All is dark. Then come the visions, dreams, of Jenivere under sail, canvas snapping in the fresh breeze… a privateer draws close, but the captain and first mate order the crew to the guns, and the pirates are driven off… a storm rolls the ship, passengers staggering to their bunks to strap in while the crew reefs the sails… the magnificent sunrise the morning after the storm… fishing off the side in calm waters while the dinghy ferries passengers from a tiny port… a fresh wind rolls the waters, making balance uneasy and the stomach queasy…
… that’s real. Stomach heaving, head reeling, your foot is being pinched very painfully. Why are you lying on sand in the pale light of dawn? Or dusk? And what’s making your foot hurt? You raise your head groggily…
Your foot is in the pincers of a giant… thing. Sleek and dripping wet, it has your foot in the grasp of one of its two pincers while an ominously sharp-tipped tail rises above its back. As you stir and sit up, it releases your foot and backs off, obviously startled.
Around you lie people you recognize from on board the ship, other passengers, and even a prisoner. A pile of personal goods lies likewise above the high-tide line, very near your head. You recognize some of your things among the jumble. But none of the crew or officers are here. You’re the only one awake, and you’re all alone with three pincered, stinging things the size of a large dog emerging from the surf, in search of a meal. Your foot is bleeding, and the scent of your blood seems to be attracting the others as the first quickly recovers from its startlement.
You take 1 point of damage from the bite on your foot. You are dressed as you were at the last mess - if that’s armored, you still have your armor on. The pile of gear is nearby and your weapons are there. It’s your turn.
Everyone else is unconscious. Whisperleaf, you are