Headed by a Snake

Tycondrius was familiar with what exactly Krysaos was trying to 'save' such females from.

Knowing that the Captain was not as selfless as he might have seemed, Tycon could not condone such a tremendous waste of time.

"Ahem," He cleared his throat, "Brother-Captain, the artifacts."

"Oh, right," Krysaos narrowed his eyebrows. "Sorry, girlie. We gotta find a friend of ours before we can help you... we're looking for the uh... Swords of the Forgotten King."

Mina pursed her lips... "Did you say... the Swords of the Forgotten King?"

"See, LT?" Krysaos grinned. "Everything'll work out."

"The outsider with the metal swords!" Mina squealed, "My tribe has them!"

Even though her earlier tone had been calm and even, it seemed she was easily excitable.

...That would make it easier for her to be fooled.

"Patience, Captain Krysaos," Tycon held his hand out to stop his companion from speaking... "Miss Mina... what terrible evil has befallen your tribe?"

"A human tribe threatens us with compliance or annihilation..." Mina recounted coolly, "terrible humans called the Black Crow Pirates."

"Ya don't say," Krysaos scoffed.

"They have shown us their power once before..." Mina gulped... "They hold a terrible god-artifact called the Idol of the Aqua Dragon."

"You don't say..." Tycon grimaced.

"The pirates seek the swords..." Mina shut her eyes and sighed... her shoulders drooping with weariness... "For what reason... we do not know."

She looked up, a confident fire lit in her eyes, "Priestess Atlantea knew to hide them away. She has protected the outsider for that very reason!"

"Told you that Lone guy was alive," Krysaos smirked.

"You don't s-- err... Hm. You did," Tycon conceded. "I should have kept faith."

"Please," Mina begged... "Save... the Amphitrite Reef Tribe..."

Krysaos stood up and pointed his thumb at his chest, "By my name as Captain Krysaos, Scourge of the Eastern Seas, I accept your qu-- hey!"

Before he could finish, the mermaid girl dissipated into froth and bubbles.

"Did... did I kill her?" Krysaos turned to Tycon.

"WE DEFEATED HERRRR!!" The Coral Boys began to celebrate.

Tycon shook his head... but confided his words to Krysaos quietly, as to allow the Coral Boys their victory.

"The young lady is a summoned spirit, much like Ishmael."

"So you're tellin' me we can save her, good as new, when we raid her village?"

"Yes... but I'm assuming you mean... defeating the Black Crow Pirates that hold her people hostage?"

"Yeah, s'what I said," Krysaos laughed. "Well, she can't be far from here. Get out your scryin' leaf thing and let's figure out the artifacts' locations."

"A sound plan, Captain," Tycon smirked as he flicked his wrist.

...

⟬ On board the Black Crow flagship, second half of night watch. ⟭

It was always cold at sea.

That didn't bother Harvald as much as it did ten years ago. Anchoring by the island, though... it was always covered in a thick fog... so thick it clung to his skin underneath his shirt.

As of recent... it had been pissing rain, too-- near every damned sun.

Harvald put away his tobacco pipe. The one vice he clung on to religiously-- and the rain mucked his chance to enjoy it.

"Sea god's breechcloth..." He cursed... "F*ck that Nemayan."

"What 'bout him?" Rallen asked. He lifted his lit torch high with one hand, while scratching his scab-covered chin with the other, "'Sit 'bout the way he looks at'cha, that Dunzis guy? Leerin' at everyone like they's girls on a stage."

"Nah, 'sides 'at," Harvald shook his head. He rested his arms on the ship railing, thick from pulling rope all sun long... "Don't like what 'e did to the Cap'n."

"Pff," Rallen scoffed as he gazed down at the serene seawater, blanketed by thick fog. "You say it like the two shared a bed. The Nemayan's an alright guy. Gave us a treasure map, he did-- and with somethin' actually buried at the X."

"'At's what I'm sayin," Harvald sighed. "The map was supposed to bring riches to the 'ole crew."

"We'll get our cut when the idol sells... and it'll be good coin, too!" Rallen argued. "Exotic lookin' as it is, the rich folk'll be clamorin' to pick it up and jam it up their arses."

Harvald scowled at his gaunt, bawdry pirate companion.

That man really needed to get laid...

"When's the last time you seen the Cap'n?"

"I dunno," Rallen narrowed his eyes and grimaced... "Just the other sun? No-- 'at can't be right..."

"It's been nearly three suns since the Cap'n's been holed up in his cabin..."

"Prolly whackin' it to the magic fing, 'en?"

"Whatever the Cap'n's doin', he's only been comin' out for food-- if even that," Harvald grit his teeth... "The man looks dead on his feet... prolly ain't sleepin', either."

"Powerful magic shite, or somethin'..." Rallen whistled... "Maybe the fing turns into a girl? Sucks him off and jams her thumb in his--"

"Shut up, ya idjit," Harvald rolled his eyes. "The Cap'n's courtin' somethin' cursed, whether it sticks its thumb up his arse or not."

"Yeah. Shouldn't be a surprise, though," Rallen shrugged.

"How d'ya mean? You mean 'ow he usually's got a stick up his arse?"

"S'like anything else we dredge up from the feggin' sea floor," Rallen chuckled. "S'bound to be cursed s'all get out."

"Yeah..." Harvald let out a heavy sigh, "No arguin' that..."

Rallen held onto the railing, leaning over it and holding his torch over the waters... It gave Harvald the chills, imagining the dozens or hundreds of tooth-filled finned bastards, each wanting to take a bite out of him.

"Sure wish it could do somefin' about this fog, though," Rallen groaned. "Can't see shite. Could be anything down below."

"Yeh..." Harvald placed his hand in his coat, fingering his pipe... not that the rain had let up, any... "I prolly wouldn't be in such a shite mood if the Cap'n's new toy could make it stop pissin' o'er our heads..."

He grit his teeth and shook his head, "I'm gonna head in for a smoke. Where in the seven hells is Philman?"

"That f*cktard?" Rallen stretched and yawned, "Maybe he disappeared inta the fog?"