"Another round!" A young man shouted from his seat at the bar. The flickering lights of the
Kraken's Pint pub slung shadows across his face and over the many other sailors and privateers drinking their coin away. A veteran chuckled, pulling the young man back into his chair.

    "Calm down, Writinham. Yer gonna buy the house a round if ye don't shut up," he said, rolling his one good eye.

    "Yeah, shut it!” the teenager jeered from his other side. Writinham was too preoccupied with getting the last drops of ale out of his mug to notice. When he finally gave up, he nudged the veteran.

    "Come on then, Mistsplitter, give us a story. Farlight here's always going on about all these tales of yours.” Writinham aimed a sharp kick at the teenager, who yelped like a wounded dog.

    "What do ye wanna know?" Mistsplitter asked.

    "Why'd you throw in the towel? You were the best navigator this on this side of the sea,” Farlight said, rifling a hand through his curly brown hair. Mistsplitter's eyes darkened as he withdrew into his memories. From the front pocket of his old black coat, he produced a small, intricate, brass pipe. It was decorated with small waves with a strip of copper wound around the neck, moulded to look like seaweed. In the firelight, the waves seemed to move, tossing with the full force of the tempest. He lit it on one of the nearby candles and leaned back in his chair.

    "Ay, the Tale o' the Wretched Ravager,” Mistsplitter said thoughtfully. "Me last journey was
supposed tah be on The Empire Bounty, leaving from this very port. Before we set off, a lassie on the dock told us tha' there was somethin' lurking in the depths, somethin' that took down Heaven's Wind and The Broken Anchor. She called it the Wretched Ravager. Cap'n Cleves just laughed. We set off like always. Three days later, it found us. Forty meters high, with a huge, gaping maw and a massive barbed tail. It was… a leviathan."

    Writinham threw his head back and laughed. "Pull the other one."

    "I swear on my one good eye, it was! It sent huge waves and destroyed my ship! One by one, each of the others got picked off and eaten. Oh, but I grabbed onto a piece o' wood and jumped overboard, I did. It didn't notice me. When the ship had finally sunk below the waves, it vanished. Then, out of the mist and fog, a boat appeared. A dingy. On it stood the very same lass who warned us before. She gave me this pipe.” He held it up to the light. “She told me to tell others what happened, and, should I ever sail again, it would hunt me down. The lass dove into the depths, and I rowed back to shore in the dingy.”

    "Why would that… thing, hunt you down? What did you do to it?" Farlight asked.

    Writinham elbowed him hard in the side. "It's a story, idiot. I bet he just got old."

    "Nay, lad, I speak the truth!" Mistsplitter leaned forward suddenly, tone low and deadly. "I'd watch what ye say to folks. It'll be the death o' ye, I swear it. As for why-"

    "Crew of the Seven Winds, report to the ship! There's a storm coming in, so we leave in an hour to try and get out ahead of it,” a man yelled from atop a nearby table.

    Writinham and Farlight stood along with a few others.

    "You pay, I'll meet you out front." Writinham clapped Farlight on the shoulder and strolled out of the pub. Grumbling, he tossed a few coins to the bartender, then paused by the veteran sailor for a moment.

    "Thanks for the tale,” he said. Mistsplitter shook his hand.

    "We gotta go!" Writinham called. Farlight tried to follow, but the old man held fast.

    "I mean it, lad. Watch what you say, and to whom you say it. Beware the lass with golden scales. Heed her warnings. Treat her as if she rules the seas because she does. And, most of all, pray. If there even is a god in this cruel world, pray she likes you."

    “Farlight!" Writinham called again, tapping his foot impatiently. With one last tug, Farlight freed his hand from the old man’s grip and hurried after his friend. Writinham shook his head in exasperation as they strolled out of the tavern. “Bout time. I thought you were buying into that crazy story."

    Farlight shook his head. "N-no, of course not."

    "Good. Let's go stake out by our ship."

    The ship in question was a marvel: a beautiful three-mast vessel like none he'd ever worked on before. The dark oak boards creaked softly in the turbulent waters. The Seven Winds stood out against it in stark contrast. A eagle figurehead adorned the bow, snarling out at the port.

