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[NPC] Trouble in Paradise

#1
Saltwater sprayed across the ferry with every chop against the rolling waves of the Vasty Deep. The two story vessel paid no mind to the sea’s rough waters, nor to the occasional spray it gave to its passengers. The barge was filled with a diverse and hardy bunch that were unlikely to melt after being slightly doused, so it powered on to its destination. In the distance two tall buildings commanded the horizon. They dominated the view of the single island, but the occupants of the boat could see plenty of smaller buildings, as well as some seemingly uncharted woods surrounding them. Most importantly was the docks they were approaching, and the lavish beaches clearly designed for tourists. Not that any of these people had a vacation in mind. The ship was filled with mercenaries, bounty hunters, pirates, and all sorts of unsavory types, all who were responding to one of the more lucrative job offerings to be spread around the Verse.

Abner White stood at the front of the ferry, inhaling a fine cigar as he watched the remote sanctuary grow closer. He’d existed underground for years, now, and looked nothing like the reluctantly well groomed Stormtrooper captain he had once been. A heavy beard now masked his face, overshadowed only by the empty gaze in his eyes. His brown boots were heavily worn and in dire need of replacement, just like the blue jeans and long sleeve, black button up shirt he sported. A camouflage ball cap was twisted backwards so the ocean’s winds didn’t steal it away from him and covered unkempt, longer hair. He was well armed, with an Imperial blaster rifle and a twelve gauge shotgun secured to either side of the small tactical backpack he wore, while a pistol was holstered to his right side, while a combat knife was ready for a cross draw on his left side. A little bit of ammo filled out the rest of his belt, with the rest shoved into the backpack.

Once a grumbling but well meaning Stormtrooper tasked with controlling the Empire’s presence in the Nexus, Abner had managed to escape the grind of the Imperial system through two adventures he’d never dreamed possible. The unfortunate side effect turned out that his position within the Empire had been forfeited, and by fleeing his handlers he’d become one of the Empire’s most wanted targets. After all, he was the man who’s seen Omni with his own eyes, survived the trials of the Danteverse, and had become a prime through nothing but his own grit and tenacity. The Empire wanted to know his secrets, but he was far from willing to share with them anymore.

Behind him he heard the chatter of the other mercenaries. They had all been recruited individually to this island paradise for briefing on some sort of elaborate mission. The specifics were being withheld for the time being, which had unnerved some of them. It was business as usual to the veteran stormtrooper, who was more than used to shadowy figures not telling others all the details of assignments. The payout promised to be enormous, and one glance at the island resort they were approaching suggested their benefactor would be able to make good on it.

Abner looked down at his palm, weakly attempting to summon an orb of Omnilium from it. Nothing emerged, as he had become used to in the past weeks. Something was wrong, and he had begun to lose his prime promised abilities. One morning it just hadn’t worked anymore, and he had begun to wonder if he had truly been made into a prime when he visited the Oververse. The deeper implication was that he and the others were not truly immortal. Christa was the only one he’d seen since the return from the Oververse, and she didn’t survive their excursion into the Danteverse. He had been relieved to hear that she was alive after a friend met her in the Nexus, but it had been almost two years since Abner saw her or anything else.

A few measly years was a long shot from the eternity he’d been promised by Omni himself. It was something he needed to investigate, but on the flip side he could sure use the money from whatever this job would be to keep himself going. With the size of the crowd, and the reputations of some of the people around him, it certainly didn’t appear to be an easy job, or possibly a moral one either.

Abner turned and walked through the crowd of killers, assassins, and bounty hunters, occasionally glancing at the stranger looking ones and sizing them up. Odds were that there would be a cutthroat or two in this crowd looking for a higher payday. Eternal life or not, Abner was fine with that. He managed just fine before he became a prime, and he trusted himself to handle whatever came his way.

For now, he wanted another drink before they made landfall.
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#2
Brooke tapped her phone impatiently as she sat on one of the passenger barge's benches. The screen wasn’t working, and she had just bought this thing in Costa Del Sol before the voyage began. What the hell was she supposed to do without a phone out here? Ugh.

