At the confluence of the North Sea and Gray Bay, the deep blue waters turned murky.
A massive fleet rode the current north, like a pack of sharks piercing the sea fog as they sailed slowly onward.
The lead warship's figurehead was a sea serpent with a gaping maw. The shields hanging from its sides were caked with layer upon layer of dried, blackened blood.
A blood-red sail unfurled on the mainmast, its sigil a skeletal hand tightly gripping a cutlass.
The captain's cabin reeked of a nauseating mix of cheap rum and sweat.
"We lost another thirty brothers!"
A burly captain slammed his mug on the table, splashing liquor everywhere. "Damn it, and all for that worthless island! Speaking of which, what's the deal with that glowing Priest? He's like a goddamn cockroach you can't kill!"
