of the orcs. The companions, remaining unseen by the orc, did creep forward so to spring upon him unawares, in which they were successful, but they roused the others of his band. One in the ruins let off a blast of a horn; another, brandishing a large staff carved with the foul and cruel face of the orcs abominable god, charged, howling, from the ruins, to attack them. As they closed with these orcs to give them battle, a third monster commenced loosing arrows from another small ruined outbouse. And as the battle was joined, more orcs, including their captain and champion, came charging across the moors, roaring their hatred as they swung their great swords and axes above their heads.

A terrible fight ensued. The orc shaman brought down curses, and flying magical weapons that rained blows upon the companions, but Sister Clair confounded the monster by summoning a magical quarterstaff of her own with which to belabor him. Inky, Bono and Angus came to blows with the monsters, with their captain and champion, and the two sides rained blows upon one another most terribly. But the companions had grown in strength, and their magical powers and martial skills told in the end, and they wore the orcs down, slowly bringing them to defeat. The creatures, bred for war and murder, would never surrender - they fought on with desperate redoubled efforts, but to no avail. The companions did triumph, and held the field.

And so did their mission end. They found and retrieved their horses, with some difficulty, and after resting in a secure place, they set out once more back to Whelker’s Deep in the morning. At the Gypsy Arms they were received with great rejoicing. The regulars at the tavern had taken them as their own, and were bragging about their exploits as thought hey had shared in the companions’ dangers themselves. The next day, they rode on and spoke with the McGuffin family. They brought to them the relics of Black Bart, and the proofs of his identity provided by the mysterious half-elf Quarrel, and the family thanked them most effusively for their service. “We know,” they said, “that our beloved son has been avenged; would that the cruel killers could have come to meet their end at the hands of a judge and hangman, but knowing they have been destroyed is, itself, a small comfort.” Thus they provided the 500 pounds they had promised, and after examining the other relics of the adventure the companions had brought, told them to keep them for themselves. The wand in particular, they said they could not take: “Young Trevor studied the magical arts against our wishes and advice; the trappings of that magical life he led can only cause us pain, for had he not chosen such a disreputable path, he would not have met the terrible end he met. You will find uses for them that we cannot, and so we grant them to you, and ask only that you continue to serve the cause of justice, in your small way, as you have served the cause of Trevor’s justice.”

But when the companions did seek the reward offered by the town for the capture or death of Black Bart, they were rudely rebuffed. They met with the steward Hamish the Gray, who looked over the proofs of Black Bart’s identity and refused to accept them. “This leg could belong to anyone,” he said, and though Bono and Milo (who were the companion’s spokesmen) showed tghe signs the half-elf had revealed to them, the steward refused to be persuaded. “Where is this half-elf?” he asked. “How did he know so much about Black Bertrand? No - this is hardly proof that you have found Black Bart himself - this could be anyone’s leg; you could have gotten these other signs from the man himself. No, I cannot pay you based on this.”

And so they were rebuffed in their attempt to gain the other half of their expected reward, and retreated to the Gypsy Arms, to consider their next actions. And there, they heard most disturbing talk. Their friends there (Young Davy, Joe, Cap’n Will, Shelf the dwarf) told them that there were stories circulating in town, that they had defrauded the McGuffin family with the leg of some unknown unfortunate. There were whispers that they had let associates of Black Bart go in exchange for information. There was even one particularly noisome tale that they had conspired with the outlaw chief himself to pass off the leg of an unfortunate underling as his own, so that he could collect the reward for himself. And as they listened to these tales, the companions grew more and mor
[Manuscript ends here]

An Unmailed Letter

Dear Mother Superior:

You may never receive this, for I am writing it from a village called Tinker’s Dam, somewhere in the interior or Dag’s Moor. If you have received my previous letters, you will understand how I have come too this condition, but if not, suffice it to say that I found myself on the eastern shore of Lenay with no money and no way to return home, and so have decided to put my training to use, and earn my way back through adventuring.

I was in a village called Whelker’s Deep when I heard of 4 men who had defeated a party of goblins that was menacing the outlying farms. I found these men being feted in the village, and heard many tales of the troubles emanating from the moors. Goblins have been raiding; orcs have been seen; and piracy and other criminal endeavors are legion. A dwarf who works for one of the lords hereabouts was telling how the coach was robbed, and a magic user had lost many valuable goods - it became clear that the men who killed the goblins were becoming enflamed with a desire to go into the moor to seek their fortunes.

