“Hark Trotton, hark! Bellow, bid our mother the Sea Queen rise from the depths full foul in her fury! Black waves teeming with salt foam to smother this young mouth with pungent slime, to choke ye, engorging your organs til’ ye turn blue and bloated with bilge and brine and can scream no more – only when she, crowned in cockle shells with slitherin’ tentacle tail and steaming mane take up her fell be-finned arm, her coral-tine trident screeches banshee-like in the tempest and plunges right through yer gullet, bursting ye – a bulging bladder no more, but a blasted bloody film now and nothing for the harpies and the souls of dead sailors to peck and claw and feed upon only to be lapped up and swallowed by the infinite waters of the Dread Empress himself – forgotten to any mare, to any time, forgotten to any god or devil, forgotten even to the sea, for any stuff for part of Starscout, even any scantling of your soul is Starscout no more, but is now itself the sea!”