As it turns out, finding missing people was about as difficult of a job as they came. In days and weeks after speaking to Thalassa, Maea had begun the laborious process of backtracking the captain's footsteps to the moment where she first appeared, washed up on a beach with no memory of her past. It involved speaking to dockworkers and sailors, bartenders and deckhands who may have had contact with the ancient at one point or another. She had also gone through notice boards, hospitals and shrines to pick up lists of missing people, with the reasoning that someone else could be searching for a lost daughter, sister, cousin, friend... With only two years to comb through it could have been worse, but that was also two years worth of connections.
Retreating to the Hanged Man as the last of her allotted time in Torchline was drawing to a close, Maea settled by a table to eat and go through what she had found so far. Sifting through stacks of notes, her half-eaten bowl of stew was soon forgotten as paper took up increasingly more of the table's surface, names and locations marching up and down sprawling annotations in a dogged pursuit of some connection that might lead her to a new clue worth pursuing. As the evening progressed, more and more people began to flood into the tavern, but despite the loud volume and occasional scrape between belligerent drunkards, the white-haired little woman barely even noticed.
Only when someone staggered into the table and jolted it enough to send ink swilling over the edge of the bottle did she finally look up, a soft frown of annoyance the loudest part of her protest.
Retreating to the Hanged Man as the last of her allotted time in Torchline was drawing to a close, Maea settled by a table to eat and go through what she had found so far. Sifting through stacks of notes, her half-eaten bowl of stew was soon forgotten as paper took up increasingly more of the table's surface, names and locations marching up and down sprawling annotations in a dogged pursuit of some connection that might lead her to a new clue worth pursuing. As the evening progressed, more and more people began to flood into the tavern, but despite the loud volume and occasional scrape between belligerent drunkards, the white-haired little woman barely even noticed.
Only when someone staggered into the table and jolted it enough to send ink swilling over the edge of the bottle did she finally look up, a soft frown of annoyance the loudest part of her protest.
Maea
Just a glimpse of truth
