October 9, 2024

The Shadow of the Black Tower

The sea breeze carried with it the scent of salt and the tang of destiny as the crew of the Scourge’s Bane stood in the grand hall of Fort Hazard. For the first time in the history of the Shackles, not one but four officers had been invited to sit among the Pirate Council. Kasmira, Varen, Red, and Finn—the daring souls who had tamed the cursed Island of Empty Eyes—now found themselves surrounded by the lords and legends of piracy.

The Hurricane King presided over the gathering, seated upon his ostentatious throne carved with writhing sea monsters. His presence loomed over the room, but it was the empty seat at the far end of the table, reserved for Besmara herself, that sent an unspoken chill down every pirate’s spine. Goblets of fine wine and plates of roasted boar adorned the table, tempting even the most hardened scoundrels to partake.

Tessa Fairwind rose to her feet, her voice ringing out like a bell above the din. “I propose full shares of the Sargavan tithe for our newest members. Their deeds speak for themselves—have they not earned their place among us?”

Kerdak Bonefist scowled, his knuckles white as he gripped his tankard. “Bah! Full shares? Let them prove themselves, as we all had to. No one skips the line—not even these so-called heroes.”

The room buzzed with murmurs as the vote was cast. Hands rose on either side, and when the tally was finished, the result was razor-thin: six in favor, five against. The officers of the Scourge’s Bane were granted full shares, their worth acknowledged in the eyes of the council, though not without resentment simmering among its ranks.

The meeting dragged on with debates over territories, funding, and petty rivalries. When it was finally adjourned, Kasmira lingered, hoping to engage with some of the other council members, but most had already vanished into the shadows of Port Peril. With little else to gain, the crew turned their attention to the city itself. Coins jingled and stories flowed as they explored its bustling streets, purchasing supplies, sharing tales of adventure, and basking in the glory of their newfound status.

Their revelry was interrupted upon returning to the Scourge’s Bane. A peculiar sight awaited them: a shimmering silver bird perched on the ship’s railing, a scrap of parchment clutched in its beak. Kasmira gently took the letter, her heart sinking as she read Tessa Fairwind’s urgent warning.

“My friends,” it began, “despite your triumphs, there are those who plot against you. Barnabas Harrigan gathers his fleet, and he will come for you when the time is ripe. War looms over the Shackles, and traitors walk among us. If you are to survive, you must prepare. Seek allies, bolster your infamy, and strengthen your fleet. Time is short.”

The weight of the letter pressed down upon them like a stormcloud. They had no choice but to act. After a heated discussion, the crew resolved to begin their preparations with the Isle of the Black Tower. Legends spoke of the Shrouded Queen, a malevolent force whose defeat had cost Captain Aiger her life and her fabled sword, Aiger’s Kiss. If the sword could be recovered, it would not only enhance their power but cement their reputation in the Shackles.

The journey across the Shackles was treacherous, but fortune smiled upon them when they ambushed an unsuspecting merchant ship, adding to their plunder and taking a prize vessel as a secondary target. Their spirits buoyed, they finally reached the Black Tower—a sinister spire rising four hundred feet above the thick jungle.

The oppressive heat of the jungle weighed heavily on them as they hacked their way through vines and biting insects. The air was thick, the undergrowth alive with hidden dangers. Then came the sound—a low, wet squelching—and a monstrosity burst forth. It was a flying tangle of intestines and fanged maws, its grotesque form defying reason. Acid sprayed as Kasmira’s bullets tore into it, burning her flesh. Finn’s kinetic blasts struck true, but the creature lashed out, its jagged teeth snapping. Red waded through the acid, his axe biting deep, while Varen, his musket jammed, finished the abomination with a flurry of pistol shots.

The tower loomed ahead, its surface dark and porous, more magic than stone. Red’s fiery wings carried him to the roof, where he uncovered a hidden entrance buried beneath debris. Inside, the chamber reeked of salt and decay. A grotesque shrine to Dagon dominated the space, its centerpiece a serpentine basin concealing a fist-sized gem. By solving the shrine’s puzzle, they retrieved the gem, only to face a spiked door inscribed with the chilling words, “She Lives.”

