The Great Sael Adventure 1
It is not fine.
The crew run belowdecks in terror, finding fleeting refuge in the sewing machine room in the bowels of the ship. The volume in this ship is ASTRONOMICAL as the cucumbers are flung down from the sky with immense force before smacking the upper deck. The din only grows louder and angrier as the ominous sounds of splintering wood and collapsing mizzenmasts shudder the belly of the vessel.
Like a marksman with perfect aim, the cucumbers hail through the atmosphere, smashing through the layers of wood above and striking the heads of each crew member one by one, dealing them fatal blows. Your crew, in their confused dying moments, fling themselves on top of you and the Commodore as a kind of protective flesh blanket. In a green flurry, the Commodore looks at you one final time and says, "Let them eat pickles," (an entirely inappropriate comment given the explicitly unpickled nature of these particular deadly culinary delights—you open your mouth, aghast at his retort) as a cucumber enters through the only opening and strikes him dead. You exit the orlop and fare the storm.
Hours later, when you hear the cucumbering begin to fade, you make your way to the upper deck. You look around, noticing the sun setting in the far distance. With that, you realize you are the only one of your crew left. You slump against the ship's gunwale. Within moments, a final cucumber falls from the sky, ending your earthly journey with a resounding thump.
The crew run belowdecks in terror, finding fleeting refuge in the sewing machine room in the bowels of the ship. The volume in this ship is ASTRONOMICAL as the cucumbers are flung down from the sky with immense force before smacking the upper deck. The din only grows louder and angrier as the ominous sounds of splintering wood and collapsing mizzenmasts shudder the belly of the vessel.
Like a marksman with perfect aim, the cucumbers hail through the atmosphere, smashing through the layers of wood above and striking the heads of each crew member one by one, dealing them fatal blows. Your crew, in their confused dying moments, fling themselves on top of you and the Commodore as a kind of protective flesh blanket. In a green flurry, the Commodore looks at you one final time and says, "Let them eat pickles," (an entirely inappropriate comment given the explicitly unpickled nature of these particular deadly culinary delights—you open your mouth, aghast at his retort) as a cucumber enters through the only opening and strikes him dead. You exit the orlop and fare the storm.
Hours later, when you hear the cucumbering begin to fade, you make your way to the upper deck. You look around, noticing the sun setting in the far distance. With that, you realize you are the only one of your crew left. You slump against the ship's gunwale. Within moments, a final cucumber falls from the sky, ending your earthly journey with a resounding thump.