HSI: The Island

The storm was two day ago. It had come in quick from the north. The dark clouds roiling in the distance with lightning flashes streaking through the horrible mass. The sharp, pungent sting of ozone on the air. The captain screamed out his instructions as he spun the helm to turn the ship, catch the wind, and draw the boat south. Sailors rushed around, tying and untying ropes to turn the sails towards the gale coming in hard from the direction of the storm. At one point the storm overtook the vessel. The tempest ripped across the ship, battering it and its occupants with vicious winds and rain. The waves rose 40 feet, if they rose an inch. One crashed over the starboard side sweeping Erland, the boat's cook, into the dark waters never to be seen again. Skill or sheer luck, the ship managed to pull ahead and emerge unscathed.

What followed was a cloud filled night. The captain ordered the sails be furled until he could make heads or tails of where you were. The sky remained overcast throughout the night, and the next day you woke to a morning sea fog. It was so thick the crew appeared as ghosts haunting the deck as they floated past. The mist cleared in the late morning and the clouds finally broke in the middle of the night. The sky cleared and the captain was able to view the stars again. The ship was well off course. He had not sailed these waters before. It would take at least a day to recover lost ground.

That next morning … this morning, greeted the ship with a cloudless sky. It was a beautiful sight. The dark teal sea kissing the light blue sky in all directions. There was a fine breeze, strong enough to push the ship along at a decent clip. Berwyn, the captain, was quiet. You had gotten used to him barking orders and yelling at the sailors. This morning he stewed in his own thoughts, staring out into the distance, then back towards the position of the sun to ensure he hasn't lost course.

Fafnir and Mauve's laughter trail off and the deck goes quiet. The creak and groan of the ship are the only thing to break the silence. The sailors continue their chores and don't look up towards the quarter deck for fear of catching the captain's ire. They are listening nonetheless. The waters are calm, but the crew has been tense for the better part of the morning.

Berwyn furrows his brow and looks at Gonnar for a few seconds before responding. When he does speak, he projects his voice across the ship as if speaking to the whole of the crew and not just the barbarian. "The sun and the stars do not lie. They will guide us." He says in his deep, cracked voice. He looks out across the deck, his eyes darting from one sailor to another as if trying to read their thoughts. None look up to make eye contact.

"We have not sailed these seas before, but we know of them. Ships that come this far south rarely return. These seas are cursed. The quicker we get out of these waters, the better." He look he back at Gonnar and the other passengers that have joined him. "I was sailing the open sea when you lot were still suckling at your mother's teat. I will get us back out of these waters. Follow my orders and …"

"LAND HO! HARD TO PORT!" comes the cry from the crow's nest.

You all look back out over the bow of the ship. Once open, blue sea - an island has sprung up as if by magic. The center of the island is punctuated by a massive volcano billowing white steam into the blue sky around it. The bright glow of red magma lights up it's mountainside. Your ship is heading directly for the shoreline. You are but a few hundred yards from the shore. You look back at the captain and he is frozen in shock.

GONNAR of the Gray Wastes

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Gonnar rushes across the quarterdeck and pushes the slack-jawed Berwyn back away from the helm. The stunned man turns to look and is taken by surprise. He stumbles back and falls onto his arse, banging his head against the railing and loosing a huff of breath. Gonnar grabs the helm and spins it to turn the ship hard to port. "Reef! Off the port side! Starboard! STARBOARD!" Stockley screams from the crow's nest. Thank the gods he didn't drink today. Gonnar spins the helm again in the opposite direction and the ship slowly veers back the other way.

"Who do you think you are?" Captain Berwyn says in a low voice, as if talking to himself. He pulls himself to his feet. There is a loud squeal as the hull scrapes along a short outcropping of rock. Sailors are knocked from their feet as the boat is slowed to half speed by the impact. Captain Berwyn is tossed forward and knocked unconscious against the railing at the front of the quarterdeck. "The hull is intact! You've done it!" Stockley cries, then follows with "Slow the ship! We'll run aground!"