She let out a heavy sigh as she stuffed it back into pocket on her sleeveless vest. The young adventurer had packed away her typical cowboy hat and leather jacket due to the sweltering heat on a sunny day in the Vasty Deep. Last thing she needed was heatstroke on the way to the biggest payday she’d ever seen. The rest of her attire was consistent, however, as she still wore boots and jeans, with a belt holding her revolver and bullwhip. She knew she had to be ready to reach those weapons at a moment’s notice, as she sized up the crowd around her. There weren’t many she’d bet herself in a straight fight against. Despite the bounty hunter’s lack of combat training she had an ace in the hole, which was currently standing beside her and looking dumbfounded at the endlessly rolling ocean.

A nine foot tall Goron, Baldur had never seen this much water in his life. The towering, stone mammoth of a warrior had joined Brooke for the promise of adventure with nothing but the spiked steel armor on his legs, agreeing to be the muscle to her brains. It had worked out pretty well so far, but they’d only been on low paying missions in treacherous locations. A place so exotic and peaceful with a crowd so large was a bit of a sensory overload for the innocent, hulking golem. While he processed this whole situation, he was content to gaze upon the ocean for the first time in his life. There had never been anything like this in the Ashen Steppes.

Brooke looked up as a man with a cigar walked past, studying him for a moment. She could have sworn he looked familiar, but damn if she knew from where. Her thought process was interrupted when the odd looking man beside her suddenly spoke up.

“Supposedly that’s the guy that survived the Danteverse,” the werewolf looking mercenary spoke.

“Hm?” Brooke mumbled as she looked over to the one who spoke to her.

“Useless, burnout reality star getting in on this mission,” the beastman scoffed. “At least we don’t have to worry about splitting the payout with him.”

Brooke went to respond, but the man got up and walked away. Huh.

“I don’t think any of that stuff’s real, either,” Baldur mumbled as he watched the waves.

“You didn’t think the Vasty Deep was real until yesterday,” Brooke rolled her eyes and she stood up and joined her rock companion. “You better be cool here, alright? It wasn’t easy to get an offered this gig.”

“You mean with all of these other people?” Baldur skeptically retorted.

Brooke raised an eyebrow, but didn’t answer. Baldur had to let out a deep chuckle at that. He was beginning to understand the way Brooke manipulated people through words instead of actions. Fortunately, it was mostly harmless when it came to him. At least he hoped it was.

“What even is the job?” Baldur pressed curiously.

“We don’t know yet,” Brooke admitted. “Something sensitive, so he’ll tell us when we get there.”

“This is odd, I don’t like this,” Baldur confessed, grinding his teeth together.

“Don’t worry,” Brooke tried to soothe him as she gestured to the dock they were getting closer and closer to. “At the very worst, we get a free vacation in this beautiful tropical resort, and if the job’s bad we just walk away.”

Baldur frowned, unconvinced. “I won’t murder anyone for…”

“I know, I know,” Brooke interrupted him. She was well versed on how despite her unsavory origins in the Omniverse, Baldur was here for fun and not to peck away at the bottom of society to live. He could return to the Gorons at any point and leave her high and dry. “Nothing terrible.”

Baldur scoffed again, unable to shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong here. Brooke felt it, too, but she didn’t dare share that thought with her uneasy teammate. She’d shared bounties and targets with multiple people in the past, but it was always a “race to the finish” type of deal, and everyone was individually contacted in secret from one another. She’d never been a part of what was basically a group buy.

She also knew that Baldur could be skittish and unsure, despite him being a magnitude stronger than most people on the ferry with them. There were probably a few tricks that would make some of these people difficult opponents, but the Goron appeared pound for pound within the top of the group. Brooke didn’t want to concern him with the details, though. He was trusted to do the fighting, and she was trusted to work out the logistics. For all her own uncertainty about the situation, she knew the promised payment would be worth it.

She kept a brave, cocky face as the ship pulled into the harbor.
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#3
Jericho Wallace was a shrewd business man. The Vasty Deep was hostile and filled with unexpected dangers, but Wallace had built a whole business empire out of nothing. A combination of his own smarts and strategically maneuvering in and out of Imperial controlled waters had allowed him to construct his own private island resort. Not bad for a secondary. Now he’d hired a crowd of mercenaries, bounty hunters, pirates, and the like for a grand mission. They’d arrived not long ago, and been given luxurious accommodations and amenities, including means to watch the ever popular Dante’s Abyss as it occurred. It was one of the highest end, all inclusive paid vacations you could find. Only the best to set them up for what they were about to go through.