Ignoring the warning, they forced the door open. The air beyond the door was heavy, thick with an oppressive darkness that seemed to hum with latent power. The faint flicker of torchlight from the previous chamber barely pierced the void, casting long, twisting shadows that danced across the stone walls. The scent of brine and decay drifted outward, curling around the crew like a warning.

Kasmira’s fingers tightened around her pistols, the weight of their steel grounding her amidst the growing tension. “Whatever’s in there,” she muttered, her voice low but steady, “it doesn’t want us to leave.”

Varen stepped closer to the doorway, his musket cradled in his hands, the faint glow of enchantment trailing along its barrel. “There’s magic ahead—old, tangled magic,” he said, his sharp gaze fixed on the dark beyond. “The kind that doesn’t forget.”

Red rested his axe against his shoulder, his brows furrowed as he whispered a brief prayer to Angradd. “Evil always leaves its mark,” he rumbled. “And whatever made this place its home, it’s still here.”

Finn hovered at the edge of the group, his movements silent, his daggers glinting faintly in the dim light. He glanced at Kasmira, a sly grin tugging at his lips despite the unease in his eyes. “We’ve handled worse,” he said.

And as they crossed the threshold, the silence of the room seemed to hold its breath, the weight of unseen eyes pressing down on them. Somewhere deep within, a low, resonant sound—half rumble, half growl—stirred in the darkness.

It was a place of secrets, of forgotten power. And it was only the beginning.

November 16, 2024

The Legacy of Aiger’s Kiss

The door creaked open, revealing a shallow alcove dominated by a serpentine statue. The grotesque carving depicted a man being devoured by a writhing mass of tiny, flesh-boring eels. The horrifying detail left little to the imagination, and the unsettling scene drew a grimace from Kasmira. "Someone's got a sick sense of decor," she muttered, her pistols holstered but close at hand.

Varen stepped forward, his musket resting on his shoulder. “There’s something behind it,” he noted, pointing toward faint shadows that suggested a hidden passage. "And the chest... it looks like a door."

Kasmira examined the statue with practiced caution, her sharp eyes noting the faint creases that marked the hidden door. She glanced back at the group. “No physical traps that I can see, but this thing reeks of magic. And...” she reached up and pushed at the statue’s chest, “it’s hollow.” as the a door clicked open and rotated away, revealing a hidden compartment.

"Necromantic Energy,” Red confirmed, his holy aura flaring as he approached the statue. Varen nodded, his eyes narrowed as he studied the hidden passage. “It’s definitely a trap,” he said, his voice low. “And curses come from necromancy, but we can’t turn back now.”

“Lovely,” Red grunted, gripping his axe. “This whole place is cursed.”

Finn knelt beside them, studying the statue. “It’s definitely a trap. But the heart we found upstairs—it might be the key.”

Only one way to find out,” Kasmira said with a half-smile, placing the carved heart into the slot. The moment it clicked into place, the statue groaned and slid aside, revealing a dark staircase spiraling downward. The group exchanged wary glances before descending into the unknown.

The stairs opened into a ruined chamber, its cracked floor barely holding together. A large hole yawned in the center, revealing another level below. Across the room stood a clay statue of a fish-like humanoid, its unseeing eyes fixed on the intruders.

“Careful,” Varen warned, his tone sharp. “The floor won’t hold if we’re reckless.”

Before anyone could respond, the hole below erupted in a surge of grotesque motion. Three tangled masses of floating intestines, each tipped with jagged maws, slithered upward, their hissing screeches echoing through the chamber.

“Not these things again,” Kasmira groaned, drawing her pistols.

The group spread out cautiously, each wary of the fragile ground. Red stood his ground on the stairs, his axe raised, while Varen fired his musket, the crack of his shot reverberating in the tight space. One of the creatures exploded in a spray of acidic bile, forcing Red to shield his face.

Kasmira shadow-stepped across the room, reappearing on the far stairs leading down. She fired both pistols, the shots ringing true and taking down another of the horrors. Finn floated into the air, blasting telekinetic energy that ripped through the remaining foe. Red finished it with a decisive swing of his axe, his holy power cleaving through the abomination with finality.

