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Sails of the Beryl Sea - Campaign Diary 1

Ahoy! My friends and I have been playing our piratey, text-based D&D game for just over a month now, and it has been a lot of fun. I thought it would be fun to share the adventure in the form of campaign diaries. I'll be posting the actual adventure (with only a few minor edits for clarity/concision) and some behind-the-scenes thoughts I have as DM.

If you like this and would like to see more, gimme a follow/like/reblog! My asks and messages are open for anyone with questions about the game, about D&D or DMing in general. I love talking about D&D almost as much as playing the game, so don't be shy if you wanna chat. And keep your eyes peeled for the launch of the Scriptomancer patreon!

Next up is a quick overview of the game, with the actual adventure text under the cut.

Game Overview

I'm DMing, with two friends as player characters. Starting at level one, we have:

C is playing Osred, a human rogue. C has been playing with me for a few years now.

S is playing Finlay, a human warlock (Great Old One patron). S started playing earlier this year in another of my campaigns.

The adventure itself is a mix of published adventures and homebrew, all of it set in my world of Edora.

Some other specifics:

We play through text in a Discord server I run for just the three of us.

We use the Avrae bot for rolls in the adventure channel.

We use D&D Beyond for character sheets.

We don't play on any specific schedule - everyone just responds whenever they have a chance to do so. We try to ensure everyone gets a chance to think & respond any time their character could feasibly do something.

If anyone has any questions about the game setup, feel free to ask. This is a bit of an experiment to see what we think about a purely text-based game (and so far things are going well!)

DM Thoughts

Part 1 is below! This is roughly half of what I'm calling "The Prologue" for this silly game. Part 2 will finish up the Prologue posts, and I'll probably post that in a day or two.

As I was running this part of the campaign, things felt a bit haphazard. I needed to tie the character backstories together and move us towards the actual start of the adventure. Did I do much prep or planning for that? No!

My usual DM style is to prep and plan as much as possible, but sometimes you just don't have the time or energy for that. With this being a text game and an experiment, I've been doing things a little more loosey-goosey than normal. It kind of stressed me out a bit, but the players said they had fun with it - so I'm counting it as a win in the end. I think I benefit as a DM when I go out of my comfort zone a bit (in this case, trying to improv some story beats a bit more than I normally would.)

All that being said, I did have a lot of fun with it. As a DM I LOVE discovering what sorts of weirdo characters my players create, and these two did not disappoint. "Cthulhu prophet" and "craven pirate" were not what I expected in the slightest.

Things start to go off the rails (in a good way) in part 2, but this post was turning into a bit of a monster.

Onward to the stormy seas!

Once we finished creating characters and backstories, I let S start things off with his intro for Finlay.

S: In the prelight of dawn, the breeze rustled softly through the mainsail, and gentle creaking could be heard from the rigging as Finlay lowered himself to the deck. It had been another long night of restless dreaming, yet his mind was aflame. He had held his counsel long enough; it was time to tell the quartermaster.

Pasoos was overseeing the turnover of the watch. Perhaps a too-large man for a cramped life at sea, he was as formidable when grappling a cleat as a pirate. Pasoos watched implacably as Nit scampered up the rigging to take his place in the crow’s nest that Finlay had just vacated.

“Quar’master, Finlay off-duty and relieved by Nit.”

Pasoos nodded almost imperceptibly, indicating Finlay’s rank in both the crew and in Pasoos’ estimation. “Ah, um. Quar’master. Ther’ somethin’ more of my watch that need reportin’.”

Pasoos snorted irritably. “Somethin’ important enough post-watch, but not to call out during?”

Finlay stopped short, then pressed ahead. “Aye. Somethin’ butherin’ me, dream-like. Somethin’ fearsome.”

Pasoos was suddenly acutely attentive to Finlay. “Dreamlike, you say? Tell me—at what point during yer watch were dreams enterin’ mind?”

Finlay gaped for a moment, realizing the implications. However, he was resolved. “Curse it all, Pasoos, I’m tellin’ ye I’ve seen somethin’… somethin’ of the Deep!… foul and awesome both. Somethin’ what warrants notice of the Captain! I need to tell him… to tell him he has no idea what’s down there! We must change course to find out more!”

