The release of Ghosts of Saltmarsh, the hardcover module for Dungeons and Dragons 5th Edition, has arrived. As a fantasy / sci-fi writer, I felt inspired to write a narrative piece which would introduce characters to the setting, as sort of a beginning cut-scene. If you enjoyed this piece, please share and subscribe to the blog!
(SPOILER ALERT: If you haven’t read the hardcover, some references to later quests are referenced!)
Gerrore didn’t like this one bit.
Rising from his tying of the barrels off to the foremast, he takes off his cloth bandanna, and wipes his forehead of sweat. Taking a breath of the chilling air, the dwarf spits a chunk of his chewed dryweed onto the deck, and proceeded to stand at the bows forecastle, watching his crew tie off the rest. Emotions among the crew were nervous beneath their proud exteriors; one that he as the captain shared in kind.
To the far south, a wall of clouds blocked out the sky, flashes of light from the terrible storm which was brewing flickering against the mast of the ship. The storm was in stark contrast to the calm sky directly above, but Gerrore could begin to feel the wind pick up, the chill in the air becoming more prevalent. The ship was pointed south, and set to meet the storm head on.
No. Not one bit.
Gerrore lowered his peg-leg down the steps to the main deck, shouting for the crew to hasten the rest, batten down the hatches tight, and expect a drizzle. All complied with the order except for one; their mysterious passenger standing silent at the starboard side, facing the sea. An elf,… and for her kind, a young woman. Her skin was pale; nearly a bluish tint, silvery hair flowing with the breeze. She appeared almost gaunt in the moonlight.
The dwarven captain was close to decline allowing such a character on his vessel of all places, given the tall tales of ghostly specters and vampires he once heard from a wayfaring traveler years before. The one thing which settled that suspicion was that this elf was a cleric; a worshiper of Celestian, the god of Stars, Space, and Wanderers; an occupation which the dead wouldn’t even think to entertain. Markings of stellar bodies and constellations embroidered on the black robe of the elf seemed to faintly shimmer in the lunar glow. She stood motionless, her arms resting at her back and gaze pointed toward the night sky, in silence.
Gerrore spit more of his dryweed, and approached. The sound of his peg against the deck caught the elves attention, prompting her to faintly move her head in recognition that the captain was approaching.
“The point of no return is approaching, lass.” Gerrore said. “Yer end of the promise best be kept.”
“You will get your coin, smuggler captain.” she said in a soft, unphazed tone.
“Coin means little when one is in the locker.” Gerrore said. “The squall be coming down soon. The Sea Princes can rend lizardfolk, saughin, and the Kings navy alike… but the god of weather dances only with the mother of storms, and against this waltz, no Sea Prince can guarantee the safety of their vessel. … Not even the safety of their guest.”
The gaunt elf turned to look at him. Her eyes pierced into his soul with a holy accuracy, her left one a cerulean blue, and her right a pale yellow.
“My work is of urgent importance. … The constellations tell of an alignment of great darkness. The visions of my temple speak that these waters reveal their origin.”
“Aye.” Gerrore said. “Ye said it before. … And I ask, like before. What ye hope to find?”
The elf stares at Gerrore with a long gaze, silence becoming her. Gerrore had given into the emptiness of her last response to his question, but not this time. He was insistent on gaining the answer. The wind gusted between them, as if they were statues, and while elves were known for their patience, a sigh breached her lips.
“I wish I knew.” she answered with a saddened honesty. “Or rather… part of me hopes to never know.”
“I’ve sailed these waters for decades.” Gerrore said. “Naught nearly as long as ye’ve been alive, young lass. Many a thing I ‘ave seen in these waters. Many a terrible thing. All of them remembered like they was yesterday. … but I promise ye,… there is nothing on that there memory that has broken me, or my crew!”
She looks off into nothing. Gerrore could see her shudder faintly, as if something was speaking to her, whispering nightmares into her ears. When she spoke, Gerrore could not help but feel her shiver.
“The only wisdom I can provide are the words of a lost soul at sea. A bard who was found washed up not far from these waters, maddened and rambling in a nameless tongue. The ones who found them called upon their seer to divine and translate its meaning. … These words:”
I remember the darkness. The seas of eternity. Clinging to my vessel in terror.