With the room cleared, they healed their wounds and moved on. The next chamber featured two statues facing each other, their heads sculpted to swivel. Finn and Kasmira studied the strange mechanism and carefully turned the statues’ heads away from one another. "Another trap disabled," Finn declared with a satisfied nod.

Beyond the statues lay a grim discovery. A skeleton, still clad in black leather armor, was slumped against the wall. Nearby, a massive trap door was secured with thick chains hammered into the floor. Scrawled in charcoal above the skeleton was a chilling warning: The Shrouded Queen yet lives below, bound by Blackfingers’ forbiddance and Aiger’s Kiss. Seek not entrance for naught but her rotting curse awaits ye—let the slumbering darkness lie!

“Cheerful,” Kasmira said dryly.

Red examined the skeleton, his magic ring revealing unsettling details. “It’s Aiger,” he murmured. “She died of a rotting curse—a slow, agonizing death.”

The massive double doors groaned as they swung open, revealing a yawning shaft plunging fifty feet into shadowy depths. The air seemed heavier here, thick with a stench that carried an unnatural chill. Varen peered over the edge, his sharp eyes scanning the dim light below. “Empty,” he muttered, but his tone carried a note of uncertainty. The others joined him at the edge, their weapons at the ready.

Kasmira’s voice cut through the tense silence. “Doesn’t feel empty to me.”

Before anyone could respond, a grotesque shape surged into view below, its appearance so alien it sent a jolt of revulsion through the group. The creature was a nightmarish amalgamation—a spider-like monstrosity with eight legs connected by leathery webs of flesh, its three clawed tails slashing through the darkness with unnerving precision. It let out a piercing scream, a sound so sharp and resonant that it seemed to reverberate in their very bones.

“Gods above,” Finn whispered, his voice barely audible. “What is that thing?”

Varen unslung his musket with practiced ease, his movements steady despite the mounting tension. “Something that doesn’t belong in this world,” he replied grimly, leveling the barrel at the monstrosity. His first shot rang out, the crack of gunfire echoing up the shaft. The bullet struck true, sinking deep into the creature’s flesh, and it howled in pain—a guttural, otherworldly sound that made the air seem colder.

The creature retaliated, unleashing a burst of dark magic that seemed to sap the life from the three standing near the edge. Kasmira staggered, her limbs suddenly heavy, while Varen gritted his teeth and fought the wave of exhaustion that threatened to overcome him. Finn floated into the air, his kinetic powers shielding him from the worst of the spell. The monstrosity screeched in rage and retreated further into the shadows of the room below, out of their line of sight.

“Pull back!” Red shouted, stepping forward with his gleaming axe. The holy energy emanating from his weapon cut through the darkness like a beacon. “It’s targeting you first!”

But Kasmira wasn’t one to retreat. Gritting her teeth, she steadied her pistol and fired a shot that ricocheted off the stone floor and toward the area the monster had retreated. The bullet found its mark, striking the creature with a satisfying crack.

“We’re not staying up here,” Varen declared. Gathering his focus, he cast a teleportation spell that whisked the group sixty feet down into the room below. They materialized with weapons drawn, facing a grim tableau. A large, desecrated altar loomed on one side, overlooking a brackish pool of stagnant water. At the bottom of the pool, a black-bladed short sword glinted faintly in the dim light. But all attention was on the creature, which now crouched in the far corner, its many legs poised to lunge.

The creature struck first, moving with terrifying speed. It lunged at Kasmira, its fangs sinking into her side. She cried out in pain as a foul, rotting curse spread through her, black veins spidering out from the wound. The stench was overpowering, making her gag and stumble. Red charged forward with a roar, his axe swinging in a holy arc, but the creature’s leathery flesh absorbed much of the blow.

Finn, hovering above the fray, unleashed a kinetic blast that sent ripples of force crashing into the monster. It shrieked and lashed out with its clawed tails, slamming into Red and Finn with bone-jarring force. Varen, still feeling the weight of the earlier spell, pulled a pistol from his belt and took aim. His first shot went wide, and frustration crept into his expression.

