[color=a2d39c][i][center][h1]Trenton Baker[/h1][/center][/i]

There was a new moon over Melaron on this most auspicious of nights - dark storm clouds brewed on the horizong, near totally blocking out the light of the stars. So it was that the only light on the worn cobble road through the winding trees came from the dim lantern clutched in a skeletal hand by one of the party of four that walked on it. 

Trenton Baker, Captain of the dread ship [i]The Hangman,[/i], the Lord of Black Seas, Master of the Dead, was uneasy. A novel sensation, really - he hadn't been uneasy in decades, not since the first time he had sailed through the dark waters, back when he was still alive. He had thought that he was past fear - he had sailed waters unknown to mortal men, struck deals with demons and slaughtered mighty armies with a few waves of his hand. He was not afraid of this strange, dark forest; he was not afraid of the bizarre voice that had spoken to him in his dreams, bidding him come to this exact place on this exact night. But he was uneasy. And [i]annoyed.[/i]

[i]Like a damn dog,[/i] the pirate thought to himself, [i]Wagging my tail and coming when I'm called.[/i] Whatever was happening here, it had better have been worth the trip. The meeting spot was several miles from the coast, so he'd been forced to leave his ship docked in a cove, guarded by a literal skeleton crew while he went tramping off into the woods with his three favorite zombies. The immortal pirate had nothing but time, but even so he [i]hated[/i] when his was wasted.

At long last, he spied the cottage that the voice had told him about. It was hardly the most auspicious location for a man like him to be called to, being a dilapidated wreck that barely had four walls and a roof to its name. He stepped through the door, followed closely by the lurching corpses behind him. The inside of the building was totally bare, save for a few chairs and one table that still had three of its legs. Either whatever was supposed to happen hadn't yet, or some very unwise someone was trying to play Trenton for a fool.

Trenton Baker, scourge of the seven seas, sat down and drummed his fingers on the table, humming a shanty to himself as he waited. He [i]hated[/i] waiting.


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