Pasoos considered Finlay cooly. “Yes. Agreed, this does merit the attention of the Captain.” At this, he gave a curt command to the powder monkey, who ran aft to the Captain’s cabin. Shortly thereafter, a hardened dwarf grumped up to the forecastle, casting a hard eye port and starboard in perpetual assessment of the seafaring readiness of crew and ship alike.

“Quartermaster. What issue have we that cannot be resolved in your capable hands?”

Pasoos gestured towards Finlay. “I believe Finlay can tell you everything you need to know about the situation.”

Finlay swelled with pride. It was about time his contribution was getting noticed! By now a small assemblage of other crewmen had congregated to see what was happening. Finlay explained, wild-eyed: “I tell ye, I’ve seen him! In dreams! The Great One of the Deeps stirs, and woe to those who don’t rush to his service! T’weren’t no matter when or where those dreams came, as they are an omen heeded by the wise! We need change course toward this place of my dreams! Please—“ and here he turned back to the captain, “Cap’n, surely you know we must go there!”

Whatever uncertainty the captain had nurtured upon first engaging with the Quartermaster was now resolved. He exchanged a brief look which carried the weight of a 20-pounder with Pasoos. “Yes… I’ll warrant you should show me where this place is, what merits such a course change.”

At this, the captain turned heel to his quarters, followed by Pasoos and Finlay. Once there, the captain spread out a map of the surrounding sea. “Where exactly is this place of dreams, then?”

Finlay immediately pointed to a small formation of rocks, which could have been mistaken for ink spatter to an eye untrained in reading seafaring maps. It would easily add a day to their voyage time. “Here cap’n! We must go here to learn more ‘bout this fearsome being. I’ve had dreams of… of…” His eyes glassed over as he attempted to consider what exactly it was that he had seen in his dreams. Something dreadful and awesome. Promises, hints, implications… He hit upon a word. “Riches! Yes, riches it was, beyond wildest comprehension!”

The captain nodded soberly. “The Starving Man’s Spit, the location of great riches? Of course. Would that I had seen it sooner myself.” His eyebrow twitched slightly as he spoke to Pasoos: “Set a course.”

The extra day’s travel was speeded by strong winds and clear skies. Finlay was rousted from his hammock at dusk; he was wanted topside.

When he arrived, he found the crew assembled and waiting for him. The Captain was there with Pasoos. The Starving Man’s Spit loomed of the starboard quarter. The Captain spoke like gravel:

“I need no Mast proceedings to sort through this. Sleeping during watch. Spreading of malign rumors which would disquiet the crew. Slander of senior officers. In short, dereliction of duty and unfitness for sea. Whether you were dreaming or daydreaming on watch matters not to me.” He paused for effect as he surveyed the rest of the crew, then asserted: “A man who cannot execute his task is fit for execution.”

This elicited an uncanny silence from the crew. The captain turned back to Finlay: “Ye like to dream, is it? Ok then—no plank for you. The Starving Man’s Spit is known for turning men mad. And yer half there already as far as I can see. Ye can daydream yer last days there, before tossing yerself into the sea like so many Spitters before ye.”

Before he could respond, Finlay was hoisted into the air and summarily tossed overboard.

---

DM: Finlay, roll a d4 for me.

Finlay rolls a 4.

DM: Four weeks.

Time is a strange sense. Seconds tick by with reliable, unstoppable familiarity, but our experiences can warp our sense of how time passes by. Joys pass by with a blink, and fear can stretch a moment into crystal clarity. Suffering can seem to fill a lifetime, flooding our memories until they drown under pain and misery.

You remember a stretched moment of falling before you hit the cold waters of the Beryl Sea. Flailing, breaking the surface, opening your eyes to see the light of sunset glinting off of crossbow bolts aimed by your crewmates. The captain shouting to the rest of the crew, preaching the example you'd become, warning others. Waves crashing against the hull a few feet from you, and against the rock behind you.

