Drawn to Drown

Since the Admiral issued the order for all ships wishing to enter Aberston to quarantine for 14 nights in a bid to tackle the blight of Shipweavil, a second plague has beset the weary sailors: Sirens. 


The Sirens, drawn to the rocky outcrops of Sailors Rest by the ships anchored in the bay for quarantine, sing their beautifully dangerous harmonies to the sailors, enticing them to come ashore. The sailors, desperate for a loving embrace after months away at sea stare longing at the beutiful creatures, bravado replacing sense when arguing over who could swim the distance to the rocks the quickest. 


Of course, none would ever be strong enough to navigate those treacherous waters between anchorages, and even if they did avoid being knocked out by the swing of a ship on the tide, they would surely be drowned by those mose beautiful of killers upon reaching them, for that is the nature of a Siren; beautiful and alluring as the sea, and just as cold unforgiving.