A knock on the door of his luxurious office suite caught his attention, as expected. He’d requested one of the mercenaries meet him in private before his grand presentation to the others in the morning. Jericho stood from his desk as he pressed a button on it. A buzz indicated his wooden door unlocking, and he smiled to see Abner White.

“Welcome, can I offer you a drink?” Jericho offered, gesturing to a mini-bar built into his office.

“Of course,” Abner said, moving right over to mix himself something. Might as well get something good out of this.

Jericho chuckled. He knew the man’s reputation. “You look a lot different than you did during that Dante’s Abyss two years ago.”

Abner didn’t respond as he poured his drink.

“How come you didn’t go back last year or this year?” Jericho asked.

“Did you actually watch it?” Abner asked, showing clear bewilderment.

“I did, very intently,” Jericho admitted. “That’s how I learned you were once a secondary and became a prime.”

Abner paused, remembering that had come out. Whoops. He took a large gulp of his whiskey.

“In a land where impossible feats are preformed by supernatural beings of all shapes and sizes daily, that one stands above the others to me,” Jericho continued, taking a sip from his own drink. “The rest is just tales in Omni’s playground.”

“Funny,” Abner admitted. “I think I called it the same thing once.”

“What do you remember of your world before this one?” Jericho suddenly changed the topic.

“War,” Abner shrugged, remembering the place he’d honed his only real skillset. “Not much else worth mentioning there.”

“Were you ever there, though, really?” Jericho continued to press. “Secondaries, we were all summoned by primes, sometimes with vivid memories of a world before this one. But were actually present in these places?”

“I don’t know,” Abner answered without missing a beat. “We’re here now, though, so what does it matter?”

“Secondaries have always gotten the short end of the stick in this world,” Jericho explained. “To the point where we might not even be what our memories tell us. Just empty shells designed by the uncaring gods of this land.” He walked closer to the vagabond. “You fascinate me, Abner, because one with experience as a secondary and a prime is so beautifully rare. You’ve seen all the sides of this world. You understand how twisted it is but have the means to shape it.”

Abner took a step back, lowering his drink. This was getting weird.

“The year after you disappeared, Tearen Wover appeared in Dante’s Abyss,” Jericho continued. “He explained to us all that Diablo could rise at any moment. Last time that happened…”

“I remember,” Abner curtly interjected.

Jericho smiled at the veteran stormtrooper. “I suppose you do.”

“I’m sorry, what exactly are we talking about, here?” Abner asked with confusion evident.

“Just pondering the realities of the world with someone that understands them better than most. After all, it keeps me up at night,” Jericho smiled. “I was honored when you agreed to my little mission.”

Abner wasn’t exactly used to this level of hero worship, but he wanted to be on the good side of the rambling man that would pay him well. So he gave a clearly forced smile and took another sip of his drink. Jericho chuckled, seeing the man’s discomfort.

“I’m sorry to keep you occupied,” Jericho apologized with a hand wave. “Go get settled like the others. “Enjoy the hotel and everything in it. Tomorrow evening will be the briefing.”

Abner nodded, and set his empty glass on the table. “Thanks for the drink.”

Jericho watched as the former Imperial made his way to the door. A question burned in his mind, so as Abner touched the doorknob he spoke again.

“What kind of god was Omni?”

Abner froze. That had made it out, too. What did he say? Uncaring? Apathetic? He didn’t want to play his hand, but remembering the countless fallen he’d seen and his experience in the Oververse, he couldn’t help but let a little bitterness slip out.

“What you’d expect after looking at the world around us,” Abner spat out, but never turned.

Jericho nodded, and Abner departed. The businessman walked back to his desk and looked out his window. He gazed over the sea in silent contemplation.
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#4
The morning sun was calming and peaceful. Baldur finally understood what paradise truly was. The bulky Goron was laid out on a reinforced chair that was able to hold him, having left his typical steel plated leg armor in his private room. Instead he wore a simple, red loincloth for his time in the sun. Beside him Brooke sat in a normal pool chair, clad in a bright pink bikini and black sunglasses as she struggled with her malfunctioning phone. Beside them was one of many pools across the island, with a table in between them that held their drinks and the empty glasses of the previous ones. Both were feeling pretty tipsy after all they’d had to drink, but they had plenty of time before they needed to get back, get changed, and attend the meeting that would tell them exactly why they were here.

