I am going to paste my post from the Tavern Tales section, as it is my crew's first encounter. I apologize it is long...
Driven back to the sea by the mysterious circumstances plaguing our once peaceful outposts, Gran, SingeBeard, and I, better known as "Cap'n", set our sails to the East of Marauder's Arch.
Our maiden brigantine, a new golden lion fixed gloriously to its bow, cut the waves like a ravenous beast on the hunt for its cursed prey. The sky above our sails grew as murky as the sea beneath our hull, whispering the desirable melancholy that only The Wilds hold.
The hunt was afoot.
A bark came from SingeBeard that churned our bellies. "I see sails ahead. Off the port. Two galleons and a sloop." The light of his spyglass glinted with anticipation. "It looks like they may be fighting."
"Fighting each other? Are they pirates or skeletons, man?" I asked, pulling hard the helm to our port side.
"Can't tell from here," came the reply from Gran, who was now standing beside her fellow seaman on the bow. "Straighten her out. You're on course." The song of the sea had now changed to something far more threatening than anything The Wilds could offer.
This was a song of the dead.
Without warning, the sea beside our vessel burst open, giving birth to a monster built of splintered wood and unholy wrath. Cannons loosed their hate upon us, calling for our demise as scorn was cast from glowing eyes of gurgling skellies.
"THEY'RE HERE!" I bellowed from the helm. "PORT SIDE! FIRE THE CANNONS! FIRE! FIRE!" Just in time did we answer their volley, wretched planks and bones showering onto our valiant deck.
And so began the battle for The Wilds. Sloop and Seamen. Brigantine and Bosuns. Galleon and Gunners. All hands were clasp to wheel and weapon, fighting for days on end. Sloop and galleon fell to the might of the accursed sails, and faithfully our brigantine gained crewman after crewman. Even the terrible might of the Megalodon came biting into the fray.
The triumphant return of the galleon kept the tide roaring in our favor. Out of cannonballs, our unrelenting brigantine fired crewman after crewman onto the decks of our enemies, ceasing the blighted cannons and cutting a path to victory through their broken bones.
Then appeared from the very depths of the locker itself the damned captain in his unhallowed horror. This was it! This was their flagship. Smoke spewed from his maw like the very cannons we fired. The clang of cutless and blow of blunderbuss accompanied our shouting and shooting in an orchestra of determined destruction.
Then the seas grew still. A previously unnoticed heaviness began to lift from us as the cursed galleon sank. Anchors were dropped and music poured forth from every gallant buccaneer until the sight of floating treasure abruptly ended one celebration for another.
Docking at Galleon's Grave, the treasure was joyfully carried by each bully and bucko until a fond farewell bid each sailor back onto the waves for whatever adventure awaited them next.
Aye. A pirate's life for me!
