Fantasy 𝐑𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐒 — THE STORY

Excited

clothes im sure

Dining hall

Arata!!!

AnimeGenork

Jackson nodded as he pondered this new information. It was nice that he had chosen a companion with such a stellar listening ear. Perhaps this was forging a marvelous new friendship. Having to constantly talk over others was annoying after all. He could get used to a silent pal.

“A.” Yes… It was all coming together. Names that start with the letter A, he could make that list. Least likely to most likely, starting now!

“Anthony?” By the look on the man’s face, that was a no. “I’m getting closer now, right?” Was it truly delusion if he was never told otherwise?

“Antonio… Angelo… Andrew…” So many names to pick. Perhaps he should’ve asked for a second letter. No matter, he would simply keep trudging along.

“Arizona? Kidding, I just made that name up on the spot.” First person ever to put those letters in that exact order. He should get an award. Unfortunately, Jack was running out of choices. Better give the topic some more thought.

And what better way to think than to look out at the ocean? Glancing out a nearby porthole, his attention was drawn to something peculiar. Another ship lurked dangerously close. While he was not an experienced sea-man, he could easily guess it was far too close to be a simple pass by.

He put a hand on the day drinker’s shoulder, completely forgetting his prior guessing game.

“Say, you seem like a guy who likes fun. What’s more fun than a little gambling?”

Jack harshly grabbed Arata’s chin and yanked him around to look at the approaching ship.

“How much would you bet they’re looking for a fight? Twenty, maybe fifty gold? Ooo, how much would you bet on who wins?” One eyebrow raised and a mischievous look. “If you ask me, half the people on here don’t have the balls to fight back, but really, it’s your choice. Us or them?”

Loosened grip, he pretended to think on it, weighing his options one way or another. A good old fashioned pirate fight would be fun. A little blood shed never hurt anyone! This was the perfect pick-me-up after missing out on all the excitement in Antares. Maybe Loraine would be there, and he could finally enact his revenge.

“What the hell, I’m betting on us! I love a good underdog.” Sure, he’d never been in a proper fight between two rival vessels before, but life was full of many firsts. “Maybe they’ll let me man a cannon.”

Stretching his right hand out, very politely, Jack gave the man a crooked smile. “What do you say? Should we shake on it Mr… I’m sorry, what was your name again?”

Full circle.

Defeated

something very cool and badass

deck

Ari

qunqun

“You already had bested me twice, I thought for sure the third time, you'd take pity on me. I must have been wrong though.” It was the disappointing discovery that the only people who may ever let someone else win at anything would be members of their own family. Perhaps maybe some close friends too. Almost everyone learns this eventually. However, today was not the day the lesson would stick for Aurelia.

No, today she would remain stubborn and ignorant.

Despite trying to land a strike before Ari, Blade was once again dodged and hit. Wind completely knocked out of him, he was left vulnerable to another demobilizing strike.

“Fuck.”

Was it more embarrassing to stay down or to get back up and try a fifth time? Who could say? If it was up to pride alone, this could last well into midday. Fortunately, she was prompted for an answer, and that was enough to hold back another pathetic attempt.

“Of course I have!” Immediately defensive, a sure sign for truth and confidence. “On many occasions!”

Once again, Blade sat up. However this time, no effort was made to stand. He simply propped himself up with his hands on the wood floor behind him. This was the proper position to have a conversation.

“I am much more proficient with a sword,” as his name would suggest, “or any weapon for that matter. But punching people is not that hard.”

Though, an average performance in her fencing lessons likely did not translate into winning a real sword fight. Her only true fighting advantage was with a gun. In theory, hand to hand combat was easy, you just needed to land a hit. In practice, she was learning it to be much more difficult.

“I will admit you seem to be quite well versed in this subject.” Gasp! Was that an admission of inferiority? “Though you clearly have an innate advantage. You cannot deny that.”

“Does form truly matter? Speed and strength seem to be far more important forces against an adversary in this type of combat?” Of which she had neither. That question could easily give away Aurelia’s inexperience, but the idea that how one stood could affect how one fared so significantly was a bit perplexing. Stamina was understandable, one cannot win if they become winded in the span of a short moment. That was easy enough feedback to take.

Previously, the place where her athletic ability mattered most was on the ballroom floor, dancing the night away. That kind of stamina clearly did not translate well here. Apart from the occasional stepped on toe, dancing was not painful. It did not cause the same strain on her body as an attack could. It did not require her to force herself to ignore an impact and act swiftly before another came. Maintaining one’s breathing and moving fast were only small pieces of the puzzle that she was now realizing was much, much larger than expected.

“I suppose… I will take your feedback into account.” Stubbornly. That didn’t make Ari right, of course. He was simply not completely wrong. After a long, morose glare, Blade finally stood up again, rolling out his shoulders.

“Show me how I should stand then. If you really do believe your combat expertise is so infallible, that is.”

This only lasted half a beat, as it seemed other matters were far more urgent. Shouting could be heard across the deck as a threat loomed in the distance. This may have to wait.

Aurelia whipped her head around, looking for anything that would cause such distress. The only observable detail of note was another vessel. Though, while in the past, any other ship was only seen at a distance, it seemed this one was on a path of approach. With all of the nation’s waters to occupy, this could only be intentional.

“Is it normal for two crafts to be in such close proximity to one another?” Perhaps they were in need of rescue, making this their only option of survival. That seemed like wishful thinking, but not impossible. It was odd, however, that they had departed the city of pirates only a few hours before, and now a pirate ship was on a direct path towards them.

“Oh!” How obvious it all was now! “They followed us!” All the way from port. That would be a heavy task to take on. Maybe they had the same destination? This seemed unlikely, as pirates and kings men seldom had the same goal in mind. Could Aurelian have better knowledge of boating etiquette?

“Why would they follow us?”

Surely, there was a reasonable explanation for all this.

Curious?

handmaiden slay

Two Hours from Antares

Elera Korey

Harrowhark

The bright rays of morning filtered through the small porthole of Aranyani’s cramped quarters, casting a faint golden glow on the wooden walls. She groaned, burying her face deeper into the thin pillow, yet the ship’s gentle sway tugged at her consciousness. Her body ached from the previous night’s chaos—an odd cast of characters, strange doctors, religious drunkards, and her own foolish kindness that had kept her from turning them away. She was grateful that everyone made it back safely, but it was well past midnight by the time they all boarded the Leviathan once again. By that point, she was far too weary to remember that morning still comes, whether one is ready for it or not. For a moment, she lay still, savoring the quiet and basking in the morning sun.

