For as long as he had been a pirate, Torgo had served Captain Brass Sabre. He had always been a difficult fellow to get along with, but then so had Torgo. From an early age both men had been ruffians and survivors even though they were their own worst enemies. Survival is easier when you aren’t constantly doing things that put your life in jeopardy. But nobody has even been able to persuade a pirate of this fact. For them it isn’t just the freedom or the ego boosting power that a democratic crew is given aboard their ship, it is also the greed and the unchecked anger that intoxicates as much as any alcohol can. It feeds on itself and anyone that succumbs to its allure will be lost to a life of piracy until their consequences finally catch up to them.

The payment for a life of seaborne banditry had come due for Torgo. Dragged through the underground dungeons of one of the Witch Queen’s palaces in a net by two snarling Harbingers, Torgo had only a few minutes to ponder what fate awaited him. He had been the highest ranking member of the crew of the Blue Skull to have survived the tempest and yet not been able to get free of the jagged rocky island where the Harbingers found them. Captain Sabre and a few other men had escaped in skiffs from the wreckage of their ship, and true to his nature Sabre hadn’t bothered to see if Torgo, his old faithful first mate, could have been saved as well from whatever nightmare now closed in on him. Torgo’s voice was all but shattered from screaming since the Harbinger’s arrival. Now he could only brace himself for whatever came next.

The Harbingers knew no mercy, and it was highly doubtful that they even understood the concept. They dragged Torgo in his net down flight after flight of stairs with reckless speed and no concern for their captive’s well being. Every now and then they would stop just so that one of them could kick at Torgo for making too much noise, or perhaps not making enough. It was impossible to determine what they would do next. Chaos and evil were the hallmarks of the Harbingers and today they were reaping a bountiful harvest of both.

It was impossible for Torgo to appreciate the grandeur and beauty of the Witch Queen’s palace, nor was he able to fully grasp the dark and twisted irony of the horrors of the dungeons that seemed to increase in quantifiable evil the deeper they descended. The walls were dark and almost absorbed the light of the torches along the walls. Finally the Harbinger’s reached what was some sort of prison area, and they took their captive out of the net as violently as they could. Their black claws were like the talons of a great vulture and they drew blood from their wretched grasping. Throwing Torgo into one of the jail cells, they slammed the gate shut and Torgo could hear the rasping metal lock being engaged. Cackling with wicked glee the Harbingers moved off, still dragging their net. Torgo curled up on the wet stone floor and closed his eyes. He might as well try and get some rest while he could. Things had only begun to get bad.