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The Pen is Mightier than the Sword
Patrick

Werewolf II - Game thread

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Upon seeing the other youth enter his kitchen, Adam grumbled, "Looks like I'm not the only one who can't sleep. I suppose you'll be wanting something to wash down your midnight snack with as well?"

 

Without even waiting for the reply, he put down a piece of bread and a small amount of rum in front of Davey. He hadn't planned on sharing that, especially with the youths, but then again... they might all be dead tomorrow. Besides, he doubted they'd be able to get drunk off the small amounts he was handing out.

 

"Be glad ours were the only sounds you were hearing, boy. Something tells me there's going to be a lot worse sounds before this night is over... we never should have brought that witch doctor on board."

Edited by Venefyxatu

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"I still want to know who made that decision," Carey repeated, sipping at the meager amount of rum he was given. "Normally I'd blame the Captain, but..." He grimaced.

 

"Who does that leave, then?" Davey asked, his eyes wide.

 

"The Lieutenant has the rank, I suppose," Adam scratched at his chin thoughtfully. "But a lot of decisions are advised by Equiano."

 

"And he was the first to realise what was going on," Carey mused. "But what about Mister Walters? I can't imagine anyone being in his situation without harbouring a little resentment."

 

"Three possibilities," Adam agreed. "Present company excluded. The question now, though, is who is the more likely threat?"

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"They all give me shivers." Davey whispered, not taking his eyes from his drink. "They all seem to know so much about the ship. Or the cargo... "

 

He braced himself and downed the rum in one go - he was a man after all! Even men were allowed to be scared when faced with the supernatural, right?

 

Davey almost preferred to be dead while he choked on the fire that went down his throat and set his stomach ablaze, coughing until he had slipped to the floor - and still coughed.

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Adam patted the kid on the back and, when he had calmed down a little, gave him some water to wash the rum down with.

 

"Here, drink this and be a little more careful next time. Or do it often enough that you get used to it. Either way works."

 

Then he got a pensive look on his face while the two youths discussed the possibilities. Eventually he shook his head, unable to figure out who would be more to blame. "I'd see the Lieutenant and Equiano as equally responsible. Both of them should've known better. Mister Walters might feel some resentment but in all honesty, I wouldn't want to be on board of this ship if a cage breaks and there's no carpenter around. Besides, I don't think he gets involved in much of the decision-making around here."

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A brutal roar from the slave quarters below shattered the relative calm of the night. After savagely tearing a dozen of the shackled and helpless slaves apart, the beast made its way through four of the mercenaries who had crowded the entrance to the slave quarters, tearing off limbs and ripping throats apart as it finally made its way onto the deck. Staring up at a moon that was still not completely full, the beast let out a bloodcurdling howl that made hairs stand on end.

 

The creature could be described as a wolf with elongated limbs, standing on its hind legs, but that did not do it justice. No wolf had such a calculating look in its eyes. No wolf could radiate hatred as this creature did. Blood dripped from its fangs and glistened on its claws, and it still carried the arm of one of the soldiers it had dismembered on the way up to the deck.

 

Those sailors who had been on the deck as the mayhem started all huddled in a group close to the main mast, knives and swords at the ready. Even so, when the beast ran at them they weren't ready for it. It barreled into them, knocking them over, and grabbing Paqs as it ran towards the rear cargo hold.

 

By the time the sailors and mercenaries gathered the courage to investigate the cargo hold come the morning, the creature had vanished. All that remained of Paqs was torn clothing, his bloodied knife and a single arm, most of the flesh gnawed to the bone.

 

It looked like he had managed to score a good hit on the beast with his knife, but as to what damage such a puny weapon could do to such a creature...none could tell.

 

OOC: After almost being lynched, Paqs' rotten luck continues as he has become food for a werewolf. Day phase now. Happy lynching.

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It required a taste of the whip, but Equiano finally managed to force some of the crew down into the cargo holds with him. They were retching and gagging at the blood and carnage, but they managed to clean out the hold, and once they'd pumped sea water in, and manned the bilged pump to clear it, the hold was relatively clean, and the cargo had had a bath.

 

Equiano requested the Cook prepare double rations for the slaves, to help them settle a bit, and to keep their value high.

 

Once done, he began compulsively coiling and uncoiling ropes and checking stowage, trying to stay so busy he did not need to think on the horror.

