There were only two survivors that I know of. I was one of them. I woke up on a beach, head spinning, and looked out at the sea. The water was very still, except for the gentle waves that lapped at my boots. I then wondered if there were any other survivors. I lay on the beach, stunned by the turn my life had taken, then had a realization. The whole world must think I’m dead now. I could start over. No responsibilities, no expectations, just me. I pulled a wad of black fabric out of my coat pocket, very glad that I had managed to snag this artifact before going overboard. It was an enchanted cloak I picked up on my travels. I had only used it a few times before since I never had much time away from other people, and putting it on in front of others would entirely defeat its purpose—to flawlessly disguise the wearer. But this was the perfect opportunity. I could start over, live in peace, alone. I slipped the cloak over my head, and it covered me entirely.

The cloak had a strange enchantment that gave the wearer a fixed, pre-determined height. For some reason, this height was somewhere around 4’11”. This felt especially strange to me, considering my previously above-average height. Alas, I would just have to deal with this, for my face is rather conspicuous—and would easily be recognized and likely frighten people.

I walked along the beach until I saw a town on the horizon. It must be the town we were planning to raid, I thought. Now, with my disguise, I planned nothing of the sort. I would need a fake profession. At least until I found a real one. I decided on being a merchant, an easy profession to fake—and commonly used by pirates when they went inland.

In town, people often gave me odd looks. Naturally, no one would trust someone wearing a black cloak that kept their face entirely in shadow, but it made me uncomfortable nonetheless. I now wonder how I expected to get some kind of profession when no one would likely ever trust me. As I explored the city I came across the bounty board. This may be where the story truly begins, for it is where I met Fang’s killer.

I looked at that board with amusement. I knew practically everyone listed on it. One of the pictures listed “Captain Fang'' underneath. My old captain. The artist had done a terrible job on the picture. It looked nothing like Fang. To be fair, not many people had seen Fang’s face and lived.