You’d heard stories of the Flying Dutchman. Myths, they were. Nothing more. You knew they were false; no man was immortal. You were always certain of that.

Until your certainties were shattered, and you found yourself on your knees, kneeling before the captain of the Flying Durchman.

The two pirates before you were shot, killed for choosing death over serving on his ship.

"You." The captain stood before you, and the tentacle in place for his hand curled around your jaw. "Fürchten Sie den Tod?" He murmured, and then his voice grew louder. "Serve one hundred years before the mast; or face your demise here and now. Will you serve?"