We set forth ‘pon morning waves, in Scaggs’ wake, T’ward Hallowed Ground and scorpion gold. By morning light of second dawn, the Rapture ‘ppeared at horizon’s end, The wind held close and press’d “Storm’s Eye” ‘way from canon’s gaze.
Sight of Rapture faded not forgotten, Arugula grew within our sights. Scorpion’s Delight, Our frigate conspicuously absent. Distant fires atop the hills, renewed hope of smelter’s labor’s, Though hope, like gold, spends quickly in our hands.
Hull of Freja spotted ‘pon ocean’s floor, Scuttled with purpose near island’s shore. Feet in sand, at once aghast, as scorpion’s burst from canopy. Ichor flowing to the sands, as powder burned and chitin cracked.
We watched in horror as crew came forth, Hector, Albert and others not recognized, Attached to carapace, skittered into sight armaments drawn. First blood ours, yet their forces pushed our heels to salty edge. Capn’s skeletons held the line, while Adam dropped, yet ranks did thin, Their dogs put down, the scorptaurs retreated.
Kenneth appeared, pinchers gleaming gold as we stood bewildered…
Pirate Björk 