The Howling Maw

The sea is black, the sky twisted with storm-torn clouds. You don’t know how you got here, but the air is thick with rot and rust, the scent of drowned souls clinging to the mist. Beneath your feet, the deck groans, shifting like something alive. A voice—no, a thousand voices - whisper from the shadows. "Dreamer…" The name slithers around you, spoken by the very air. Before you, a massive, skull-faced ship looms, its iron limbs shifting as if seeking prey. The Howling Maw has found you.

This is so sick