A sharp gasp caught in her throat, her eyes snapping open. Morning.

She bolted upright, the thin blanket pooling onto the floor as she scrambled to her feet with her heart hammering against her ribs. The light was too high, too bright. She had overslept. She was late for her first day.

Aranyani dressed quickly, her fingers fumbling with the laces of her bodice as she pulled on the simple yet serviceable gown that marked her as a handmaiden. She hastily tied her dark thick hair into a loose braid, the stands still tangled from sleep, and shoved her feet into worn fabric boots. She hadn’t heard from anyone yet, but was sure the crew would already be at their stations.

She entered the narrow corridor of the ship, the familiar scent of salt and wood filling her lungs. The air was alive with the faint hum of activity above to which she hurried toward the stairs leading to the upper deck, her mind already racing with the tasks that awaited her. But when she finally emerged onto the deck, breathless and expecting the clatter of morning bustle—the laughter of passengers, the steady rhythm of sailors at work—she was met with silence.

The salt-heavy air seemed to press against her skin, thick with something unspoken. She followed the gaze of some passengers, leading her to the back of the ship. There, a ship trailed the mighty Leviathan. Was that what had unsettled the crew?

Aranyani’s eyes scanned the deck for answers, her search settling on a short but noble-looking woman. This woman’s gaze was locked on the stalking vessel. Hesitantly, Yani approached, hand half-raised before she caught herself. A servant did not touch a noble guest. “Excuse me? Do you know what's happening?”

Ready to Fight.

Dress. Boots.

The Reaper's Brig.

Sonya, Knox, Willow, & Adrian

NPC guard. He's within range, someone kick his ass!

A drippage of water from somewhere cold and faraway beat to the rhythm of Bizzy’s heart. It was slow and shallow, and when it went splat! against cold stone, there was a note of hopelessness that she felt deep inside her. For half a second, she wanted to shrivel in despair. Give way to the growing void that ate at her soul, expanding in her by the minute as the revelation that she had fought her way from the brothel to an infinitely worse situation hit her. Her thoughts felt adrift, disconnected from reality. Her body felt helpless, at the hands of captors with unknown intent. She was reminded of those days at the end of her stint in the Covenant, after she had taken a stand and no one had listened. Of those days in Caesura, when her fellow performers had declared her mad and reigned her in from taking another shot at the man who had stolen her child. After Raine had been taken from her, Bizzy had sworn that she would never be helpless again.

She watched a dark-skinned woman in a black-and-gold dress with sapphires inlaid at strategic points take center stage. As frivolous as it was given the gravity of their conditions, Bizzy envied her dress just a little. The hourglass figure that fit into it as seamlessly as a glove. The well-dressed woman was hovering imperiously over a disoriented, dirtied man, and Bizzy had half a mind to tell her to shove off. Why was this pompous priss expecting an obviously drunk man to come to their rescue? What was the extent of her problem that she’d literally kicked him in the ass? Who did that to a stranger?

The cell they were trapped in smelled like a place where forgotten things went to die, and Bizzy’s head spun like a top. At the unfairness of it all. At the hopelessness of getting out of here. At the pressing, horrific thought that this was how she would end: in the dark, sentenced to a meaningless death among strangers, deprived of any privacy or closure. Her relationship with the Stars was a complicated one—rife with betrayal and hurt and deceit—but she would not live long enough to sort out fact from fiction.

The full-bodied scream at the center of the cell had done more than just attract the gazes of fellow prisoners, heads turning to the source of the noise in unison. At the sound of heavy boots walking in a slightly uneven saunter that hinted at tipsiness, there was a second wave of mutual motion. All ten prisoners looked in the direction of a moving shadow, its edges suggested by a feeble flicker of candlelight lining the walls. Bizzy hadn’t been drinking, but as she tracked the movement, her eyes felt like shaken-up dice at a table game rolling around in her skull, struggling to fixate on any one stimulus.

The man approaching their cell had a physique that could be described as tree-like, with reasonably muscular legs branching out into a torso with such broad shoulders that it was ridiculous to think they weren’t padded. He sported a pair of squarish wire-rimmed glasses that looked molten in the dim firelight. His other red accoutrement was considerably more obvious: a coat with a double row of buttons up the front. Given Antares’ unnatural humidity, it would have been inappropriate on land, but an infernal, constant cold seeped into the below decks cell. Bizzy shuddered as she looked at it, reminded of the goosebumps that pocked her skin.

The man was wearing heeled shoes that added to his imposing silhouette, rendering the shadow on the ground impossibly tall. His face was shadowed, so the raspy voice that washed over them seemed divorced from an owner. “The fook is this racket?” There was the cold, sharp noise of a pistol being cocked, and the hairs on the back of Bizzy’s neck raised. “Oi, you keep this up, an’ I dun care ‘oo did it. I’ll shoot you all like dogs!”

A collective hush fell over the cell, and the air was taut like a harpstring right before it snaps. For a moment, no one knew what to say. For a moment, no one was brave enough to say anything, fearing those words may be their last. In the silence, words bounced around in Bizzy’s head like a phrase of half-remembered music: only man in the vicinity able to assist with our escape. They’d left the lips of a slim, doll-like brunette who couldn’t have been much older than Bizzy was when she’d had her baby. The girl’s limbs were delicate, her complexion porcelain.

They ignited something within Bizzy. Resolve not to wallow in this cage of stone until fate reached out a dark hand and made her its victim. She would escape or die trying, because with her flute gone along with her job at the Kiss, she had astonishingly little to lose. This knowledge filled her with a heady recklessness, defiance buzzing in her gut like brandy. But still, her attention snagged on one word within the brunette’s statement: She’d specified the usefulness of a man in their escape.

Men had been giving Bizzy directives her whole life, as if the social hierarchy would explode if she was allowed to think for herself. Her father in the Canyon had sent her to the saloon to idle away her hours, because with three sons, he had little use for a girl on the farm. The Oracles had instructed her to donate blood and spirit to the Stars, and she would be rewarded with divine wisdom. The patron of Caesura Circus, Count Teo Vickers, had showered Bizzy in praise of how special and beautiful she was, and then he had loved her and left her and snapped up a miniature heiress for himself in the process.

Bizzy was done waiting for men to give her permission to act. And she was done letting them decide her future. The pirates had confiscated all of her belongings, including the lipstick sedative that she used to placate rowdy guests at the Kiss. But she wasn’t without her feminine wiles, and so long as she had those, she had power over a mortal man.