Kasmira, clutching her side, steadied her trembling hand and fired again. The bullet struck true, embedding itself in the creature’s flank. It let out another screech, but its movements were slower now, its attacks less precise. Red seized the opportunity, summoning divine energy to his axe and delivering a devastating blow that tore through the creature’s body.

The monstrosity reeled, its tails flailing wildly. Varen’s pistol barked again, and the final shot tore through the creature’s head. With a last, pitiful cry, it collapsed to the ground, its unnatural body convulsing before lying still.

The group stood in the aftermath, their breaths ragged. Kasmira leaned against the wall, her face pale but resolute. “That thing wasn’t guarding the sword for nothing,” she muttered, her voice strained.

Red nodded grimly, his axe still glowing faintly. “Whatever magic brought it here wasn’t meant to be trifled with.”

Finn floated down to inspect the altar and the pool. “If this sword is what we came for, we better make it count,” he said, his voice low. He cast a glance at Kasmira. “And we need to get that wound looked at. That curse is no joke.”

Varen holstered his pistol, his sharp gaze scanning the room. “Let’s take the sword and leave,” he said. “Whatever else this place holds, we’ve done enough disturbing for one day.”

Pulling the sword up out of the pool, Finn felt a surge of power that made his skin tingle. The blade was cold to the touch, its edge sharp and unyielding. He held it aloft, the black metal gleaming in the dim light. “Aiger’s Kiss,” He murmured, his voice filled with awe. “This is what we came for.”

But the moment the blade had been wrenched free, the stagnant water had begun to swirl away, vanishing into the hole the sword left behind, and now faint, ghostly whispers began to rise, curling through the air like the breath of forgotten souls. The group exchanged wary glances, the weight of the unknown pressing down on them like a shroud.

“Did we just unleash something?” Kasmira asked, her voice tight.

“No,” Varen assured her, though doubt flickered in his eyes. “The sword sealed a portal. It’s just residual magic.”

“Well, we’ve got what we came for. Let’s get out of here,” Varen said, his voice steady despite the tension in the air. He adjusted his coat and began casting the teleportation spell to return them to the Scourge’s Bane. With a confident gesture, he called forth the arcane energy—only to frown as nothing happened. “The spell failed,” he announced, his frustration palpable.

Kasmira raised an eyebrow. “That’s not comforting.”

“Maybe the interference is from being down here,” Red suggested, his tone practical as he gestured toward the shaft. “Let’s try it from up there.”

Finn floated up the shaft, securing their magical Rope of Climbing, and the rest of the group ascended carefully, their movements slow and deliberate after the battle they had just survived. Once they reached the chamber with Aiger’s skeletal remains, the oppressive atmosphere of the lower level lifted slightly. Varen nodded to himself, focusing once more. This time, his spell succeeded, and the group found themselves back aboard the Scourge’s Bane.

But something was wrong.

The deck was eerily quiet. No crewmembers bustled about, no familiar sounds of shipboard life greeted them. And alongside their ship sat a strange vessel, its design sleek and foreboding. The tension was broken by a voice calling out from the other ship, sharp and commanding. “Hello! Hand over Aiger’s Kiss, and no harm will come to your crew.”

Kasmira’s eyes narrowed, her expression darkening as fury boiled just beneath the surface. “Where is my crew?” she demanded, her voice low and dangerous. “Who are you to threaten my people and step aboard my ship?”

Finn muttered under his breath, his voice laced with menace. “Someone wants to die.”

Red stepped forward, his axe glinting in the sunlight, and let out a low growl that sent a shiver through the air. Varen, ever composed, traced his finger along the edge of his musket’s trigger guard, his gaze locked on the opposing ship.

“I am Captain Valerande Aiger,” the voice replied, and a figure emerged from the other ship. He was tall and regal, with an air of authority that belied his evident desperation. “I have come to claim my inheritance and legacy—my mother’s sword, Aiger’s Kiss.”

Kasmira folded her arms, her pistols gleaming at her hips. “We found your mother’s skeleton in the tower,” she called back. “We left her remains there.”

