In a past life Brandon had been a pirate swabbing the decks of Cap'n Skiteles' "Ye Hark Oh Andromeda." Never ascending to anything more than cabin boy, he lived off scraps of cabin bread spilled by his shipmates and dreamed of better shores. The deck was perpetually polished, and inevitably left in ruin. None noticed, none the much cared, excepting Brandon and the Captain. Of course he was named differently back then: Jimson of Locklewood. Most forgettable.
Though these floating men of yore made their living by way of piracy, it seemed that the shinning, for Brandon at least, brought purpose to life, as it was great oceans of time were filled with menial pursuits in the interest of staving off boredom and distracting from disease and disaster. Many a sailor indulged in pseudo magic and other superstitious vagaries in the hopes of protection, nonetheless storms and scurvy always claimed their fair toll, but the men would bare it well given the occasional raid and frequent drink.
Due to the skulduggery of a certain vile shipmate Ye Hark Oh Andromeda and her crew were overcome by a competing pirate initiative. Where the ravages of nature had failed the wiles of men had found success. On that night, Brandon died, of all the acts which he had indulged throughout his many lives this was the one in which he had achieved absolute mastery.
Brandon was dead again.
Wake up Brandon!