The guard in the red coat had stopped several meters away from the cell, but he made a show of waving his gun around, as if daring one of the prisoners to test his accuracy with it. “Another peep outta any o’ you scum buckets and one of youse will get a bullet froo the brain. Now I’mma go back to me nap and I ‘spect to wake up when the sun’s on the downslope o’ its arc, d’you hear?” He turned to go. As he spun on one ridiculously tall heel, there was a promising jangle of what were possibly keys to the cells.

It’s now or never, Bizzy thought, a thrill of something just short of fear passing through her chest. “It’s awfully lonely in here, sir,” she cooed. Biting her lip against the surge of pain from her stump of a leg, she pushed to her feet, using the wall for purchase.

The guard paused. Whirled back around. “‘Oo said that?” It was a crude question, but he didn’t seem angry when he asked it. On the contrary, his eyes were scanning the ten prisoners thoroughly, as if assessing which of them he hoped had said it.

Moving with long, leisurely strides, Bizzy brushed past the prisoner who had screamed until she was flush against the bars of the cell. She twined one of her arms through them invitingly. Locked eyes with the guard. “Wouldn’t your nap be a lot more comfortable with a companion?” she breathed in a voice as sweet as lemonade. She arched her back subtly, setting her bosom on an angle that was more accessible to view.

The guard had been giving her a skeptical look as if unsure of her meaning, but now he broke into a wolfish grin, bad intentions and lust dripping from the corners of his mouth like blood. “Are you offering yourself, girl?” He holstered the pistol at his belt.

Bizzy swallowed down the bile that threatened to climb her throat and forced a nod.

“Pretty little thing like you.” His eyes roved freely over her buxom form. “Wouldn’t want to break you.”

Bizzy ran a tantalizing hand over one of the bars. “I’m not fragile, my love.”

“So forward. So eager.” The guard’s smile impossibly grew, and he started toward the bars where Bizzy awaited his approach. She strained to hear the jangle of keys to ascertain where she might find them on his person, but the clip of his footsteps was too sharp. And then his hands were reaching through the bars and gliding along Bizzy’s hips, toying with her cucumber-green skirts. She gave a little intake of breath as if lost to rapture, her eyes fluttering shut. She tilted her face up. Reached her hands tentatively for his coat as if using it for a better grasp to kiss him.

A hand closed around her throat. Bizzy’s eyes shot open as her breath choked off, her hands shooting up to claw futilely at the cruel fingers driving into her windpipe.

“Ye stupid bitch!” the guard roared in her face. “Did ya really think me so foolish that I’d fall for yuh obvious ploy?” He wrenched Bizzy forward so that her forehead cracked against one of the bars. Dark spots swarmed her vision and she gasped. “Fer fook’s sake, ye ain’t even a pretty whore, unlike the puritan-lookin’ lass.”

Bizzy smacked her palms against the bars, desperate to break away. Like a dog that had grown bored of a licked-clean bone, the guard scoffed as he surveyed her helpless thrashing. And then, with a ripple of muscle, he shoved her back and released her. Bizzy flailed for balance, walked on the edge of her prosthetic, and tripped over her own feet. Still gasping, she fell backward, a heap of skirts and failure on the cold floor.

Cautious but Friendly

LEVIATHAN

Lexis

Gao

"You needn't try so hard to impress. It makes you look more uncomfortable to hold a conversation than someone sitting on a broken stool." In an attempt to lighten the nerves of the gent that has entered his company, Monte chuckles lightly and turns full body to Lex, giving him his attention. "As for vassals of the sea, I must admit I am not too versed in such things. They are fascinating builds, that holds strong against a myriad of different conditions and abuse, but outside of that meager fascination I am clueless. My knowledge is of the sword and gun."

It had been while since he had found someone so nervous to talk to him. Maybe he shouldn't have come out strong with his full title and name. The name looked quite important on the ship, was he just another crew member. Monte gave Lex a once over, as politely as he could, and tilted his head before he looked out over the sea with the man. Something was out there, the swirling tones in his stomach set off warning signs, but his eyes could not spot whatever it was.

Monte took a glance over at Lex as he had heard him pulling something out. A spyglass, s perfect tool for the sea. extends in his hand and is raised to his eye before a grim expression forms on the mans face. He didn't like the look that had formed, it always meant trouble and a headache to keep his master safe. When Lexis offered the glass over to Monte, he spoke the dreaded words he didnt want to hear. Monte took the spyglass in his hand, peered out to see, and released a sigh of resolution as it was confirmed trouble was coming and conflict was inevitable.

"She is probably well aware of the threat. Rushing to her side will only cause more issue. It would be best if I help prepare for the inevitable, so where do you want me, Captain?" Monte turned to Lex, steeling his nerves and stepping into on duty mode. While he new little bout what goes on on a ship, he knew how to take and follow basic orders. Not only that, he knew how to recognize who was in charge, so calling Lex captain wasn't a slip of the tongue or a jest.

Relaxed, but Curious

LEVIATHAN

None

CrimsonInk

Violetta's smile warmed when she hugged Luci back, her hand rubbing the woman's back gently before she stepped back. Her eyes, once cold and calculating, held a spark of warmth and endearing care. A bit of fussing over how Lucrezia looked and finding out if she is okay, she chuckled once more and gently clasped the woman's hands in hers.

"My, I thought I recognized you in town, but brushed it off as a familiar looking face. Who would have known you were boarding the ship." It had been ages since she had saw Luci in the flesh, most of their correspondence was via letters and postcards. She could assuredly say that the woman had grown in body but her personality is as refreshing as ever. "Did you come for breakfast, my dear? Why don't we eat together, I have yet to actually eat. I had a meeting with a rather unsavory yet interesting character just now."

Though Macklin was using the information to gain something, and protect his future, Violetta couldn't fault him entirely. She would have done the same, especially with her current position and power, but to do it so aggressively had the potential to cut off other opportunities to work with the person. Another thing that didn't sit well with her was how he so confidently claimed she didn't sacrifice anything for her duchy. She figured he said it to get under her skin, which he did, and get a reaction from her, Violetta still hated hearing her accomplishments to her duchy to be overshadowed by someone who knew only the surface level stuff. But enough of that, she had someone in front of her that was worth more of her attention than Macklin.

"Come, lets eat. I can say the potatoes are really good." If it was one thing that Violetta loved, it was potatoes. They were healthy, great for sedating hunger, cheap, and versatile for any occasion. There were several times where her duchy had to survive on potatoes during the winter months and occasionally during the hottest droughts.

