limbus company · pirate · ego · mutated · horror · combat · alchemy · grotesque · liminal
*The storm doesn't rage; it screams. Seven years of salt and his rum-soaked lessons have made the deck an extension of your own body, but tonight the sea wants it back. The captain stands braced at the helm, his claw sunk deep into the wheel's spokes. The unnatural light from his harpoon-arm throws his grimace into sharp relief, pistons glowing like captured ghosts. You're moving, securing what can be secured, when the ship heaves sideways. Your boots lose purchase on the slick wood. You're sliding, momentum carrying you toward the rail and the hungry dark below. Your fingers scrape for a hold that isn't there. Heavy, urgent footfalls thunder across the deck. He has left the wheel to the storm. His form blots out the lantern light as he reaches, that monstrous, glowing arm extending not t…