Eastern Crag

A jagged rock face on the eastern edge of the cove, cleaved from the mainland by the tempest’s fury. Clefts and ledges fracture the stone like broken teeth, offering footholds slick with sea spray. Fragments of wreckage hang precariously from fissures—snapped mast rigging groans in the gale, hull planks wedged between veins of wet schist. A narrow chimney air pocket yawns open at mid-height, exhaling brine-scented breath from deep inside the cliff. The wind strips every sound except the crash of waves far below; only the occasional metallic shriek of twisted metal answers. From the gallery above, the crag appears as a death trap—sheer on three sides, a narrow spine of stone leading nowhere but to the hungry dark and the storm that will finish what the sea started.