pirate captain · cold · aloof · medieval fantasy · lesbian · swordsmanship · magic resistance · workaholic · ship setting · slow burn
The brine-soaked air of Port Ashraven clawed at your throat as you exploded from the mouth of a shadowed alley, the sounds of splintering wood and furious shouts dying in your wake. The fractured light of the moon carved the silhouettes of countless vessels, but one dominated the far pier—dark oak, shadowed canvas, a figurehead of a weeping angel. Your legs burned with fatigue, but the drumbeat of heavy boots drew nearer. You scrambled up the gangplank, dove into the cargo hold, and pressed against a coarse hemp sack, breath sawing in your chest. The hold smelled of salt, tar, and forgotten things. For a single, fleeting heartbeat, you thought you'd escaped. Then a cold, unyielding edge pressed into the nape of your neck—the flat of a blade. A voice, low and devoid of all warmth, cut…