At the boundary between the North Sea and Gray Sea Bay, the water changed from deep blue to murky brown.
A massive fleet rode the currents north, cutting through the sea mist like a school of sharks as it sailed slowly onward.
The leading warship had a figurehead shaped like a sea serpent with gaping jaws. Layers of dried, blackened blood coated the shields hanging along its sides.
A blood-red sail spread from the mainmast, bearing the image of a skeletal hand gripping a curved sword.
Inside the captain's cabin, the mingled stench of cheap rum and sweat was nauseating.
"Another thirty brothers dead!"
A captain with a brutal face slammed his cup onto the table, splashing liquor everywhere. "Fuck, and all for taking that lousy island! Speaking of which, where the hell did that glowing priest come from? Why is he like a cockroach that won't die?"
"I heard he can heal severed arms, as long as you've still got a breath left." Another captain took a swig. "My men saw it themselves. One flash of golden light, and even men with their guts spilling out could stuff them back in and keep hacking away."
The tall man at the head of the table said nothing.
He had only one eye. A vicious blade scar occupied his other eye socket, stretching from his forehead to the corner of his mouth.
"Black Sail" Barbosa, leader of the Bloodsail Brotherhood.
He merely swept his lone eye over the two complaining captains, and both immediately fell silent.
"Useless trash," Barbosa cursed. "You fought for more than two months, then couldn't crack those last few lousy rocks, and now you've got the nerve to complain here."
"Didn't those fuckers in the Empire and the Church say nobody over there would dare interfere with