Hello,
A thick fog and oddly heavy, unnatural drizzle beset Handra; even the daytime fell dark. The city was becoming emptied, except for increased patrols by the capable guardsmen. The Captain learned some cult secret from Stormswallower while Boamund read more about the hero Handra and his escapades with the Ludoch mermen from a library book, and the Baronet and Ciddar rested/rabbleroused at the inn.
But as the latter two heroes ventured across the isles, they encountered a strange figure who called himself The Accountant. He was very tall, thin and pale, wearing white linens and a rough brown hooded cloak. Underneath that hood he hid his even more striking face: handsome features rendered grotesque by a great cyclopean single eye in his brow and shoulder-length, stringy, pink hair. He approached you out of curiosity and displayed an odd, casual, blas� attitude. He said he was a “tourist” witnessing “interesting” events on Handra, following clues from “the Ledger of Despair,” mentioned something about “The Judge,” and was expecting worse events to come soon, which he did not conceal some enthusiasm about. He described the Captain from rumours he'd heard around town, and inquired casually if the captain knew of the “Purple Sonnet.” You told him you'd probably be around the Blue Dock later and he said he might turn up, then he whisked away into the fog. Funny chap, that Accountant.
You rendezvous'd at the Blue Dock and discussed your news. Boamund urged you to visit the Mariners Guild and see the emerald treaty that Handra had brought back from the mermen; perhaps that would give clues about how the plight of Handra might be resolved, or a way to re-enact Handra's questing. Ahappi said he'd heard of the Purple Sonnet- it was an old poem that was infamous for driving people mad who heard it, and had been banned by many governments, now seldom heard of but the stuff of legend. But your chat was interrupted by two guildsmen who burst into the tavern and said, wide-eyed with fright, that there were evil invaders on the shore nearby and help was needed. You were glad to oblige, but soon regretted it, as they were of a submaterial nature that you were ill-equipped to handle: spectral rotted corpses of sailors, at times seeming physical or spiritual, but mainly acting on your minds and souls. These horrors glowed dimly with a muted magical phosphorescence that only enhanced their sinister appearance. They were striding nonchalantly out of the surf, and a ragtag band of city defenders had formed a gradually retreating line of defense against the dozens of semicorporeal foes. Boamund fell to their frightening touch and sought to enter the waves, but was struck unconscious by the Captain's harpoon haft. The Baronet was weakened by them so much that when he invoked the power of the Fan and blew them back into the seas, he fainted. Ahappi sought some sort of hidden master of these phantoms offshore, but found none.
And then just as you seemed to have the upper hand, the Captain was struck mad by the ghosts' touch and Ciddar watched him walk into the crashing froth off the beachfront. He realized the danger soon enough, and grabbed his captain, wrestling him to the ground. But, possessed by a fanatical fervor, Ahappi threw him off and turned back to pursuing his watery doom. Ciddar found that his sword and fists could not harm the grim sealord enough, so he invoked waterbreathing magics on both of them, followed the captain while he submerged himself, and then dismissed his magic, allowing Ahappi to blissfully bubble and twitch until he went limp and was near death from drowning; then Ciddar dragged him ashore. By then, help had come: the city's guards had rallied with reinforcements from magical specialists (especially newtling and Volanki spirit-binders, who knew the ways of the Spirit Plane well), and you were helped back to the tavern and granted a room to recover in.
Your respite was short-lived. Shortly after you all hazily regained your senses, as the sea-madness subsided, you saw a soft white light leaking in from under your door, and heard muffled screams from the tavern hall below. Investigating, you first saw The Accountant, just past the door at the bottom of the stairs, tilting back in a chair while chuckling and contentedly watching a scene unfold. He acknowledged you with little interest, and directed your attention to a figure on the tavern's wooden stage, saying “He's good, that one.” The cold ivory light that filled the room came from this figure, and swept over the handful of staff and patrons left in the tavern. All those it touched, including you, were struck mad with fright– most paralyzed in abject horror, but some screaming or panicking in total mania. The fear came from visions evoked by the figure's words– tales of the carnage inflicted by the great sea-monster The Underdecker. The speaker finished his grim tale with a heroic ending, of how he showed his mastery of the demon and slew it. As the light faded into the pulsing white orb of the man's left eye, you saw it was Bar'ran the Monster-Hunter, one-eyed captain of The Churner!
The Captain spoke first, boldly shaking off the eye-magic and scolding Bar'ran for his magical trickery. Bar'ran retorted with a condemnation of the feeble valuation of words and blustering; he claimed to be a man of action, who sought only to please Magasta and remind landsmen of the power and terror of the seas. The two had a brief duel of words, but Bar'ran invited the Captain and crew to join him in his quest on the hero-path, to defeat the greatest monster he'd faced yet, and said the time would come soon. Then he leapt off the stage and strode proudly out the door into the night, and the small crowd was left gasping as they wrestled their sanity back, and The Accountant sat watching them.
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