As he had feared, the newspapers plastered around the city were correct. "LOCAL WOMAN EXECUTED FOR CORRESPONDING WITH TRAITOR WILLIAM CROSSBOW IV, pg 3." As he stepped out of the Port Royal Graveyard something finally snapped in his mind. Something that had hung down from the cloud of his intermost thoughts where dark plots and bloody images were formed. The EITC was corrupted and he should have known that years ago. As he stepped out of the entrance gates, he felt different. Older. Colder. Crueler.
4 Months Later[]
A Ship, Money, and a Weapon. Those were essential. Over the past few days, Gold Craver had been plotting to get out of the madhouse the world called the Carribbean. He was attempting to reach Dartmouth, for he had ties to a family that owned a secluded mansion outside the city limits there. Public transport had not been an option, he would be recognized. He needed a weapon for not just defense anymore. He needed it for certain.... research for when he reached Dartmouth. He pondered possible locations of his sword that had been taken from him in his thought-to-be final battle. However, if he had not found it in his most recent explorations, he assumed that it had been destroyed or given to some high-up officer that had no idea of its history.
"…I͡ ̛muşt ҉n͠ot͏ ́lóse sigh̷t͟ of ̷my͜ ͢goąl͡…I NEE͞D ̶to͟ ̸d͞o͘ ͘this͜.҉ "
The phrase had been exploding in his head hundreds of times the past week. He was sure one day soon, he would get off this worthless island chain...
Friday
After visiting every corner shop, tavern, and ship dealer he could find, he was still without a vessel. Although, he had aquired a vial of liquid essential to his research that would take place beneath the Dartmouth Mansion. If he could ever get there. Gold wandered the streets of Port Royal aimlessly.
"Y̧o̢u͠ ̧ar͏è ̛n͟ot a ͘pir̛a̛t̕e͡,͜ ҉n̸o̕. ͞Yo̷u͞ a͟r̵e͠ ̵a ma͠n̵ wh̷o ̛h҉as͜ a go̡al ͟ and́ yo͝u͢ n͏e͡e̡d ̡to ͟ fin͜d y͡o̴ur ͝ẃay ͠. []
GE͡T͡ TO ̢THE S͟A͟NC̶T͝U͠M!"[]
Gold was suprised by the last statement. His mind had never directly stated what he needed to do, at least not as abruptly as that. It was as if someone else was speaking though his own mind. His mind began to slip as he pulled out his warding staff.
He had drank a small amount of the liquid essential to the experiment prematurely. That was the only explanation. And now something was hunting him, something otherworldly.
Finally, as a last desperate attempt to reach his destination, he stowed himself into the largest crate containing the least hazardous material that was being shipped to a small town near Dartmouth.
He awoke with a start when the ship rocked suddenly against a hard wave, his heart and mind pounding painfully. He tried to calm himself, remembering how far he must be from The Carribbean, but would he ever be truly safe? Would the Underground Study even be enough to protect him from the EITC AND the Shadow?