She led Lucrezia over to the buffet and grabbed herself a plate, looking at the assortment of foods. It was quite a surprising turn out of food for a ship to have, but not all to fancy or extravagant like she has had before on other ships. This one was humble? Or maybe it was just ordinary. Either way, from all the other meals that she had experienced, it was refreshing to see. She piled her plate high with potatoes and a bit of meat before she looked over at what Luci was doing.

"So, to answer your previous question, since I got so caught up in the moment, I have been fairing well. The winter season is approaching so preparation is in high gear. We have plenty of warm clothes and are stocking up on fuel, but our food situation is a bit dire. We might be looking at another potato filled winter." She gave a light chuckle, trying to make light of the seriousness of the situation, but in all honesty she knew her people were waring down with the food shortage. She had hoped the technology she was importing over with her other winter supplies would solve all her issues, what she wasn't expecting was the goods to be intercepted and be held as a chip to control her. "But enough about me, how are you?"

Bloodthirsty

Fancy scary death man

THE REAPER

SONYA, EPHRAIM, KNOX, DEVANA, CALANTHE, LIZBETH, WILLOW, ADRIAN, CADENCE, TOSKA

celestialbody , tsurene , picklemouse , erzulie , floralmoon , Aviator , lyn. , CrimsonInk , Nifty , Shadow

The fool was like a lamb, bleating and crying senselessly, completely unaware of the danger that lurked behind the bushes. Each paper he wrote proudly announced his whereabouts to the world so much so that the hunt was almost not fun anymore. But no, nothing - not even this prey’s foolishness - could take away from the thrill of claiming the life of the “great” Galin Forestson.

Even his business with the Corsairs was just that: business; a means to an end. It appeared that, for the right amount of gold, even The Baron could be persuaded to care about the fate of the famous writer.

And so, when the ships did finally cross paths, he couldn’t deny the fluttering of excitement that he felt. Years had been spent planning this meeting. Nights had been wasted dreaming of their crossing. But the time for planning and dreaming was long past. Now, he was staring at the object of his decade-long obsession.Their gazes crossed, their eyes locked onto each other, and the fear on Gallin’s face was almost sweet enough to taste. But almost wasn’t good enough.

It took every ounce of willpower he had not to release the animal within - the beast that begged him to throw away the plan, run to the railing and board the Leviathan. Oh, to see Gallin scramble. Oh, to watch him tremble. Just the imagination alone was...intoxicating.

So, when the time did come, and The Reaper was ready to make its move on The Leviathan, a cruel grin slithered across his masked face. Nothing would stop him now. Nothing could stop him now.

As The Reaper started its approach on The Leviathan, he made his way down to the brig. With a knowing nod, the pirates set to watch over the prisoners parted to he could step in. His all black attire flowed around him majestically for someone who walked so menacingly.

As he got to the prisoners, his gaze - hidden behind the hollow sockets of the mask - slowly danced over all their faces. Their desperation was almost...tickling. The perfect subjects. “Friends,” he began - a bold assumption. “What a sorry state you are in. Oh...I suppose you all know that already, don’t you. Bah, that is besides the point.” He moved closer, leaning casually against their enclosure. “However, that is why you should thank me! For I come bearing ***glad*** tidings. You know the kind: food, lodging, drinks. Men, women...goats if you prefer. Never you mind, I shan’t judge. All you need to know is that I can provide any and all you want, including...say...your freedom. All you need to do is answer me one question. Honestly and usefully, of course.”

He pushed himself off of the bars and turned to he could fully face them now, squatting and interlacing his fingers as he studied them through soulless eyes, his voice suddenly filled with malice. “What can you tell me...about a certain Gallin Forestson?”

Someone give him a minute to chill out for a sec, okay?

Boots; Pants (But make them Dark Brown); Shirt (But make it really dirty and messy); Grey kerchief on his neck to cover his face, Fabric wraps on his hands, wrists, and where his pants tuck into his boots; All extra dirty and some blood woohoo surprise!

In the brig of The Reaper

Willow, Sonya, The Lady Davena, Adrian, Cadence, Percy, Bizzy, Toska, Maltke, Hollow, Gallin, NPC Nora, Cosette.

lyn. , celestialbody , CrimsonInk , erzulie , Aviator , Wyll

“Your belongings are gone, and you are locked in a cell with multiple strangers. I do hope you have the observational skills for that much. With your… injuries you seem to be the only man in the vicinity with the ability to assist with our escape. I believe we may be at sea, so unless they intend to push the wealthy off the ship with little reward but the gold off our backs, we have time.”

This woman was aggressive, which he understood, but the splitting pain all over his head and face made the experience that much more unbearable. There was no doubt in his mind who she was, recognizing her from various visits to the citadel. The question was, would she recognize him? Probably not, but for some reason, he felt it important to allude to the fact that he wasn’t just a drunk man. Maybe it was the bite in her tone wounding his pride.

“Ah yes, Miss Farchill. It seems we both ran into some trouble last night.” Hopefully she would be focused on unravelling that puzzle for the moment while he got his bearings. He looked around the cell once again. “I wouldn’t write off anyone’s ability to find a way out of here by gender.” It was more pointed than he intended when he rested his view on the masked woman whose eyes were fixed on the cell door. Lady Devana of the…something house, usually an imposing figure armed heavily, and presumably with the knowledge and muscle to utilize a weapon. Good, because while Knox could fight, odds were 50/50 on whether his blows would land where he wanted them. He had a feeling that beneath that white rabbit mask, she was brewing up some action.

A loud shrieking from a highly destabilized man from the other side of the cell pulled Knox’s focus. Obviously the opposite of the Lady Devana, proving his earlier point to Willow Farchill. Fuckin’ hell - his head was going to burst if these rich people kept this up. “Got that out of your system, did yeh?” As he stood, his knees shook and his hands clutched for the wall as his body adjusted to being vertical. “Okay - just…give me a moment to wake up.”

Through bleary eyes, the scene unfolded to him. The stunning woman who woke him was locked in conversation with Willow, and Cadence Valiente knocked heads with an unknown-to- him woman with a dull thunk. Was that…Percy’s name on Miss Valiente’s chest? That dog. A familiar man whose damp hair framed his face sat, silently processing the situation, though Knox couldn’t quite place where he might have seen him before.