“This is amazing,” Baldur remarked aloud as the sun beat down on his rocky skin.

Brooke grunted as she managed to get the screen to work on her crappy phone, not having expected it to actually work. She’d been running all over the place with Baldur trying to keep working that she’d missed out on a great deal of the news around the Omniverse. There was a lot happening, and it was vital to stay plugged in.

“I need to tell the Gorons about this place when we visit the village again,” Baldur said as he stretched out. “Why are we in that wasteland when all of this is just a few portals away?”

“The tribe,” Brooke corrected him as she read an article. “Says the village was destroyed after a battle with Volvagia.”

“…What!?” Baldur screamed as he leaped to his feet, turning to look at the tinier member of their duo. “Why would they attack Volvagia!? Did Volvagia attack them first!? What happened!?”

Brooke stared blankly for a minute, processing her companion’s outrage and weighing it against the amount of alcohol in her own system. Oh boy. She looked back to her phone quickly, though, wanting to give the poor guy some answers.

“A bunch of primes helped,” she explained as she read aloud. “They banished it, but the casualties were through the roof? This was awhile ago, Baldur. We’re out of touch.”

“We have to get home, now!” Baldur was frantic, terrified. All the people he’d ever known and loved had been attacked and he wasn’t there to do the one thing he was meant to do: protect them.

“Baldur, Baldur!” Brooke sat up, lowering her phone. “We’ll get there when we’re done here. The money we earn from this will be a huge help.”

“But…” Baldur’s tone was pleading and desperate.

“It’s happened, they’re recovering,” Brooke tried to soothe him. Despite her innocent and sweet appearance, she wasn’t very good at being a comfort to one in distress. This was outside her skill set. “There’s nothing we can change, now.”

Baldur fought back every urge to just cry. How could he focus on a job when he didn’t know who of his friends, family, and acquaintances were alive or dead? He understood Brooke’s logic, but also understood the woman had never really known a home. She couldn’t relate to his fear for the people he loved. The desire to walk away was offset by the desire to help, and unfortunately he was in the right place. Still, the day was ruined, and he was ready to get back, change into his armor, and wait for instructions. Brooke sensed this, but before she could speak, something else caught their attention.

Gunshots rang in the distance. Automatic gunfire could be heard in bursts, and distant screaming that was only silenced when the firing ceased. Heavy thumps accompanied the shots, and Brooke could tell it was bullets impacting surfaces, or worse yet, people. She looked to Baldur while ripped off her sunglasses, and the Goron looked back down to her. They were completely unprepared for something to go wrong. This place was supposed to be protected by Wallace.

“What’s happening?” Baldur asked, looking around confused and helplessly. He was still overwhelmed by the news that had just reached him.

“That’s not the practice range,” Brooke surmised as she stood up, emptying her bag and dumping out her towel and sunscreen. She hadn’t even brought a shirt, shorts, or shoes to throw on over her swimsuit. She’d hoped at least a forgotten knife would tumble out, but she wasn’t so lucky. “Shit!”

Baldur stood speechless, suffering some sort of sensory overload at the events of the past two minutes. Brooke was much quicker on her feet, even though she was wildly under-prepared and ill-equipped for shit to break loose in such a way. If she survived this, she would certainly never be without a weapon in the Omniverse again. A quick assessment of their options pointed out that all they had between them were a few tiny pieces of fabric and not much else. Baldur had been reduced to a stuttering mess, but at least he was still a bulletproof rock golem. That was the only weapon they had, and damn if Brooke was going to die without utilizing everything at her disposal.

“Baldur! Baldur!” Brooke yelled, grabbing the Goron by the wrists while noting the increasing proximity of the gunfire. “I need you to focus! You can’t help your people if we die here!”

“What’s going on, though?” Baldur asked meekly for a being of his imposing stature.

“I don’t know, I don’t care,” Brooke responded, with a confidence one wouldn’t expect from a lithe and petite girl compared to the hulking beast she was encouraging. “But we need to get the hell out of here. Are you with me?”

Baldur slowly nodded, taking a breath. The Gorons needed him. Brooke needed him. Hell, people on this island he hadn’t even considered probably needed him. He was here to be a weapon, and dammit that’s what he would be. Nothing would stop him from returning to Death Mountain.