    "I like 'em better when they're mermaids," Writinham had said the first time they saw it. Farlight thought the eagle rather fit. Mermaids are better saved for ships with sea-related names, like the Broken Anchor. As they boarded the ship, a delicate, gloved hand on his shoulder stopped him.

    "Excuse me, sirs, do you work on that vessel?" a young woman asked, withdrawing her hand quickly. She was young, though still perhaps a year or two older than Farlight himself. Her golden blonde hair hung in loose ringlets around her face, framing her stormy grey eyes. Her skirt was feathered in different shades of blue that mirrored the harbor itself. A dark red shawl draped over her shoulders; a nice contrast against the long, embroidered, pearl gloves she wore.

    "Yes, madam. Heading out in an hour,” he answered (when he was certain he wouldn't trip over his words), giving a kind smile and a bow. "Felix Farlight, at your service. This is-"

    "Shut it, Farlight. Asher Writinham, who might you be, beautiful?" Writinham said, stepping forward and pushing Farlight out of the way.

    “Loreley," the woman replied.

    "Hmmm, lovely name. Now, what might you be doing here?"

    "My life is in danger. I needed safe passage out of town. I'll bring my own rations and I'll stay out of your way. I can get off at the next port. You'll never know I was there, I swear it." Loreley pulled her shawl a little tighter around her shoulders.

    "We don't take lassies. Women are meant to cook and clean, not sail. They aren't built for it. The waves upset their ability to function. Plus, it's bad luck. Captain would never allow it. Go back home and-" Writinham said.

    "But-"

    Writinham slapped her hard across the face, nearly taking her to the ground. “Don’t interrupt.”

    Loreley scrambled to her feet, mouth agape in rage.

    "How dare you!” Farlight gave Writinham a hard shove, putting himself between them. “Don’t hit women, where’s your sense of honor? Besides, my mother sailed here. She wasn't messed up. She was the best deck hand in fifty kilometers."

    "She had you, though. I'd say she was messed up."

    "Watch your tongue,” the teen snarled, then turned back to the woman. "He's right, though. I doubt Captain Chaucer would allow it. There's rooms at the Greenbriar Inn, I'm sure they can cover for you if someone comes ‘round looking. They’ve done it before.”

    "Thank you... Felix, was it?" she asked. Farlight nodded. "It's good to know there are some
gentlemen left in the world.” She turned to leave, pausing momentarily to glance back. A look of uncertainty flashed across her face. “There are things in these waters. Things that have taken down several ships before you. Some call it the Wretched Ravager, others just call it death itself." She pulled off her pearl silk gloves and pushed them into his free hand. “Take these. They’ll keep you safe."

    Farlight gave her a puzzled look. "Thank you, ma'am, but I..."

    Her bare arms shimmered with fine golden scales in the dim lights of the shops and pubs behind her. The old veteran's warnings rang loudly in his ears. Watch what you say, and who you say it to. Beware the lass with golden scales. Heed her warnings. Treat her as if she rules the seas because she does. And, most of all, Pray. If there even is a god in this cruel world, pray she likes you. In one horrible moment of realization, everything became alarmingly clear to Farlight.

      They were going to die because Asher Writinham couldn't learn some manners.

    He shook off the thoughts and smiled, giving her a polite nod. "Thank you. I hope you have a delightful rest of your evening."

    "Thank you very much. You, Asher Writinham, I recommend you use your two hours make your peace before you leave." Loreley smiled cruelly, displaying a pair of sharp fangs.

    Writinham’s face went slack in confused horror. “How did you-" He sputtered.

    Farlight could swear that, just for a moment, her eyes flashed with a red orange glow. "Three days, Writinham. A storm is coming. Safe passage," With that, Loreley turned on her heel and vanished down a nearby alleyway.

~ * ~

    "Hoist the sails!" Captain Chaucer screamed over the gale. Neither Farlight nor Writinham could guess how long it had been since The Seven Winds departed from port. The dark skies had remained for the whole trip. They had done their very best to get out ahead of the storm, but their efforts were in vain.

