Upon the haunted decks of the cursed Shadewraith, her torn sails rippling in the wind, there's not a living crewmember to be found. Ghosts and wraiths tie the rigging and mop the decks, just as they had in life, and phase through the walls and doors as if they were made of nothing.

Manning the wheel, a ghost with a particularly sorrowful expression stares at you. His voice seems to echo in the cold winter air.

I am Vangheist, captain of the Shadewraith. What do ye think ye're doin' here?