These were the last moments that felt real. The jagged rock of the Starving Man's Spit was cold too, colder than the waters somehow, your shivering making it difficult to grasp onto the sharp stones. The captain's words at your back faded as the crew weighed anchor. Did you cry out? Was there a point? You'd asked for this, after all.

The Starving Man's Spit sits alone. No other land in sight, none for days. An unremarkable black rock jutting up from the heart of the Beryl Sea, a spike rising thirty feet above the surface as if a giant's broken spear had plunged into the depths. A good spot for wrecking a ship and not much else; only enough flat space for a single man to sit with waves lapping at his feet at high tide. At a glance it was as good a place as any, of the many such rocks throughout the Beryl Sea, to leave a man to die.

But not the Spit. It's anyone's guess to who first learned of the place's magic long ago. Perhaps an unlucky, inattentive sailor split their hull on the spike and found themselves clinging to the rock, despairing their fate and praying to the gods old and new for a quick release to the beyond. But not the Spit.

No man dies on the Spit from thirst or hunger. The aches still come. The pain, the searing sting of salt and sun, the stomach chewing itself to pieces and blood running thick as mud. But here, for whatever cruel purpose fate sees to enact, you cannot die to something as simple as starvation.

A blade will do the trick. Most throw themselves into the sea when the misery grows too great. But here, hope and tenacity just extend the suffering. No crueler fate- no harsher punishment- is known throughout the ports of the Beryl Sea. And there has been no delirium to grant you a reprieve, as you watch the sun rise and set day after day.

It has been four weeks. Finlay, what has this time been like? Where are you at now?

S: The sun rose and set on Starving Man's Spit, scouring and soothing the rocks in regular cadence. But as Finlay's unslaked and unsated appetites wracked his body, his mind slowly became attuned to a different rhythm. Not that of the world he had always known, but that of otherness--something elseward which had a disquieting tempo unto itself. What was time but a convenient name for concepts beyond the grasp of the mortal mind? During the course of countless feverish dreams and dazed imaginings, Finlay caught glimpses of such concepts, carried on the ebb and flow of a heartbeat terrible and inescapable. Had it been hours, days, or weeks since he had first scraped himself onto these rocks? No matter--he now saw, if not in detail, at least in the grossest form, a truth breaking upon an unready world: The Great One of the Deeps stirs. The Awesome Terror, The Bleak Blackness, His Whole-iness: Urglaub. And Finlay? He is ready to serve.

DM: Look.

L̵o̴o̵k̷ ̸u̴p̸o̵n̵.̴me.

L̵̪͗o̶͛̀ơ̶̂k̷̟̅ ̵̿̔u̵̜͊p̸̄̑o̵̤͌n̴͛́ ̷̕͠t̸͇̉h̶̓̊e̵̟̓ ̵̓̕D̶̲͗r̶͎͌e̶̒̑a̴̒̀m̸̛̃ḯ̵̓n̶̈́͗g̵̒̈ ̷͓́D̸̲̍ë̸́͘e̸̿̂p̴͖͝.̴̲̚

---

DM: Finlay, you awake one day with your hunger gone, your thirst quenched, and sails on the horizon. Osred, take it away!

C: Osred had been at sea for most of his life. The work has been varied, with the only constant being that he served on a boat. He's smuggled, delivered honest shipments, pirated...you name it. After a while, it's all just work. But this time was...different. He responded to the normal call: Expedition in need of sailors. Not too many details - couldn't implicate yourself. Osred joined thinking it'd be either a pirate or smuggling gig. The crew of the Madness of the Grail were supplemented by a handful of mercenaries other that Osred. Osred remember a few of their faces, if not their names. "Four Fingers" Zell, "The Marked" Vesh. Every one of them worth salt had a nickname. A calling card if you will. But not Osred. Osred found that to make a name for yourself, you had to stand out. That's not him. He didn't want it to be him. If they know of your deeds, they ask you to do stuff, put yourself in harm's way. They also notice if you...help yourself...to more than your share of the plunder. No. Anonymity was good. It allowed him to betray "The Duchess" to the lawful, and well-paying, authorities. No one asks "Wasn't Osred part of that crew?"

