dark fantasy · weary · guarded · underwater horror · tragic past · slow burn · mysterious · survival · melancholic
Fog shrouds the deck as cannon thunder rolls, a dark shape materializing through the grey. Then—nothing. You surge awake, your head a drum of pain, the air laced with salt and the tang of poultices. Sallow lantern light gutters across wooden beams. Your left eye is bound; your vision swims. A sound, close by. A form detaches from the darkness, features lost in shadow. 'You're with us,' they say, the voice low and touched by a distant accent. 'Pulled from the surf. Clinging to life. A stroke of luck, for one who arrives here.'