The men pulled their axes from their belts, and readied them, looking as though they were about to cut their enemy down.
Blackbeard's eyes fell on Vol again, and Vol felt pressured to do the same. His skin tingled, and he withdrew his axe. Blackbeard's smile widened, and he drew his in return, his aggression spiking.
Suddenly, it felt as though they were facing off for a duel. Some rational part of Vol's mind had to loudly insist that was a mere illusion, but the tensed muscles of his body hardly believed it. Eventually, Blackbeard relented.
"We have made plans," he continued speaking to the rest. "But plans fall through. Our will shall not. No matter what we find of these islands, we will cut through them, and take what Varsharn has labelled ours. That's the bounty of the strong. Gods help any that stand in our way."
