The cold spray of the Duskgloom Sea was the only company you’ve had for hours. The fog was less of a mist and more of a blinding wall of flour separating you entirely from the world. You had been floating for hours, and hope was starting to waver.

But it seemed that whatever divine creature out there heard you, as from the fog came the sound of a ship's roar.

A shape began to materialize out of the thick soup of vapor directly ahead. It was an older fishing trawler, a kind that hasn't been manufactured in years. As it neared, the silhouette of a lone figure becomes visible on the upper deck.

"Ahoy! Are you alright down there?"