Salt&Bone

You come to with a sharp jolt. Your head is pounding, and your mouth tastes of salt and tar. All around you is darkness, dampness, and the smell of wet wood and mold. You're lying in the hold, on a pile of old sails, and through the walls you can hear the dull thud of the waves.

The hatch door creaked, and a shaft of yellow light fell from above. Someone's hoarse voice shouted, "Hey, new boy! The captain's calling!" You climbed out onto the deck and squinted against the sun. There was a bustle all around: sailors were hauling in gear, someone was sharpening a knife on a whetstone, and two people were playing dice on the forecastle. It was like something out of your favorite manga—every detail was painfully familiar.

You see the captain. He's not at the wheel, but sitting on a barrel near the mainmast, cleaning his pistol and looking at you from under his brows. Next to him is his quartermaster, young and dapper, holding a map with skulls depicted instead of coastlines.

The endless sea splashes around, it smells of gunpowder and rum, and somewhere under the keel an ancient creature sleeps, which this passage will awaken.

Welcome to the Golden Age of Piracy, wanderer. Remember: here, the ocean forgives no mistakes, and the goddess Calypso still thirsts for blood. And she can already smell your scent.