I tell you, I seen it with my one good eye. I was fishing for salmon just north of Golden Sands. I had seen many ships upon the sea in my days as a privateer and fisherman, but there was something different about this’n. A galleon, eight guns at best, was sailing, full billow, heading north towards Sactuary Outpost as liken she had a purpose to serve. The ship met with another galleon and the two didn’t exchange shots like common. Instead, they dropped anchor near each other before parting only a few minutes later. One galleon was standard lik many another galleon. The other was blue with red trim and black canvas. I recognized that one immediately. She were the Holiday Dream, a galleon known to make birth at Smuggler’s Bay. At first I thought nothing of it as I had me own problems. A storm was coming in from the west, and if I were going to make it back to Golden Sands and deliver the fish I caught, I would need to move quick. Well, as I hauled my nets aboard and stored the barrles below deck, I heard gunfire. When I looked to the north, I could see the Holiday Dream firing at another galleon. I thought it was just another victim to fall to the Holiday’s might as they had the gainage. Then, suddenly, as if awakening a beast, the galleon, set ablaze by the Holiday Dream, burst with gunfire. At first, I thought it might’n Be her magazine had gone up, but when the Holiday turned away from her, many a’hole filled her side. The other galleon, a dark hull and canvas of red, turned and sailed into the squall, fast approaching. The Holiday turned and pursued her, both disappearing into the accursed rains, but soon the glowing shots of cannon fire flashed though the rain. As I sailed into port, I could see the Holiday, ablaze, emerge from the storm to the south of the outpost. Surely she must have downed that other galleon, that is what ye all must be thinking. Hm, no. The other galleon emerged not far behind her and gunned down the Holiday until she exploded in two and slipped beneath the waves. I have heard rumors of a ship making a name for itself. One, with a hull dark as oak and sails as crimson as blood. A galleon that always sails alone, only mooring in port once in a blue moon and with a captain as cold as the sea. If what me one good eye seen is what me thinker thinks, I believe me soul witnessed the Lone Galleon, the Lexington they call her. And, if none of ye groggy sods believe me, how about you dive off near Wanderer’s Refuge. I wager ye’ll find the split remains of the Holiday Dream and her captain downed with her.
-Aged Fisherman to a Group of Various Scoundrels in the Golden Sands Tavern.
