I checked in with my allies on the beach. Isgarren seemed to be dealing with seasickness while a sullen Canach stewed over the loss of the Martingale. Rytlock itched to see some action, and Sayida was directing traffic, helping both ships' surviving crews recover from the treacherous journey. I started by scouting the area to get the lay of the land... It was beautiful; teeming with magic—gravity-defying rocks, luminescent shoals, misty waterfalls...like nothing I've ever seen. As I explored, I observed scores of shipwrecks and ran across some of the supplies that washed ashore from the Martingale. The magic in the area felt unlike anything I've experienced, yet there was a slightly familiar tinge to it that I couldn't put my finger on. From one lofty peak, I caught a glimpse of what appeared to be local inhabitants. I returned what salvageable supplies I could to our makeshift camp. Canach had hoped for more valuables, but Sayida put what we had to good use. As I finished doling out the recovered supplies to the wounded and ailing crew, a castaway by the name of Westergard approached. Sayida attempted to make friends, but Westergard wasn't having it. She was...not exactly welcoming. Hard as nails, that one. Westergard insisted I go speak to the mayor of the nearby village. Alone. ***