Forgotten Island Town

"Most pirate ships elect the cap'n, like demon crazies do. Just on a smaller scale." Ah, Frigate... you mean 'democracies'. "Th' isle with the cove an' the door the pirates say be haunted. 'Least, that's across this bit o' sea. What's across it depends on where ye be, an' where ye be goin'." They should arrive soon; it's not that far away.

Inside the Octahedron

The crew are entirely made up of elves, both male and female, and a few where it's hard to tell. They continue working, and the captain sinks to the floor, muttering with their eye closed. The deck moves about underneath them, as the memories continue onward. The captain's voice rings out, though they don't stop muttering. "Steady the mainsail! Keep on course, there's plunder ahead!" Despite the sea-elf's continued exhortations, the crew slow their work and stop, as emerging from belowdecks another figure emerges. An elf like the others, but a wood-elf, with bark-brown skin and bright green eyes, long hair the colour of pine needles, and wearing a sky-blue dress covered in clouds that move across it.
"We've had enough of yer tyranny, Athiniel! This be a mutiny. Don't resist, an' we'll leave ye unharmed." The witch smiles coldly, ice in her eyes.
"My tyranny's been productive for all the crew. This be not a mutiny by the crew. This be a power grab by ye, Ashinelle Stormherald." Despite the captain remaining muttering and sat on the deck, briefly they appear standing, facing the witch down and drawing a matchlock pistol from inside their greatcoat, lighting the match with a flick of their fingers and preparing to fire. Another elf, a tall and muscular shirtless man with snow-white skin and long, icy blue hair braided down their back. Neither get an opportunity to do much more before the witch reaches out and black light gathers about her outstretched hand, pulling it roughly back holding a spectral lamprey, which is quickly thrust into a familiar box held nearby, in the arms of a faceless and amorphous elf- the captain didn't pay attention to them until it was too late. The captain collapses to their knees, a look of horror on their face. The witch repeats the process for the muscular elf, pulling back a similarly spectral snow-hare, putting that in the box too and closing it. "Put 'er in the jollyboat, remove the oars an' rudder, give 'er the box. Mebbe someone will figure out how to put 'er soul back, without openin' the box an' killin' Choushand. Put 'im in me quarters, I'll keep an eye on 'im." The crew jump to it, obeying the witch's orders. One of the crew tuck the captain's glass-bladed cutlass under the seat as the captain's set down on it, next to the box containing their soul. The ship might just fade out, as the memory continues, and... The captain won't snap out of this memory alone. They need some prodding.