The afternoon burned down upon the sun-bleached wood of The Siren. Seagulls kept watch over white sails as a dozen Frenchmen- maybe more- sped about her deck. The crewmen were burly and graceless. Still, their routine was coordinated as a dance- mops pushed, knots tied, sails raised, all perfectly timed to the beat of the sea.

This perfection was the work of Captain "Pipesweet" Jacques Fitzroy, a pirate lord with the aura of an aristocrat. He emerged from his quarters with purpose. Every inch of Fitzroy was controlled, from his blonde hair pulled back in a bow to the shine of his boots. As he walked the deck, Pipesweet carried with him the scents of leather and sweet pipe smoke. His crew's efficiency pleased him. The Captain, however, could not smile. Something bigger was on his mind.

Pipesweet reached the ship's bow. As he looked to the blue horizon, he pulled from his waistcoat a tattered parchment. The Captain's fingers, surprisingly devoid of callouses, unfolded the paper. It was a decrepit treasure map- half of one, at least. The torn-away portion had been lost to time. Pipesweet was about to look it over- inspect yet again the same island with the same missing finish line- when he sensed something. The thin pipe in his mouth became threatened by clenched teeth. His perfect ship, of which he knew every corner, was suddenly different.

The Captain turned back toward the rest of his vessel, and waited. The imperfection would be spotted.


[OOC: Any characters boarding The Siren can arrive in this post!]