The last thing I remember is Mary haulin’ me sorry hide to shore. Must’ve blacked out after that. When I come to, the Caldea’s long gone, swallowed by the damned sea. We’ve all washed up on this gods-forsaken beach—well, not all of us. Just me, the rest o’ the party, and the Captain. No sign o’ the others. By Moradin’s beard, I hope Ordif made it!

The place is shallow, with shrubs creepin’ up behind us an’ plains stretchin’ as far as the eye can see. The sun’s sittin’ wrong in the sky, like it can’t decide whether it’s risin’ or settin’. Reckon we’re on the eastern shore of Nesathew. Wreckage from the ship is littered across the sand—wood scraps, barrels, crates… even the Captain’s bloody bed.

We start pickin’ through the wreckage, gatherin’ whatever’s useful. Me? I’m lookin’ for somethin’ truly valuable—me ale! Hadn’t even finished the keg yet! Just as I’m shiftin’ some planks, two figures come lurchin’ out—crewmen, but wrong. Twisted. Rotting. Zombies. With a roar, I bring me axe down, cleavin’ one in half before liftin’ the blade high and splittin’ the next one straight down the middle.

Down the beach, the others are havin’ their own fun—more of these rot-brained bastards crawlin’ out o’ the wreckage, along with some bloated sea-rats. Good fight, but over too quick. I even got a few extra swings in. There’s nothin’ quite like the feel of an axe bitin’ through bone.

Once the sand’s clear o’ corpses, I go back to searchin’ for me ale. Instead, I find a bag o’ rotten bananas, a shoe stuffed with sand, some cloth, a few scrolls, and a bedroll. Just as I’m about to curse the gods, me toe smacks into somethin’ solid beneath the sand. I dig it out, and there it is—me keg! A true dwarven blessing!

A few hours pass, but somethin’ feels… wrong. The tide ain’t movin’. There’s still waves, aye, but the shoreline hasn’t budged an inch. And the sun’s still glowin’ that eerie orange like it’s stuck at sunrise, even though it should be settin’ by now. Ain’t natural.

Meanwhile, Gerhard’s fussin’ over the Captain. She took a nasty bite from one o’ them undead. He’s worried she’ll turn into one. If she does, I’ll be the first to introduce her to the sharp end o’ me axe—Captain or no.

Icarus, that reckless fool, found some potions earlier. And what does he do? He downs one without a second thought. Next thing we know, he’s floatin’ in the air like some daft, overgrown balloon. Now Shadowstep’s draggin’ him around on a rope like a child with a festival toy. By the stones, what have I gotten meself into?

We set up camp, get a proper fire goin’. I even find a fine-lookin’ rat for supper—meat is meat, aye? But the moment I reach for it, a trap springs up and near takes me hand off! Some fool left a trap on perfectly good food! Bah!

The night passes without much trouble, though. In the mornin’, as we’re packin’ up, a Tortle comes wanderin’ down the beach from the north, shield on his back, spear in hand. I don’t trust strangers, so I keep a firm grip on me axe. We tell him we’re here lookin’ for Brother Nimfudge, some holy fella that’s gone missin’. Turns out he’s been helpin’ in a village called Galloway but ain’t been seen in weeks. The Tortle offers to take us there. Maybe we’ll find some answers… or maybe more trouble. Either way, I’ll be keepin’ me axe ready