I noticed, however, that though there were 4 of them, none of them were priests. It occurred to me that they might be willing to take me along as a henchman (or hench-woman I suppose), for spiritual guidance and medical assistance. So I approached them, making it clear that I could not fight with any effectiveness (for all I could afford was a very old and ineffective suit of padded armor and a half broken shield), but I would gladly offer what services I could in exchange for a partial share of the treasure. They seemed pleased to have me join them, for it saved them the trouble of finding a priest on their own. They are, I think, all strangers to this area. And so we set out.

I say men, though only one is strictly speaking a man. 2 are elves: one a wizard, the other a fighting man, though one with religious affiliation - he may be a paladin. There is one human, a soldier, and one who I think still fancies himself in uniform - in battle, he moves as though he expects the others to form a battle line with him. The fourth is something I have never seen before, though I have heard of such creatures - a kind of dragon looking creature, all black (and calling himself Inky), who is even able to spit a kind of corrosive fire at his enemies. I keep my peace and do as needed, though I do not fully trust these men, especially the dragon creature - he barely speaks, but when he does, he seems determined to shock the rest of us with his cruelty. The others do not seem shocked - I don’t know if they are used to such badinage, or if they are as bad as he is - though none of them seem all that bad. We have been dragging an orc around with us for two days now, for example, when it would have been very simple to kill him or throw him into a river to drown. They may have sinister motives, but so far they have treated this orc with surprising decency.

I should tell you how things have happened. We left Whelker’s Deep - good heavens - it is but yesterday morning! You see how much has happened! We travelled along a coastal road heading north to a place they cal Clamdigger Cove - which is occupied by pirates and smugglers, from all I have heard. We had gone an hour or so on this road when we heard strange noises on the other side of a ridge. We sent scouts ahead - the drgaon-man and the fighting elf (I will call him a paladin; I think that is what he is). They circled up the hill and spotted the source of the noises - a bug-bear and 2 goblins! There was a fight: I have the most confused memories of it. One of the monsters broke through the rest of the party and reached me - I tried to defend myself, but he knocked me down; I think I was knocked out for a while, though I soon car around. I think the fighting might have been over then. I recovered, and was able to help one of the others - though I swear, now, I can’t remember who it was. I was terrified, reverent Mother - not as much while it was happening as afterwards - thinking about it. Later, as we were walking on the road, I could not stop thinking about what had just happened to me, and how close I had come to having something truly terrible happen. I could die: I have been in danger before, but not like that. To see something coming at me, determined to kill me - I couldn’t stop thinking about it.

I should add here that we saw a Hill Giant in the distance - I think he saw us, I don't know. No one wanted anything to do with him. Not then at least.

So we went on down the road. I remember as we travelled we saw other things - we were charged by a group of boars - I suspect they had been hunted by the giant, or possibly the goblins, earlier - for they seemed very angry, from the beginning. We killed them; we cut off some of the meat for supplies, though we could hardly carry all of it. There were other things on the road - old ruins; the rotting carcasses of animals; bones; ruined wagons and other detritus - but none of it was interesting to us. We were eager to reach the town; we hastened on our way.

We came to the village at last. Clamdigger Cove is a small village, on a hillside overlooking what I think is a fine, deep harbor. The town, now, is a wasteland - most of the houses are burned out, or stripped to the beams; only the buildings by the water remain intact and apparently occupied. Before we could enter the town we were set upon by orcs, who were laying in wait at the bridge into town. This fight went well for us - the wizard was able to render one of the orcs unconscious immediately; the fighting men quickly brought down the other two. I healed the wounded and we took the unconscious orc with us, down to the waterfront, where we occupied one of the buildings. We made a fire and roasted the boar and kept watches over night and were unmolested. The others tries to question the orc; they batted him and kicked him, but he didn’t say much; I know now he speaks common, so it wasn’t incomprehension - I think he was simply stubborn. But I think too they didn’t care what he had to say, they just felt like knocking him around. He is a vile creature, I must say.

In the morning we went out and were accosted in the street by two men who inquired as to our business. We inquired as to theirs as well. No one seemed to answer these inquiries though. After some time, they went to one of the barrooms that were still standing, and apparently still operating in this town - there, we had an interesting incident. The orc spotted two men inside and immediately began straining at the bonds that held him, shouting insults at them in orc and common, while one of them attempted to get to him and run him through. It was obvious that he and they had crossed paths before, and from the sounds of it, the orcs came off the better. But this was very confusing.

