[center][color=39b54a][b]Far Harbor, Maine [/b][/color][/center]

The foghorn blared yet again, and the horrifying battle cries of the ghoulish pirates resounded out through the bay. Far Harbor was wide awake now, the alarm had been raised and the Harbor Watch called to arms. Harbormen and women barricaded themselves behind makeshift walls clutching whatever weapons they might get hold of as the pirates streamed ashore, all of them drenched in the salty spray of the harbor night and some still garlanded by seaweed. It was a truly nightmarish sight, something straight out of the old monster movies from before the war. Radiation scorched faces twisted into devilish grins looked back at them from the the shore, eager for loot and plunder. The ghouls were armed and armored in piecemeal armor, bits and pieces of maritime equipment attached to them, not unlike the Trappers the Harborfolk were used to fighting, but these new terrors were something entirely different. Childhood ghost stories had been brought to life before their very eyes. 

The pirates stormed ashore, pulling their boarding craft up and onto the harbor’s broken beaches and wading through icy waters. They brandished cutlasses that glowed green with radioactive sludge dripping like poison from the blades and makeshift laser muskets held tightly in their necrotic hands. They rushed towards the walls of the seaside town: the large bulwark the locals called “The Hull” and took up positions behind rocks, broken trees, and the debris of the old pre-war town. The men and women of the Harbor watch gripped their weapons and silently watched the ghouls, beads of sweat forming at their brows as they anticipated what sort of fierce fight for their lives they might be in for. 

Through the mist, they could still see the silhouette of the glowing vessel which had been blaring the foghorn as it held its ominous position in the bay. It sat like a silent sentinel in the murky waters of the Atlantic, watching and waiting for its chance to strike. They could see it was an Old World military craft and all they could do was hope that those great guns yet visible on its foredeck had fallen silent long ago.  Otherwise their sleepy town stood little chance at resisting such a barrage that those weapons of the past might bring down on them.

Rotted boots hit the sand on the shore as a ghoul dressed in a tattered black frock coat and tricorn hat came ashore. A heavy pipe pistol was holstered in a leather baldric strapped across his chest. The ghoul sauntered up towards the direction of the town, as if he was taking no more than a noon-day stroll, whilst weary eyes from beyond the Hull kept a keen eye on the mysterious figure. The dapper ghoul faced the defenders, and raised his hands upward like a conductor ready to direct a grand orchestral performance,

“People of Far Harbor,” he began in a loud dramatic tone, his deep graveled voice easily carried across the no-man’s land between the pirates and the entrenched townspeople, “You may all count yourselves fortunate, for you here now bear witness to the grand tattered fleet and its legendary admiral. He is The Heart Eater, The Terror of the Seas, Bane of The Commonwealth, Harbinger of the Great Glow, and Pirate-King of Ghouls: Lord Commodore Mordred Locke. Everyghoul you see before you is his loyal crew, bound to him until their bodies become dust. For none can escape the grip of the Heart Eater: serve him willingly or slave for him in the ranks of the ferals. It makes little difference. I myself am but a humble Captain in his mighty navy, yet I speak for him now to you all. Hear his words: lay down your arms: give up your gold, your trinkets, the pick of your fastests vessels, and as much liquor as we can carry….and none of you will be harmed. This we swear, and let no man take the Lord Commodore for an oathbreaker should a bargain be struck: know this as well however, should you refuse this offer: your town will burn, and you’ll all become feral chattel. ”

At these words, the ghoul captain gave a signal, and suddenly there was a clanking of chains as two feral ghouls  with the tattered remains of fishing gear still clinging to their bodies rushed forward towards the hull. They screamed and thrashed with the stubs of recently severed arms as they tried to get at the smoothskin defenders before being flung to the ground as their heavy chains dragged them down. The ghoul captain drew his pistol and fired a shot at one of the ferals blowing through its head cleanly and leaving the remains of the poor wretch twitching. 

“What say you?”

The defenders didn’t reply, instead looking to one another with apprehension. None of them thought they might be able to make such an agreement. Many wished instead to fight, or rather to go down fighting like true Harbormen and Harborwomen.  The air was tense and the moment was ripe for someone, somewhere on that forsaken wall, to do something stupid. And yet a lone voice cried out up and over the murmurings. The voice of stalwart Captain Avery. 

“The gate stays closed. You guarantee every man, women and child’s safety in Far Harbor?”

“Aye!” The ghoul captain replied, “None will be harmed. Agree to the terms, and there be no need for bloodshed.”

“Very well,” Avery said through gritted teeth, “Suppose we don’t have much choice.” She then turned to her fellow townsfolk atop the hull, “Give the scoundrels what they want.”

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[center][i]
The flesh may be rotten and the heart may be cold, the decks maybe be rusted, and the powder be old, but a deckhand of Locke still love’s he gold! Har![/i][/center]

Setting off from the shore the landing boats of the ghoulish pirates were laden with chests full of whatever trinkets the townsfolk had stashed away (and more than a few barrels of Harbor swill). A bit less loot than they’d been expecting but a few of the townspeople claimed that some of their cargo from the docks was missing: it’d already been stolen by some bandits in the night. One of them had even shot the town weapons merchant. While the ghouls had feigned anger and even given one or townsfolk a good thrashing just to send home the message, they all knew who was responsible for that little bit of trickery. Yet there was no hard feelings, honor amongst thieves: take what you can and ask no forgiveness. Besides, they’d still made off well and good without hardly firing a shot.  
“Back to the ships!” the ghoul captain commanded as he fired a celebratory shot in the air. Captain Avery and a few of the townsfolk stood by the docks, bound and gagged watching the necrotic crew making off with whatever hadn’t been nailed to the floor. They could, at least, count themselves lucky that they weren’t part of the cargo themselves: to go through whatever horrid process had turned those two fisherman ferals. They’d been spared that nightmare at least. 

“Tell those Children of Atom smoothskins that the Heart Eater sends his warm regards!” The captain shouted back to the shore.

Back on the deck of the glowing ship, a solitary figure watched as the boats sailed back. The figure himself was aglow with radiation: it seeped from every crevice of his body. He was an ancient glowing one that’d somehow still managed to hold his sanity: at least partially. A dead radgull lay strewn across his feet, the results of flying too close to the vast aura of radiation that surrounded him. He gently picked the carcass, the skin of the dead creature nearly burned under his touch, and he tossed it over the railing. 

The Heart-Eater grinned and turned to his rotted crew,

“We sail south,” He said simply, as he walked backed to his cabin.