The crew itself, though, they were different. This was different. Wymen earned the name "Frenzied." He seemed a little off before we cast off from shore, but it really amped up when we were out to sea. He schemes and plots with his crew, talking about the Deep One who will lead us to treasure. Loons the lot of them. But their coin spent well - and Osred made sure to get paid up front. At best, we'll sail around chasing fairy tales until he gives up, or his crew mutinies. At worst, they'll try to lead us to certain doom. But these mercenaries they hired are hardened criminals. They're just as like to take over the vessel than to end up on the bottom of the ocean due to one man's insanity.

And a fine ship this was. The hull was a well kept teak. The red sails bearing their emblem were well kept without fraying. The ship was on the small side, but it's not like we were looking to fight the Caladurian navy. Nice boat like this could get by under the radar and flee quickly if it ran into a spot of trouble.

We'd been sailing for a few days when Captain Petrik yelled out from atop the crow's nest. He sees someone....he seems excited. Shouts of the Deep One ring out from the crew.

I look over to Zell. "What do you think they see?"

He looks distracted, worried somehow. "By the gods, we're near the Spit. Ol' Wyman has gone daft. This place is fucking cursed. We shouldn't be out this way."

DM: Finlay, you see a ship with red sails draw nearer to the Spit. What do you do?

S: In general I have a strong desire to establish communications with them. I would look for a large stone (~10ft diameter) and cast Light on it. The stone would appear as an iridescent blue. I would stand out in the open so that the ship can see me with as little difficulty as possible. And I would wait.

DM: "Look! Light upon the Spit!"

Sailors gasp and crowd the railings, a handful speaking prayers or curses or making little warding gestures. From above the captain calls out. "Ready a dinghy."

"Who's condemned, captain?" Vesh says, his tone joking but undercut with fear. "Is Zell finally getting what's coming to him?"

A few men laugh, but the laughter dies quick as the captain descends from the crow's nest. "We're not here to kill a man. We're here to save one."

"Light above," swore Zell, his face leeching pale as his eyes widen. "I see him now."

A man stands on the Starving Man's Spit. Gaunt, wearing tatters, leathered by his exposure. The crew grow silent.

"I'm going ashore. Mr. Vesh, command is yours until we return. Mr. Armstead, Mr. Zell, with me." The captain motions Osred towards the dinghy.

The dinghy is lowered as sailors share glances and mutters. This is a hardened crew but even they question this choice. No man ends up on the Spit without good cause. Who are they to question?

But no one challenges Captain Wymen the Frenzied. Something had changed on his face since spotting the man on the Spit. The frenzy had quieted, replaced by a still intensity you've never seen on the man. Without a word he hands a pair of oars to Osred and Zell, and you start to row.

Osred, what goes through your mind?

C: Osred still thinks the captain is a loon. But he goes along with it. He's watching Zell's movements carefully to see if he's going to make a move against Wymen at any point.

DM: Give me an Insight check!

C: 19+2.

DM rolls a secret Deception check for Zell, with a total of 19.

DM: You catch eyes with Zell. He looks away first, and you see it clearly: he's utterly terrified. He's hiding it well, but not well enough. He grips the oars tightly as the two of you begin to row.

You close the distance, the Dead Man's Spit growing larger with each row.

Finlay - who speaks first, you or the captain? What do you do?

S: Is it clear to me that it is the captain who is on the dingy? It could be anybody. I would be wary of getting a "roommate" and would be looking to turn someone else's being left here into an opportunity for me to escape.

I believe the dingy is here to drop off an outcast and I am looking at each person to see if I can figure out who is damned, and who is a decision maker.

DM: They stop about 10 feet from the rock, close enough for you to see the lack of sleep behind the eyes of the man at the front of the dinghy. Despite that exhaustion, he looks at you with intensity you haven't seen, but may have felt.

"Are you the man called Finlay?" he says.

S: Finlay's mind is racing, bordering on panic. Had something happened aboard his old ship?! Had they come to punish him more? What possibly could have caused his old captain to circle back on the chart?... Unless. Unless... he wasn't the captain anymore. Finlay's unease began to settle. Yes... yes! The crew had been with him all along; they had heard him, after all: his warning!! In these brief moments of awkward introduction, he began to see a different outcome: the had crew changed its mind and sent men back to rescue him! In a few blinks of the eye, Finlay went from frightened outcast to redeemed savior. He smiled inwardly. Urglaub provided.