We did not tarry with these men, who were not friendly, and indeed, struck me as hoping for a chance to do us harm. We went instead into the village, a very sad and unpleasant place. The feeling was intensified when we passed the cemetery, for we were set on - in broad daylight - by the undead. I shudder to think of this horror - but we were victorious in this clash, and were preparing to go on when a man emerged fro the church to thank us for saving him. He then told a tale - confused and confusing - about seeing the men from the waterfront fighting orcs; some of them dying, some of them chased away - and some of them pursuing the orcs, the main body of whom seem to have gone up the river with their captured mules. That is where we were bound - the others seemed pleased to know that is where the orcs were going too, so they could fight them. Or recover whatever the men had on their mules. I suspect that loot is the real goal of these men. I can’t complain - the more they make, the more I will be able to get for my services, and thus I hope to be able to return to you soon.

We proceeded up the river then. This brought us into the moors - a spectacular sight. The hills rising up, all covered in green, in grass and moss and stunted trees - it is a beautiful and daunting sight. We were reminded of its perils, too - we had traveled an hour or more and were suddenly set upon by two ogres! I thought - we have no chance, they will kill us - but the others were eager to give battle. And we slew the ogres, surprisingly easily. But the dragon-man fell into another hazard - he charged the monsters, and suddenly seemed to disappear almost without a trace! He had fallen into a mire. He got out - he is strong and agile, he is a warrior after all - but the moment gave all of us pause. The land itself is against us, we thought. We were more careful afterwards.

We came at last to this place. I called it a village at the beginning of the letter, but that is very kind. It is, now, a ruin, and seems to have been ruined a long time ago: there is a ruined mill; there are one or two ruined buildings, that look tike they might have been storehouses, barns, that sort of thing. There are houses, all of them ruined - burned out, or half fallen in. Open cellars and the like. Much of this seems to have happened a long time ago - some of it is more recent though. There are houses where someone has clearly attempted to rebuild a kind of shelter on top of a ruined house - though these are now mostly knocked in as well.

We found signs of fighting - skeletons, stripped of all their flesh; half-rotted - and often, it seemed, half devoured, bodies - horrible! And then - we were attacked, here, by undead - by zombies, they were. We dispatched these - but while we were fighting them, suddenly, we were ambushed by goblins.

The dragon-man killed one of the goblins, who had been sniping from a cellar; we saw another dashing into another cellar, and we went after him with all dispatch. This was a fairly intact cellar where the superstructure of the house was gone - there were some half-wrecked walls, but nothing more. But the floor was intact, and the cellar seemed quite intact. Well - we went there and plunged down into the cellar in pursuit of the goblin - when we did, we were set on by more goblins, waiting for us! They were waiting in ambuscade - and as we went after them - hobgoblins emerged from hidden chambers, and for a moment, things were very frightening. I was not involved in this, not directly - I could see it was a close run thing, though. But again, we survived, and defeated them.

This brought us to the present, more or less. We have taken an hour or so to regain our composure and to prepare for the next step. We can see a kind of road leading up the side of the hills - we know there is an old mine in this area - it seems likely this is the approach to it. So we are preparing before we go to find what we have come here to find.

I am using this time to write these thoughts down. I want a record of things. When I return, I will try to mail this to you - though the condotion of the country these days makes me think it is more likely to arrive if I bring it myself. Though seeing what I have seen these two days, I am fearful for my life - will I return alive from this? I do not know; I fear. But I have come this far, and now I will go on. I will do what I promised these men I would do - I will go with them, offer what assistance I can, and that is all. I will say that having come this far I feel much stronger - more confident - I am afraid, perhaps, because I know the trials we are likely to face - but I am also, perhaps contradictorily, more prepared to face these trials. As if - every fight we survive makes me feel stronger, braver, more ready for more trouble to come.

I must add - I have donned the chain mail worn by one of the hobgoblins. This might have been a mistake - it is a vile smelling object; these monsters are not clean. (Though I can say this: the goblins are almost unspeakably foul, covered in grime, smelly and greasy and horrible; the hobgoblins, while hardly clean, seem almost civilized in comparison - indeed, the stench of this armor seems more like rotten blood, and - various natural functions - as well as the long hard use it must have had - than the natural awfulness of the monster. This is not a time for a mediatation on the relative cleanliness of brutal monsters - but I it were: the goblins are the worst; the orc nearly as bad; the hobgoblins are barely worse than some men I have seen. Though the true horror are the zombies - who carry the stench of death and offal with them to a point that can make you almost dizzy to be close to.)

I will close for now: we are preparing to move on. I will add what I can when I have the chance.

For now - your faithful and loving servant - Novice Claire.

