"I have zero want to think about this any more." Talindra looked vaguely shell-shocked at the event that happened. The dragon didn't kill them and even referred to them favorably. The dragon and the captain were.... discussing routes. Yes that was what she was going with. There was also the matter of what the dragon said about undead. She'd theorized that undead might be something the curse might cause eventually but she didn't like hearing anyone say there actually was undead now. "I don't suppose any of the rest of you speak Draconic? She said there was undead in Chult. Is there a chance she's wrong?"
Raff, when everyone in your village was talking about the history of Chult, you were sitting on the beach staring at the waves. Or maybe you were practicing fighting instead - but either way, you have no idea what the history of the land of your birth is beyond these few facts:
1. There are a shitload of undead in Chult. If you could export the undead, Chult would be the world's leading supplier of rotting corpses and other assorted monstrosities. You don't go into the jungles of Chult unless you are willing to get, at a minimum, waist deep in some zombie nonsense.
2. Your village is probably the nicest place there, mostly because it's out on the shores and there aren't as many undead there. Hardly any, actually. You get maybe one or two a week.
Enri, you know a bit more:
Chult's history is wrapped up in tragedy - namely, the tragedy of magic taken a step too far. Most historians are not certain as to the precise event that kicked off the nigh-apocalyptic undead infestation, but the general consensus is that around the time of the Spellplague, someone lost control of an undead army. It didn't go well for anyone involved, and what was once a continent of cities connected by highways criss-crossing the jungle became a continent of but a few remaining bastions of civilization and ruins. These cities have since become large centers of trade, and while the royal lines of the old Chultan nobility are no more, a group of merchant princes has brought Chult back into the international community. The people believe that one day they will retake the interior of the continent from the undead, but it is generally accepted that it would take the return of Chult's missing god to really cause that.
You don't really know much more about Chult's missing god beyond the fact that his name is/was Ubato and he abandoned the land after growing disappointed in the constant wars of his children (i.e. Chultans) a very long time ago. It is generally accepted by Chultan scholars that this kicked off a series of tragedies and misfortunes culminating in the undead overrunning most of the continent.
((Fenrir, as you've elected to go on watch, give me a Perception check))
As he's a bit paranoiddistrustingnosy... paranoid, Fenrir monitors the conversation behind him as he stares out at the water. He hears mentions of cloacae and undead in Chult, but he doesn't know what a cloacae is, and he knows so little about Chult that he doesn't even bother to roll to see what he knows.
For now, watching the waters is likely more important.
You peer out over the water, doing your best to concentrate in spite of people discussing dragon genitals or whatever it is those assholes are on about. There's a tense moment where you are 100% certain you just spotted a sail, but it turns out to be a cloud on the horizon. To the east you can see a smudge that is the continent of Faerün, which is not a surprise. To the west, there's nothing - just more water. If there are pirates out there, they aren't anywhere near you yet.
Digging back into his memory, Enri continued. "Right, Chult and Undead go together like boats and seasickness. Seems like someone lost hold of their legion of evil a while back, and now it's pretty much the apex predator of the old kingdom's interior."
"A fellow explorer, eh?" Enri offered Mortimer a friendly smile and a tip of a suspiciously dry hat. "Enri J'onzz, at your service. Most people call me Waterdeep, for obvious reasons, but Enri is fine. And, of course, I'm very much looking forward to getting to the source of all this undead business."
After several minutes of stillness, Fenrir finally concludes that there's no immediate danger coming upon them. He settles into a state of idle watchfulness, now only paying attention to anything new or moving.
Letting his mind roam leads to brooding again, however, so Fenrir distracts himself from his thoughts by listening idly to the conversation behind him. Gathering information about his fellow travelers can't hurt.
The rest of the night passes by uneventfully. Once the hubub from the dragon's arrival has died down, most of the crew heads for their bunks, while a few others replace Fenrir on watch, allowing you all to return to sleep.
As the sun rises in the morning, Fargrim is back out on deck, and makes a brief announcement. "Alright, the scaled nuisance is now our scaled nuisance, at least for a couple of days. Should make things a bit easier for us, so as long as the weather stays calm. I still want you on watch - I'll be damned if we get caught off guard just because it looks clear."
The scaled nuisance sidles up from behind the captain and waves to the crew - some of whom wave back. "Never fear, buckos, there's not a pirate on these waters who doesn't fear the name of Therliann Thardular." She winks and runs across the deck, leaping off the boat's prow. There's a brief beat where she vanishes from view, and then the dragon - back to being a dragon - rises into view and flies off into the distance.
As the day continues, a steady wind fills the sails, and while there are no other storms coming for you just yet, there's a constant and steady rain which makes staying out on deck somewhat uncomfortable. Fargrim doesn't seem to mind, but that's probably because he's wearing a big hat and coat to shield himself from the rain. The rest of the crew goes about its business.
Mortimer, one of the crew approaches you. He is a tall thin man with dark stubble on his face. He wears a bandanna tightly wrapped around his head - you assume he must be bald. In a low voice, he says, "You seek a cure to the Death Curse, do you?"
Mortimer nods up at the crewman. "Cure it or at least learn something more about it to report back to the church." Morty seems more animated and confident when talking about religious matters. "The thing is an affront to Kelemvor!"
The crewman nods enthusiastically. "Yess, it is of vital importance that it does not continue. The future of Chult, I think, especially depends on it. If you are seeking the source, I think I may know someone who can help you. An acquaintance of mine who serves as a guide into the jungles and has been investigating the Death Curse on her own. Her name is Salida. You should find her when we make berth in Port Nyanzaru."
"As I said, she works as a guide. The merchant princes of Port Nyanzaru run an explorer's guild - if you make inquiry there they should be able to put you in touch with her, or at least let you know if she's already out on an expedition. As for me, I am Nesalli. She will, I hope, remember me." Nesalli smiles wryly.
A shout from elsewhere on the ship catches his attention. "Looks like they need some help over there. Good luck on your quest - we shall get you into port as soon as possible."
The remainder of the day passes uneventfully - and indeed, the next several days pass without incident. The weather remains grey, but the rain eventually stops, and the wind remains cooperative.
You're about three days from Port Nyanzaru when the cry of the lookout brings you all out of your daily routine. "Man overboard!"
Mortimer passed the time by chatting with the crew and passengers while helping out with the more simple duties that a landsman could handle, but his particular focus was on the passengers. He awkwardly asked about their plans once they reached port, trying to see if any would be interested in tracking down the guide Salida that crewman Nesalli knew.