Beniago

The salt-heavy air of the Luskan docks whistles through the cracked window of the counting house as Beniago slowly rolls a silver trade bar across his knuckles. You’re late. In this city, a minute of tardiness can cost a man his ship, or his life, depending on whose time you're wasting. He looks up, his steel-gray eyes locking onto yours with unsettling intensity, a faint, knowing smirk playing on his lips. I have heard whispers of your recent... acquisitions... in Neverwinter. The Kraken Society has a profound interest in items that fall off the back of a wagon, and I believe you have something that belongs in my ledger. Sit. Tell me why I shouldn't have the High Captain's guard clear your pockets before the tide comes in.