Chalk made his way through the trees at the edge of the camp, peering hesitantly into the gloom beyond the pickets. An unsteady, disquieting air had descended upon him, and his nerves seemed to worsen the longer he looked at the jungle, rising high towards the cliffs at the center of the island. He adjusted his glasses, nervously.

He'd been voyaging with Annay for years and they'd come across plenty deserted islands, tiny blips constantly running about on the map. It seemed that the size of an island was directly proportional to how fast it moved- small islands seemed to fly about, while continents moved at a snail's pace. This one was just like all the others- there was nothing unique. Just another abandoned blip, name lost to history, people long dead.

But what killed them? There weren't many records clarifying that...

Yes, there was something about the island that was turning his guts. Seven boats had gone ashore in the confusion after the "water spout incident"- and of those boats, only three crews had returned to the beach-side camp. The rest had simply vanished into the jungle, hunting the unknown pirate crew who'd snatched Foam-Cutter.

Perhaps they've fallen victim to the sword? Now that was a chilling thought. I can't think like that. I once saw Luna Fenrisetta eat the hull of a ship. Pascal Poke's got an archipelago-wide warrant out for him, from the Yellow Haven Empire no less! It's silly to think anyone could best them. Yes, silly. I'm just jumping at shadows-

"Vuvuzela?"

Chalk jumped in the air and let out a shriek. Adjusting his glasses, he turned to find the portly form of Cannonball Tom, one of Annay's trusted lieutenants and the most reliable patron of the ship's galley. He gave a pleasant, almost apologetic smile. "Er, sorry about that Vuvuzela. Cap'n wants a word with ya', back in her tent."

"My name isn't... just call me Chalk. Please." Chalk sagged, exhaling. "Do you know what it's about?"

Cannonball Tom gave a nod, his chins shaking. "Cap'n sent Scabby Mary and a few a' the others t' the other side of the island. They found the boat of the pirate crew who snatched the sword!"

Well that was some positive news. Giving one last look to the darkened jungle behind him, Chalk followed the man back to camp, shivering all the while.

---

Molotov hummed to himself as he yanked a massive leafy branch off the side of a tree, bringing it over toward the ramshackle shelter. Rum lay on the muddy ground, arms crossed over his chest, trying his best to sleep.

Despite half of Molotov's head looking more bruise than face, the wizard maintained his chipper demeanour. He carefully balanced the leaf against the makeshift shelter he'd cobbled together. Rum didn't notice any significant improvement, one way or another, but Molotov seemed satisified. With a heavy thump that sent mud splashing in his face, Molotov settled down next to Rum inside.

"Well, we've had an eventful day, haven't we?" Molotov said with a wistful sigh.

"Oh, yes, sure," Rum said exasperation thick with every word. "I wanted to get some writing done. Explore a bit, get my creative juices flowing. Heck, at one point I was certain there'd be a bit of valuable treasure in it for me. And now look- sleeping under a bunch of leaves, lost in a jungle, with a bunch of marrauding pirates running around looking to kill me!"

Crickets chirped in the soupy jungle air. "Do you... feel inspired yet?" Molotov said.

Rum let out a loud sigh and rolled over, readjusting for the cutlass at his side. "Plenty."

"Glad to hear it! Now if only we had some paper for you to write on, it'd be perfect!"

Rum fell asleep, the image of Molotov being clocked in the face by a Werebeaver replaying endlessly in his mind. It was almost enough to bring a smile to his face.

---

"Hey, Rum! I found something!"

Bleary-eyed and cold in the morning air, Rum sat up, his back loudly protesting with a series of snaps and pops. Looking around the clearing beyond the shelter, Rum saw Molotov standing in some nearby bushes, a stick in his hand.

For one blissful moment in the middle of the night, Rum had had a dream. He was on his ship, writing down the daring exploits of the past day- his tremendously impressive brawl with the Werebeaver, his solitary excavation of an underground city... it was exciting prose, witty wordplay, some of the best he'd ever come up with. But as he reached the bottom of the page, he faltered. The dream grew hazy- how did it end? How did it end?