The captain hesitated, visibly shaken. “You found… my mother?” His voice faltered, and for a moment, the imposing figure seemed almost vulnerable.

Kasmira’s tone was firm. “Release my crew, and we might talk. But don’t think for a second that you’ll leave here unscathed if you harm them.”

Aiger raised a hand, his expression softening. “I mean no harm,” he said, turning to a nearby crewman. “Release them. Now.”

A door on the opposing ship creaked open, and guards emerged first, followed by several familiar faces. Rosie, Jack, Sandara, and Samms stepped forward, their expressions a mix of relief and frustration.

“The rest of your crew is locked in your hold,” Aiger called out. “Unharmed.”

Samms scowled as she addressed Kasmira. “Apologies, captain. They came aboard invisible and caught us by surprise. By the time we realized what was happening, they had pistols to the heads of several crew. We figured you’d handle it, so we surrendered to keep them alive.”

Kasmira nodded, her anger simmering beneath a cool exterior. “No apologies necessary,” she said, her gaze fixed on Aiger. “We’ll meet on my ship in an hour.”

The meeting aboard the Bane was tense. Both captains arrived with their entourages, but the atmosphere was far from hostile. Aiger carried himself with surprising respect, bowing slightly as he greeted Kasmira and her officers.

“I simply want my legacy returned,” he began. “Aiger’s Kiss belongs to me.”

Kasmira tilted her head. “And how do you even know we have it?”

Aiger hesitated but answered honestly. “You entered the Black Tower and survived. I wouldn’t think you’d leave without taking what you sought.”

Her eyes narrowed. “If we do have it, why should we give it to you? You didn’t go into the tower yourself.”

“I won’t deny my fears,” Aiger admitted, his shoulders slumping slightly. “But I offer the plunder in my ship’s hold in exchange for the sword.”

Kasmira scoffed. “This sword is worth far more than any loot you’re carrying.”

Aiger frowned but quickly countered. “Then I will pledge my ships to your fleet. My crew and my resources, all under your banner. I offer my fealty and my plunder as tribute.”

The room fell silent as the officers exchanged glances. Kasmira’s expression softened, impressed despite herself. “Well,” she muttered under her breath, “that’s more like it.”

The negotiations concluded swiftly. Aiger swore his allegiance, and Aiger’s Kiss was handed over. As he cradled the sword, reverence in his gaze, he turned to Kasmira one last time. “I will meet you at your island, but first, I intend to retrieve my mother’s remains from the tower.”

“Take care,” Kasmira said. “We cleared the place, but the traps are still there. Use caution.”

Aiger nodded. “Thank you, Captain.” With that, he departed, leaving the officers of the Bane to plan their next move.

“Well,” Kasmira said, her voice sharp with determination. “It’s time we see what Scags Rotgram knows about Barnabas Harrigan and why our old captain wanted his head.”

November 23, 2024

The Gullet's Curse

The salt-heavy air was thick with tension as the officers of the Scourge’s Bane convened to discuss their next steps. Red had cast a Divination spell to see if it revealed any clues to the location of Scags Rotgram. The riddle Red had gleaned from his spell lingered in the air like a storm cloud: “He fled to the Jaws where he was chewed up and swallowed down the gullet.” Puzzled, they debated its meaning until Kroop, the ship’s grizzled cook, leaned in with a knowing smirk.

“Dagon’s Jaws,” he grunted, pointing at the chart. “Two islands, see? The waters between ’em are called the Gullet. Reckon that’s your answer.”

Buoyed by the clue, the officers set sail, stopping briefly at the port town of Ollo to question Avimar Sorrinash. The werewolf lord welcomed them with a smile that never quite reached his eyes. Over a tense exchange in his manor, Sorrinash admitted he knew little of Scags Rotgram’s whereabouts but confirmed the ship he once captained: the Devilish Duchess. When pressed about his stance on Barnabas Harrigan, the wolfish pirate grew wary, stating his neutrality in the Shackles’ turbulent politics.

