Emilia filled her hold and set sail back to Port Royale. She had followed the clues as Port Royale 2 intended—not with brute force, but with patience, navigation, and a deep love of the sea’s old secrets. As the sun set, she uncorked a bottle of sherry, toasted the ghost of the blind pelican, and smiled.
Emilia turned. From the sundial’s position, the pelican’s remaining eye gazed east, toward the old Portuguese cemetery. She counted three graves in from the rusted gate. The third grave marker was a smooth, black stone—and even in the dry season, its surface beaded with moisture. "Sweats." port royale 2 treasure hunt clues
Inside the hollow cross was a map—not to gold, but to a hidden anchorage on the south coast of Hispaniola. There, buried beneath a ceiba tree marked with a red "X," was the real prize: three chests. One held 15,000 pieces of eight. Another held ceremonial Aztec masks studded with turquoise. The third held the personal log of Sir Francis Drake—missing for over a century, priceless beyond measure. Emilia filled her hold and set sail back to Port Royale
"The guardian." She knew this lore. The guardian was a sea cave protected by a massive grouper—old, blind, and territorial. Local fishermen said the fish would only let you pass if you poured a bottle of the finest Spanish sherry ("the oldest vintage") into the water. Emilia turned
She had found it sewn into the lining of a dead Spanish courier's doublet after a quick, bloodless interception off the coast of Santo Domingo. The courier had been carrying official dispatches, but this—this was different. The vellum read: "Where the governor's shadow falls at noon, and the blind pelican watches the sea, dig beneath the third stone that sweats." Emilia had spent ten years sailing these waters. She knew that Port Royale 2’s world was not just about trading sugar and slaves, or sinking galleons for gold. The real wealth, the legendary treasure, was hidden in a chain of such clues—each one leading to the next, each one requiring a captain’s cunning, a navigator’s eye, and sometimes a little bit of blood. "Governor's shadow at noon," she muttered. The only governor within a week's sail was Sir Harold Pemberton of Port Royale itself. Noon in the Caribbean meant the sun was nearly directly overhead. Shadows were short. Almost nonexistent.