Yawning and stretching, Rum clambered to his feet. I just need to get out of this alive and I've got a fantastic story in the bag. That's something to look forward to! Just need to stay positive- we'll hike over the cliffs, hop on the boat, and sneak out of here before anything else happens. No more danger, no more chaos. We'll pop into the nearest port and I'll tell Molotov I lost his contract, so technically he doesn't work for me anymore and can bugger right off. I'll hire some actually competent mercenaries, they'll carry me around on a palanquin. I'll write from a safer, much more... distant position...

Molotov continued to poke at the object in the grass. Rum marched his way over, his nose perking up. A strange smell lingered in the hot sticky air. Something-

SPLORCH.

Rum froze, his right foot buried in something wet. Suddenly, almost overwhelmingly so, his nose kicked back into action, and a rank smell rose up from the ground. A smell like rotting meat.

"I think it's a dead pirate, Rum! Or at least, a part of one!"

Rum hopped back, shaking his blood-drenched foot out and shrieking like a child. If there were anything in his stomach, he'd have retched it up- not because he hadn't seen a dead body before- it was more the principle of the thing. He gagged, holding his nose. Molotov ambled over.

"Gosh Rum, my eagle-eyed eyeballs didn't even spot this guy when we were setting up camp last night!" Molotov said, scratching his armpit in a dignified manner. "There's some more of him over that way!"

"First of all, I think calling where we slept last night a 'camp' is giving far too much credit," Rum said, a shiver running down his spine. "Is he one of the pirates from yesterday? What happened to him?"

Molotov scratched at his head, looking around the jungle aimlessly. Rum doubted the wizard could see much through his blackened and swollen eyes. "That's just it, Rum! It's a bit of a mystery," Molotov said. "We've only really seen birds around here. And some tiny lizards, most of them unedible! Oh, plus the giant Werebeaver pirate-"

"Yes, yes," Rum snapped. "So get to the mystery!"

"Well basically, there isn't anything on the island that could have done this!" Molotov said with a smile. "Nothing we've met so far!"

Rum, not for the first time, was acutely aware that Molotov's face was not matching up with the words coming out of his mouth. The implication of something roaming the island, devouring pirates in the dead of night, sent chills down Rum's spine despite the early morning heat.

None of this is my problem. MY problem is getting back to the ship, before anything else-

Something zipped by Rum's nose, and with a shrill whistle embedded itself in Molotov's butt. Rum jumped back, letting out a yelp as Molotov fell, a thin, red-feathered arrow sticking out of the wizard's left cheek. From the surrounding trees, a group of pirates emerged, crossbows at the ready, levelled toward the pair.

While many talk of having a "fight or flight" response, Rum had always trusted a third option. His hands shot to the sky, surrendering as quick as possible.

The pirates stepped forward, grinning and showing stained yellow teeth. The lead pirate, a younger woman with short black hair and a blue bandana tight around her forehead, lowered her crossbow to regard Rum. "Well, well. Finally caught ya', didn't we now?"

On the ground Molotov moaned. Sparks and flames fizzled and died quickly on his hands, his bright red hair taking on a duller sheen. The wizard had a dumb look on his face, as if he'd managed to snatch a drink from behind the bar after being cut off from the night. Rum looked at Molotov, surprised with the fact that he felt actual concern. "What did you do to him??"

"Little bit of a magic-dampener," chuckled the woman. "We saw one heck of a fire-show last night up in the hills. We ain't dumb enough to walk straight into that unprepared."

Rum considered the pirates. They were mostly human- with the exception of one, a hulking orc, black hair tighted tight in a knot. Broad-shouldered and wearing oiled leather, the orc had a curved katana slung on his belt. Rum twisted his body slightly to the side, trying in vain to hide the cutlass at his own waist.

God, why did I sleep with the damn sword on? Why didn't I take it off?

