[Medium Sized Model - 25mm Base]
[Presupported with LYS files in 32mm & 75mm Scale]
The myth and legend behind the Damned Galleon. It’s said that first mate “William Jones” had staged a mutiny and slain his captain and crew for a larger cut of their bounty. Yet as this happened, the ship saw its end, the mutinous crew crashing against a phalanx of rocks off the coast of an island that seemingly sprouted from nowhere. Here they perished, though it is rumoured their ghost ship, the Damned Galleon, trawls the seas, guarding the bounty that they gave their lives for. William in his undeath is bound by vengeance, yet his undead mind is drunk on anger and anguish, clouding his vision from his target: himself.
The First Mate of the Damned Galleon who staged the mutiny that saw the death of himself and all aboard the vessel. In the Bloodtrail Isle the crew of the vessel had discovered and sacked an ancient temple of a forgotten divine, lost to time yet filled with riches that would put even the greediest sultan to shame. For a half a month the crew plundered the temple, tearing it apart brick by brick, uncovering hidden stores and passageways, though losing plenty of men in the process. By the time the last bag of loot was dropped in the cargo hold, almost a quarter of the crew did not return, and another half had been a hair’s breadth from death, barely escaping traps or collapsing passages. Morale was mixed among them, for the Captain and other crew had remained within the comfort of the ship or the worksite tents for most of the excursion.
William Jones, the First Mate of the Galleon was among those maimed in the temple, having lost his arm. He demanded a greater share from his captain for the price he paid in those cursed halls, but the captain did not falter in his stance, maintaining that the loot would be split evenly as initially agreed. A great ire grew among the injured and maimed, holding firm to the belief they should be entitled to a greater sum, with several bouts erupting on the deck, including a screaming match between William and the captain in front of the entire crew. It was after this that other crew members who were on the frontline in the temple began to rile up William, and the crew planned a mutiny against the ink guzzlers who didn’t tread in the temple’s depths, but got the same share of gold.
The night of the mutiny was bloody, a storm had gripped the ship a few days after its departure from the isle. Some tales regale that it was a beast of the depths, though whatever it was, it is said that was the night the crew saw their chance to move against the Captain. As water poured into the hold and masts buckled and sails tore, blood sprayed over the deck as the crew slaughtered each other for an extra pocket from their hoard of gold. It was William Jones who thrust his cutlass into the belly of his captain, and in the captain’s dying breath he cursed his First Mate and all treacherous members of his crew that they would go to the grave with him. There they would be bound to the accursed treasure which drove them to such madness, and spend eternity at its side until someone came and tore it from their dead, bony clutches.
William guffawed at the notion, though his laughter was broken as other crew called out that the ship had taken too much water to stay afloat, and many of the liferafts had been cut loose, either by escapees or the mutineers halting any more of the gold being stolen and rowed away with. Thus, they were doomed. Despite their best efforts, the ship was swallowed by the sea, and soon after, so were they. William, however, did not share the same fate of his crew in his rebirth in undeath. While they were mindless, bound only by one goal: to protect their bounty, William was fuelled by anger, vengeance and bloodlust in his death. Vengeance was the sole road he would walk, yet he did not know what path he should tread, vengeance blinded him from the truth: the man who brought him death was himself, and even if he were to blame the captain, the old man’s corpse had long since been swallowed by brine and bottom feeders. Thus he was doomed to eternally search for his tormentor, a cursed fate as any as the centuries of his waking death have now sent him truly mad, assailing any vessels that come near, sinking them to the sea with the phantom projection of his old Galleon, whilst the true one lies in its final resting place, split between shore and sea.