"Hail! Yes, it is I--Finlay!"

DM: The man at the front smiles a mouth of crooked teeth. "Just as I dreamed. Our savior." The man turns towards the two others.

"Help him aboard," Wyman says to Osred and Zell.

S: Finlay finds it very interesting that the man at the front mentions dreams. But he's not interested in distracting anyone from his biggest goal right now, which is to get into the dinghy immediately.

He starts stepping towards the dingy, if somewhat shakily. He's malnourished.

C: Osred is reluctant, but he helps Finlay abroad. Wymen knew his name, so he's really second guessing how crazy he thought this captain was. He doesn't even really care what Zell is doing. The man with the weird dreams and the man from the weird dreams are the bigger fish now.

DM: Finlay is helped onto the dinghy, and Wymen motions back toward the ship. The captain is silent, but keeps looking back at Finlay as you row back.

You ascend to the decks of red-sailed ship. Sailors step back as Finlay gets his feet on the deck, all taking in the sight of this strange man.

Wyman is the last to return to deck, and he turns to Finlay. "I am Captain Wymen Petrik, captain of the Madness of the Grail. We've come to rescue you. Welcome aboard."

"Crew, this is Finlay. Drop your assumptions against him. Doesn't matter what he did to get put on the Spit. What does matter is he's our golden goose." Wymen scans the assembled men and women, locking eyes for each one briefly. "So see to it you keep your doubts, your concerns, to yourself. Anyone who so much as splits a hair on his head will be hanged without question. We're off to port."

Wymen nods to the bosun and the helmswoman, who start calling commands, before the captain turns to Osred. "Take our friend belowdeck and see to it that he's fed. As much as the man can eat or drink, he can have. Then show him to his quarters on the bottom deck." He looks to Finlay and adds: "I'll be around a bit later to explain the situation to you, but rest assured you're in good hands on the Madness."

Finlay, give me a Perception check.

Finlay rolls a natural 20.

S: I look at Osred. What does he look like? I try to get a sense of whether he's happy here on this crew. I want to ask him about Captain Wymen but I'm not sure who I can trust here, so I stay silent for the time being.

C: Osred takes the captain's threat to hang him seriously. Osred is a slender man with a goatee. He wears his hat on a shaven head kept in a durag to keep the sun off. His skin is tanned like a worn leather from his sun exposure on the seas. His clothing us unassuming and he wears no adornments save a tattoo (tbd) on his left arm.

S: Is Osred talkative as he leads me into the ship?

DM: With your natural 20, Finlay sees the captain surreptitiously hand a key to Osred. The intent is clear that Osred is supposed to lock you in your room after you're fed.

S: I'm on guard after seeing this handoff. Because Osred seems to take his lot very seriously, I'm looking for any openings or opportunities to engage with him on a personal level. What is there to eat?

DM: You move belowdeck to the sailor's mess, a small section with a narrow table near the ship's kitchen. The cook, a human man named Jeben, seems to have been forewarned and has a pot of stew at the ready. There is even fresh bread, a rarity for anyone except the captain and his two officers.

Osred, you're also offered food by the cook. Otherwise you both are sat at the table, alone.

S: Finlay is ravenous. He want to buy time to think, but he's so hungry that he consumes his first bowl of stew quickly and without speaking. As he gets a second serving, he indicates the bread while looking at Osred.

"A far cry better than what I've had while serving on the Evening Mantle. There it was salted beef and a rasher of grog thrice daily. Does the Captain regularly treat his crew so well?"

C: Osred doubts that he is meant to eat the stew or bread...but if he gets called on it, he figures he can claim it would have looked weird if he didn't eat what Finlay was eating.

Osred does not like getting asked this question.

But he chooses not to lie. "Wymen seems to be a fair enough man, but typically the best meals are reserved for himself and his top officers." He pauses. "And special guests of course."

S: DM, can I tell Osred does not like my question?

DM: Osred, is it clear to Finlay? Otherwise you can give me opposing Insight/Deception rolls.

