The men have been restless for the past few days, as we close in towards the Continental mainland of Daendroc. Supposed sightings of bad omens such as constant rainfall, pools of sharks following the ship and the supposed sighting of a bird clad in crimson cloth with the symbol of some ghost crew of pirates and raiders; sailors' superstition, I say. We have had to place five of the rowdier sailors under arrest, awaiting court martial once we reach land. The uncertainty with the crew is affecting productivity as well, I must have a letter penned and sent to the Archipelago, requesting trained and loyal men. Until then, I will just have to endure their silly superstition.
The finely dressed Alt-Regalian captain set aside his ink and quill-pen, and shut his journal. He took a moment to re-adjust his hat, muttering a simple; "A finely dressed captain is a respected captain" before he stepped on out of his cabin. The crew fell silent for a moment, eighty-five sailors of different races and backgrounds glanced over at their leader, expecting some manner of trust, though none dared speak up out of fear of the consequences. The silence was at last broken by an aged and experienced Daendroqean man, his voice rang out into the silence; "Captain, not to reiterate the points of the other lads, but we sorely suggest you command the vessel off this course. Silverwind is only a day away, we should get away from the open seas before we are all taken with our pants down." The look on the sailor's face was one of worry, he believed the omens, and knew what was coming. The captain, young and reckless, simply scoffed and retorted with a; "Don't expect me to give in to your superstitious blindness. There is no crimson-clad bird, and there is no danger. We are a Regalian vessel, sailing in Regalian-controlled seas. The skies are clear this eve, there is no chance of a storm either. Get back to work lest you desire to join your friends in the cells!" He barked out the final words, before turning on his heel to wander on up onto the Quarterdeck. The men begrudgingly returned to work, though the feeling of dread lingered within their hearts, and it would soon be confirmed.
The ship clock struck midnight, and most of the men aboard, aside from the poor sods placed on night-duty, was sleeping soundly within their beds. Captain Schönberg was seated within his cabin, plotting the course ahead alongside the pilot, and navigator. They had struck a wall, and the room was left quiet. Suddenly, the sound of a scream filled the air, and the alarms were raised. The three men rushed out of the cabin, and back on deck to the sight of their sailors rushing to combat-stations. Half-asleep, and half-naked men rushed up on deck barefoot, trying desperately to form a defense from the incoming threat.
That is when Captain Schönberg saw it, a vessel with sails as dark as night. Up in the foremast, a crimson flag bearing the emblem of a strangely-shaped Shark flew in the wind. The vessel moved at an unnatural, and dangerous speed. The Galleon had unlit torches at the sides, the only light they could spot was in the front, two figures stood visible in the light; one a grinning and cruel-looking Silven Ailor, and the other a Qadir clad in strange and exotic garbs. Once within reach, the ship opened fire upon the Regalian vessel. Men screamed as the two ships traded fire, though it became bleedingly obvious that the Regalian vessel was on the losing end of this, the Pirate Galleon had more firepower. The sailors yelled out prayers, begging whomever would listen that the Scourge of the seas would spare them. Captain Schönberg barked out commands desperately, watching as his foes' cannons tore through the hull of his vessel. For a moment, the enemy fire ceased, and the Regalians' hopes went up; a fool's mistake.
Hooks flew from the shadowed ship in the distance, gripping onto the sides of the Regalian vessel. The men tried desperately to free them, though time after time, they fell to the suppressive arrow fire from the Pirate Galleon. Once they closed in, a large toothed boarding-ram was dropped down, the tooths of the ramp digging into the floorboards, fastening it. As the pirate's way over was secured, they advanced. The torches on the Pirate Galleon were all lit, revealing over fifty men, armed and feral. The Qadir from before lead the charge over to the Regalian vessel, and the wave of ravagers broke through the poor Regalian line of defense. The brutality of the crew was made evident. Each pirate fought with the brutality of ten Regalian men. The Qadir, wielding a mace in one hand, and a decorated Ularcia axe in the other, brutalized twenty of the Regalians; his eyes looked feral, despite his visage beings seemingly calm. The Silven fought alongside the Qadir, barking out commands to the other pirates, he was quite clearly the Captain, his charisma and brutality was made quite evident by the wide and sadistic grin he bore on his face, as he slew the sailors. Captain Schönberg tried to escape back onto the stern-deck, gripping the railing for a moment as he glanced over the edge; he considered jumping.
The sound of footsteps made him turn, facing the blood-coated Qadir. Captain Schönberg attempted a tragic and drastic final stand, slashing out for the Qadir with his blade. The Qadir stopped the blow with his steel mace-handle, chopping the axe into the captain's shoulder to disable him. The Captain dropped his weapons, and as did the Qadir, ad he reached out to curl his fingers around Schönberg's neck harshly, lifting him up above ground. Schönberg's flailing and struggling did nothing as his lungs were slowly emptied of air, and his face turned red. He tried to wheeze out a "Please", though it was barely audible. The Qadir's gaze was drawn over the railing of the stern, before grinning. Shifting his grip to hold Schönberg by his collar; "Thank you dearly for your riches." the Qadir said, before dropping Schönberg aboard.
The stinging pain of saltwater in his open wound, and the impact had not stopped Schönberg, he was free, alive! The Alt-Regalian's face seemed almost hopeful, the barbarians had spared him. He floated in the water, shutting his eyes gently, a gentle exhale escaped his thin lips. A scrape.. He had felt something bump against his leg.. There it was again! Something was brushing up against him. As he opened his eyes, and glanced down, he noticed the color of the water; crimson. He had bleed an immense amount, and the blood had pooled up behind him. The searing pain of his wound was quickly replaced with fear at the sight ahead, three fins above the water, circling around him. The nudge got rougher, and rougher. Suddenly, three sets of razor-sharp jaws dug into his leg, tugging him underwater. The last sound he heard besides the sound of his own dying gurgles, was the maniacal cackling of the Silven Pirate, as he glanced down at the man beside the Feral Qadir. The cackling was all he heard, as his body was torn to shreds, as he perished.
The tales of the Scourge of the seas, the Cross-eyed Shark privateers were many, yet they all ended the same; in devastation and death. So beware the open seas, young lad, beware them; lest you fall to the same fate as poor Captain Schönberg. The seas are vast, young lad; but as long as you're out there, the sharks can always smell you, track you, and devour you.
