Krila follows along, and raises a hand, her eyes hard. "You've seen what we can do to a Hydra and a Pirate ship, if you draw that sword, things will turn ugly very fast. I suggest you return to the ship and forget the girl, unless you think you can take on a group that can take on a hydra..." Her voice is extremely hard, and the usually affable healer looks entirely ready to end the life of Avner.
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Diving below the water, you find a grim scene spread out along the harbour bed, dozens of sunken ships of all sizes rot in the mud and seaweed. It seems that previous visitors to the waterfall were less equipped to deal with the hydra. Though the wrecks are quite decayed, some dedicated searching turns up two items of note that have survived the elements. These prove to a suit of mithral chainmail +1 and a bright green Cloak of the Manta Ray.
This armor would restrict my movements even though it is light for its kind. Who might best benefit from wearing it? I would gladly wear this cloak if no one else needs it, but it might suit better someone who cannot swim without it.
Moira goes 5 feet behind Avner and let's the others deal with him. She slowly removes her dagger and hides it in the sleeve.
She looks at Justified then to Krila, making eye contact, awaiting for any sign to make her spring into action.
You successfully defuse the situation, banishing Avner back to the ship and placating the incensed locals. The resupplying of the ships proceeds with no further interruptions.
A wonderful feast is put on, with local entertainment and exotic dishes. The village really is a little slice of paradise. So much so, that on the morrow, Conrad (the false priest) makes clear his desire to disembark the expedition here and remain in Renkrue. If no one objects he will remain behind.
Krila, having no history with Conrad, has no objection to him trying to make a new life for himself... after she warns the locals of his penchant for pretending to be a priest (if she knows about it).
Krila has no money to go shopping with, but she will track down the local healers and trade knowledge with them about herbs, plants, etc.
Graythan nods stoically at Conrad's decision, unsurprised that the man would look to depart the voyage at the first welcoming port. As the two ships begin their final preparations, the Tyrian sidles up next to Lavinia and nods toward the former false priest who's staying behind. "There's a part of me that wonders if others aren't soon going to be envying him. I don't have a good feeling about what we're going to find at the end of this voyage, Lavinia. I fear things are going to get ugly all too quickly once we set out again." His tone is soft and quite plainly, perhaps even clumsily, shows that his primary thoughts are ones of concern for Lavinia and how she'll fair when things inevitably go sideways on them.
Lavinia smiles a Graythan and puts a hand on his shoulder. "Well I hope that worst of the voyage is behind us, but if not, I know that we'll make it through together. With you at my side, who can stand before us?"
Ships resupplied, and crew re-invigorated, the expedition puts the shore at their back and heads out in to the blue unknown. Soon all signs of the shore are gone and only the blinding blue sea stretches from horizon to horizon.
So far during the journey, the weather has been beyond what could be hoped for, but finally, 10 days out from Renkrue, the expeditions good fortune comes to an end. Late at night , the wind whips into a frenzy, and by dawn, the ships are caught in a full-fledged storm. Captain Amella holds fast to the wheel and strains to keep the ship on course. In the grips of the gale, the ships are tossed about like a titan's playthings.
The storm persists for two days, but at last the winds die down and the ship steadies beneath a slate grey sky. Despite the best efforts of Captain and crew to keep her sister ship in sight, the Sea Wyvern now finds herself alone. The Blue Nixie is nowhere to be found.
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The lore warden surveys the horizon for a moment before speaking. That was quite a storm. Are we lost Captain? Justified asks. With no sign of the Blue Nixie I think our only course of action is to try to complete our mission. My hope is that the other ship will do likewise and that way we will find them again.
Lavinia's last words to him ring hollow in his ears as Graythan and the others survey the horizon for any sign of the Blue Nixie. He shakes his head and curses under his breath, finally answering her rhetorical question. "Quite a lot, it seems. The weather, for one."
Grumbling, he looks to Amella and asks, his voice a gravelly, frustrated growl, "Before we can even do what Justified suggests, do we even know where we are? How far off course we've gotten?"
"I can ask a spirit to go out and see if they can see anything memorable?"
Amalla grunts, "Of course we continue on. Who knows where we are in relation to the Nixie. The only thing we know for sure is where they're headed. If they've not been sunk, that's where we'll see them."
With little recourse by to carry on, you continue the voyage, under slate grey skies.
