Separately and collectively, The party had fallen into the hands of pirate slavers.

Waking up in the belly of a galley ship, chained to bunks, and in the midst of a great storm.
The ship was grounded and in the crash, split apart. The rear stayed wedged in the rocks near a beach cove, the front half floated off with the storm.

As Klembsy, the human druid, pushed on the bunk post his chains were attached to he was somewhat surprised to find that it gave quite easily. Feeling under the water, near the floor base, the post appeared to have split in the crash. Klembsy was able to loop his chains off the post, grab the keys, remove his shackles, and release the other prisoners.

Max gets in position at the back while the others sort out what happens in the front. He checks his axes, and makes sure they are readily accessible.

Maltron strings together a plan. “I suggest we sneak into the manor using Keestake’s entrance. Then we should make our way directly to the treasure stick he told us about. Then directly to the treasure. After that, we make for the shore and a ship. We have to make sure Harky and Melisana remain healthy because they are the ones with ship sailing skills. If the treasure hunt takes too long, regretfully we will have to abandon it. It’s already a risk, but we have 24 hours and maybe that will be plenty of time. Sail any at night you two?”

“If we can get through this without a fight, great, but I expect lots of bloodshed. Be prepared to be merciless. Keestake, do you need a dagger? Do you have any torches? It might be dark in there.”

Night passes uneventfully. Dawn rises on the party as they slowly drift in the open sea.
Harkris is still unconscious and the island is no longer in sight.
Via orientation of the sunrise, the party is able to determine which direction is north and all man oars, slowly and methodically rowing in unison.

Morning burns into afternoon which melts slowly into dusk.
Breaks are taken as needed and lashing spears together as posts, a sort of shade cover is made using the old sail bundle from the slave galley. Rations are rationed and Maltron and Klembsy are able to make use of their breaks to memorize/pray for spells.

As the sun begins to set in the west, the party begins to discuss plans.

Francis wakes up early from the first relatively comfortable sleep he’s had in what seems to be a month. After stretching his aching body, and taking a long pull off the water skin to coat his seemingly ever-present dry-mouth he looks at the condition of the bed and feels sick to his stomach. he gathers up the bed sheets and pillows, and wraps them in a ball, and walks out of the room and goes to the main deck and tosses the ball of sheets overboard. He makes a shivering motion with his body along with turning his head to the side, curling up his lips and makes a nauseating look of disdain. He then visits the Privy.

Dawn breaks and the morning plays out for all on board very similar to the day before.
The leak is definitely getting worse and now requires consistent pumping. When Dash takes breaks, Yohn continues pumping and so forth so that continual pumping is maintained.

After first meal, Francis checks speed and confirms they’ll be at the island at dusk. Ein points out that they’ll at least have the setting sun behind them as an advantage when they approach.

As midday wanes into later afternoon, Francis checks speed again and states to the rest of the party they’ll have about 3 bells or so before they’re in sight of the island. Any plans they want to put in place should be agreed upon soon.

Dox turns back into his original Half-Orc form.

“Oh my Freya!” Trist Exlaims!!! “Another stinking Half orc. First I had to deal with Harky or whatever his name is and that was almost too much to choke down. Now I have to deal with another stinking Half orc. Freya Help me now, as she watches Dox transform into an Half-Orc. She aims her notched arrow at Dox and says,”I hate orcs and a half orc I hate only half as much so you best be behaving or find yourself DEAD. Got it!? Get out of the way! Kistol goes first to check for traps and scout ahead just a bit. Then you can go and I will follow you to make sure you aren’t up to any no good."

The party identifies the magic items and divvies them up in addition to the loot.
Maltron offers the wand of fire to Francis in exchange that he teach the mage ‘Navigation’.

Maltron tells Francis about the wand. “It’s a Wand of Fire (rechargeable, 6 charges remain). Considering we liberated your ship and are giving it to you, it’s worth what? 50,000 gold? It shouldn’t be much to ask you to share your knowledge in navigation.”

Around early midday on the 3rd day, The port and walls of the city of Phlan comes into view.
The high walls surrounding the city are made up of a patchwork of old and new stone giving them a sort of grayed salt and peppered effect.

Moving into the bay of Phlan, the party gets a good look at the ancient fortress Sokol Keep, located just west of the docks. The stone walls of the structure are faded, charred, and somewhat frayed from dragon fire.

Dawn breaks on a new day.

Harkris comes stumbling down the docks, bottle in hand, slurring and singing a sailor’s song.
“When I was jush a lad looking fer mer true vocationnnnn.
Mah father said “Now sun, this choice desherves deliberationnnnn.
Though you could be a doctor or perhapsh a financierrr
My boy why not considerrrrr a more challenging career.
Hey ho ho! You’ll cruise to foreign shores!
And you’ll keep yer mind and body sound.
By working out them doors!
True friendship and adventurers are what we can’t livse withouts!
And when yera a professhional pirate!
That’s what the job’s about…”

Day 13, “Finally Frontier”

Night passes without incident.

The party awakens to the twilight of dawn.
Looking about, the surrounding territory is shockingly different from the previous evening.
The humid, warm air has been replaced by a dry, chilled breeze.
The smell of the ocean and seawater is no longer apparent, in it’s place pine and fresh cut greenery overwhelm the senses.
And what was once the almost perpetual squawking and culling of seagulls, is now the occasional cry of a hawk hunting overhead or the caw of a curious raven passing by.