Finding yourself shipwrecked on an island was not how you expected to be spending the penultimate week of your journey home. Especially an island that appears on no maps, only in tales of the seafaring people that ply this ocean. It was as if the land rose from under the waves, rending the ship’s hull as if it were tissue paper. The damage was extensive, but repairable should you be able to find enough materials to patch the hull. You’d have to limp to the nearest port, but it’d be doable.
The entire landscape is grey, from the dirt to the clouds handing overhead. Cyclopean structures dominate the landscape of your prison, their shapes forming patterns you struggle to comprehend. They seem to worm their way into your brain, triggering headaches and other physical symptoms, to the point that it’s already incapacitated some members of the crew. Left them babbling about the “thing that dreams under the sea, deep in the drowned city”. Several of the afflicted have had to be tied to their bunks, so that they don’t claw out their eyes.
And so it falls to you, those who are still yet standing for reasons you do not understand, to head deeper into the island. Your task is simple enough: find enough material to patch the hull and get off of the island. But with each step you take, the sky grows darker, and the whispers grow louder. You can hear the dreamer, its words etched into the chaotic patterns of the structures, echoing in your mind. What’s worse, you think that something is stalking you out there. You can hear it murmuring behind you, but when you turn, there is nothing there. At least, nothing you can see.
You must press on, deeper in. Find materials. Repair the boat. Escape. Try not to think too hard about the fact you can no longer make out the shore. “I lie under the city, sleeping. Come followers and find what you seek.”
Areas of Note: A never-ending series of Cyclopean structures filled with impossible geometries.
Goal: Wake the dreamer, destroy the world.