All was quiet on the [i]Bucephalus[/i] as it softly rocked in port. Most of the crew were in their bunks, or at the bar; celebrating after the successful looting of a Spanish galleon. On this breezy summer night in Nassau, everything seemed calm. Even the sea became halcyon, however brief it was.

Adolfus Erikkson hummed to himself as he was cleaning the ship's stash of firearms, the smell of alcohol and grease emanated from his workshop below deck. He stopped to take a swig from his tankard, and finished up his work. Adolfus then noticed most of the ships inhabitants were at the bar, and prepared to follow suit; draining the last of his warm beer and making the long hike to The Old Albatross.