Osred decides he'd rather keep his discomfort hidden, so he rolls Deception with a total of 7. Finlay gets a Perception check of 6.

S: Finlay doesn't notice anything untoward about Osred's demeanor and considers the key-handoff he witnessed earlier. He looks pointedly at Osred and asks, "Am I a guest?"

C: I'm going to roll a d100 to see how I respond. Less than 50, and I will side with Wyman and more than 50, I will side with Finlay.

He rolls a 24 on the d100.

"That's what the Captain told me. Same as you."

(C notes: My reasoning is that Osred is siding with the "stronger" party. Osred can sense that what is going on with Finlay and Wyman is out of his league. So he is having trouble deciding who he should trust and show fealty too. I really thought it could go 50-50 either way.)

S: "Somehow the Captain knew my name. How did that come to pass?"

C: Osred sighs. "He said he heard it in a dream. I'll be honest. I thought Cap'n, was daft. He might still be. But he was right about you. I don't know what that means. And I don't suppose I will." He looks hard at Finlay. "I'd guess you probably know the answer better than me."

S: “There’s only one answer I know anymore…”

Finlay becomes somewhat distant, glassy-eyed, but then he returns to the moment, and Osred.

“It’s whether we’re all asking the questions that get us to that answer that interests me. I’m grateful to your Captain. I’m sure his… hospitality… is offered with only the best intentions.”

At this, Finlay rises and indicates that he’s prepared to follow Osred.

C: Osred isn't sure he's putting his eggs in the right basket but he commits. And says "Follow me then." He would try to be a half step ahead of Finlay. Enough for him to follow, but not far enough behind that Osred isn't aware what he's doing.

S: I just follow Osred. I'm not in the mind for funny business. After all, even being locked in a cabin is leagues better than being stranded on the Spit...

DM: Osred leads FInlay to his quarters. Finlay, it's a narrow room at the rear of the ship, about as wide as a closet and barely long enough for a hammock. Osred lets you in without a word, and you hear him lock the door behind you.

Osred then leaves to speak with the captain privately.

You go to the captain's cabin. Vesh, the first mate, greets you with a silent nod and lets you inside. Captain Petrik motions for you both to enter. Vesh closes the door behind you.

You hold out the key, but the captain waves it away. "Keep it. From this point, you are to guard Mr. Finlay. Keep him comfortable and fed, but don't let him out of that room. If he asks to speak with me, you call for me. If he says anything of note, write it down. See if you can get him to talk." He hands you a small notebook and a writing stick, then turns to the first mate. "Mr. Vesh, tell the helmsman to change course for Orlona."

"North, captain?" Vesh seems surprised. You're also surprised - you thought you were returning south, to Brackenholm.

Wyman Petrik nods. "The witch I spoke with in Brackenholm was clear. The spot we're hunting for is north, near the ice. We'll stock up in Orlona on rations and gear for the cold."

Vesh nods. "What should I tell the crew?"

"That we're changing plans. We've got a better lead now, thanks to Mr. Finlay. Sunken treasure, the kind that rich mages would like to get their hands on."

"Aye, captain."

"Then unless you have questions, that will be all. I need to read more of the witch's scroll."

You see on the captain's desk there is an old scroll, unfurled across most of the desk. At a glance you see strange writings.

C: Osred pushes through the discomfort of addressing the captain to say "Finlay seemed to know that he wasn't free to leave, but went with me willingly to the cabin. I don't know his angle, but he seems to know a bit."

DM: "He's no fool." The captain looks up at you as he sits at the desk.

C: "Aye. His time on the Spit hasn't seemed to addle him, neither." Osred would then nod and turn away. He's already been dismissed and the captain doesn't seem like he wants to chat.

DM: The door is closed behind you.

C: I would then go to my watch and resume my duties.

DM: Now that means sitting on a little stool in the hallway outside of Finlay's chamber. You can hear activity on the deck above as people perform other work, but you're largely alone for the next few hours.

C: I would be as serious as I had ever been performing this work. I might be alone and have idle hands, but I would not dare distract myself. Osred gets the feeling that Wyman would actually kill him if he was caught slacking.

