Lifeboat

Slightly off starboard bobs a boat full of sailors.

d4	The sailors have been adrift...
1	for less than a day. Their captain will insist you take them aboard
2	for seven days and seven nights, with a suspicious outlay of supplies. You spy twelve unopened cases of soft tack and several casks of rum
3	for quite some time, judging by their emaciated state and the length of their whiskers. From the state of the boat, it looks like they've been living on seabirds and turtles
4	"since the Sun was the Sea, and the Moon was our home port," they tell you. Could it be delirium from too much sun and seawater, or could there be some truth to it, given their unusual clothes and strange speech?

d6	Their ship...
1	is still miraculously afloat, listing heavily to port, 1d6 hexes away
2	sank swiftly when the hull was perforated by Torpedo Sharks
3	was careened on a reef for emergency repairs 1d6 hexes away, but the crew sent to get supplies from a nearby island were all killed
4	became mired in the sargasso, alongside all the others. The sailors speak of the vast treasures that lie waiting among the wrecks, and produce a pouch full of pink pearls as proof
5	was captured by privateers, and still prowls the water with its new crew
6	is still tethered to their lifeboat by a forty-four-fathom rope. The sailors refuse to set foot on her decks again, but won't say why. (perhaps they are ensorcelled by harpies who have claimed their ship and now use the sailors as bait)

d8	Aboard their craft they also carry...
1	a piece of flotsam, with a nail-and-string map that appears to lead to land
2	ill-gotten gains, which jangle within their boots
3	the gnawing guilt of violating cannibal taboos
4	were-rat lycanthropy
5	mutinous tendencies that could rapidly infect any new crew they join
6	a water-proof strongbox containing 3 spell scrolls
7	an invisible Famine Demon
8	a gloved comrade who doesn't speak. His hands set fire to anything he touches with bare skin