Tales of the Shackles

Fireday, 5th Abadius, 4712 A.R.

Still an ‘orrible day ’ere. It’s rainin’ pots an’ pans, but the ’eart’s gone out o’ the storm. I reckon we’ll be back to sea in a day or so, ‘specially now the officers managed to muscle their way to the front o’ the line for repairs. There’s been a steady flow o’ carpenters, sailmakers, an’ artisans comin’ out to the ship today, soaked through like pilchards in a pail, and all the ‘ammerin’ an’ sawin’s givin’ me a worse ‘eadache than Black ’Ands’ yellin’ ever does.

Not seen much o’ the officers today. I reckon they’re up to somethin’. Some kind o’ caper or other. If it were me, I’d be ‘ankerin’ to rip off the snail packin’ guildhall, but I’m not sure our boys’ve got the smarts to think o’ that on their own. More likely probably fixin’ to loot one o’ the ships in the bay before they can all get fixed up an’ back out on the ocean.

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