The woman who woke him up addressed him again. "Can you pick a lock? Fight? Know how to make a shank?" Knox must have fixed his face in a distinct ‘what the fuck’ expression, because she immediately corrected the moment and introduced herself. “I’m Sonya. I helped you wake up just now, you're welcome. And your name is?" Agitated, but who could blame her.

“M’name’s Knox Hood. I’m on the crew of The Leviathan, and I’m obviously not having my finest day.” The work of working his stiff and bruised body began as he gently rotated his shoulder. “Whoever grabbed me, roughed me up pretty bad last night, but I’ve got some skills. I can pick a lock, though -” Just from the look of the door, he knew it would be hard for him to reach. “My arms won’t fit through there.”

Knox articulated his fingers, wincing as the dried blood and dirt pulled over his injuries from the previous night. He would have to wrap it in something clean soon, but clean anything was in short supply here. “Yeah I can fight, but I’m best with a bow if anyone sees one laying around. Preferably mine.” He was missing some important treasures of his own, including his short bow gifted to him by his father. Everything was painful but as he moved his body, it eased to a workable condition. Knox conceded to trying to remember what happened between that first drink with Matlke, and being stuck in this cell, only after they got themselves out of this jam.

Being in charge of a situation wasn’t necessarily what he ever wanted, but he felt a little responsible, knowing many of his cellmates were from The Leviathan. “I could walk someone through picking a lock, but we’ve got to think about what we do when we get out. How long has it been since we set off at Antares?” Antares. He understood now what everyone was warning him about with that wretched place. There was a small porthole on the wall of the cell with an enviable amount of sunlight peeking through. He didn’t notice it until now, but the moment he did he leaped over to take a look. Fingertips grasping at the frame stabilizing him as he rose to the balls of his feet in order to see, he couldn’t quite believe the sight.

The Antares port was nowhere to be seen, but The Leviathan herself was approaching. Or rather, they seemed to be approaching it in an alarming fashion.

“I think if we’re gonna take the chance, it should be soon because we’re about to be neighbours.”

This was about the time where Bizzy found herself in a scuffle at the bars of their cell. Her move to entice a guard over, presumably to get the keys, was genius. It was the fact that the guard now had his hand around her neck, screaming at her that turned his stomach. By the time he made it to the bars, the pirate knocked her head against the metal and released his grip on her. Knox hooked his arms under her shoulders, lifting her back to her feet. Foot. Feet, only one was a prosthetic.

“You okay love?” Knox said first to the woman, and to the pirate who was walking away, “Tough guy? Roughin’ up women like that?” He followed suit and slapped the bars with his hands in frustration. This was not the way things were supposed to go. Turning to the rest of the cell, he spoke. “We’ve gotta act fast and carefully. Anyone have any ideas?”

The temperature in the musky cell dropped, or so it felt as a commanding presence appeared on the other side of the door. A figure in black, with a horror mask on his face wafted to the bars, as if they would be excited about his appearance.

“Friends, what a sorry state you are in. Oh...I suppose you all know that already, don’t you. Bah, that is besides the point. However, that is why you should thank me! For I come bearing glad tidings. You know the kind: food, lodging, drinks. Men, women...goats if you prefer. Never you mind, I shan’t judge. All you need to know is that I can provide any and all you want, including...say...your freedom. All you need to do is answer me one question. Honestly and usefully, of course.”

Already, Knox had his guard up. No one offered fine comforts without a price. He just stared at the man through the iron bars with a stone faced expression, unsure of if he was someone worth trusting. He also knew not to pick a fight he couldn’t win.

“What can you tell me...about a certain Gallin Forestson?”

Knox Hood was many things: A romantic, a dumbass, reckless and kind of impulsive, thoughtful and creative, but a snitch? Never a snitch. Whatever business someone may have with someone else, it was none of his business to deal with. Not unless there was a mutual exchange involved, but who’s to say this menacing pirate had the means to make good on every promise?

Gallin Forestson was another matter entirely.

Forget the fact that he wrote gossip rags glorifying and exposing the rich and powerful on Zenith, he also wrote a carelessly dry account of the massacre that occurred in Shepherdstown which resulted in the deaths of seven of his closest comrades. One of whom was his fiancé. Oof. Put that memory back in a box. That rum must have had prophetic powers, because this last night was the first he thought about that time of his life in a few months. Regardless of his own feelings for Gallin Forestson, Knox has no interest in siccing this scary pirate upon him, let alone sending him to The Leviathan. Too many innocents were on board. Cosette was on board.

Oh god - What if this was his ship, and they intended on boarding Levi and pillaging it to the studs?

His panicked reverie was interrupted by Lady Devana…Of the House of Acindus (he gleefully remembered, finally), who seemed to have personal business with the pirate’s target. Her steadfast stance refueled Knox, which he was thankful for as he honestly began to feel like he was losing his mind. If anyone was to be his ally, Lady Davena was far preferable to the ghosts of a man in front of him.

Davena said, “I can tell you nothing at all… and if they wish to keep their tongues, I’d say these cellmates shall do the same.” That was all Knox needed to hear to embolden him to hold his position.

“Your business with Gallin Forestson is none of mine. Are we to believe you have the power to improve our conditions?” The boy also didn’t know when to stop. Dear god someone slap their hand over his mouth to stop him. “Do you have something to do with our capture?”

MAP MAPS YAY MAP MAPS YIPPEEE

FROLICS ABOUT

MAP ROOM

MONTE, NEMO, FLORA (CASS), ROSALINE.

Daddy Dream parhelion picklemouse AnimeGenork

“You needn't try so hard to impress,” the man says with a laugh and Lex suddenly feels like half of an apparition. Turned to statuesque marble as he evaluated what is funny, no jest or jape had fallen aside from comparison to broken stools.

Monte must like chairs.

Lexis would not consider himself humorous, and the natural apprehension he has for even casual conversation is intrinsic as a deer flinching from noises. A chrysalis always churning, always trying to arrange and alter and weigh words carefully so that they may be allowed to sit comfortably. If small enough to overlook and forget, he’d be small enough to accept.

He supposes it’s easy to feel like he must amount to something impressive with a title like Captain, but it is much more comfortable to simply, not.

Monte’s advice calms him to a degree, but no levity is returned from the Captain. Instead, the quiet before them, the chasm of the sea. With Monte’s knowledge of weaponry, it’s fortuitous given the oncoming attack.

Ten or twenty minutes? An unspecified amount of time? Lex’s disquiet for socialising is swilled clean at the thought, a private sea of his own. The raft of the blonde is elsewhere and lost to it, deaf to the surrounding hum of movement. Unmoored till the voice at his side brings him back to the present.

