Two hours later, the once lively Narwhal's foredeck was now a complete mess thanks to the crew.
Empty bottles and plates were scattered all over the cluttered tables.
Now a bunch of drunk, red-faced crew members—some new, some old and about to leave the ship—were staggering around, lining up for the first mate to tattoo a narwhal somewhere on their bodies.
Everyone's Narwhal tattoo was on a different part of their body, and none of them looked the same—don't ask why, because the Narwhal's first mate was so drunk he could barely tell people apart anymore.
Everyone was in high spirits, and they deserved to be—after all, who else in the entire Abyss-Sea could say they'd come that close to a God and still come back alive?
Facing the Gods of the Abyss-Sea, for once, they were no longer just helplessly running for their lives—they'd actually fought back. For the first time, it wasn't endless terror filling their hearts.
