Multiple tentacles rise from the sea like cobras to a charmer, surrounding the Black Tide on all sides. The top deck is suicide.
WHAM. WHAM!Each slaps into the hull with denting blows, again and again, until the monster decides to grip the ship with its whole self. A tentacle lashes and settles on the deck, calmed by -- a man? How did he get there? He pats the appendage for its services, and gives it a quick smooch. The tentacle rises and falls again as he steps away, slamming down onto the deck hard enough to crack into the flooring with the sheer power of its blunt force. Rain pours in, and the cacophony of the storm pollutes Deck 02. The hull screeches and vibrates with every hit, jostling the entire vessel as the monster slips inside each and every puncture it is able to make.
BOOM!Elsewhere, an explosion is set off - Rowe’s cannons are now rendered out of order, a catastrophic chain reaction set off between them like a match thrown between fireworks. Rowe’s crew had better have a quick fix for this! The Black Tide needs a defense!
I wonder if any more explosions will go off?
BOOM!!!Passengers are now free to leave the Pourhouse, now that a massive hole has been blown into the side of it. What are you waiting for? The best defense is a good offense, and the Black Tide needs defending. More chipmunks scamper in through the hole.
Prepare yourself!The man above deck seems unphased. His attention turns to the windows of the ship, and he steps over the tattered fake turf of the golf course from the prow with the intent of gaining entry. Talons the size of his arm unhook from the deck before him, every suction cup making a squelching 'pop' as it pulled away. He parts the monster's grip on the hull like the red sea - and each tentacle in turn comes down again behind him to do more damage, sink in harder, constrict tighter.
Behind dark sunglasses, he's got his eye on a prize, and he doesn't look terribly pleased.