Disappointed but undeterred, the crew turned their prow toward the ominous Dagon’s Jaws. Navigating the southern approach, they entered the Gullet, a jagged waterway wreathed in shadow. Red and Finn dove beneath the surface, seeking wreckage, only to be met with an eerie calm. Dolphins frolicked nearby, their sleek bodies cutting through the waves. But as the swimmers ventured deeper, silt clouded the waters, and from the murk rose the grotesque forms of Lacedons—undead water zombies.

The battle erupted in the watery depths. Red and Finn slashed through the abominations, their strikes precise and unyielding. Yet the true danger lay behind them. The playful dolphins twisted and morphed into monstrous Brykolakas, their undead forms surging forward. Varen, high in the crow’s nest, unleashed a crackling shot from his musket, and Kasmira directed the crew with sharp, decisive orders. One by one, the Brykolakas fell, Red’s axe cleaving through their corrupted flesh. Poison seeped into the waters as the undead dissolved, leaving the crew victorious but weary.

At the end of the Gullet, Finn spotted a grim scene—a wrecked ship’s boat, bodies bobbing lifelessly in the water, and a fractured plank bearing the name of the Devilish Duchess. The officers approached cautiously, but as Kasmira leapt into the shallows to inspect the bodies, the dead came to life. Lacedons clawed and snapped, joined by two more Brykolakas. The fight was brutal but brief, Kasmira’s pistols barking sharply as she downed the final foes. Her keen eyes then found footprints leading up a path into the island’s hills.

Following the trail, the group stumbled upon an incongruous sight: a bubbling spring surrounded by faint carvings of Pharasma’s ancient sigils. The spring’s water shimmered with a divine glow, its restorative energy palpable. Declaring the site sacred, they moved on, descending into a camp of lean-tos and tents. From the shadows emerged a wary band of survivors, led by a defiant woman with fiery eyes who demanded their surrender. Kasmira’s steady diplomacy won the day, revealing the group to be remnants of the Devilish Duchess.

Alise Grogblud, the Duchess’s first mate, shared grim news. Scags Rotgram had sacrificed himself to save the crew when undead attacked. Worse, the undead hadn’t sunk the Devilish Duchess; they’d taken it. The revelation struck like a thunderclap. Intelligent undead capable of towing a ship away? The implications were chilling. "The ship!" Kasmira exclaimed, her voice sharp with urgency. "OUR ship," and she could tell the others shared her concern.

“We’ll be back,” Kasmira promised, her voice a steely vow. The officers teleported back to the Bane, only to find the deck overrun with undead. The crew had barricaded themselves in the cabins, leaving the officers to reclaim their ship. Red’s spells bolstered their strength, and the fight raged across the deck. Kasmira’s pistol jammed in the heat of battle, but with a furious swing, she cleared the chamber and dispatched an undead with a brutal strike. Finn’s kinetic magic felled the last of the creatures, and the crew emerged from hiding.

Surveying the aftermath, Kasmira’s resolve hardened. “Now, we get the survivors aboard and find out what the undead have done with the Devilish Duchess.”

But beneath the waves, something stirred—a dark presence that had watched the battle with patient, malevolent eyes. The officers’ journey into the heart of this mystery was far from over.

November 30, 2024

The Cave of Shadows

The sea whispered secrets as the officers of the Scourge’s Bane sailed along the eastern shore of Little Jaw, their eyes scanning the rugged cliffs for anything out of the ordinary. Halfway down the coast, Varen’s keen gaze from the crow’s nest caught a dark inlet, partially obscured by jagged rocks. A faint glimmer from within the shadows revealed what they were searching for: a cavern, its maw beckoning like the gates of a forgotten underworld.

The tide was high, rendering the cave’s entrance perilously low for even a ship’s boat. With the Bane anchored offshore, the officers—Kasmira, Varen, Finn, and Red—climbed into their smaller craft and rowed cautiously toward the shoreline. The final stretch was treacherous; they abandoned the boat and swam into the cavern, their weapons and gear strapped tightly to their backs. The saltwater stung their eyes as the world dimmed, swallowed by the cavern’s oppressive darkness.

