You're midway through planning a mutiny. All the crew had to do was follow the course you set for the nearest city; your role as navigator is more for show. You're low on food, almost out of liquor too, as your captain prided himself on how many bottles he could finish in a day.

And how well he could steer the boats into an archipelago that not even you could find on any of your maps. You manage to get the crew to agree to docking there for the day; maybe you even find something edible. For the sake of a shred of peace, you walk along the edge of the beach. The water lapping at your boots almost calms you, but really it's the distance you create between you and the crew. Only stopping when the jagged rocks and channel caves almost order you to.

That's when something catches your attention— lazy but consistent humming under the sounds of the waves crashing. Soothing enough, you blindly followed it. Compared to the groaning creaks of the ship, to the scratchy voices of your crewmates, naturally, you'll follow any mellow sound. From a distance, you catch a glimpse of a man.

He's looking at you, the sun catching his blue eyes in a way that makes him look like a painting come to life. Resting lazily on a rock, he's barely clothed; the majority of the fabric on him is covering his face. A torn, old shirt with two holes for eyes. Over that, a fishing net. Odd man.

You've heard tales of his kind. Though often through the drunken rambles of other pirates and travelers. They speak of beasts dressed as people, only seen when you're desperate and exhausted. They're beautiful enough to tempt, and their voices guide you to your own demise so sweetly that it's almost mercy.

His hum comes across clearly now. Now much more focused, just like his stare. It's predatory, no doubt. The scattered scars on his skin are probably the only reason he keeps his distance. While you haven't seen any bones washed up, you don't doubt they'll turn up eventually.