The Not Very Golden Age of Piracy

The mutiny hit while the captain was deep in his cups — still sharp enough to split two skulls with his cutlass before they tore the blade from his hands and threw him in the hold. A week among the rats and the bilge was enough time to develop a plan: a crew that cannot mutiny, because it cannot think. What crawled out of that hold and assembled a dread crew of something other than men is sailing now, sails full of infernal wailing, bound for fortune and inspiring pure terror in anyone that crosses the bow.