This I remember, in order to forget. My grace as the dream bearer.
I tell of these tales, so none shall set sail, on the blackest waves of the blind.
My greatest salvation is memory forgotten. Lost in the current of time.
Cannons fired in the rain.
Fragments of wood and metal burst from the hull as the blast struck the ship. Nabeora threw up her divine magic, shielding her against the debris, watching in shock as the fragment tore apart two members of the crew standing near her. A regret that she had no time to react; to save them.
“Fire!!” a voice called from above, as the ships own cannons ignited. The flaming volleys crossed the storm torn gap, barely missing their target; a vessel of rotting wood, bearing the skeleton of a dragon as its figurehead. A volumnous cackle erupted from the vessel, made louder by magic. A dark laugh, which mocked their ships pathetic attempt to fight back.
A hand grabs the elf. Nabeora looks to see the dwarven captain,
“By the gods! What have ye gotten us into?” Gerrore said.
“What is that?” the elf Nabeora said. “Who is that laughing!!?”
“It’s the Tammeraut!” he shouted “The dreaded ship of the feared pirate-lich Syrgaul! He’s a servant of the demon lord Orcus! A bringer of death!”
Another blast crashes into the central mast of the ship, blowing massive slivers into the air. As the mast begins to fall, a loud scream from the birds nest can be heard as the ships lookouts both jump, and plunge into the water. … Nabeora gazes to Gerrore. The captains expression is grim; grim from a ghost which he had only heard of in legend.
“Are ye happy, elf!?” Gerrore shouted. “Ye find your great darkness yet!?”
Nabeora watched in a horrified silence. Gerrore was asking about the visions of her temple; the great darkness they foresaw. … Yet, this wasn’t right. The signs. The contents of the vision. They were all wrong. The appearance of this lich-pirate-captain was unexpected and evil. But… this wasn’t it. This was all just a coincidence.
“No.” Nabeora said. “This is not the vision … It’s… something worse than this.”
At that moment, a magical silence fell upon the seas.
The eye of the storm came over, and the waters leveled, almost unnaturally. The ship stopped firing its cannons. This would have spelled surrender for their ship, except the Tammeraut also stopped firing. Everyone was quiet.
Then, the water between both of the vessels became to bubble, first in spots, and then broiling. As if the sea itself came up to swallow them, a massive, half-mile wide colossal pillar of water erupted up into the air, spewing forth the largest wave anyone in either vessel had ever seen. As it towered overhead, like a wall of doom, the reflection of their damage vessel shown in the wave, almost calling them to destruction. The ship lifted into the tidal doom, all went black.
Nabeora’s eyes drifted open, her body limp against the large fragment of hull which was one of the only pieces left of their ship. She looked out with blurred eyes, and mind ringing in deafening trauma. The ships were gone, theirs reduced to rubble, and the Tammuraut vanished entirely. The entire crew of the ship she had boarded… was dead.
She heard the crashing of waves on the sea. Deep crashing.
Yet… no… it was… breathing.
Deep… horrible breaths.
She panicked, feeling the presence of something black. Something of horrible malcreation. Her mind pleaded with her not to look up, to preserve her sanity and not witness what it was, but her thoughts dwelled upon her duty, upon the temples vision, and her heart felt a desire
to look.
She turned her head up, and never was she paler than that moment.
In nigh pure darkness, the sillhouette of a massive creature… no, living horror had gazed down upon the wreck. It’s eyes were a crimson glow, and a deep, vibration of colossal growl filled her ears. Tentacles waved in the air in an otherwordly delight, and quickly Nabeora felt herself leave
herself. Her sanity abandoning her,… lost in the seas of madness.
“G-gods.” she uttered in terror, before falling back into unconsciousness.
Lead Writer/Editor at ChaoticanWriter
Avid geek, amateur historian, long time tabletop game master, content creator, and storytelling enthusiast. Matthew is a Augsburg University grad with a focused passion on fantastical storyworlds. He is also a musician, improv actor, live streamer, and proud favorite uncle. If you would like to know more, contact him, OR follow him on social media!
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