Headed by a Snake

Captain Krysaos of the Sugar-Titted Siren smiled as he stared down at the yellowed pages of his journal.

Writing... taking his quill pen to paper felt right even when nothing else did.

"So there I was... 'bout to head up to the top deck and rip into whatever unlucky f*ck decided to cross me.

"But... there's this feeling I got-- like something's missing."

Krysaos adjusted his sitting position. Of course, his hammock was being a right b*tch about it.

Getting comfortable in it... was a battle he'd never won.

"Hmm. Thinking about it..." Krysaos hummed, "I haven't gotten laid in awhile? ...Maybe this'll be the sun I find a hot mermaid chick?"

Yeah... that sounded real nice.

"A lady... maybe someone who thinks I'm a hero."

Krysaos scratched his chin... then let out a deep, exhausted sigh... "As if that'd ever f*ckin' happen..."

He wet the tip of his quill pen with his tongue as he looked around the room.

He continued to write. He continued searching for a satisfactory answer.

"...It's only been a couple of years after conning my way into Captain'ing an entire ship... but I picked up my share of nice things along the way."

Krysaos chuckled softly as he looked at the colors and shapes adorned on his wall.

"Every flag on my wall... I rightfully deserve. Sea god's suspenders-- some of those idiots even begged me to take them off their hands...

"I had a rule-- err... Captain Krysaos, scourge of the six (or so) seas had a CoMmAndMeNt.

"Kill only when it was gods-damned necessary.

"...It wasn't a popular rule, for whatever reason.

"Some call me a coward for it. Then rumors at port... it made it worse."

Krysaos pursed his lips... "Really, though. It just makes sense to let 'em go-- somethin the crew never understood.  Those guys keeping alive meant merchant ships continued to sail. That's what makes privateering possible in the first place."

A weird thought crossed Krysaos' mind.

Maybe... just maybe, he wondered if it'd be better to... share his logic with his bilge-drinking crew instead of just calling them all idiots.

...Yeah, nah.

That'd be too much work.

He wasn't going to try to fix something that wasn't broken.

Everyone already listened to him out of fear.

"Maybe I'll just get a good LT... someone s... mart?"

Krysaos winced, trying to think real hard.

There was a hole in his memory-- something dark in his brain that he couldn't reach into.

It was like... something or... someone took hold of his head and rattled him around. Everything in there was disorganized... with a bunch of stuff just... gone.

But what... could there have been that he *needed* so badly?

Krysaos had his stolen ship. He had his looted Captain's hat. He had his journal-- purchased used and slightly damaged.

But still...

--he was missing... something.

He was missing a few things... important things...

--like a decent Lieutenant.

...and a boatswain who was capable of reading and... and mathematics.

Krysaos took another long look around the room, trying to jog his memory.

...On his longtable were a series of old, yellowing maps... a scattering of fake gold coins he hadn't been able to pawn off yet... and a collection of medals laying smack dab in the middle of it all.

The medals were recently stolen from a Naval Officer from the Sleeping Country. He'd been meaning to clean the blood off of them and wear them as his own.

Krysaos took a deep breath as he returned pen to paper.

".....I always wanted to be a real sailor.

"I have a privateering contract, sure... but it ain't the same.

"Being a guy-- a military guy... it isn't something you can just pretend to be.

"It's more than the way folks in port look at you... there's some kind of pride in that sort of thing.

"...Selflessness. Heroism. Real pride-- the kind that means something.

"...I hear the coin's decent, too, on top of free food and lodging.

"Climbing the ranks, though? With my age and ability?

"No thanks. If I made it past the recruiters, the best I could ask for would be to get washed out along with the bilge."

Krysaos' writing hand stopped abruptly as he fell into deep thought.

He told the crew he was a Metal-Ranker. It was a secret he wouldn't even entrust to his journal.

He saw the way his men looked at him... like they were just one bad sun away from mutiny. The threat of their Captain being superhuman was probably the last thing keeping them all in line.

...It's amazing what people will believe.

He sighed deeply as he continued to write.

"But anyroad... I figure if I were to enlist anywhere... it'd be in the Royal Navy-- Mom would've liked that."

Krysaos grimaced as he got out of his hammock, placing his effects back in his lockbox.

That was enough depressing shite for one sun.

...A mystery still remained.

Maybe something wasn't... *missing.*

But something was definitely... off.

Krysaos popped open the nearby porthole. He hoped that a breath of fresh air would somehow clear the doubts clouding his mind.

A cool breeze kissed his face... reeking of sea salt and rotting fish.

...and Krysaos immediately identified the problem.

The ship wasn't moving.

The Sugar-Titted Siren had been moored on unfamiliar black sand beaches.

His idiot crew had somehow managed to run aground.

It was on a battlefield, no less. Half-buried broken weapons and bits of armor were scattered every few yalms, ripe for skewering careless beachgoers.

...If those bastards were trying to mutiny, then they better have had the sea god, himself, on their side... else he'd keelhaul the lot of them.

An old battleground...

If he didn't know any better... he'd have guessed by that, sparse vegetation, the dark clouds, and the crimson sky that he was in one of the seven hells.

Wait-- crimson sky?

...Krysaos cursed under his breath. The entire sun was about to pass and he had yet to show his face above deck.

As much as he loathed the thought of it... he had to at least do that.