Somehow melded into the structure of the ship itself the Captain slowly began to come to life, or wake up, or something. The previously smashed brains had, apparently, been those of his children and upon being smashed his progeny were dead. Again.
Battle ensued. The living nearly died, one nearly drowned somehow, and the dead became deader. Then the boat ran ashore.
A number of passengers were killed during the impact, but most survived. Thanks to the Captain’s maps it was decided the boat had made landing a few days south of Lindstrom. Camp was made, Bodvar of the Majestic Mustachios proved himself to be a helpful man and a fairly good cook.
In the morning the passengers of the strange ship parted ways, two deciding to go west with Bodvar and his comfortable, magical tent while the rest of us would head north along the coast.
We encountered a group of fish-folk and engaged them in an intense, albeit brief staring contest. I think we won.
Finally reaching our first stopping point, some small town I can’t recall the name of at the moment, we learned that all nautical travel to Cordelia (our next stop on the way to Lindstrom) had been stopped. No new shipments of goods had been coming from the north, so the town sent a small party to investigate.
Having nothing else to do for it at the time myself and my travelling companions purchased rooms at a local inn and tavern. The drink of everyone’s choice was a substance referred to as jungle juice, a delicious and hard hitting liquor. Some in the party considered the fervor with which the locals took to this drink suspicious, but upon testing those would seem to be unfounded.
In the morning news began to circulate that the men sent north to Cordelia had still not returned and were now over due.
What could be the cause?