Meanwhile, back at the cabin, Finlay accepts his predicament for now.

S: I test the doorknob. Just making sure I haven’t misunderstood the situation. Assuming it’s locked, I am going to sit at the door with my back leaning against it so that no one can enter without waking me, and I’ll let myself sleep.

DM: It's locked. You're soon asleep.

The next day comes. A noise sounds at your door, Finlay. Osred , you're delivering a meal.

C: Osred would rap a few more times getting progressively louder. He'd open the door with his key if that didn't work. He's nor overly concerned Finlay will try to overpower him.

S: When the door starts to open, I wake up with a start. I stand up to greet Osred. “Mornin’ Osred.” I look the breakfast fare and unassumingly ask, “How many more days at sea before making port?”

C: Osred considers the question, setting the tray down. Sighing, he says "We are sailing to Orlona and moving on North from there. Do you have any idea what's North of here? Captain had a vision that you would lead us to something there. I'd like to ask more if you'd permit me. But we'll start with that."

S: “I’m a Lazuli Coast sailor, having spent most of my life on the southeastern expanse of the Beryl Sea in service of various vessels homeported in Duskferry. You can imagine why I have not had as much experience in Caladurian ports—especially as far north as Orlona.”

C: Osred snorts. "You must forgive me for not imagining. A man gets stranded on the Spit. Endures his torment without offing himself. Gets himself saved by a dream the Cap'n has. I couldn't have imagined that and I'm more the fool for it. I can imagine a bit more these days."

He reflects, absent-mindedly stoking his goatee. "How'd you come to be left on the Spit." Quickly adding, "if you don't mind my askin'."

S: “I don’t mind ye askin’, long as you don’t mind bein’ told the truth. I was stranded and rescued at the Spit for the selfsame reason: dreams. At first, t’weren’t much to speak of. Nightmares like any.”

Finlay stops for a moment to chew his food.

“But over time, these dreams changed and became more real-like. Until, bidding my conscience, I told all to the Captain.” “I was tossed overboard like so much garbage after that. But t’weren’t no accident it was the Spit where I was stranded. It’s the place in my dreams where He sleeps… or at least, where he’d been sleeping before he started to wake.”

Osred makes a Deception check to hide his horror at Finlay's words. He rolls a 13, and Finlay doesn't notice.

S: I continue answering, oblivious to how my own words may sound to anyone else:

“Can’t you feel it?! He stirs! Urglaub, the Great One of the Deep… I confess what started as mere dreams feels like so much more now. Almost as if…”

My expression becomes conflicted and it’s apparent I’m working through something in my own mind. “As if something has changed.” I focus back on Osred. “Something has changed for me. I’m linked to him. To serve…”

C: Osred has sensed that this has become outside of his pay grade. "I think you should be speakin to the captain. I will get him." Osred then starts to move quickly to the door to close and lock behind him.

S: I ask if it wouldn’t be easier if I just come topside too. Fresh air would be a plus…

C: "No. I think the captain will want to speak to you privately and it will get the crew talking if you come up and go down with him." He looks almost pleadingly at Finlay that he will accept this.

S: I nod and sit on my bed, waiting.

C: Osred leaves and makes sures sure to lock the door behind him.

And then he goes to find the Captain to tell him that Finlay wants to talk and relay the strange words about a unknowable entity waking up near the Spit.

DM: You return to the top deck and the captain's quarters. Vesh answers the door at your knock. "What is it?"

C: "Finlay wants to speak with the Captain."

Osred would just stare after that. Vesh was there when Wyman told Osred to get the captain if Finlay asked.

DM: Vesh steps out and closes the door. "What'd he say? Give me your notes."

C: "I didn't write any blasted notes. He immediately when it to talk about an ancient creature slumbering under the SpIt that is now awake. The captain needs to be speakin' to him immediately! This business of dreams is not for our eyes and ears."

DM: Make a Persuasion check with disadvantage.

Osred rolls a 25 and a 10 on his check.

Vesh growls and steps threateningly close. "Listen well. It's not for you to decide what our business is. The captain needs the words, not your damn fears. Now write down what he said!" He pulls the notebook from your pocket and forces it into your hands.

