A sailor might speak (in whispered tones, and only when he’s drunk enough) of what he has heard about the slave lords: That they pilot long ships with yellow sails across the breadth of the Sea of Gearnat, from the shores of Onnwal to the Wild Coast, to spirit people from their homes. They starve their captives and put them to hard labor to separate the weak from the strong. Those who survive are sold into bondage. Who are the buyers, he claims not to know, despite that he is afraid of them.

If pressed, or plied with sufficient coin, he says that to speak of such things means death, because the slave lords are the masters of death, who themselves cannot die, because they are already dead.