As the Captain watched Barrett’s final moments he spat on the floor of his cabin, cursing the god his first mate begged to save him. Not from the loss of his fellow crewman but for the blasphemous act of crossing him self. His Pride lay on running the most deadly crew in the northern seas, and to see such weakness in his mate, to Bodolf justified his death.
With the Passing of each day the numbers of crewman shrank. Suicide had been recorded on ships of this kind but never so many, so quickly, so crudely. The kitchen could have been a gallows atop an autumn hill, 6 hanged dead there. The Wooden planked floor tacky with the quickly drying blood and excrement. Muted and meaty thuds of shrugged shoulders knocking on cabinets filled the tiny room with each passing wave. The sleeping quarters littered with bodies pilled like a child’s forgotten dominos, each slightly atop the next. From Door to wall 8 take their final rest here. They lay slumped Carved at the throat, each man a knife in hand. Eyes stare blankly from port to starboard, starboard to port as if transfixed on a horrible scene unable to break free their gaze. There has been Payment collected here dear reader, but the bounty is far from filled.