Four days after the break in the storm, trouble finds you once again. As the gray dawn breaks, burning fitfully through the morning fog to light the sea, something seems strange about the waters below. They seem almost solid, as if the sea had formed some strange sort of skin. The air seems dead as well, and the sails hang limp, heavy with moisture from the receding fog. Finally, the mist begins to clear, and what is unveiled is not the gently rolling vista of the sea but a wet green field of seaweed. The swath of dirty green stretches flatly in all directions. To the stern , it extends for perhaps a half mile, beyond which lie the open waters of the mocking sea. In all other directions, the seaweed extends to the horizon. Trapped within its vice are dozens of other long-dead ships, their hulls protruding from the sargasso at odd angles, masts askew, sails hanging in tatters. One such ship lies mired only six hundred feet to the port, and it seems to be in better shape than the others. Perhaps most unnerving, however, is neither the sight nor smell of so much sun-baked seaweed. It is the unnatural Silence, for the thick choking green has robbed the Sea Wyvern even of the strangely comforting sound of water lapping against her hull. It is not a healthy silence. It is the silence of a graveyard.
of a living island that appears from the mists after storms. This living land is said to have a black soul that fuels the hunger of children rumored to live within its green embrace.
Graythan looks over the rail and over the strange seaweed stretching off to port to the horizon. "Well. This can't be good." He looks to the rest of the crew, "Any of you ever seen or heard about anything like this before?"
"It's a sargasso sea. Storms cause the seaweed to collect in becalmed areas of the ocean." She taps her teeth for a moment with a fingernail. "Although this one is unseemly large, most are a few miles across at most, this is enormous." She looks to the crew and captain. "I can cast a spell to give us a light wind even in a becalmed area, if you can get the ship turned around so we can push out of the seaweed? Meanwhile, it might be worthwhile to salvage what we can from the other ship? Those of us who can't get the ship turned around that is?"
Bron looks out over the green sea.
"This seems familiar to me, but I can't quite remember... something very ominous lurking just outside my recollection. I do not wish to stay here a second longer than necessary."
"Journey's End?" Graythan growls under his breath as he regards the eerily still seaweed. "Shambling plant zombies?" He shakes his head in frustration. "Just our luck. Great."
Some prodding with a boat hook finds the mat to be usually solid. Captain Amalla sends a sail over the side on a rope ladder to investigate and he finds the mat thick enough to stand on. The weeds cling to the sides of the ship and it is good and stuck. Amalla sets the crew to cutting away the vegetation, but the mass of green is thicker than expected and sea water seeps in behind it. After cutting through 5 feet of the stuff and still not finding the bottom, the crew stops to reassess the situation. Almost as soon as they stop cutting, the edges of the hole start to close. Slowly, but surely, the seaweed is growing to heal itself.
Talking to Justified. "hey big guy.... let's go check out the other ship. We may be able to find something useful or find the captain's log.... find out how long the ship has been stuck. Anyway....we should be back before night fall. Do you think we should create a fire? Probably fire might be useful.
Graythan looks over the rail to the frustrated sailors below, standing upon the strange seaweed. "Too thick to cut through? Uh huh. Just grows back once you stop? Yup." He shakes his head and sighs. "Come on back up. Maybe we can figure something out."
Turning back to the others, he shakes his head ruefully and mutters a few swears under his breath. "Stuff's not letting us go and just grows back. We need to figure some way of getting loose of this crap. Any ideas?" He nods at Moira's suggestion, "Fire. Hmmm. Maybe. Can't hurt to try at least. Any other thoughts?"
Krila taps her lip. "Such rapid recovery is not natural, I suspect there is a supernatural force at work here..." She waves a hand and casts Detect Magic and watches the sea and the growing section intently. "In the morning, I can make a connection with an ancestral spirit of this place, and see if they know anything about this area..."
"In the morning? If what Justified says is true we may not have that long, Krila. We'll be fighting off a horde of shambling seaweed zombies once the sun goes down if we don't figure a way out of this mess before then."
Moira perks up a bit when Graythan showed some interest in her idea. "Well, we can go to the other ship and cannibalize it by stripping it of its wood. We can use it for kindling. Create a huge bonfire off ship to see how the seaweed responds."
Moira continues "I suggest someone with really good eye sight, maybe someone who can see in the dark, to be the lookout up high. We gonna need to take shifts all around the ship. Whatever these creatures are they will need to climb aboard somehow."
"If we're still here after nightfall, we'll need to set fires to watch by. My vision is fine in the dark, but only within a few dozen paces."