 

Over and over he examined in his mind the behaviors of the others, wondering, "who"?

 

And his intuitions kept coming back to Adam Peters...

 

OOC: Vote for Adam Peters (Vene')

Edited by Peredhil
OOC Line

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Swanson was starting to sweat all the time now. He wondered if the men could see it. Though the word monster was now starkly real to his own fears as the word mutiny, sea life ingrained certain habits into your very soul; such that he continued to mop his brow to appear... well, less fazed by it all than the rest of the crew.

 

He didn't even seem to notice (or care?) that Equiano was issuing orders to the cook without making any reports to the officers.

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"Uh...Lieu-" the first mate started yammering. "Captain I mean! Captain Swanson SIr!" He had his sailor's hat in both hands, subconsciously crushing it

 

"The boys and I were uh...wondering. Last time Captain York...former Captain York I mean...called out navigation points we weren't so far." He paused, licked his dry lips. As always, they tasted of salt. "So far from land I mean So, me and the boys we were wondering...are you Sir...going to order us to turn around, what with the monster and the death of Capt...former Captain York Sir?"

 

A gaggle of sailors had gathered behind the first mate. It seemed clear that they were in agreement with the first mate. Even though they spent most of their lives at sea, it would seem that they did not want to spend a minute more than necessary on the Slug.

 

"Sir!" the first mate suddenly exclaimed, pointing behind the Lieutenant. "The soldiers! They're trying to lower the skiff! They're leaving us!"

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Michael had never been a particularly religious man, but these days he had found a new appreciation for his parent's faith. He had been busy most of the morning making simple wooden crosses for all those who wanted them - which was a good half of the ship. The sailors hoped that the symbol of faith would turn away the wolf demon that beset them.

 

So it was a rare thing that Michael was on deck when the mutiny started. He was nearly knocked over the side of the ship when a group of mercenaries barged past him, faces grim and hands on the hilts of their cutlasses. Pulling himself back upright, Michael stared incredulously at the men.

 

"Where the hell do you think you'll go in that?" he asked, staring at them. "We're days out to sea, and one good storm will kill you all!"

 

One of the men paused long enough to spit on the deck at his Michael's feet. "Don't try to stop us. We'll take our chances with drowning, but any place is better than this cursed ship."

 

Equiano and his men were gathering nearby now, but no one was quite ready to start fighting just yet, probably because if this came to open fighting, half the ship's crew would die and then who'd man the ship?

 

Michael swallowed nervously and held out his hands in a placating gesture. "Look, we're all worried about the demon that stalks us, and that's a fact. But putting out to sea in a skiff, this far from shore? That's just asking to die slowly. If we stick together, work together, we might be able to all get to port."

 

edit:

OOC:Vote for Carey / Mynx

Edited by Gyrfalcon

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While he still wasn't sure how he felt about giving double rations to slaves, Adam prepared them without protest. The distinction between ordinary men and slaves suddenly became a lot less important when a bloodthirsty beast could be tearing anyone apart as soon as the sun set. As soon as most of the lunch preparations were done, he made his way up to the deck as well. He wanted some fresh air, and maybe one of those wooden crosses the carpenter was handing out.

 

When he came across Michael and was offered a wooden cross, Adam took it gratefully and put it on a piece of string around his neck.

"Thank you mr. Walters, I'm sure a lot of the men will sleep better because of this." He wanted to say more, but at that moment the mercenaries barreled past and separated them.

 

Riots and mutiny... as if this ship didn't have enough problems yet. And Equiano taking on more of a leader's role. Then again, the orders made sense and were given with a lot more confidence than those of the Lieutenant.

 

He wondered whether last night's discussion with the youths made any sense at all. After all, the curse could have affected anyone, not just the ones who were responsible for bringing the witch doctor on board. Still, there were more pressing matters right now... He made sure to stay off to the side - he'd be no use in a fight. Too much of a target.

 

OOC: Voting for the Lieutenant / Death of Rats

Edit: added vote, not enough inspiration / time for a new IC post

Edited by Venefyxatu

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Davey looked at the mutineers, then at the other crew around him. Clutching the wooden cross he had also received from Michael Walters, he looked lost. Muttering something unintelligible, he kept shaking his head.