"She is probably well aware of the threat. Rushing to her side will only cause more issues. It would be best if I help prepare for the inevitable, so where do you want me, Captain?"

"Not overboard."

A tense pause where Lex’s face nor tone wavers. Delayed, he looks over at the attentive man.

“That was a joke.” It was not a joke. Please don’t go overboard. “You may laugh, if desired.”

How kind of him to give permission.

The dedication to duty is welcomed, and Lex is looking back to the ocean and the Reaper in deliberation of where to allocate the man. Things are calculating, and his hand drums softly against the solid wood of the railing.

He did not pay any attention to the eddying noise and movement that had begun to swarm the main deck of the Leviathan. There are orders barked from somewhere in the roiling crowd, but the captain himself is quiet as a glacier.

The ruby sails make a stranger of the slender ship, a vulgar red above a fragile build that dilates with its fast approach. The size of the Reaper tamps any dread in the marrow of Lex’s bones, and he only heeds the corsairs with enough arrogance to already be deliberating between seizing their ship or sinking it whole. Unsmiling but his mind is a pleasant cove, and within that calm dwelling is a strange, unnamed feeling. Attentive but not frightened, knows he dislikes violence but something he’d worry to identify as eagerness is unusually attentive.

It’s a faint smile that almost threatens to crack the stoic solitude that ensnares his visage. Lex had anticipated an attack from the moment they left Zenith, and it was never to be a question of If, but a matter of When.

Being restless with uncertainty is the worst part when always awaiting the inevitable. All of that is to say: Lexis has been incredibly impatient about trying the cannons of his Big Beauty.

People could die!

But he gets to see her in action.

It will be dangerous!

But she will sound so perfect.

She will get damaged.

It’s the first thing to bring him pause, and the idle tap of his finger on the railing is suspended before the hammerfall. Sometimes survival means immolation, and it is a price that must be paid no matter extortionate context.

He has tried her cannons only once, an early assessment days before boarding, but memory is unfaithful and the present will always be priceless. Lex is not sentimental, and romanticizing history is a bore when you cannot quite recall the special details.

“Please follow, Sir Greyfin.”

It’s not something he is entirely comfortable with when he breaks from the railing and moves towards the quarterdeck. He must look past his jealousy over allowing someone else to guide her, the imitation skin of indifference on cracking ceramic.

As he passes the main mast he finds another, a wheat blonde with hollow eyes and seemingly, nothing too important to do.

Creepy.

They will suffice, given he cannot locate a single one of his PAID officers.

“You.” Lex, like many on this ship, does not know their name. It is not an elegant way to refer to someone, not a way he’d like to speak to them, either. “Come with me,” an additional, “please” isn’t too far behind.

He leads the two up the stairs onto the quarterdeck where his tall gait pauses near the wheel. At this proximity he can temporarily admire the swell of her carved wood and satiny finish. So pretty!

Pay attention.

He first turns to Monte.

“You will hold her here, and here.” The reveal of their new duty as helmsman, Lex has motioned to the outer spokes: 10 and 2 for the gays who can’t drive. There’ll be no one-handing his beloved like some rowdy teenager in their honda civic. “She is temperamental to subtle corrections—” a distraction, Lex awkwardly nudges his boot on the inside of Monte’s foot to urge a wider stance, “— she is also unforgiving to lousy balance.”

She also likes long walks on the beach and a white wine at 8pm.

He casts a glance to check on the whereabouts of the Reaper, sailing behind them and quickly approaching.

“They won’t risk moving parallel to us.” And the reason is clear, the nimble and thin body of the Reaper does not have the firepower the Leviathan has. “Weaker creatures must resort to timorous strategies. They’ll strike the stern. We will not pivot fast enough to fire, nor will our shot land." How positive! “Death is likely. Standing here at the back of the ship directly in their line of fire, you both have the greatest risk of mutilation and death.”

If there is heaviness to that information, Lexis does not convey it any differently than his humor or a casual greeting. He blinks boredly.

What a pep-talk!

“Maintain course no matter the damage, Sir Greyfin.” It is steep to ask a stranger to have faith in a tactic that seems more akin to running and helplessly dying than doing something logical like even trying to fight. “Do not disappoint me by diverging from this order.”

And despite this macabre timeline of words, Lex finds space for more when he recalls the presence of Nemo. The breadth of his gaze moves to the scrawny individual, allocating attention and responsibility.

Hello little meow meow (threat).

"Should Sir Greyfin meet his end, the burden of his duty falls to you.” Captain Nemo! “Until then, you must watch the enemy and advise the ship when to brace for impact.”

Lex gives a pleasant sigh through the nose, clasps his hands in front of himself and bows a head to the two. He is infused with all the hasty urgency of a luxury spa.

“I must now peruse the cartography room.” Priorities amiss, it seems. “Good day and good luck.” Nonchalant farewell as if he hadn’t just warned of their oncoming demise, Lex turns on a heel and curtly retreats down into the mass of people.

The reason is unspoken, and with the emotional expression of a glass paperweight and the social aptness of sliced bread, he is yet to realize how frustratingly vague this behavior may be. He withdraws below deck with an objective for the map room, down the staircase and narrow passages that are alight with panicking guests.

Few break from the crowd to try Lexis for answers as he moves with a purpose despite such jaded features. He could likely achieve it himself, but help means a quicker pace (and potentially less damage to his beloved), and at the sight of two women he is familiar enough to know they have been on the ship longer than just this morning, his footsteps stop.

One, a brunette he’d met early on this voyage. She’d spoken to him one morning by the railing, hadn’t she? He does not recall the details of their fleeting conversation, but he remembers the star-shaped damage on the wood so clearly that he could map it out blind by touch alone.

The other, the widow. For a stretch of a moment Lex considers he should keep walking, deterred only by the fact he registers it might look odd. He thinks to try for softness, and extend an official apology about the fate of her husband. Algol was regrettable and Lex has had to archive it away in the library of his mistakes, save he spins with a guilt that consumes.

His mind had settled on one truth, only one thing for certain from that night:

He led them there and people died.

Known since even before stepping aboard The Leviathan: not everyone will survive here. It’s a truth that feels like slivers of frost in the throat, lives in every thought and every shadow and one will not find a single corner on this vessel where it does not nest itself as fact. He views it as something patiently waiting, but he will not greet it with familiarity.

