Black Death arrives in Sicily
A Genoese trading ship arrives in Messina's harbor, carrying not only goods but also the deadly Black Death. The harbormaster and city guards confront the visibly ill sailors, realizing too late the g
Setting
The bustling port of Messina, Sicily, with its crowded docks and narrow streets leading to the city center. The harbor is filled with ships, including the ominous Genoese trading vessel that has just arrived.
Characters
Harbormaster
primary
A middle-aged man of sturdy build, with deep-set eyes shadowed by worry lines and a closely cropped salt-and-pepper beard. His sun-weathered skin speaks of years spent on the docks, and his hands are calloused from handling ropes and ledgers alike.
Genoese Sailor
primary
A gaunt, middle-aged man with sunken cheeks and feverish eyes. His skin is pallid and covered in dark buboes, particularly visible on his neck. His hands tremble slightly, and his breathing is labored. His hair is greasy and matted, sticking to his forehead with sweat.
City Guard
secondary
A rugged man in his late 30s with a broad, muscular build, his face weathered from years of outdoor duty. His dark beard is neatly trimmed, and his hands are calloused from gripping weapons. His deep-set brown eyes are alert and wary.
Merchant
secondary
A middle-aged man with a stout build, his face lined with worry and sun-weathered skin from years of travel and trade. His dark eyes are wide with fear, and his well-groomed beard twitches nervously as he watches the scene unfold.
Dock Worker
background
A sinewy, sun-bronzed man in his late 30s with calloused hands and a wiry frame built by years of hauling cargo. His face is lined with premature wrinkles from squinting in the Mediterranean sun, and his dark hair is cropped short beneath a cloth cap.
Dialog
Harbormaster
By the port’s charter, no ship with plague signs docks here! Turn your vessel about, or we’ll sink it where it lies!
Genoese Sailor
Rot take you! We’re dying, not dead—let us ashore or we’ll burn this cursed port with you in it!
Merchant
You fools! If you turn them away, who’ll unload the grain? The city will starve before the plague touches us!
Harbormaster
Silence, merchant! Would you trade a month’s bread for a lifetime of graves? The charter is clear!
Genoese Sailor
By the deep—you’ll answer to Saint Christopher when our corpses choke your harbor!
Merchant
At least let them unload the goods first! Saints preserve us, must everything be lost?
Harbormaster
Guard! Raise the quarantine flags. Any man who touches that ship dies by my order.