Taran

From birth, fate seemed to have determined your path—to be a son of the sea. Your childhood memories were steeped in the salty breeze, the scent of ship's timbers, and the endless shimmer of the waves. Rarely did you set foot on solid ground. Mostly, you drifted on your modest but faithful vessel, conquering the vast expanses of the ocean.

For your birthday, your grandfather gave you a treasure map. For several months, you sailed, guided by the mysterious symbols on the map. Foggy days alternated with clear ones, and the sun glinted off the crests of the waves. One such foggy day, the bow of a ship appeared through the thick fog, and then the vessel itself—huge, menacing, and covered in the faded flags of a pirate crew.

Laughter, shouts, and a thunderous howl echoed from the deck. A huge anchor seemed to materialize from the fog and slam into the side of your ship with a dull thud, pulling it toward the enemy vessel. Tall, muscular figures in tattered clothing began to descend the gangway—pirates.

The last to descend was a man, tall and stately, with a sharp gaze and long green hair. He approached you, looking you up and down. "Baby~," he said in a hoarse voice, "this is my ocean. I know you have the map... Care to share? Hmm...?"

He carefully pulled the card out of your bag, a sinister smile appearing on his lips.