Lex has failed to speak to the widow in fear of the terrible edge of his mouth misplacing what he needs to say, and a ready confession of that culpability vanishes like a closing accordion. Plays normalcy as best he can, taking a moment to surface from the liquid film of silence before, finally, he speaks.

“If you are not presently occupied, please assist me in the cartography room for a matter of great importance.” Without waiting for an answer he’d already begun walking; moving in silence is a much easier topic for the man to digest.

Through halls splashed in ochre lamplight and to the location of his interest, he enters the room that would be better referred to as Louise’s domain. A cluttered space of shelves, and in the centre lying smooth over a large oak table is a length of parchment detailing Siroc, inked by sun-bleached faded hands.

"I require a nautical almanac." A map. "The one I seek bears an illustrated octopus and three creases in the top right."

What the hell was going on.

He’d moved across the room to begin his own search, casual as ever. He pulls a tube of maps from the shelf, opens and flits through them briefly before discarding them on the ground with what will soon be a growing mess. The disarray is the only demonstration that Lexis might be conscious of the pressing urgency at hand.

Or perhaps the complete opposite, the man is often distracted and his erratic behavior this morning is not one that can be easily related to sanity.

Some of these maps must have met disuse for decades, lacquered in blankets of dust, and he pulls one from the back of the shelf to unravel.

"This one is well-made. Have either of you examined its contents?" Uncharacteristically chatty despite the fact they all may die. "It bears an inscription of a three-headed fish. Remarkable."

It joins the others on the floor.

Lex had spoken a lot today, and he can be certain his next sleep will be the most rewarding. Whether that be death or actual slumber is yet to be divined and may be weighed on his current fascination for parchment.

“Oh– and this one?” He turns to show it to the pair. "The coastline shading is precise. Whoever charted this was confident in their depth estimates. Interesting, yes?”

Disrupted

Sunny day attire

Deck --> Below deck

Aranyani

Naomiii_

Elera was not going to Antares. No way, no how. There was no reasoning with a bunch of no good, plundering criminals. The moment she stepped foot on that dock, she had no doubt that she would be accosted by some drunkard or miscreant. While she believed every individual on this earth deserved to have their soul saved by the stars, she did not believe in sacrificing her own safety in order to be another’s savior. Despite the fact that her ignorance had already caused her to do so multiple times, she was not innocent enough to step into the pirate port.

The ship was far safer. It was a good moment of reprieve to be separated from the majority of the other passengers. A moment to relax, to be alone with herself. While many found the idea of being alone with their own thoughts as something to avoid, she quite enjoyed the silence. In this time, she was provided the opportunity to be still.

Others often found her presence to be dissatisfactory, and she could say the same for them. On this voyage, there were many individuals with unsavory or out right annoying habits. Ones of which she could hardly stand even for the shortest period of time. In these rare moments of isolation, she was at peace.

Upon the return to sea, the peace she had been granted lingered. Elera no longer grew as easily irritable as she had only a few days prior. This beautiful sunny morning was to be enjoyed, regardless of how the working class behaved around her.

For the first time in a while, she looked fondly upon her time on deck. Sitting in one of the less crowded areas, she savored her breakfast over a book, one on the extensive biodiversity of The Canals. While she knew The Canals had a similar crime rate to Antares, its beauty was far greater, a temptation she was unsure she could resist. Perhaps with the right companion, she could enjoy the region safely.

For now, this was simply a daydream.

One that was so rudely interrupted by the chaos quickly ensuing. The entire time she had been on this ship, there was always something souring her otherwise pleasant mood.

“Excuse me, can you please quiet down? I am trying to enjoy this lovely morning!”

As always, Elera’s complaints went unheard. What could possibly be more important? She slammed her book shut with a huff. If everyone in the general vicinity refused to respect her time, she would have to spend it elsewhere. As she rose to her feet, the boat shook, nearly knocking her back down. In times like this, she had her doubts of the captain's experience in manning a vessel of this caliber.

“I wish the crew of this ship were more careful. It often seems they may wish us all to fall at the worst of times.” Elera muttered as she steadied herself against the railing, finally paying some attention to her surroundings. Her attention turned to the chaos ensuing on deck, watching as passengers were being ushered below deck. Perhaps she had been too hasty in assuming the ruckus was unwarranted.

However, she did not mindlessly follow the herd, instead taking the time to evaluate the cause of such a commotion. With the majority of the crowd having dissipated, the deck was mostly quiet again, allowing her ears to pick up on a noise that emitted from further away. Here at sea, they should be alone, the only life existing above the ocean's surface. Now it seemed this was not the case, for she could almost make out voices coming from outside the vessel.

Elera turned, seeing now what had caused the other passengers to react with such fear. A pirate’s ship, far too close for comfort. She had observed the care ships took as they passed in the night at such a distance from each other. They did not simply approach one another in this way. It seemed this must truly be a bad omen.

“Oh, Stars…”

The chaos seemed to confuse others as well. Elera jumped when another woman approached her. At least she was not met with a looming presence as she so often was, for this woman was barely any taller than her. Something that instantly made her presence unthreatening.

“Pardon me. I do believe I am simply as confused as you are. I was only seeking to enjoy such a perfect morning. It seems the Stars have not planned in my favor on this day.”

Elera saw no issue in completing the gesture, giving the woman’s hand a polite shake. While her clothing was on the simpler side, the covenant member had never been impressed by the garments people wore outside the Cascades.

“I do not believe we have met. I am Elera, I am traveling here under the guidance of the Stars. Tell me, have you-” She was cut off by another lurch of the ship. This was not the best time to have this discussion. Her eyes were drawn back to the other vessel, seeing a raise of their canons.

“Oh dear.” Yes, a bad omen indeed.

Once again, Elera grabbed the hand of the other woman, pulling her towards the stairs.

“I believe everyone else had the proper idea to remove themselves from this situation. We shall make haste to get below deck.”

A little late on the uptake, now Elera was terrified to a level higher than the situation so far called for.

“I would not be happy if they shot at us. Even less so if it would sink this craft. I do not believe I would fair well stranded out at sea. That is, if I do not drown all together.” How very reassuring for her newfound companion. “And I do not want to cause my family such worry. I know my mother would be quite fine, she is strong. However my fathers and brother would be distraught. Or at least I so hope they would mourn my disappearance. Though, I have faith the stars will not allow for such a disaster today. They will protect me in return for sharing their truths if they feel so generous.”

Yes, the stars had brought her on this mission, so they would not bring her death upon this day. Would they? Faith alone was certainly not enough to ease her beating heart, or the shaking of her body.

