[hr][hr][center][img]https://s9.postimg.org/tznya388f/strange.png[/img][hr][img]https://68.media.tumblr.com/0932819b33be06e4c32904e74e47a0e2/tumblr_onoy0hlU1s1rk4nywo2_540.gif[/img][hr][@Nallore][@BlueSky44][@FantasyChic][@mnkee][@Taro][hr][h3][color=#0099cc][b]The Port of Tortuga: April 4th, 1719 - 3:22 PM Local Time[/b][/color][/h3][/center][hr][hr]	I am afraid to tell you this, but before this story is over, you all will perish. Each and everyone of you has been marked for death, like animals awaiting the slaughter. The question you're likely asking is [i]how?[/i] And perhaps for some of you [i]why?[/i] But that isn't the question you should be looking for, no. There is nothing to be gained from attempting to apply reason to death. It is without explanation. 

	The question you should be asking is [i]when.[/i] And for all but a few of you, the question is answered before it has left your lips. You died. There's no point in crying about it. There's nothing to be done. As for which ones met their mortal coil, well, let's find out...

	Remaining in her room at the Faithful Bride, Virginia sharpened her axe. It was important to keep the blade in good condition, as the tool otherwise lost its purpose. Angling the blade as to allow herself to see her own reflection, Virginia smiled slightly. It was simply another indication of its good quality. However, an immense pain soon gripped her mind, rendering her immobilized. Her hatchet clattered to the ground, narrowly missing her feet, but she couldn't move a muscle. She couldn't breathe. It felt like her head was about to implode and simultaneously explode, but there was nothing to be done. 

	In the nearby room, Catalina fell to the floor, attempting to scream to express her agony but there was nothing to be done. The vibrational presence that immobilized her grew and grew, until the pressure was simply too much and her head burst, with brain matter spraying onto the walls and clinging to the floor. In the Twelve Daggers Tavern, Alice died in a similar manner, her blood and brain splattering all over Edgard. It was almost a symphony of sorts, as Édouard's head burst, only to be followed by Jean's. Yet Edgard, as well as [i]everyone else in Tortuga[/i], could do nothing but watch as complete and utter agony ripped through them. 

	In the Twelve Daggers, only Edgard and two members of the crew survived. 

	In town proper, it wasn't much different. Even the marshes were not safe. The fabled witch's eyes widened with brief understanding as she felt the immense pain within the confines of her hut, before she too was killed. Mr. Alucard did not have such comprehension and understanding in his final moments. They were among thirty five others in the town who perished, blood and brains covering the ground. It would be impossible to walk without stepping on someone's remains at this point. 

	The pain doesn't stop. The psychic, searing pain does not cease. Near the docks, Aravis, Anastasia, and Elissa were closer to the epicenter of it. Beads of sweat cover Aravis as she attempts to endure the pain and it seems Lady Luck has taken pity on her. While Aravis' brain does not paint the ground, there is a worser fate that awaits her. Anastasia and Elissa both perish, along with Millicent. The Monarchs' training did not prepare her for this. 
	
	As for the epicenter, well...

[color=#0099cc][i]One minute earlier[/i]...[/color]

	"Me duele la cabeza... Sirena, ¡haz que se detenga!" Luisa screamed, ignoring everything that everyone else said. She didn't understand English, so it didn't matter to her much what the other people were saying. Gripping her hands around her head, Luisa screamed in pain as blood flowed out of her eyes, ears, mouth, and nose. The blood flow only increased and increased, as everyone around Luisa collapsed to the ground, feeling compelled by some psychic force. 

	"¡AYUADAME!" Luisa screeched, as blood began to pour from everyone else's minds. The flask had gifted Luisa with the ability to not just read minds, but to control them. The pain and suffering Luisa felt was inflicted onto everyone else and the little girl couldn't help it. As the seconds went on, the pain only increased. Harlianne gritted her teeth, screaming as a way to work through the pain, as she pulled out her gun and aimed for the girl's head, pulling the trigger. 

	Only that was when Luisa's control of [i]everyone in Tortuga[/i] became complete. The immobilization was underway and Isaac, the poor thing, was the first to die. His blood and brain covered Sirena from head to toe. Harlianne was barely holding on, attempting with all of her might to move her finger and pull the trigger to end Luisa, but she couldn't move. She was powerless and the blood was gushing quickly. One by one, everyone else in the docks was dropping dead. 

	"¡SIRENA ME AYUDA!" Luisa wailed, as the pain intensified. But it was no use, something that was soon becoming clear to the little girl. A strange calmness overtook her as Luisa looked at Harlianne in the eye. "Mátame," Luisa said. As if someone else was controlling her actions, Harlianne watched herself pull the trigger and send the bullet flying towards Luisa, imbedding itself in her skull. 

	At the docks, only Harlianne and Sirena survived. [hr][center][img]https://media.culturalist.com/media/8e29d6f293af4fabac5001ba8950d89f.gif[/img][/center][hr][center][h3][color=#0099cc][b]The Devil's Triangle: April 4th, 1719 - 3:22 PM Local Time[/b][/color][/h3][/center][hr][hr]	You have died. Whether you realize this instantly or are in denial, it doesn't matter. You are no longer a human being. You are a ghost, a spirit. And something draws you to this place. A minute ago, you were alive in Tortuga. And now you find yourself here, on a small piece of land with no name in the midst of the Devil's Triangle--waters that no sailor dared to cross. If you try to leave the Devil's Triangle, it won't work. You will find yourself back where you came from. That's the first rule of the dead, or at least, from your perspective. 

[i]You cannot leave the Triangle.[/i]

	Time continues to move for you, but that is perhaps the only normal thing. One minute, the sand of the shore brushes through you, as if you were not there. And in other moments, you can feel it on your skin. Perhaps you will learn to control it, learn to become tangible when it suits you and intangible when it does not. There are other things you can do. Objects, with enough thought, can move as you desire them to. Distance means nothing to you, as you can teleport across it. 

	But there is something else on the island with you. You can feel it in your bones--if you still have those. It is a primal craving for you, something calling for you to find it. No matter your confusion, the call will echo in your mind, repeating itself in a language you cannot understand and could not describe if you were asked. 

	But that is no matter--dead men tell no tales.