 

Witch doctors. On a ship. I hope Mr. Walters is not a priest. He wasn't very keen about watching two priests fighting, each for their own beliefs... he didn't care much for the church either, not since his childhood Sundays were spent hearing the invariable sermons for falling asleep during Sunday School. But if the cross was good to keep demons away from him... it couldn't hurt to try, could it?

 

Unless demons get angry like the beasts that his father used to hunt - like the boar that had almost skewered his father's leg after being hurt and angered?

 

He looked warily at the cross, oblivious to the discussion on the deck. Will this anger the demon? Will it make it afraid? Will this anger the witch-doctor? Or make him afraid?

 

"Huh... Carey... what are we supposed to do?" He looked up at his friend, who was also looking grimly at the scene.

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Carey shook his head slowly at Davey's question, putting an arm around the boy's shoulders and guiding him back out of the way of the crowing crowd. "Just do our best to stay out of it if we can, Davey. Mutiny isn't going to help anyone."

 

"And staying on this death-trap is?" Kipling grunted, arms crossed as he watched Michael's attempts to negotiate. "Maybe we would be better off taking our chances on a skiff."

 

"Don't be a fool, Kip," Carey said harshly. "Hell, for all we know the monster is one of the mercs anyway; where would it get you to be in even closer quarters with one?"

 

"Where's it getting us just staying on this dump and waiting to be butchered?" Kipling countered, though he made no move to join the mutineers. "And what are we supposed to do in the meantime? We don't even. Know who we can trust, Carey."

 

And wasn't that the truth. Keeping his expression neutral and a comforting hand on Davey's shoulder, Carey chewed on his lip as he studied Michael. The man did seem to know an awful lot about the mysterious, but he also seemed to be using it to try and help them. Assuming a cross would hold anything at bay, that was.

 

And what about the Lieutenant? Or Captain now, or whatever. He certainly had gained from the misadventure that had fallen upon them all...

 

OOC: turnabout is fair play 0:) voting for Death of Rats/the Lieutenant

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Davey slumped. All the muttering around him was starting to get to him (well, he didn't really want to admit he was truly and completely scared to death by the whatever-monster), and he drew a hand across his face, which resulted in the wooden cross almost breaking his nose as he forgot completely he was still holding it.

 

Mumbling, his eyes dropped to the cross while his free hand rubbed his injured nose. We wouldn't need this if we didn't have a witch-doctor on the boat. Why did the Captain ever wanted to keep him?

 

Carey had a good point. The Lieutenant benefitted directly from the presence of the witch doctor. But witches could influence others, couldn't they?

 

Suddenly tired, Davey muttered something and glared at Equiano. Why not you, then?

 

---

 

OOC: vote for Equiano/Peredhil. Sorry for the lateness!

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The Lieutenant looked on the hastily departing skiff grimly. "What would you have have me do? Shoot them? We haven't enough men who can overpower them, and I doubt they fear death right now." Swanson's hand was on his pistol- but it wasn't primed. "Besides, in the middle of the ocean? They're commiting suicide and you know it." He turned and began his march down the deck, gesturing for the first mate to follow. "We'll continue on our course- it's too late to turn back now. So we press on, and remain ready to immediate hail any navy ship we see. We need soliders right now."

 

Swanson called the bells, as his duty had been for two years. Ten.

 

 

 

 

(OOC: Peredhil's Equiano. Technology and industry crowd out magic, so I wonder...!)

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The first mate wiped his brow with a bloody rag. He had been one of those who had been forced into the cargo hold by Equiano. The human cargo had been badly mauled and terror was by far the dominant emotion down there. Still, they were cargo. Captain York wouldn't have approved of the cargo getting damaged, but he wouldn't have expended this much effort into saving badly damaged items. This Lieutenant Swanson...he was not cut of the same material. His only decent decision in the past few days had been to arm the crew.

 

The muskets and pistols were from a shipment destined for a rich merchant in Boston, but it would never arrive intact. Each sailor, even the young boys were armed with at least a musket and a pistol each, several still carrying their knives too. All that was needed was a spark to set things off. That spark came when Equiano emerged onto the deck from his most recent effort of comforting the slaves.

 

Several of the sailors had cornered Lieutenant Swanson next to the mast, and heated words were being exchanged.

 

"Captain York would'a never have let it come this far!"

 

"Act like a captain!"

 

A burly sailor shoved the lieutenant forward, smashing his head in the mast. Equiano rushed over to help, pushing sailors aside as he tried getting to Swanson. He was just a few feet away when the lieutenant spoke up.

