Saltmark

Maritime Gothic Horror

Six months ago the lighthouse went dark. Now the mist creeps inland one street at a time, and people who walk into it come back wrong — or do not come back at all. Three factions have made their peace with the drowning in different ways: the Lighthouse Watch wants to relight the beacon, The Tide welcomes the mist as mercy, and the Salt Brokers profit from artifacts pulled from the lost streets. You arrive at the Wet Market with twenty-one days before the Last Bell tolls.

Where things stand

Saltmark is played by real people and keeps moving between their sessions. This is the state of it as of the last update — not a fixed setting, and not where it began.

Saltmark, a city carved from basalt, breathes a chill mist now. Six months past, Captain Halloran the Elder vanished into the creeping fog, and the lighthouse's blue flame died with him. Since then, the mist has claimed Saltmark street by street, an inexorable tide. Those who walk into its embrace return changed, peaceful and dreamless, their voices a soft, unsettling chorus. They speak of the Tide's mercy, or they do not return at all. Captain Mira Halloran's Lighthouse Watch dwindles on the cliff, a desperate vigil against the encroaching grey. Below, in the humid Wet Market, Madame Trell's Salt Brokers thrive, trading in strange artifacts salvaged from the lost streets. The air here is thick with tension, a fleeting brightness before the inevitable. Twenty-one days remain until the city's bell tower falls silent, and the mist's slow, suffocating advance continues, one breath at a time. The Weeping Hollow's influence deepens, now actively drawing whispers of despair from Saltmark into its silent embrace, forming a unified, suffocating sigh. The Weeping Hollow's unified sigh now actively draws in Saltmark's despair, growing into an almost audible, suffocating hum. The Weeping Hollow's mournful hum grows more potent, its draw on Saltmark's despair becoming an almost physical presence within its depths.

Places

Wet Marketmarket: The bright loud heart of Upper Saltmark, salted timber stalls under tarred canvas awnings, wedged into a stone-paved square that smells of fish, lamp oil, and rope. Madame Trell holds court at the long ledger table. Runners come in damp from the lost streets, dropping artifacts on velvet cloth. Buyers from outside ports arrive by ship, leave heavier in the purse and lighter in the chest. The bell tower rises above, still ringing the hours — for now. A faded sign over the gate reads NO TIDE TOKENS.
Brackish Quartertown: The Brackish Quarter, already turbulent with spectral currents, has been torn open by a new, smaller abyssal rift. Raw, unchanneled energies pulse from it, causing the mist to writhe and momentary glimpses into other dimensions to flicker into existence. It is a highly dangerous and unpredictable place, a direct consequence of the Drowned Chapel's momentary stabilization.
The Lighthousetower: The Lighthouse's emerald beacon pulses with an overwhelming, destructive force, actively drawing desperate souls towards its corrupted light. The air is thick with raw abyssal energy, and spectral currents now guide the lost towards its sinister hum, amplified by the revelation of the 'heart of love' covenant, making its treacherous promise of peace even more insidious.
The Stillpoolcave: A sterile pocket of nothingness, so utterly devoid of presence that the very concept of an entity 'being' there, even as a void, is systematically erased. It now subtly amplifies the despair emanating from the Lighthouse.
The Old Constable's Officeruins: A boarded-up stone building near the bell tower, abandoned three months ago when the constable walked into the mist. The door is chained but the chain is loose. Inside: a great wall of ledgers, one column per missing person. Dust on every column except the most recent — somebody has been visiting at night to update the names. The lock on the inner archive has been picked and re-locked.
The Keeper's Cottagebuilding: The Keeper's Cottage is now Silas's workshop, a place where the Lighthouse's remnants are being morbidly repurposed, focusing the Abyssal Tear's energy for the Tide's sinister agenda.
The Tide's Mawruins: A treacherous stretch of coastline and jagged rocks just beyond the Lighthouse's usual patrols. The currents here are notoriously strong, and the mist is almost corporeal, distorting perception. Ancient, barnacle-encrusted structures hint at forgotten uses.
The Whispering Alleyruins: A narrow, twisting passage revealed by the mist, its air thick with damp and the faint, rhythmic echo of an unseen chorus. Strange bioluminescent fungi cling to the walls, casting an eerie, soft glow.
Third Dye Housetown: The Third Dye House, gorged on the Shrouded Docks, has grown even more immense and horrifying. It pulses with a deeper, more malevolent energy, its abyssal constructs now more numerous and potent, relentlessly expanding its dominion.
Rocky Shorelinelake: The shoreline is now a place of eerie quiet, the mist-shrouded waters agitated not by wind, but by an unseen force. Personal effects, once belonging to the lost, wash onto the sand, their silent presence a stark reminder of the mist's encroaching reach.
The Weeping Cragsmountain: The peaks of the Weeping Crags have ruptured, revealing a new, terrifying gateway to the abyssal depths, its impossible geometries shimmering with the Tide's raw power.
Crypt of Whisperscave: The Crypt of Whispers continues its ominous expansion, its chambers shifting and revealing new passages. The strange, crystalline growths on its walls pulse with an inner light, now seemingly in rhythm with a faint, disembodied chorus that emanates from its depths, drawing the lost further into its embrace.
The Veiled Pathforest: oppressive mist, bell sound echoing, now accompanied by the unnerving discovery of personal effects left behind by the vanished.
Veiled Docksmarket: The Veiled Docks' bioluminescence flares erratically, and the strange energies within its depths become volatile, hinting at unleashed power. Now, hidden stashes and coded markers suggest a new, discreet smuggling route.
The Weeping Passagecave: A newly opened, mist-shrouded passage, unstable and slick with briny residue, leading from the chaotic Veiled Docks directly towards the Drowned Chapel. The chorus resonates powerfully within its confines.
The Weeping Hollowruins: Beyond the lighthouse, the city's edge gives way to a desolate, fog-choked expanse. Skeletal fishing boats are fused into the churned earth, leading to a vast circular depression where a gnarled tree pulsates with bioluminescent growths.
The Lower Chamberscave: The newly opened lower chambers of the lighthouse, glowing with an unnatural phosphorescence, pulsate with the raw essence of the pact. The air here is thick with ancient salt and a chilling, unseen presence.
The Saltmark Lighthouse (Interior)castle: Beyond the entrance, winding stairs ascend into shadowy levels. The air is thick with the scent of salt, decay, and an almost palpable sorrow. Faint, personalized whispers echo through its stone halls, growing louder as one approaches the beacon.
The Old Dockyard (Submerged)ruins: A forgotten section of the Saltmark docks, now partially submerged beneath the murky waters of the Tide. Barnacle-encrusted pilings and skeletal remains of old ships jut from the water, creating a labyrinthine graveyard of maritime history.

Figures

Brother Erevan VossVoice of the Chorus, Former Poet, Tide-Aligned
InesQuayside Inn Regular, City's Memory
Old TomasSenior Runner, Drowned-Streets Specialist
Mother IlaMatron of the Drowned Chapel, Former City Midwife
The Keeper BelowThe Original Keeper, Returned
Madame TrellBroker Queen of the Wet Market
Brother CalixJunior Keeper, Mira's Protégé
Captain Mira HalloranLast Captain of the Lighthouse Watch
HalenQuayside Innkeeper, Former Mariner
SeleneLast Acting Captain of the Lighthouse Watch
WrenSelf-Appointed Night Clerk, Records-Keeper
MartaLost Runner, Recently Returned, Tide-Aligned

These are the figures the world was seeded with, and who are still alive in it. Others have appeared since, and some of these are no longer who they were — the world keeps moving whether or not anyone is watching.