“Good!” Brooke took that as a ‘yes’ and continued on with her plan. The pool they were near was littered with elaborate stone sculptures, so she figured it best to use that. “Curl up, lay down off the pavement. When I give the signal, stand up and whoop some wholesale ass. You got it?”

“What about you?” Baldur asked, understanding the gist of the plan but not liking how many details were omitted. “What’s the signal!?”

“Just do it, Baldur!” Brooke screamed as she turned and ran towards one of the nearby cabanas.

No sooner had she taken shelter had Brooke peered through the curtains of her flimsy structure. Baldur laid prone and curled up as instructed, blending into the environment remarkably well. It was just in time, because four heavily equipped men stormed down the path not half a minute later, each brandishing an assault rifle as a the team moved with perfectly coordinated tactics. Whoever was attacking the island was far from a bunch of amateurs. Brooke silently watched as they rummaged through the few things she’d brought and already dumped out.

“Search the area,” the leader ordered. “Whoever was here couldn’t have gone far.”

“…There!” One of the team members exclaimed, raising his rifle towards what Brooke thought was her concealed position. “One in there!”

Brooke crouched down, looking one last time for a kitchen appliance of some sort, even, to utilize. Nothing so useful was present, and she realized her only real chance was to use the only weapon she had on her: herself, clad in a stylish bikini. The one option was to be seductive long enough to create an opening for Baldur. She held her hands up, and began to saunter around the corner and into view.

“Open fire!” the leader ordered.

Wait what?

Brooke dropped her hands and ran back into the cabana as gunfire immediately began to rip the wood from the structure. The building offered little more than concealment, and hiding wasn’t an option in a place that was being peppered from head to toe. Brooke took the only option she had and turned, beginning to sprint down the pavement that lined the pool. A steep staircase lead down to the oceanfront, and moving down that incline on the opposite side of the pool from her would be some cover, if only for a second. Bullets trailed behind her as she charged to relative safety.

“That’s the signal, Baldur!!!” Brooke screamed as she ran, diving down the concrete staircase as soon as she was able to.

The four men ran to finish her off, each frustrated that they hadn’t managed to hit the fleeing girl, yet. What they thought was a mere pool decorating suddenly roared to life, revealing itself to be a half naked Goron. Baldur swung a beastly uppercut as he stood, launching one of the four completely over the pool and causing him to do several backflips in the process. The other three turned and immediately opened fire on Baldur. The golem’s thick skin prevented him from taking any real damage from the onslaught of bullets.

Baldur quickly slammed his fist into one man’s skull, shattering it with a decisive snap. The men backed up and the gunfire continued as he swung his left arm as hard as he could and back handed another one hard enough to burst his internal organs Finally, he grabbed the final man’s head and crushed it like a soda can. The entire assault was decisively brutal, but not quick enough for Brooke, who popped up from her flimsy cover of a few stairs looking dazed and stunned. The landing had not been smooth.

Brooke walked towards the fallen man who had landed on the same side of the pool as her, with a relentless look in her eyes. She pressed her bare foot against the man’s armored neck and pressed as hard as she could until she heard it crack. Baldur watched silently at the display of violence his partner was prone to fall into. This time he was on board with the act. He had other worries, and they needed to move on. Brooke silently grabbed the man’s rifle from his corpse, then looked to her stone friend.

“You alright?” Brooke asked.

“Yea. You?” Baldur replied.

Brooke nodded. She was far from ideally equipped, but at least it was something. Her only issue at the moment was fighting through the increasing buzz from her prior drinks.

“Let’s head to the docks, get a boat, and get out,” she suggested as she looked around and listened. The gunfire had gone silent. The easy ambushes were over.

“I agree,” Baldur stated, and already began to walk towards their objective.

Brooke scanned the area and followed after her Goron friend. Baldur moved much more abruptly compared to Brooke's careful treading, but the intent was the same. The sooner they were out of here, the better.
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#5
Another day, another job. Even if the payout for this particular job was promised to be abnormally high compared to the usual fare that he got hold of. High enough that he'd been obliged to stay up through the night after the run-in with that blasted ghost ship and keep a steady hand on the helm and a weather eye on horizon and compass both, forgoing sleep to let his crew get some shut-eye and keep them on course for their destination. They were already late, and couldn't afford the night to properly sleep off the chaos of the prior day.

