In Kurch, the occasional disappearance or grisly dispatch of one or two of the slaves under the Shelter or wastrel from the Lost District comes as no surprise to anyone. It's a matter of fact, for most people. A domestic hazard. For citizens in Kurch, the typified response to news of a similarly grim nature is inordinately flippant, almost nonchalant, about the proceeding. If the bodies of a few bottom feeders go belly up in the Strait, who is supposed to concern themselves with a matter so dull and unimpactful when they have other problems to deal with, like getting this season's crop ready for market, or obliging the heavy rackets imposed by the merchant owners of Kurch?

However, of late the frequency that the usual gossip turns to the "murders" in the Lost is surprisingly high. It's not often that a string of such cases happens in such close proximity to one another, so the Smoke District is abuzz with rumor and speculation as to the cause. Of course, investigators prying into the sordid affair are given few viable leads, though at the same time they are inundated with superstitious nonsense about angered merrows, vengeful nighthaunts, or even will o' wisps. Those charlatans calling themselves priests, shamans and scholars would take special, specific note of the last two, considering these mythic beings would be well out of their typical habitat should the proving of these cases reveal them to be the cause. Of course, the possibility that these disappearances are the result of some creature from the outer dark skulking in the shadows of Kurch is not entirely outlandish, but the exotic nature of such beliefs lends them an air that inspires incredulity. Most who concerned themselves even a little with these rumors floating about the waters in the Lost dismissed anything to do with such creatures as the frightful, childish notions of housewives and storytellers who took to the drink far too often. Myself, I think someone from the Stag probably just has peculiar habits for courting and dismissing his lovers. Olaf, over there, thinks it was a single man who was driven mad after a skirmish that left him wandering the desert to the south. I'm not going to claim any authority on the matter, I just think my theory has a certain mischief to it. I wonder if I could pen a poem about it?

The bodies? Well the bodies that find their way into the netting of the Lost a few days after someone is reported missing are mutilated masses of bone and tattered flesh, stripped of meat by the scavengers. You must have seen them if you've ever been near the waters, you can tell just by the bite marks. Nasty things like the needlemaws, southern Venedi crab, and barracuda swimming about in the strait, they've been known to clean a corpse in moments if they're whipped all a' frenzy. If there's any way to figure out who the poor soul was before their time in the water, (unlikely,) just about the only item of interest tying these seemingly randomly selected victims is their noted proclivity to sullen stargazing as they idly strolled the banks at night. From some, strange, haunting music is said to accompany these disappearances. I like that.
In any case, in the realm of solid evidence is that whatever is butchering these folk and tossing their bodies into the strait seems to pluck the depressed, downtrodden and depraved, of whom there are more than plenty living in the Lost. As of yet, there are no suspects and no clues linking the victims save the locale and this curious aspect of disposition. As well and perhaps most importantly, it is unclear which bodies are the handiwork of the butcher and which are simply unlucky debtors or sneakthiefs who got caught.

Just a few days ago, a trio of disreputables, (I can't seem to find a name that sticks for any of them,)  were seen stalking about the Lost at night. Two of them, a Venedian and a Burduni, were known to frequent the Bazaar of the Bizarre on occasion for business and pleasure.
I've had the strange fortune of having been "handled" by the Burduni during a particularly embarrassing misunderstanding regarding a cartographer and one of my many maps I found or purchased purely out of interest and hobby. I must say he was quite unkind to these old bones. But I bore you, do I?
One of them, a Parthan by appearance according to several witnesses, positively waylaid a fisherman and demanded information regarding the disappearances. Although the fisherman was a drunk and a coward, he relayed what he knew, which was obviously very little. The fisherman, Nikol, claims to have been beaten severely, and eventually knocked unconscious by the madman. I've seen the bruises, and they are quite unsightly. What, if any, connection this Parthan had to the murders before this night or to other two before their observed meeting in the Lost is unclear.
The other cagers and trappers who set their nets off the flotsam in the Lost have been saying that after they saw the Parthan beat and break Nikol to pieces (he still cannot tie a line without help, they say,) they observed the Burduni and the Venedian come to the shore, placing their heads to the water. Some of the fishers then go on to hum a tune they say they heard then, just before the Venedian plunged into the water and came out a moment later, wailing and screaming as though he'd been stuck with a redhot iron, and weeping as though he'd lost a lover. Inexplicably, the Parthan leaped into the waters, and drew steel. None of those who claim to have seen the event can lay down a solid claim as to what the Parthan was attacking, but they all agree that the waters then grew red with blood under the light of the torches and lanterns.

In the morning, the Lost was abuzz with gossip. The twisted, mangled body of a creature out of legend was splayed out on the jetty, just laying in the sun as though it belonged there. How absurd! It was left near where the three had performed their odd cabaret in the night, as best as my sources can place the event. Its face was fish-like, with rows upon rows of sharp teeth bared in a grimace that stretched from ear to ear. Its head was hooded like that of a cobra's, with fins and spiky protrusions jutting out along the hard, bony edges. Its body was like that of a man's, with two overly-long arms that ended in wicked, webbed claws and scaly flesh that fused near the waist into a single, lengthy, fish-like tail. All over it was covered with mottled scales of a range of color that made it look as though it were cast in bronze and left under the corrosive sea waters for decades. As the day went on, it seems the Burduni came along to collect the fish-thing for whatever aim, and no one stopped him from doing so. The Venedian came to the Lost and cast a few lines, and none approached him for his story. No one worth asking saw the Parthan after that night.

As always, it is a fun time to be in Kurch, as far as I'm concerned. The spiced cidar keeps my belly warm and my spirits high and I feel it in my bones: it's only going to get more absurd and interesting from here on, friends. Scoundrels such as myself can ask for nothing more in this life.