 

"We have been cursed, indeed. We have taken a black man on the ship, and acted as if he were our own." He spat blood from a broken tooth. "With Captain York dead, who is there around to stop us finally giving him what he deserves?" Several sailors nodded, and pointed weapons at the black man.

 

It took only a second, but Equiano remembered the first time his father took him along on a hunt. He earned his spear then, wounding the antelope, and slowing it down. He no longer had that spear, even if it hadn't been lost in a raid on his village, he would never have been allowed to keep it as a slave. But he had made another, and since the beast had been sighted, he had taken to carrying the war spear which he had carved himself with symbols from a life on the plains he would never return to.

 

As soon as the sailors started advancing at him, he knew that he was dead. He did not flinch, did not plead, did not turn to run. The first sailor took a slash to the throat, the second a slash to the leg. Then came the lieutenant himself. Equiano braced his spear, ready to impale the white man. A dagger thrust to his shin knocked his aim slightly off, and he only skewered the lieutenant in the right shoulder, his spear irrevocably stuck. As the lieutenant fell to the deck the spear snapped with a loud crack.

 

A second crack and then a third sounded as sailor after sailor fired his pistol or musket at the black man. He died with a smile.

 

OOC: Again, the dice had to step in to decide. Peredhil/Equiano is dead. It is night phase. Specials, pm me your targets.

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Carey grimaced and looked away as Equiano's body was dragged to the edge of the ship and tossed overboard to the sharks, a pair of sailors moving to help the Lieutenant treat the spear in his shoulder. He couldn't quite decide how he felt about the decision; certainly Equiano was - had been - strange and 'other' enough that it wouldn't have surprised him to learn the Asante had access to unnatural powers. But on the other hand, he'd also been the first to warn them...

 

And now they were armed. What could possibly go wrong with that?

 

"Carey?" Davey's timid voice spoke up at his side. "How do I hold this properly?"

 

Glancing down at Davey, Carey blanched when he saw the small boy was peering into the barrel of the musket he'd been given, one hand far too close to the trigger for comfort. "Davey! Don't look down the firing end while it's loaded!"

 

"Oh." Blushing, Davey immediately dropped the barrel. So that it pointed at Carey.

 

Swearing and darting to the side, Carey snatched the musket out of Davey's hands, struggling for a moment to juggle it with the one he'd already been given. "Hell's bells, Davey. Haven't you ever used a gun before?"

 

"Of course I have!" Davey half-glared, half-pouted. Not quite true, actually... but close enough - he did go with his father on a few hunts, and it shouldn't be too difficult to shoot, really. Just hold... and pull the trigger, right? "What kind of a man you think I am?"

 

"A young one," Carey said, shouldering both muskets and holding out his hand. "Maybe you'd better give me your pistol, too."

 

"Hey!" Frowning, Davey slapped Carey's hand away. "I may be young, but I'm still big enough to carry a pistol of my own!" At least it didn't weigh as much as the musket... and wasn't half a big as he was. "How am I going to defend myself from the monster?"
"The monster is going to be the least of your problems if you blow a hole in yourself first," Carey scolded. "Or knock yourself overboard from the recoil."
"Oh..." The young boy hesitated, looking at the pistol he'd pulled from where he'd stuffed it into the back of his trousers - another cause for Carey to wince. "Can it really do that? If we give one to the monster, do you think the recoil could throw it overboard?" He grinned.
Despite himself, Carey laughed - sometimes he just couldn't tell if Davey was being serious. "I don't think the monster has the hands for it, but maybe that's an idea. Here, give me that-" he took the pistol from the younger boy with more gentleness than he'd taken the musket. "Let's go put these below deck and see if we can't scrounge something off Adam, hmm?"
OOC: Special thanks to Tanny for writing Davey's parts.

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Night came much faster than anyone wanted. Armed sailors patrolled the ship from bow to stern and from port to starboard.

 

Tensions were high and trigger fingers itchy. Everyone expected the worst.

 

Apart from a single growl from the bowels of the ship however, the night passed without incident, and everyone breathed a sigh of collective relief.

 

Had the killing of Equiano dispatched the beast? Were there more than one? Fingers were still going to be pointed.

 

OOC: The baner has leapt into action, saving a poor soul from being torn apart. Day phase now. Happy lynching.

