The first sign of trouble comes as a ripple in the air, a metallic tang clinging to the salty breeze.
The waves lick at the boat as it creaks, rocking above the high murky waters. One hundred and one weeks at sea have turned the once proud ship a salty grey, the sails hanging limp like a weary sigh. You aren't traders, not exactly. You are monster mashers, a ragtag group traversing the Material Plane and beyond, patching holes in reality wherever they appear. Your current target: a rogue rift rumored to be spewing aberrations near the Maelstrom, a churning sea notorious for swallowing gigantic ships whole.
Captain Freyr, a dwarf with a beard as tangled as the rigging, steers with a weathered hand, coughing to himself. Beside him, Anya, your eleven mage, traces glowing runes on a dusty tome, muttering incantations in a language older than time. However, you, a Goliath barbarian Korga, prefer a more direct approach. Your trust axe lay propped against the mast.
Suddenly, a monstrous claw, the size of a small skiff, erupts from the water, dripping with an oily sheen. A chorus of panicked shouts rises from the deck as the creature, with eyes like glowing coals, surfaces beside you. Great, you think to yourself… Now what?
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