"Aye, I've sailed it."
The room suddenly becomes still, like the sea far from shore on a windless day. An eerie listlessness overtakes the room at the old sailor’s words, like dark clouds rolling in suddenly and without rain.
"Tis no mere myth, that sea. Filled with blades of ice, some as big as a Galleon. All sharp as knives. Sharp enough to cut through a hull like it were butter."
Every man in the pub stiffens, and turns their ear. It’s not often that Gregory shares his experience, but he is known to be hard nosed and skeptical. Most walked in knowing the Sea of Shards as a fairy tale. None would leave with such an idea.
Gregory looks through the stranger, through the wall of the pub and out towards the sea. All the patrons and workers hold their breath, silently waiting to hear what the old man has to say.