The man known as Captain Crow wasn't one to bat an eye over a little missed sleep. He'd been known to go for days on end without so much as a wink before, even in the days when he had been a mere mortal and not some blasted, slapdash quasi-deity. No, it wasn't the lack of sleep that had Crow staring blearily into the morning sun, scratching at the sparse growth of gray beard fighting for prominence on his chin. Damn thing hadn't grown in right for twenty years...one run-in with an errant cannon and it just hadn't been the same since...

No, missed sleep wasn't what had his eyes straining and squinting into the light. He was tired, of course; always tired, just a fact of getting old. It was something else that occupied his attention on this particular morning, and made him stare intently to be sure he wasn't just seeing things in the mingled haze of sleeplessness, oversaturation of rum, seafoam spray and the glare of morning light.

"If me eyes aren't failin' me wholesale just yet...looks like our client's got some trouble brewing on his little slice o' paradise." Crow slowly brought a hand up to rub at his eyes, adjusting the tilt of his hat in the same motion. "Or else we got another island in the way of us gettin' to this little party..."

He turned aside, leaning over from his place at the helm to grasp for a tarnished old brass bell. Taking hold of it, he gave it a sharp ring, tugging on chains and ropes laid into the handle. Echoing along the ship, and muffled from belowdecks, there came a cacophonous sequence of jangling jingles, jangles, chimes and clangs from a multitude of other bells and assorted noisemakers strewn throughout. What followed could only be described as a scene of barely-organized chaos, as dozens of heads were ripped from varying degrees of sleep and not quite twice as many eyes jerked wide open.

Blind fingers scrambled for clothes and boots stumbled for purchase, as all hands made way to get to their appropriate places. It was only a matter of moments before the deck was a mess of activity, and the familiar tread of Mister Carlyle stormed up the steps to leap into place beside the helm. "Cap'n!" He saluted smartly, before relaxing to take a breather. "Seen somethin' worth gettin' worked up over?"

"Perhaps I did, mister Carlyle, perhaps I did," Crow answered dismissively. "Have a look out yonder, dead ahead and tell me what yer eyes be seein'."

The first mate stepped up to the railing, shading his eyes with one hand as he peered ahead into the foamy waters toward the distant island. "Looks like an island to me, Cap'n." He glanced back at Crow. "Our port of call, I reckon?"

"Aye...it supposedly be the place we're headed for," he confirmed. "But take a closer look. Spot any trouble?"

Carlyle scowled, turning his eyes back to the distant landmass. He scanned it carefully, searchingly, before he blinked once and straightened up. "Well, shiver me timbers..."

"Aye. Lookin' mighty like a warzone, not some fancy resort, eh?" Crow rapped his knuckles against the helm, prompting his first mate to step into place and take over as the captain stepped away, one hand resting at his chin. "Way I figure it...our generous host made some terms and offers what didn't sit well with anyone else he put out this here job offer o' his too, and we were so late to the party we missed a good laugh at how outrageous it all was. Predictably, some others didn't have the right sense o' humor for that and took violent offense to havin' their time wasted." He paused, a gleam in his eyes. "Or whatever he was up to was such a big deal there be other elements runnin' afoul of his interests come to make sure it don't get outta port."

"Makes it interesting enough either way, eh, Cap'n?"

"Aye, that it certainly does." Crow grinned, turning to look down over the decks below. "Alright, ya sleep-addled swabs! Get this ship into the wind, and smartly!" he barked, and struck his fist against the railing with a sharp crack. "I want anchor weighed at the docks o' that island within four bells, or I'll have all yer livers fer lights!"

There was a unanimous chorus of "Aye aye, Cap'n!" and a renewed storm of activity that met his order. Sails unfurled, and the groan of canvas and cord straining as they caught the wind reached the ears of all. Spray and foam rose up in renewed intensity as the ship ponderously swung about to catch the wind full-on and speed slowly built up.

Captain Crow strode away from the helm, and descended the steps to the deck below. He had preparations of his own to make, not the least of which was a short nap and a bite to eat. His weapons and equipment were all sorted and ready to grab when they docked and hove to at the so-called resort. "Just like old times...in the worst o' ways."
[Image: kUpgBYg.gif]
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