The Crust of Oakhaven Deep

The subterranean vault beneath Oakhaven's outer marshes was vibrating with an unmistakable, metallic screech. High above, Tax-Guard Captain Vane's iron pry-bars were biting relentlessly into the rusted upper grating, chipping away at the iron with a rhythm that promised capture within minutes. Down below, however, temporal urgency meant very little to Barnaby. Awakened from a twenty-year nap by the ruckus, the ancient cave-hermit blinked blearily against the torchlight, completely ignoring the impending doom. Treating the frantic, mud-spattered pirates like long-awaited dinner guests rather than fugitives fleeing the law, Barnaby fumbled in the folds of his rotting tunic and proudly thrust a rock-hard, fossilized turnip-pie directly into Captain Bramblefoot's hands.

While the metallic clanking from the ceiling grew deafeningly close, Captain Bramblefoot paused his frantic escape planning to receive the flour-dusted, century-old pastry. Quartermaster Pip looked on in utter disbelief, his jaw slack as the captain solemnly nibbed the corner of the petrified crust, earning an enthusiastic toothless grin from the dusty hermit. Before a second bite could be attempted, Farmer Gilly abandoned all patience. With a resounding crunch of rusted iron overhead, Tax-Guard Captain Vane finally shattered the upper grating, flooding the vault with the pale, damp light of the marsh-surface. As the first of the tax-guards peered over the ledge with heavy iron manacles glinting in their hands, Farmer Gilly grabbed Captain Bramblefoot by the collar and shoved the entire crew—alongside their perpetually dragging lobster trap and their new, pie-wielding host—headlong into the dark, unmapped fissure just as boots hit the flagstones behind them.