With little concrete to go on at the moment, you decided to look for clues in the nearby ship. Down among the fauna, the humidity washes over you. The footing is unsure, as the ground, shifts and slides beneath you feet.
As you approach, you see that the wreck is strangled with weeds and vines, almost as if immense green claws hold the ship in their grasp. In many places the caravel, a ship hauntingly similar to the [i[Sea Wyvern[/i], has been torn apart by the vegetation's rampant growth. A plate near the stern gives the vessel's name, Rage.
The ship is rotten, and the timbers squelch nastily as you climb aboard. The upper deck is wreathed in slippery seaweed and swaths of what appears to be thick green mucus. Although almost everything has been smashed, you find the remains of three dozen burnt torches and an upturned cauldron that still contains the residue of oil. A shattered doorway and a dark stairway lead down to the lower deck.
"Looks like someone kept a light burning as much as possible. We might want to keep the light spells going as long as possible tonight. The darkness may allow the seaweed, or it's minions to do things they can't do in light."
"I wonder what they were going to use with that oil? Pour it over the side and light it? Maybe we can collect it and use it. I'm thinking of filling up bottles and having a clothe or rope fuse to create fire bombs."
"Some of the wood look too soggy and wet to use as fire kindling. We can probably use that shattered door."
Moira approaches the shattered door and begins to look for any traps.
Bron looks at the stuff he's stepping on with utter disgust.
Graythan frowns as his stride is slowed by the stringy, mucus-like residue clinging to his boots. Shaking his head, he stows his crossbow for his shield and mace, not expecting much room to shoot below decks if trouble presents itself. Wrenching his boot free again, he opines, "The basilisk's den and the ruins of that death-cult were better than this. Bah." He looks to the cauldron then as Moira suggests a source for flame and agrees. "Do you want to salvage it now Moira or on our way back?"
Whether the oil is recovered or put off for later, when the group appears ready Graythan offers them a nod as he ventures below decks.
Krila looks up to the left. "No, I have no idea... I assume doing something is better than nothing is part of it?" She tells the air. "Do you see anything weird over on your side?"
Moira, in a kneeling position, puts her finger to her lips to indicate silence. She begins to listen beyond the door frame.
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Justifed rights the cauldron and begins to collect anything he thinks might burn. He adds the torch stubs to the cauldron and its oil residue and looks around for anything of wood that is dry enough to burn.
As the group approaches the doorway Justifed sets the cauldron down and readies his pole arm. Ready? he asks the group and then motions Moira forward. But then he says I can go first if you want Moira. Likely no traps here. He takes out his everburning torch and secures it in his armor so that it sheds light forward. and puts his three sunrods in his belt to be more handy.
Moira hears little beyond the creak of the rotting deck beneath her feet and she waves Justified forward.
In the hold, the smell of decay is almost over powering. A door once stood between the stairwell and the room beyond, but all that remains now is the shattered wreckage of hastily made fortifications. The room beyond is filled with a thick mat of vegetation. Whether the seaweed managed to infiltrate the ship, or the hull of the ship simply has decayed, you cannot tell, but either way, you find yourselves once again walking on the damp and shifting mat of green.
Beyond the main hold is a small room, most likely the Captain's quarters. Like the others, this room's door has been destroyed. Beyond the entry, the planking of the floor is shattered, as if struck from below, and a deep pit gapes before you On the far side of pit, you see a weathered journal precariously balanced on a desk that has slide to the edge of the pit. The whole mess seems just about ready to fall.
Krila looks at Bron. "I believe this is a perfect situation for that spell you usually use to pour extra salt into Graythan's porridge when he's not looking..." She grins, then looks at the water pit.
"I would not float the book over the pit however, you might attract something's attention. Keep it over the bits of the deck that are still intact."
"Why, you wound me with your unfounded accusations, milady, to the very quick! Just because I'm the only one with that spell doesn't mean it was I who did it!" Bron replies, laughing. He calms and moves to the edge if the pit, and casts mage hand as suggested to try to lift the book. He hopes it's not magical, as any aura will resonate negatively with his spell.
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Moira whispers in excitement "Bingo!!!! Like I said before....that is probably the Captain's log." The young rogue means to use her agility to traverse the pit but is stopped by Bronwenir when he begins to use his magic. Moira kneels down to one knee and waits for any results.
Graythan watches the teetering book for a moment before Krila's words register in his ears. He turns with a frown to Bron and the rescued oracle and accuses, "Wait. That's why everything on that blasted boat tastes so salty?"