Luck is a fickle mistress. Despite all the precautions I mentioned in my last post I knew my luck would run out eventually. When I wrote that post I had hoped it would be later rather than sooner but things don't always turn out as one hopes. Earlier this evening (or morning depending where you live) my beloved jag was atomized by a rather tricky hurricane. It was pretty clear he was waiting for just such an occasion. He was hanging around some belts, clearly enticing the arrayed fleet to come and get him.
Unfortunately I offered to make the tackle, playing right into his hands. His 'cane fit neuted and webbed me, which is pretty normal, to the extent that I could not gain range by the time I was completely capped. Struggling to gain transversal I popped just as the cavalry arrived.
Farewell noble beast, I will never forget you.
Three Years of Reavers
22 hours ago