In the midst of a raging storm stood a tall lighthouse. And this lighthouse? Well, it was no ordinary one of course. Instead of the typical sort that stood on rocky shores, jutting right out into the seas, this lighthouse moved wherever its keeper deemed fit its route to be. Its appearance itself was unorthodox enough to suggest it had a rather peculiar origin. The lantern room up top was a large oval with ribbed vaults high above, intricately designed with what appeared to be ancient markings of some sort. The enormous lamp shone right in the middle of the room, with two flying buttresses protruding out of the longer ends of the oval room, connecting with the service room below.

But how does the whole lighthouse-moving-around thing work? Well, cogs and gears underneath the water's surface running and winding kept the whole thing going. Plus a little magic from the keeper, and the whole thing was good to move anywhere it needed to be.

The keeper herself was at that very moment leaning against one of the columns in the lantern room. Her lithe frame, swathed in a thick billowing black trench coat, left a long shadow over the vast ocean she faced in front of her. She took out an old worn-out notebook from within her coat and started scribbling something in beautiful longhand that's often considered extinct and too archaic to be found in modernity.

Man's Mortality

Interchangeably Calm and Fickle

Like the seas and oceans

That span endless miles

Mimicking eternity

She really wasn't much of a poet. At times, she even thought her own work was rubbish. But she had all the time in the world and it didn't harm anyone for her to do it. She'd also hoped that maybe she'd improved over the many long years, but she just couldn't tell. No one would ever read any of her poems anyhow.

The light within the tower was never to go out and it had been kept that way since the day she began her vigil. It was many eons ago and she couldn't quite remember when or how long ago that was, but it had been an unspoken rule that the light was never to go out when she had newly received her duties. Or else, of course, there would be dire consequences.

There always are dire consequences, even if it was never verbally assured.

As dawn closed in, it was time for the light keeper to do her rounds down the length of the tower. Just imagine if she had on a billowing ball gown under her already billowing trench coat in that environment. She'd have had such a marvellous time doing her job in such a cumbersome attire. And yet, she did miss dressing up on occasion. Not that she ever had many invites to start with.

She glanced at her watch and looked down the length of the tower. Grabbing a rope that was tied to the column next to her, she bolted across the lantern room and jumped off, deftly slipping into the service room down below.

At the base of the tower that very moment, a ship crashed. There was a dark mist that quickly started covering its deck that soon grew too thick to look through. Grappling hooks flew up and a couple of them caught the edges of the lantern room. Seven swashbuckling rogues rose out of the smoke, their bodies barely material, swiftly slithering up to reach the top.

The keeper climbs back up to the lantern room, sabres in both hands, and gets ready to defend the tower to the very death. One at a time, the ghostly swashbucklers appeared over the edge, eyes glowing blood red. Without hesitation and in unified motion, they all leapt towards the lamp with their cutlasses raised. All hit true blows and with a loud crack, the world grew dark.