Sea-eaten coins... the land-sicks used to kill for such garbage. They're just worthless sinkers now, fit only to weigh down a dead man's pockets. But every now and then, you hear whispers carried on the tides, stories of pirates and forgotten maps or hidden ciphers etched into their rotten surfaces. Could be just more stories, or maybe... just maybe, there's a reason the ancients held 'em so dear. A secret, perhaps, for those with the eyes to see through their silver gleam.

(Coins are not to scale)