They say the dead walk on Smuggler’s Shiv, and that those who have
yet to die dine on the flesh of their kin. They say that the very plants
and animals of the island thirst for blood. And they say that those who
sail too close to the island’s cutting edge are already doomed, even
before their ships are impaled and slip beneath the shark-hungry waves .
The island itself is a grave to all manner of folk—pirate and soldier,
merchant and smuggler alike. By day, one who approaches too closely
can hear their screams from the green that crowns the isle, and by night
one can watch the wi tchli ghts dance on its shore, said to be glowi ng
cannibal ghosts eager to lure new meals to their shore.
They say all this and more about Smuggler’s Shiv.
I can think of no better place to hide my treasure.
—Final recorded words of Captain Lortch Quellig
Smuggler’s Shiv is an island off of the coast of Sargava. Known for its lethality to all those who sail too close, it is highly avoided.