In chamber D a tattoo kit found, and hatch lifted to go further to ground.
Bound there in rags and circle arcane, laying before us a corpse profane. A soul set free in chamber E, rags set alight then quenched in pee.
In chamber F an armory store, chainmail worn and taxidermized “Whisker” found.
Into chamber G marked certain death, the strangled sounds of ladies breath. A figure head of bawdy wench, dragging rusted anchor in her claws. Our deft defense and spirit fails, her gushing wounds and forlorn wails. Adam’s ritual sorely failed, so he ran (so far away).
Sparky bit and zombies shambled, maiden’s thoughts of “kill” skull rambled. Sewer narrowed and hallway open, the armour chains of maiden broken. Shot spent and blades unleashed, figurehead not slowed the least.
Retreat the better part of valour, we sealed ourselves in hallway dour.
A route of turns and twists ahead, a stair trap sprung left Adam dead. Bart saved by his morion true, Doyle’s spell fumbled his mind unglued.
Illusion broken, pit circumvented, trip wire hit and Doyle departed. At last an exit through rounded door, companions brought from killing floor.
Met there by Spanish soul unbound, his final wish for sacred ground.
Doyle and Adam brought to the sea, crew gathered round for a last shanty.
Pirate Björk 