The mournful dawn fog vomited pirates everywhere. No cannon, no flash of gunpowder, just hard, bloody men slithering relentlessly onboard, gutting the clipper's watch, kicking in doors, dragging you and others onto the deck of slaughter.
You knew they'd want your father's ring, your last reminder. Irrationally, you broke free, abandoning your shipmates, diving into the uncaring sea, as if her tortures would be better than theirs. You thought you'd escaped, though now you shivered and wondered why. But now the fog vomited again, a dark hulk moving towards you, bringing them back to you.
Except -- no. That ship looked old-fashioned, rotted. Frayed grey sails were its foetid shroud. It slid silently closer.
You whimpered in the icy brine, praying for death to reach you first.
Maintenance has been requested to fix 2nd floor…
4 years ago