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The unfamiliar weight of the pistol on his belt bothered Adam, but at least he'd managed to avoid having a musket forced on him. That would've been a bother in the kitchen! He filled bowls with rations that were bigger than usual: with so many deaths and desertions they had plenty to spare. And with mutiny only a hair's breadth away and a too narrow escape still fresh in the Lieutenant's mind, the extra grog rations continued as well. Anyone who complained about getting too much food (and, to Adam's surprise, there were quite a few) got told off gruffly.

 

"Are you trying to fatten us up?"

 

"Eat it. You can't defend yourself on an empty stomach. No use starving yourself to make yourself look less tasty, either. If that beast was out for substance I wouldn't be standing here."

 

He kept filling bowls until everyone was served. There was a lot of talk among the men today, and none of it was good. Accusations were flying, both openly and muttered under breaths, and more than once he had to use his ladle to swat someone over the head in order to prevent a fight breaking out right in front of him. The talk kept his own thoughts returning to the big question as well: who? Whose mind was weak enough to be affected by the curse? One of the youngsters? He doubted they'd have the cunning to hide it for very long. The carpenter? Why would he be handing out crosses to ward off the beast if it was him? The Lieutenant, though... always walking the exact same path on the ship, as if the slightest change in routine would knock his mind off balance. He couldn't put it out of his mind...

 

 

OOC: Death of Rats, I hope you don't mind me making assumptions about grog rations and motivations! If you do: let me know (either via PM or public shaming) and I'll change my post accordingly.

Also: that you don't mind that I'm still voting for you/the Lieutenant :P

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Davey mumbled about the lack of something to protect him, but the - relatively - peaceful night had at least lifted some of the weight from his shoulders.

 

That is, until midmorning, when his somewhat uplifting mood wavered as the mutters continued around him. With a small sigh, the boy looked around for Carey and Kipling, all the while thinking about the kills. Paqs had almost been lynched, then the beast seemed to take exception to that fact... now the Lieutenant had almost been lynched, but the night had been peaceful. What could be the meaning of that?

 

Is it like some are muttering... the Lieutenant has a hand on it? But if he does, why all these? He looked at the weapons on every man that he could see on the desk. Or it was just luck? He shook his head. Did the Lieutenant get a cross? Davey couldn't remember if he had. Has he just escaped Paqs' fate?

 

"This is too much for me, I think..." He started to rethink his desire for adventure. Gah. Stop it. Are you a man or a baby? Frowning, Davey stood up and went to the railing, looking at the sea.

 

Not fifteen minutes later, he left for the middle of the deck, where he sat down heavily by the shadow of the big mast and hoped no one saw him to send him to work. He should have remembered that looking at the sea always made him queasy.

 

===

OOC: I'll come back with a vote, I promise :P

OOC EDIT: Not in a mood for writing. Editing in vote for Death of Rats/Swanson

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"There's just no winning, is there?" Carey said glumly to Kipling as they mopped. No one had told them to - no one was telling anyone anything at this point - but they both felt they needed to do something to keep their hands busy if not their minds. "The monster kills someone, we turn on each other. The monster doesn't kill someone and we still turn on each other."

 

"If the monster is still around," Kipling argued. "We got rid of the Asante, and nothing happened last night."

 

"You heard that noise though. Something wasn't happy and with all the food we're getting right now don't tell me it was your stomach," Carey arched an eyebrow at his friend. When Kipling rolled his eyes and stuck out his tongue, Carey managed a brief grin. "So who are the likely suspects now, at this point?"

 

"Depends. How's your luck been on your past suspicions?"

 

"We'll never know, I guess." Carey brooded down at his mop. He still wasn't sure what to make of either the Lieutenant or Michael's behaviour since the attacks had started, and couldn't decide if the familiar mutterings he'd heard were encouraging or concerning. And what did it make him, if all he did was join in with the mob?

 

Kipling's elbow in his side pulled him from his thoughts, and when Carey looked up his friend pointed to where Davey was huddled under the mast. Poor kid, Carey thought. This mess was no place for a minor.

 

Moving closer, Carey made sure the water in his bucket was relatively clean before he dipped his mop in it and flicked some at the young boy. "You been assigned to hold the mast up with your back now?" He asked, trying to keep his voice light.