FAFNIR the Cursed

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"WE'RE RUNNING AGROUND! HEAVE TO AND DROP ANCHOR!" Fafnir cries out. The sailors have already started rushing to their jobs. One runs up and pushes past Fafnir. He elbows the large man in the belly, even though he's at least a head shorter. "If you aren't here to help, then get down below!" The sailor yells as he looses a rope and rushes back across the deck. The anchor remains untouched - lashed to the side of the ship, the rope firmly coiled around the cathead beam.

GWYNDION & HALOR

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Gwyndion jumps to action. He rushes across the deck grabbing one of the sailors and tossing him at some rigging. "Loose the sails! If we don't slow down, we'll strike!" he yells. The crewmate was not expecting the shove and stumbles to his hands and knees. Gwyndion grabs the nearest line and begins to untie it, but moves too quickly. The rope knots itself. A cold sweat climbs up his spine as time ticks by and the knot refuses to work free.

Halor has moved to the other side of the ship. "Cut that bloody sail down!" He scrambles around looking for a blade … a blade! A BLOODY BLADE! The ship continues speeding along, only slowed by the impact of the reef. Halor is tossed across the deck along with the others.

With the sails fully intact and the anchor firmly in place, the boat races towards the shore at much too fast a pace. "Brace for impact!" Stockley screams. The ship is still at least 50 yards from the shore. Just then, the bow surges into the air as if launched from underneath by some unnatural force. The ship comes to an immediate stop and everyone and everything is tossed in the air. The bow slowly drops and the ship tilts, sinking deep into a sandy shoal.

MAUVE

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Mauve passes two sailors rushing up from the lower decks drawn from their bunks by the cries of "land" and "running aground". They pass by her without a word and rush to the deck, making for their posts. Mauve slips down into the hold. The hammocks swing empty in the quiet belly of the ship. Only the dull thumping of footsteps rushing across the upper deck break the silence. She manages to keep her feet as the ship strikes something and she is jarred forward.

Mauve slips by a few of the bunks and finds one of the footlockers sitting open. She lifts an old blanket and digs into the bottom of the box. A smile crosses her lips when she finds what she was looking for. She pulls a small bag of coins from the box and pours 4 gold pieces into her hand. Just then, the ship lurches upwards and Mauve is tossed over the bunk and across the room. the coins scatter.

Laying on her back staring at the ceiling, she can still hear one coin spinning and finally settling somewhere on the other side of the room.

The ship sits stranded, some 50 yards away from the shoreline. The hull rode over the sandbank and a good portion of it rests on the island side of the hump. The ship lays with the ass end pitched to the sky - it's rudder fully visible in the afternoon sun. The keel of the ship is dug deep into the sand and mud. One of the sailors dove under to get a better look. The hull is intact, but it would take a lot of work to dig the vessel free.

Upon closer inspection, the shoreline ahead is actually an island off the shore of the mainland. The barrier island is a mile-long sandbar dotted with clusters of mangrove trees and snapping grass. On the island side of the lagoon, the jungle-covered ground slopes up sharply toward the old volcano towering in the east.

The water between the ship and the island is too deep to wade through. It is possible to swim the distance, but would take some time and stamina. All of you would have noticed the dinghy hanging off the starboard bow. It is large enough to carry 6 men and remains undamaged.

A tiny frog leaps through the nearby grass and lands on the trunk of one of the trees. It is no larger than your thumb, but sparkles in the afternoon sun as if a diamond. It leaps again and is gone into the undergrowth. The island is quiet except for the buzzing of insects and the call of exotic birds in the trees.

You walk along the beach keeping an eye to the interior of the small island. You estimate that the island is about a mile long with black sand all along it's western shore. The north point of the island is rocky. It may offer a challenge to climb to the other side. There is a fair sized inlet between the smaller island and the dark, sandy beach of the larger island across the water. The southern point is a bit more forgiving. The sand continues around this point an up the eastern side of the island. The inlet on the south end is larger than the north.

The interior of the island doesn't appear to house anything larger than small animals, birds and insects. The trees are well spaced, but the foliage is thick. Gwyndion spots a grouping of plants that are alien to him. The thick vines protrude from the ground and end in two hinged lobes edged with spiky hair like projections.

Startled, Gwydion instinctively pulls back on his staff trying to free it.