Act I: Launch

The Royal Navy set out to protect its fortunes of old.

The Fleet gathers with its ringing sails unfurled.

A ship named for every month of the year as foretold.

The ninth in the fleet, the September, holding the keep. Its sails massive and its hull beautifully curled.

Its Admiral, James Scott, charged with its safety, through life and death.

The convoy of twelve ran the seas to the safehouse atop Ridgeland Watch.

The waters blue with mystery and the air whipping like the port-side breath.

The Captains dressed ceremoniously with pomp and arrogance aglow. Their swords glistening and their belts adorned with notch.

The Crew, equally dressed, maintained the header upon this standard quest.

It was no secret of the treasures journey, but combat against the twelve was laughable—they expected no challenge.

Their abilities could not be put to the test.

The Sea sought to extract its revenge:

Thieves lie in wait for an ambush.

A broken alliance of two weathered ships hide among the rock.

Vennette the Frightful and her ship The Ocean’s Push.

And Longfellow the Strange aboard the Lightning Lock.

The fleet moves into battle formation.

The fight is swift with fury and might.

As the two pirating vessels are stripped of their flotation.

However, others catch on to the cannon fire and torchlight.

Act II: War

A greater skirmish erupts over the graves of the Push and the Lock!

The fleet sits surrounded by scoundrels and buccaneers.

Artillery sounds from the floating dock.

Sounds of screams, commands, and jeers.

More to most, the haunted hallow-crested crates of the flagship September.

Sails amass with rage and coffers sparkling with greed.

And the battle was unlike anything you’d ever see nor hear – don’t you remember!

The ocean red with failure and misfortune – the sands endowed with souls of a ship’s last voyage and a sailor’s dying creed.

A battle well fought – a war well lost.

The Captains and Admirals—few among the wretched deep—hold their heads heavy at the gates of an adventure’s end.

There was Morris aboard the January and Hatter the Red aboard the Banshee’s Head—profit no matter the cost!  

There was Johnson, captain of the June, and there was Burncoat and the Typhoon’s Bend.

Fredrick the Third and the May, and there was the Yellow Bandit aboard the Twilight Ghost.

With Collins captaining the August, and with Blackwell the Bold captaining the Queen’s Snare.

Nearly held up to his name too- he was too early to boast!

Barnhart aboard the July and Creepy Crenshaw captaining the Daemon’s Stare.

With the battle lost and the fleet lying amass.

The September harbors amid the crippled debris, fire, and smoke.

They had been boarded. The crew lay bludgeoned; somewhere among Death’s bridging Pass.

Admirable Scott looks vacantly over the dismal few, his hands scraped and his eye sheathed under cloak.

The September itself rests with scar and bruise.

Its hull leaking and its flags tarnished.

Its artillery inactive and its masts stand with shaken muse.

Its railings lie shattered and its decks soaked with a bloody varnish.

The Hawk figurehead, missing its eyes, flies broken.

Its sails worn and beaten, and its wheel missing a peg or three.

All prizes of the battle lost; a farewell token.

The Admirable sways stoically. With the fleet gone and the September free.

Within the folds of the adventure’s heart, a treasure scourge.

The chest, with stern gaze enlightens; a forgotten wonder!

The Winds and the Sea strive for an echoing cause; Fate and the ship converge!

The chest; with gold and silver a plunder.  

Cursed with the vice of a thousand islands. Cursed with the cruelty of a Sea Demon’s sin.

The honorable Admiral Scott.

Sailing abroad the many masses through the depths of the Ocean’s bin.

Master of the September and its chest; guardian of the lot.

The chest calls: “Is Ye ready to pay the toll?”

One may find the ghosts etched into the chest’s past, a dimmer day!

Stricken with the dread of night and manifesting on infamy. Enough to make Davy Jones rattle to the soul.

Through the great battle, half sunken on the shattered bay.

Among the withering wrecks!

With a face not of love nor evil, the chest lies.

Among the Sea’s graveyard and its war-torn decks.

Among broken hulls and smoking waters, the chest thrives!

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