    Farlight clung desperately to the rope to avoid being swept away by the ravenous waves lapping at his ankles. The gloves stayed tucked in his belt. He had stolen some thread from a local seamstress before they left and stitched them in place. Felix didn't really understand what good it would do if Loreley was to be believed.

    "Heave!" the crew called in unison, giving an almighty tug on the ropes. The deafening ocean roared all around them. The near black waters rose in swells as tall as Felix, swamping the deck and tossing the ship about in the waves. The oppressive clouds flashed with long fingers of lightning. The thunder itself couldn't be heard over the chaos. On and on they went, furling the sails and trying to maintain control of the enormous ship. As they did, Farlight felt something hit the side.

    No one seemed to notice; everyone was shouting and moving about the ship, paying it no mind. He felt it again, this time on the opposite side. Writinham felt it too, catching his eyes. He pointed to the origin of the crash, terror seeping into his eyes.

    Three days… Farlight mouthed, watching the horror dawn on his friend’s face.

    A horrible roar from the starboard side made everyone flinch as a massive head emerged from the depths below. Though only illuminated by the flashes of lightning, he could see curled blue horns, which could have been made from the water itself, if not for its darker color. Fangs of dark red coral lined its foaming maw. It glared down at the ship with eyes like glowing coals, the same color that flashed in Loreley’s. It was exactly as Mistsplitter described, and he found he had no better name for it: Leviathan.

    The crew had no time to react as it slammed a giant spiked tail directly into the main mast, which landed hard across the deck. Three of the men hauling the ropes were crushed under the weight of it, and the boards shattered on impact. It reached down next and grabbed the Captain, swallowing him whole.

    Overtaken by panic, Farlight ducked behind the foremast. Using his small knife, he cut the silk gloves free and slipped them on. His hands began to glow. The light spread quickly, enveloping his body with a sickly green light. His body disappeared, and not a moment too soon. The beast reached down for another pass as Writinham threw a shattered board at it. The creature roared in rage. Its tail swung again, striking him in the chest. With a horrible scream, Writinham went limp. The creature pulled its tail back into the water, taking his body with it.

    Time seemed to slow around Farlight. Even as the mizzen mast crashed down at his feet and the upper deck shattered like a piece of glass, he could not stop staring at the place Writinham had stood. It took the chain riggings falling and missing him by inches for him to move. Numbly, he grabbed a broken cross beam, took a deep breath, and jumped from the ship.

    The waves swelled around him, threatening to drag him into the depths. It took everything he had to keep his grip on the beam. The salt stung his eyes and lungs, but it was much better than being on the ship. Farlight watched in cynical awe as the Leviathan tore the ship apart with a savage, bestial fury. His friend, best friend, was dead, taking with him the other twenty eight sailors.

    Twenty nine sailors lost at sea. Twenty nine families to inform. Twenty nine chimes of the church bells. Twenty nine lives never lived. Twenty nine lost chances to change the world. Twenty nine explanations as to why he lived while the others died. Whatever tears he may have shed were drowned out by the salt water.

    Farlight wished that he had never put on the gloves. He wished he died with them.

    After what seemed to be an eternity, The Seven Winds finally sank into the waves. The majestic eagle head he had so admired was the last thing to vanish. Seemingly satisfied, the beast turned and swam away from him. As it did, the seas calmed and the clouds parted, revealing the early rays of dawn.

    Hauling himself atop the beam, Farlight tugged off the gloves and tucked them back into his belt. It would be easier, he reasoned, to get help if he was visible.

    "Felix Farlight,” a familiar voice called. He whirled around to see Loreley at the helm of a small rowboat. She wore the same dress she wore three days before, though now it was paired with a magnificent tricornered hat. "Remember what you've seen. Tell people the story. Keep the gloves as proof of your honesty." She said. Carefully, she reached out a hand. Farlight obliged, and she pulled him aboard with surprising strength. The woman draped an old blanket over his shoulders and stepped back. “You’re a good man. Perhaps you should stay on land from now on.'

    Farlight nodded. “The day I get on another boat is the day I’ve truly gone mad.”

    “There’s the right idea. I’ll see you again, I’m sure.” Loreley winked, tipped her hat, and dove backwards into the deep.

    Slowly, Felix Farlight paddled back to port.