 

OOC: another vote for the Lieutenant/DoR

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Swanson simply lay there in a sort of sullen shock until the doctor came to treat him. Though it was the worst wound he'd ever received (even in the stories of him in Barbados), now his adrenaline was down, but not his anger.

 

"I have less and less respect for the dead," he growled through gritted teeth as the puncture was sewn closed. "Damn York and his willingness to take people who know magic and clap them in irons. Damn my eyes too, for assuming such things wouldn't happen to us."

 

Of course Equiano might not have been the monster. It's only in the penny dreadfuls that villains are charismatic showmen.

The Lieutenant knew that his and the ship's only hope was that the mystic was also feeding the fury. If not, they could kill the thing, and still be doomed.

 

Under the doctor's protest, he returned immediately to his duties after his wound was cleaned and dressed. The only hope they had of staying alive long at all was calm nerves and clear mind. Drink and being made to keep doing their jobs.

Swanson walked the lower to upper decks, issuing orders to officers and all who hesitated. An hour passed. Eleven bells.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

(OOC: A vote for Gyrflacon' Michael. Maybe the full on supernatural?)

Edited by The Death of Rats

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Six hundred miles away

 

John Miles had been a soldier as long as he remembered. A head wound at the age of twenty might have helped with that. For over thirty years since then he'd been with Sergeant Waters, a morose old man, who led a band of mercenaries. They had accompanied the Fat Slug three times before with no incident, and then came the monsters.

 

He wished for the monsters now. He even wished for his first training officer in the army. He had been a cruel son of a whore, but anything was preferable to starvation...or death from thirst. This whole desertion had been a spur of the moment plan from Sergeant Waters, who convinced the majority of his men that land was still less than a day away.

 

The storm during the night had swept them all aboard, and whoever knew how far off course. By the time John had clambered aboard, only the sergeant and himself remained. Waters...what an ironic name at a time they felt the cruel grip of thirst...was already delirious, close to dead.

 

John sighted a sail as the sun inched past its zenith. It took the slaver three more hours to reach him. By that time he had pushed the unconscious form of his former sergeant overboard. He was determined to tell the story he himself wanted to tell.

 

And so the legend of the Fat Slug started before she even reached port...

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The Fat Slug - Captain York's cabin

 

The slave girl shivered in the morning breeze from theport hole. She had expected to die as soon as Captain York's body was found, or at least raped before being killed. None of that had happened. Equiano, an accursed Asante, but her only helper in her misery had come for the past few days to the captain's cabins to bring her food. He had not come the day before. None of the rest of the crew did either, they probably considered the captain's cabin accursed. She certainly did not feel at ease in there.

 

But she was still alive, for now. Hunger was beginning to bite, and she knew she would have to move soon.

 

She opened the door a crack, and peered out. The Lieutenant was doing his usual circuit around the ship. The youngsters were loafing around on the deck close to the mast. It looked like a perfectly normal day.

 

She still had no clothes, Equiano had not been able to acquire any. Did she dare venture out with only the bloody sheets on which the captain had died covering her?

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Lieutenant Swanson was not pacing the deck as he had done for every day of the past few years. He was lying in his bunk, almost delirious from fever due to the wound in his shoulder.

 

It was definitely not healing well. But that still was not enough for some of the crew. Even though no one had died the previous night, there had still been growling. The lieutenant had been the one to set them upon Equiano.

 

Thoughts got added together, conclusions were drawn, and by the time night crawled around, the lieutenant still was in his bunk, his throat slit and blood soaking the sheets.

 

OOC: Only had time for a short post. Night phase now, specials send me your PM's.

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Following the quiet night, Michael had stayed busy either in his cabin and workshop, or out and around, making repairs and tryinng to act like all was well and normal. The fact that he took a party of four with him into the holds, armed to the teeth gave away that he, like everyone else, was extremely nervous for the growling they had heard the night before.

 

So busy was he, he only found out after the fact that the Lieutenant had been murdered in his bunk, leaving the ship leaderless once again. They sailed onward only out of desperate inertia, knowing at this point that it would take as long to turn around and return to the African coast as it would take to reach their destination.

 

It was a dispirited man who sat in the kitchen with Adam Peters, staring into his tankard of grog. "I think that if this wolf spirit doesn't kill us itself, we'll do the job for it. Between fools stealing skiffs and rowing away in the middle of the ocean to this spate of murders, normal men have killed as many as that monster has!"

Edited by Gyrfalcon

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