You consider the bottle for a moment, the pick it up and dash it upon the stone slabs of the floor. The dark liquid within oozes out, running into the cracks between the flagstones, and you detect a stale and musty odor mixed with, though you can scarcely sense it, the sickly sweet smell of rotting meat.
Matthais enters the room an instant later, a large roll of parchment grasped to his chest, and his eyes—though you explain that the bottle rolled onto the floor and smashed—immediately regard you with suspicion. He glances up at you as he removes the goblet and the remains of the smashed bottle, before spreading the map out on the now-empty table.
"I thought I had something like this," he says. "Now, this map is very old, and though mountains seldom change, the circumstances in which maps are made do. Most work created in the glory days of the Dominion of the Eight was done to exemplify the greatness and knowledge of our culture, rather than as a genuine aid to the curious. Nevertheless, we might just have something here."
Examine the Map