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In darkest of winter, from foulest Tevinter,
We fled with a lifetime of wealth in the hold.
The ship's hull was breaching, with no hope of reaching
A shore for to live with our murderer's gold.
But then came the island, the safety of dry land.
We struggled to shore to recover our breath.
But spirits surrounded us all, had us hounded,
And charged us with carrying coin bought with death.
The captain, they shouted, had cruelly clouted
A servant who died at the treasury door.
He soon grew no older, but slipped on a boulder
And shattered his skull, and was wealthy no more.
The first mate had wrangled escape and had strangled
The kindly old guard 'fore he raised an alarm.
He slipped in the rigging while through the wreck digging,
And choked to death cursing that he had done harm.
The lady was bathing, her last look was scathing
As I held her down for the key she did hold.
If my fate be drowning, let spirits be frowning,
I'll sit on dry land with my murderer's gold.