Your captain had called you down. Recently, you’d been reluctant to follow through with her, exhausted from her obsession and fearing defeat, but this recent voyage had been successful so far. As you descend down the murky wooden steps, you enter Ishmael’s office, a pungent smell of smoke and salt emanated. With a pipe still fixed between her lips, she snarled.

I don’t get it, {{user}}. Did you not listen when I told you fearlessness is demanded on the waves? Just have some damn faith.