“Oh, I do so hope we do not meet our doom today.” A thought everyone likely shared and did not need repeated, thank you, Elera.

WORRIED | UNEASY

ABRACADABRA

DINING HALL

N/A

VIOLETTA

Daddy Dream

"My, I thought I recognized you in town, but brushed it off as a familiar looking face. Who would have known you were boarding the ship."

“Not to worry,” Lucrezia reassured, “everyone tends to blend in with the many faces all crowded together.”

"Did you come for breakfast, my dear? Why don't we eat together, I have yet to actually eat. I had a meeting with a rather unsavory yet interesting character just now."

“That would be quite marvelous actually. Please, after you.”

Lucrezia was no stranger to what kind of businesswoman Violetta was. Rather she didn’t blame her for meeting with those who were immorally disconnected from the rest. What she did worry about was if the deal was going well. Characters who allow their temptation to take host of their human vessel are ones you need to watch out for. That is what worried Lucrezia the most, but she knew to not judge so quickly. The noble woman continued to smile and adore the duchess from where she stood. She took a plate of her own to pile on foods of all kinds. Her eyes cascaded through the variety of it, eyes becoming bigger the more she wanted to indulge in everything. For now it was: Canal-styled pancakes, spicy sorracon eggs benedict, and an earl, blackberry grey tea she recognized to be imported from Zenith.

"So, to answer your previous question, since I got so caught up in the moment, I have been faring well. The winter season is approaching so preparation is in high gear. We have plenty of warm clothes and are stocking up on fuel, but our food situation is a bit dire. We might be looking at another potato-filled winter."

“I wouldn’t mind so as they are an easy commodity and very filling. I trust our cooks to be able to prepare an easy menu.”

Lucrezia didn’t expect less of Violetta looking towards future prospects, it was one of the things she truly amended the woman for afterall.

"But enough about me, how are you?"

Oh yes, the big question indeed.

There was a hesitance to how Lucrezia wanted to answer the duchess. She had to be careful to not overshare the events she had been a part of to not worry her. But what can she share? Her thoughts raced the moment they found a table. Her fingertips tapped vigorously against the clothed table, a leg shaking up and down with her words caught at the back of her throat.

“I am simply….” she began, her lips twitching into a smile, “doing well. Why I met our dear doctor Ilya Jovanović. Quite an odd and ominous man. His smile is so awkward and adorable, which is why he makes me giggle from his jesting morbidity. I also have met that mysterious Lady Devana of House Acindus in Antares. There is a magnetic pull of death that simply leaves me out of breath. Why, I believe she has caught my heart in a web of madness. Though if I may say, I was not sure if I have been deceived by my own shattered cognition but….it feels rather more quiet than usual. I sensed it the moment I entered here, but it feels there are less bodies here than I remembered. Have I gone truly mad?”

STRESSED, NERVOUS

soon to be burned

THE BRIG

Sonya, Knox, Adrian, Lizbeth, Devana, Hollow

picklemouse celestialbody celestialbody

The woman introduced herself as Sonya, a name Willow had not heard before. But then again, she’d spent her whole life in Zenith.

"Given our current...setting, I think I’ll reserve the more welcoming greeting for a time when we’re not locked in this miserable place."

Willow offered a slight nod, “That is much preferred.”

“Ah yes, Miss Farchill. It seems we both ran into some trouble last night.”

An eyebrow raised, it seemed he recognized her. Realization set in and her eyes shot towards the bars, hoping that no one heard her first and last name being spoken. The last thing she wanted was to be recognized by pirates while under their watch. Farchill wasn’t as recognizable as Peyton, however. So she seemed to be in the clear.

Would those from Antares recognize the name Peyton, anyways?

“I wouldn’t write off anyone’s ability to find a way out of here by gender.” Knox added, followed by a high-pitched scream that brought Willows hand to her mouth. Her eyes found a disheveled looking man.

“Apologies.”

…

Thank the gods she did not approach him for help.

She turned back to Knox. “Not at all. But I’ll trust my judgement for the time being.” Assuming you’ll be useful and stop making quips every second.

Enough screams and those cell doors would be opened for a reason other than escape. This thought is proven true almost immediately. Try as Knox might, even the King's Archer could not find a solid plan to escape, and a guard was approaching with violence on his tongue.

Willow witnessed the next few moments in complete silence. Holding her breath for fear that she may be noticed near the walls of the cell. Being invisible was a talent she only had in Zenith, where family and reputation preceded all. Here, she is not so confident.

Whatever plan the trio was about to dig up seemed useless compared to the scene before her. A woman attempted to gain the attention of a guard in a display that Willow respected almost as much as she abhorred it. She was forced into marriage for far, far less.

Still, the sight of the pirate made Willow stand on edge more than the woman’s display. She was never physically harmed by her former husband, but the way the man held himself proved the same thuggish behavior Wesley showed Willow behind closed doors.

Correct once again, the woman falls to the floor, Knox quick to come to her aid.

“We’ve gotta act fast and carefully. Anyone have any ideas?”

A chill ran down her spine at yet another approach. This, whoever it was, was not a pirate. His voice was an unsettling hum that failed to hide the hostility within. Already, Willow did not trust him.

“What can you tell me...about a certain Gallin Forestson?”

Willow tilted her head, eyes solely on the figure squatted outside of the cell. All possibilities ran through her head. A bounty hunter? A private investigator? A rich man with a vendetta, perhaps? For what other reason could he have to hide his face behind such a hideous mask?

The one Willow had dubbed the ‘unsettling woman’ spoke next, and for a moment there was only silence. “My Gallin,” the admission was foolish. If someone is going after those you care about, should you not pretend to not know them at all?

“Your business with Gallin Forestson is none of mine. Are we to believe you have the power to improve our conditions? Do you have something to do with our capture?”

Willow decided it was her turn to speak.

She tied her hands behind her back and crumbled her nerves just enough so they were hidden. Her eyes dragged from Knox to the stranger outside the cell.

“Apologies if I come off as discourteous, but I do hope you aren’t coming to us for information without offering any yourself.” She turned to face the bars, careful to keep distance. She did not intend to get thrown on the floor as well.

“Are we to just believe the words of an unknown man? Perhaps a deal is better made with a name and proper assurance. If you can unlock this cell, why not do it now?” An argument with no likelihood of success, but try she might.

“There are plenty of pirates with weapons out there, are there not? We will not get far if we try to run.”