Inside, the scene was both eerie and astonishing. Four ships floated in the still waters, their masts crudely hewn to fit into the cavern’s confines. The vessels, stripped of their former glory, were now the macabre homes of undead crews. The remnants of older, long-forgotten ships bobbed listlessly, adding to the air of despair. The group exchanged grim looks—this was no ordinary graveyard.

“Let’s start with the Duchess,” Kasmira whispered, her voice barely carrying over the soft lapping of water against the hulls.

Finn, his hands crackling faintly with energy, grinned mischievously. “I’ll get us there,” he said, using his telekinetic powers to lift the other officers and hurl them onto the deck of the nearest ship. Varen and Kasmira landed gracefully, their weapons drawn before their boots touched the wood. Red, less fortunate, hit the deck with a resounding thud, muttering a string of colorful dwarven curses.

The undead surged toward them immediately, the grotesque figures emitting guttural moans as they closed in. Red, pinned near the railing, gritted his teeth and swung his axe in a wide arc, keeping the creatures at bay. Finn flew in behind the attackers, unleashing a burst of electricity that crackled through their decaying forms. Varen, ever precise, fired his musket, the shot echoing through the cavern. Kasmira followed with her pistols, each shot finding its mark. The first wave of undead fell quickly, but their respite was short-lived.

More undead emerged from the depths of the other ships, leaping across the rails to join the fray. Finn unleashed another surge of electricity, and Varen conjured a web to entangle the newcomers. The battle became a chaotic melee, with Kasmira firing in rapid succession and Red cleaving through the abominations with brutal efficiency. The fight ended with Finn and Varen dispatching the last of the undead, their breathing ragged in the heavy air.

With the immediate threat gone, they turned their attention to their surroundings. The ship beneath their feet was unmistakable—the Devilish Duchess. Kasmira led the way to the captain’s cabin, where they searched for Scags Rotgram’s journal. Behind a concealed panel in a beam above the hammock, they found it—a small collection of personal effects, with the journal nestled among them.

The journal’s pages were filled with grievances against Barnabas Harrigan, but more importantly, it contained detailed notes on Harrigan’s island fortress. Scags had documented the fortress’s layout, including a map of the first floor and a hidden underwater escape route that could serve as a secret entrance.

“This changes everything,” Kasmira said, her eyes gleaming with determination. “We have the means to strike at Harrigan.”

They waited for low tide to tow the ships from the cavern, carefully avoiding further encounters with the undead. Once safely away from the infested island, they began the laborious process of repairing the captured vessels.

“This could be the start of a fleet,” Varen mused, surveying the damaged ships. “A proper squadron under our banner.”

Kasmira nodded but quickly turned her focus to the looming threat. “We need allies before we move on Harrigan. Pierce Jerrell and Merrill Pegsworthy are our best options. Let’s start with Pierce.”

Their journey took them to Port Peril, where they found Jerrell in a lively tavern. True to rumor, the roguish captain had recently won six Ulfen longships in a high-stakes game. Over drinks, Kasmira made her plea, her tone serious. Pierce, with his usual devil-may-care attitude, grinned and agreed to join their cause.

Before leaving Port Peril, a well-dressed man approached them, introducing himself as Chambros Egrossa, first mate of the Tyrannous. He bore an invitation from Arronax Endymion, whose flagship was moored nearby. Intrigued, the officers accepted and met with the infamous pirate lord aboard his ship.

“I need your help,” Arronax admitted, his tone both direct and weary. “Rumors accuse me of conspiring with Cheliax, but nothing could be further from the truth. These lies are spreading in Hell Harbor, and I can’t act against them without causing more harm. Deal with the slanderers, and I’ll grant you a squadron of my finest warships.”

The officers agreed, promising discretion and precision in their task. From there, they sailed to Firegrass Isle to recruit Merrill Pegsworthy, who pledged his support without hesitation.

As the crew toasted their growing alliance that night, Kasmira raised her mug. “We’re getting closer. Harrigan won’t see us coming.”

But in the shadows of their newfound fleet, unseen eyes watched their every move, and the faint sound of hollow laughter drifted on the wind, foretelling the dangers yet to come.