He knew why he hadn't- the thought of taking off the sword was like acid in his gut, a bottle of ink dumped out upon a stack of parchment paper. He'd never had a strong will to begin with, and whatever power the sword posessed had sucked him in, pulled him down to the center of a whirlpool. There was no escape, no other option. The sword wanted to stay with him.

Aside from the woman with the blue bandanna and the orc, Rum saw three others. A man with dark red hair and weak features, another with short blond hair and a beard that clung to his chin- and a woman, very short, with dark skin, curly blonde hair, and twin-fins sticking out of her cheeks. Webbed fingers clung to her crossbow, and she had a nasty smile, eyes never leaving Rum's neck.

Another fish-girl. Like a tiny, evil Annay... although I guess that makes sense, since Annay is her boss. Rum gulped.

It seemed as if the pirate with the blue bandana was in charge. She stepped forward, motioning to the orc and the red-haired man. "Kadiruk, Corazzo, tie them up, nice and tight. Watch the one with the nose- he's got the look of a trickster about him."

Rum blinked. "I assure you, Molotov's quite harmless! You don't need to do anything, he'll follow my lead!"

The woman with the blue bandana paused. She looked toward her companions as if hoping for some support, finding nothing but an awkward silence. "Er, no. I was talking about you. You're the one with the nose. Hasn't anyone ever mentioned that to you before?"

"On my island, it's seen as somewhat of a regal quality," Rum said, trying hard not to be offended and failing completely. "We honour our greatest poets and thinkers with sculptures of polished marble, and a hawkish nose is seen as-"

"No yeah, it's honestly massive," the pirate continued. "It's honestly kind of impressive that you could fit the rest of your face on there, what with it taking up so much real-estate." She stuck her crossbow into the nook of her arm, holding up her hands several inches apart. "It's like this big, no joke. You're saying no one's ever mentioned it before?"

Rum seethed and breathed out hard through his very big nose. "Can you just proceed with the hostage taking?"

"My pleasure," growled the orc. He swung a fist out, connecting with the side of Rum's head. Rum dropped to the ground, unconscious, without any further complaint.

---

Ostentatious Mullins sniffed the air and wiped sweat from beneath her blue bandana. "Holy Mother of the Wood, Kadiruk! You didn't have to hit him so hard. Annay wanted 'em alive to answer for what went on last night."

"He was stepping in Jones."

"He was stepping in what??"

The orc grimaced, bent down, and pulled a severed limb up out of the grass. A whistle went up from among the pirates.

"That do be lookin' like Jones alright," Shalnea said, her gills fluttering uneasily. "Gods of the Bubbling Deep! They ripped him to shreds, and not a drop of blood on 'em, safe fer' the bottoms of their feets! A pair of cold-blooded psychopaths!"

Aekos, the last man, tugged at his blond beard nervously. "There ain't nothin' right about this island. We should've never gone after that sword!"

"Don't let the Captain hear you saying anything about that," Ostentatious Mullins cut in sharply. "She'll keelhaul you if she catches those words on your tongue- she's in a right proper rage about this whole situation. And she's not going to be happy knowing one of her lieutenants has been ground up and peppered about on this gods-forsaken rock..."

"Three of the lieutenants missing, a dozen men with them," Corazzo muttered, hoisting the red-haired wizard easily up and on his shoulders. Still drunk from the magic-dampening bolt in his backside, the snaggle-toothed wizard was drooling on himself. "It's bad omens. I don't envy these two, having to go meet the Captain. She's gonna shuck'em like oysters. Hey, why's this one only wearing a speedo? It's a little awkward hoisting him up, being so close to his-"

"Enough millin' about," Ostentatious Mullins said, fixing her crossbow with another bolt. "Let's double back and keep our eyes peeled. I don't want more of their crew popping up out of the brush to surprise us! Now- hop to it lads! Quick-time, my name ain't Ostentatious for nothing!"

There was a rousing shout as the pirates got to work hauling their prisoners away, all of them working with a different understanding of what the word "Ostentatious" meant.

As they left the clearing, the wind died without a sound.