Divers Dark and Down

Of all the blades and bullets in the world, nothing cuts like a song.
Whispers on the wind that burrow deep into the heart of any man with ears and often from the mouths of others.
Merchants with eyes for gold and gilding hearing of pearls and drops of sun.
Sailors with hands for nets hearing of waters like glass full of creatures unknown.
Even scholars, who've lived for little else but maps, parchment, and pages Soaked with ink, turn to the world for more than knowledge, or satins, silks, or spices.
Lured by a tune like a fish to a hook,
hungry for a dream.

But what if that dream comes at a cost more hefty than coin?
What if the price cuts as deep as the song,
And soaks your hands redder than the ledger you're desperate to fill.
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Since the first siren sighting, people have told tales of their dangers, warning Sailors to be wary of their bewitching songs, lest they lead them early to a dark Watery grave. Only a fool would leave his ears open to a Sirens song, or so many have been told, until Whispers of magic stranger and more enticing came, rumors of miracles and medicine made possible if you were brave enough to face the seas to claim a Sirens scales.

Since the rising tide of such tales, the seas became far quieter, as rich choruses of song were sharply silenced, and the ocean itself became even more vicious with fury at its children being hunted.
Hunted by Scholars thirsty for forbidden wisdom.
Hunted by merchants greedy for more bloodstained wealth.
Hunted by soldiers, clad in royal colors, setting out by the thousands to collect for their king.

A queen cries out to the ocean for help.
For a hero to save her children.
And the ocean sends no hero.

The ocean sends pirates.
The ocean sends those who once fled from the sound of Sirens songs, now singing choruses of their own, brandishing scales of silver and steel, hungering for things greater than gold.
They want glory.
They want blood.
They want revenge.
They want a kings head.