Admiral of the Southern Seas

The ancients said that there are three sea professions: trade, fishing, and piracy. People in the world where unfortunate volunteer number nine has been thrown think the same.

To go to the far end of the sea to Iron Point? To that grand foundry where the godless Southern troops forge the best weapons and gear in the world? After all, if it isn’t the heart of the empire of the Dems, then at least the liver—such organs must be carefully protected, except perhaps on great holidays when exceptions are made for abundant drinking. No one has dared into those waters for a hundred years now. To attack a dark fortress with two ships, having only one experienced captain—who, moreover, is famous only for having smashed his ship against the accursed shore of the Mid-World Straits? And he’s also obsessed with suicidal desires: he dreams of dying heroically, as is customary among the men of his line. Will there be any madmen who can be recruited into the crew of such a psycho?

Sure there will be, if it means a share in the loot. They’ll go on board with a pirate, not with a failed captain. And you, sir guard, think about how to carry that very loot away from there… and your own head as well.