Whelker's Deep

Whelker's Deep is a small town on the eastern coast of Lenay, a dozen or so miles north of Warrenville (the largest town in the region), 7-8 miles south of Clamdigger Cove (a very small fishing village.) Whelker's Deep gets its name from its harbor - a nice, deep, sheltered harbor, big enough for oceangoing vessels to put in, though most of the traffic is smaller. It is mainly a fishing village, but there is a fair amount of coastal trade. The harbor is at the mouth of the Cardiff River, which flows eastward from the moors to the sea. After falling out of the highlands, the river runs through a small valley running west to east. South of the valley is there is a ridge separating it from the Calderon Valley, where the Calderon River runs down to Warrenville. The area between Whelker's Deep and Warrenville is rolling country, fairly low, scored by low, rocky ridges that separate fields, bogs, marshes, and small stands of trees. It is a land of small farms and hamlets, down to the Calderon Valley, which is fairly populated, being the most fertile ground in the area.

Dag's Moor rises north and west of Whelker's Deep and the Cardiff river. If you go up the river, you will climb into the heather, then into the moor itself, where the river runs fast and ragged. The moorland runs roughly parallel to the coast north of Whelker's Deep - the moors themselves are marked by steep hills or even cliffs, several hundred feet higher than the coastal shelf. The farther north you go, the closer the moors come to the coast. The road to Clamdiggers Cove runs straight north from Whelker's Deep. It runs a mile or so inland from the coast, generally keeping to the higher land between the moors proper and the coast. Several small rivers and creeks run out of the hills to the sea in this area - close to the coast, the land is very broken. There are deep river valleys, hills, ridges, but also marshes and fens as you approach the sea. This is very difficult country (close to the sea), generally avoided by decent people. The land between Whelker's Deep and Clamdiggers Cve is fairly empty - there are some small farms here than there - more toward the moors (which are more amenable to sheep grazing) - but not much. There are, however plenty of ruins - centuries worth of keeps and castles, farms and buildings, most long abandoned. The emptiness of the region has gotten worse in recent years, due to the troubles.

Whelker's Deep itself consists of a village built around the shoreline and along the river, plus a number of houses and farms around the outskirts of the town. The Cardiff valley is a reasonably fertile place - there are a number of hamlets and manors and farms along the river, though they tend to become more uncommon as you approach the moors. In the town itself, there is a fairly active downtown, along the waterfront. There is just enough commerce to support a fairly active economy there. There are three or four bars, a couple inns, boarding houses and so on located near the waterfront, along with a variety of the usual kinds of businesses. The economy is mostly from fishing, but there is some trade - this is something of a meeting place between the moors and the sea and the Calderon valley - the gateway between these three areas. There is a fair amount of seaborne traffic through the town - mostly coastal traffic (and the fishing boats), but some big ships come in once in a while. Along with sailors, there are often adventurers hanging around.

There are also some businesses outside the village. The road up the river is fairly busy, even now - there are a number of farms and such up the river, with a modest amount of traffic passing up and down the river. The river itself is not exactly navigable - small craft can move up and down these lower reaches, though you don;t have to go far up the river for it to become too fast for traffic. It is useful for mills and the like though. There are a couple taverns out along this road, some stores and the like. Going toward Clamdiggers Cove, the main establishment is The Gypsy Arns. This is a small tavern, with a couple rooms available for sleeping, off the northern road. It is a quiet place, removed from he main traffic, but still seas people coming in from time to time. The taverns and inns in town tend to be occupied by people associated with the sea - the Gypsy Arms, as ell as a couple places along the river, cater more to the inland side. Farmers, shepherds, and travelers down from he moors tend to frequent these places.

Bono has taken to hanging around the Gypsy Arms. He is a landsman, from the west of Lenay, who has come to the other coast seeking his fortune. He does not want to go to sea, exactly; he is hoping to find opportunities to go inland. The moors seem promising - he has heard enough of the stories of the trouble around here: the smugglers and bandits, highwaymen, pirates, outlaws of all kinds, monsters to have a good idea that men of his talents (a trained soldier, a pole arm specialist) can find plenty of employment.

Revised map

I added a scale and index of town names. I think Fireball Gulch is in the right general area. I labeled the two that didn't have names as Gresham and Elfsheim. I think an Elven port in that area makes sense. I've thought about scattered wood elves living in these hills and forests, and it makes sense they'd have gathered together in a port town.
I once started a backstory about Elves from this area going on the warpath through the mountains to the north in order to attack Dassal downriver from the hills. This group got lost somewhere unknown, and their homeland scattered in the power vacuum. With the advent of trade routes and sea travel, it makes sense the elves would materialize in their own small harbor near the hills and forests of their heritage.