[color=39b54a][b]Far Harbor, Maine [/b][/color] The frigid spray of the sea stung at their faces as the Harbormen heaved at their nets, laden with the day’s catch. The sun had already set and the night air beckoned them back to their warm beds and the piping hot bowl of vegetable soup their wives had no doubt been preparing. Just a few more traps to check and they’d be home safe and sound before the Harborwatch doused the lanterns. “Oi that’s a beautiful lot of them ain’t it?” “Plenty of big fat un’s here too Jon. None too irradiated. Should fetch a fine penny at market. Martha will be wanting me to bring a few back for her cookin’ of course. “Best watch’er or she’ll take the whole pot! Har!” The two harbormen laughed as the pulled in the final net, reeling in the last of their hard earned quarry. As they were pulling it in however, one of the men turned to the sea, a greenish glow emanating from below the murky waters caught his attention, “What in hell’s fire is that?” The two men turned, watching it grow larger and larger. Fear struck them and the strange taste of metal hit their lips. Something crested the water, a large dorsal fin appeared briefly before disappearing once more. The glow passed beneath their boat, and something rocked it so fiercely that they nearly lost their footing, while their net was torn right from their hands with such a force that it splintered the wood of the railing. Suddenly the thing disappeared, as quickly as it had appeared. Leaving nothing but the ripples of the brackish water in its wake. Without a word, the two men looked at each other with terror in their eyes, each understanding that it was best if they returned to shore as quickly as they might. Suddenly a great foghorn sounded out, and they turned to the sea. From beyond the mist the hellish horn sounded once again, this time a great green glow illuminated the shape of a massive ship it in its wake, bow to stern bristling with guns, shambling figures aboard. The sounds of a disjointed shanty seemed to travel through the night air, sung by the chorus of a hundred cracked throats. They could nearly feel the heat of radiation emanating from the ship, the unearthly glow seemed to pour from every crevice and porthole of the vessel. More ships appeared from the mist, no less well armed than the first, each engulfed in that sickly light. The men had heard tell stories, legends their grandfathers had told them of such sights. Of a great decrepit fleet sailing the coast, crewed by the damned and the dying. Its appearance a signal of bad omen and the very waters it traveled upon ever after tainted by poison and mutation. Horror gave way to paralysis, and the men felt unable to move, unable to turn their ship and sail back to the port that awaited them. Perhaps deep down, they knew that no such port would offer safe haven with such a monstrous enemy on the prowl, no escape could be found from the very reality that was their boyhood nightmares and ghost stories come to life before them. So transfixed were they, that they didn’t notice the multitude of necrotic hands gripping the rails of their ship behind them, and pulling themselves aboard. Nor did their see, until too late, that the fleet was not merely passing by…...but waiting to meet those coming from the shore.