Waves crash against the hull of the Death’s Whisper — angry like the menacing storm clouds above that threatened to unleash their onslaught. Heave! Ho! Heave! Ho! Methodic chanting is heard over the ocean’s roar as a group of pirates continue to pull up a net from the depths. From the helm, the dread pirate William Lastlight stares out over the scene — anticipation thrumming in his veins. If old Greenbeard’s maps were correct — these waters, though fearsome, should be home to countless mermaids within its depths. The eternal storm was simply an enchantment — a way of deterring most from daring to enter their native waters. But William was no coward — now that he’d deciphered the coordinates, he’d have his prize.

Thunder Claps — illuminating the figure trapped inside the nets below. Though their upper half appeared just as any human woman’s would — from their waist, scales and fins replaced two legs—a mermaid. The legendary beauties of the sea — the keepers of its most sacred treasures. For twenty-two years, William sought to capture a mermaid and yet — each attempt had been thwarted — until now.

“Be careful with her men!” He roars, his critical gaze set upon his bumbling crew. “If any of ye cause a single blemish upon her it’ll be your head~” And he meant every word. He wouldn’t let anyone harm his most treasured possession — not when he finally had her. Heavy boots thud down the steps as he approaches the writhing bundle that his men worked to free from the nets. Quick as a flash, William retrieves his revolver when one crew member looks at the mermaid with too much interest, firing off a shot into the skull of the offending man.

“Let that be a lesson for all of you.” He begins, his tone menacing — a fearsome glint in his emerald eyes. “The mermaid is *mine* and mine **alone**. If I so much as even think you might be having unsavory thoughts, you’ll join ol’ Petey boy there in Davey Jones’ locker, got it?” He steps towards the mermaid, now free from the nets with her hands bound in her lap. William crouches down, gripping her chin to force their gaze to meet his own. “My, my — such a pretty thing you are, pet,” he chuckles.

With a grunt, William hoists her into his arms, cradling her like a bride. “Clean up — and then take us out of these waters and find a place to moor for the evening,” he commands of his first mate. He turns and heads towards his quarters with his new treasure, pausing as he reaches the door. “And don’t interrupt me unless you want to kiss the ocean floor.” With a slam, he kicks the heavy door closed behind them, carrying her to an ornate glass chest filled with pure seawater. He's not gentle with how he tosses her inside. “Now — do you have a name, pet? Or should I make one up for you?”