Run to the main deck

Your first priority should be to find out what’s going on. You quickly ascend the three flights of stairs between the lower deck and the main deck, passing several panicking sailors along the way. The sight that greets you outside is not good: rain beats hard and fast against the deck, the wind is threatening to make you lose your footing, and a dense, mysterious fog is making it impossible to see more than ten feet in any direction. What makes the fog mysterious is that it’s hanging loosely in the air, not seeming to care about the heavy wind and rain. Initially, the sight makes you think you’re still dreaming, but then your ears catch onto what’s happening beyond the fog. The raging storm is mingled with the sounds of shouting, and the… clash of steel?

Who’s fighting? you think as you look around. Several pairs of feet dance in the fog around you, but you can’t make out who they belong to. You’re about to take a step forward when someone grabs you from behind and pulls you back down the stairs.

“Goin’ up wiffout a weapon? You’s got a **** wish?” shouts the sailor who pulled you back. The large man shoves you back with his gigantic open palm, then says, “Wake up, lad! We’ve got ghosts boardin’ us, we ‘ave!”

…

Ghosts?

You stand there, not really believing your ears. The burly sailor gets tired of waiting for you to get a move on, turns, and heads up to join the fighting outside before you come to your senses. Of course there are ghosts attacking, you reprimand yourself. Why am I still surprised by weird shit happening?

“Hey, you!” Immediately after you resolve to head back down the stairs and grab your {if@ sword = true}sword{elseif mace = true}mace{elseif spear = true}spear{endif} from the lower deck, someone shouts at you from above. It’s another sailor, but this time he’s on the smaller side. The man in question tumbles down the stairs, landing at your feet. You can clearly see several places where a sword has done some serious damage. “Take m-me… to the… doc… w-will ya?” he says, barely managing the words. You drop to your knees, your hand reaching for the most serious wound before your mind can even decide if he’s worth healing. Your mouth utters the incantation all on its own, and all you can think of is how automatic the idea of healing people in need has become for you. With this disposition, you might have made a good paramedic in your past life. You cast the spell once again, on the second worst-looking wound, then scoop the sailor up over your shoulder and start heading down the stairs.

The doctor’s ward is full of sailors in critical condition. Just how bad is this attack? you think as you have to find a bit of available floor space to lay your man down on. On your way out, you spot the doctor bringing yet another injured sailor in for treatment. I shouldn’t bother him, but I’d really like some answers here. Right as you think that, one of the less injured sailors exits the ward and catches up to you. Upon closer inspection, you realize the man to be Captain Witterel.

“I must ask that you take up arms against this threat,” he says to you. “It shames me to ask you to fight so soon after your own tragedy, but if this battle does not shift we may yet face a terrible fate of our own. I must join the fray once more. I implore you to join me there!” He shouts his last words over his shoulder as he ascends the steps to the higher decks.

Well. You certainly weren’t planning on not fighting for your life.

You bound down the stairs until you’re back in the lower deck. The scene down here has quieted somewhat — the storm continues to rage outside, of course, but there are less sailors running about and shouting at one another. What few seamen you do see down here are either arming themselves, as you are, or crouched in corners, praying for their lives. You move past one such coward as you go to pick up your silver {if@ sword = true}sword{elseif mace = true}mace{elseif spear = true}spear{endif}, left untouched among your party’s belongings. Weapon in hand, you start to make your way up the stairs another time.

Until you’re stopped at the upper deck. Blocking the stairs is the doctor and a human woman wearing what you could best describe as a ruby red Victorian dress. The woman has caramel skin and long, dark hair tied up in the back using what appears to be a very expensive ornamental hairpin. Whatever, not important, you remind yourself. What is important is that they’re in your way. And the woman seems to be arguing with the doctor, which is probably what’s keeping them in your way.

“I’ve told ye once, I’ve told ye a thousan’ times, Miss Smith. I don’t ‘ave time for this!” says the doctor.

“And I say you’ll make time!” counters the woman, apparently called Smith. “I am a paying passenger aboard this vessel, and I demand that you treat me this instant!”

“You’ll get yer damn ankle looked at when the rest o’ the crew ain’t so busy bein’ skewered by ghost pirates!” shouts the doctor.

So they’re ghost PIRATES now. Of course they are.

Miss Smith gasps dramatically, an action befitting of her dress. “Well, I certainly wouldn’t be injured if it weren’t for all this pirate business in the first place! If the crew of this vessel had simply done their jobs, I would have never —”

“That! Is! Enough!” says the doctor. He then launches up the stairs.

Miss Smith yells after him, but doesn’t give chase, and eventually turns around and notices you standing there. “You don’t look like a member of the crew,” she says, ogling your dirty, beaten up doublet and trousers with a disgusted look on her face. Then, her face lights up. “Ah! You must be one of the castaways they fished up the other day. Say, these ghosts wouldn’t happen to be chasing after you, would they?” She smiles, then starts walking away without waiting for an answer to that question.

You think it best to leave it at that and move on, except before you can head up the stairs you hear the woman scream for help. Looking down the corridor, you see a bona fide ghost pirate closing in on Miss Smith from the other end of the hall.

You leap before you look, putting yourself between the frightened Miss Smith and her would-be assailant.