C: Osred writes down. "Finlay was thrown overboard for having dreams about an ancient creature asleep under the ocean. Finlay claims it was asleep near the Spit, but it is now awake. Finlay feels connected to the now awake creature."

And then he rips out the page and presses it into Vesh. "The captain also said to tell him when Finlay asked to speak with him. And I see you haven't done that yet."

Osred is afraid of Vesh. But he is more afraid of Finlay and Wyman.

DM: "Captain is," he says quietly as he looks over his shoulder, "indisposed. But bring me notes at the night watch call. I'll pass them on."

I ask C about Osred's passive Perception, which is a 12.

Vesh takes the notes without another word and opens the door. You get a brief glimpse of Wyman hunched over the desk, muttering to himself as he looks at the strange scroll. Then the door shuts.

C: Osred goes back to talk to Finlay. I'd open the door and say "The Cap'n won't be joining us for some time. He's busy poring over a scroll that he says will lead us to treasure, North of Orlona."

S: I’m starting to get my bearings and I’m coming to the conclusion that this doesn’t seem right. “What treasure could be greater than spreading word of the Great One?” I mutter.

I look up at Osred. “Do I owe a debt of service to this crew for my rescue? If so, I’d as soon know what it is so I can get to paying it off. I have important work to do back on the mainland.”

C: "Wyman plans to take you north of Orlona. The way he speaks of it, that will be your payment to him." He pauses. "Though you can tell me of the Great One. The one who recently awoke yes? I can jot your gospel down and disseminate it to the captain."

S: I shake my head and mutter: “Ever try to write down a dream?” I lean my head back against the bulkhead and close my eyes in resignation. “If Wyman has had dreams, then nothing you write on paper will be of use. I hope he finds time to talk today.”

C: "If you can say it, you can write it. And if you can't say it, how will you spread the word of the Great One?"

S: Finlay looks at Osred for a long moment, considering. How indeed can truths be shared with unwilling minds?

S rolls a d10 to decide how to proceed. He gets a 7.

S: “You leave that to me, Osred… unless, of course, you’re proposing an accord between us. Maybe you have some skill with the quill? Tell me… do you believe?”

C: Osred looks at him quizzically. "Do I believe what? You haven't shared anything about the Great One save it's existence. I believe in that, much as I believe a prophet was picked up by a captain with dreams."

S: “That’s a start. You can write that down and share it with your captain.”

C: Osred writes it down. "I already wrote this down to give to the Captain, but there is wisdom in having a comprehensive record with everything." Osred uses a tone that is sincere and assures Finlay he already believes enough to relay to the Captain - not in a "I already did that" kind of way.

S: “So you are the writing type after all? Do you always keep written records?”

C: "I always follow my Captain's orders, and that's what these were. We don't usually have guests such as your self so these are uncharted waters, in a sense."

S: “I see…” I’m not sure if I like this policy of writing things about me on paper, as it feels like appropriation of the story I need to tell before I’ve fully figured out exactly what the story is.

“Well at any rate I’d like some time topside for air if it can be arranged.”

C: "I can ask the Captain about it when he wakes up."

S: You chat for a time, as Osred hunts for information to pass along and Finlay grapples with what to share. After an hour, Osred steps out.

The rest of the day passes by. Whispers circulate among the crew about the man rescued from the Dead Man's Spit and the captain's secret studies.

End of pt. 1!

Part 1 is done! This is roughly half of what I'm calling "The Prologue" for this silly game. Part 2 will finish up the Prologue posts, and I'll probably post that in a day or two.

Things start to go off the rails (in a good way) in part 2, but this post was turning into a bit of a monster.

Part 1 is done! This is roughly half of what I'm calling "The Prologue" for this silly game. Part 2 will finish up the Prologue posts, and I'll probably post that in a day or two.

Things start to go off the rails (in a good way) in part 2, but this post was turning into a bit of a monster.

#D&D #dnd #ttrpg #homebrew #sails of the beryl sea #dm #dming #writing #ocs #edora #“yeah I decided to improvise more in this game”#fool you spent two weeks working on world lore and maps

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