Saltmarsh. A town at war with itself, torn between tradition and progress. The King’s men have arrived, lured by the rich veins of minerals in the nearby cliffs. The dwarves see opportunity; the common folk see the end of their way of life. And in the shadows, smugglers and unseen forces move like predators in the deep.

We made port and were greeted by Torbin, a halfling deckhand with an easy grin. Our meeting with the town council was postponed until morning, leaving us with time to settle in. The Wicker Goat, a local tavern, provided warm ale and a cold welcome. Saltmarsh does not embrace strangers easily.

Then there’s the bird. A Kenku, I believe, though I’d never met one before. It flits about like a ghost ship on stormy seas, speaking only in echoes. I do not know its purpose, nor its intentions, but I suspect we will cross paths again.

The council meeting was a tangled net of politics and tension. Anders Solmor fights for the common folk. Primewater, a man of wealth, keeps his own counsel. A dwarf demanded more Kingsguard, wary of the smugglers that still infest these waters. In the end, we left with gold in our pockets for killing the pirate Captain Redwake—but no clear path forward.

Then came talk of a haunted house. Ghost stories? Perhaps. But in my experience, every tale of the supernatural hides something all too real beneath the surface.