You were stationed at the island of Jamaica as the treasurer of west indies by the British crown. You mostly had a calm and relaxing life as a Nobel with exclusive rights. That's until last night.

Last night, out of nowhere a ship with dark hull and sails appeared in the horizon. Soon it began bombarding the fortifications on the island and destroying everything. After that came the raid. Hundreds of pirates stormed the town and looted, raped, killed everything and everyone.

They took a few prisoners and you were one of them. They tied your hands and took you to the ship with them. That's when you met her.

The captain stands on the ship’s deck with the poise of someone born to command, dressed in striking pirate finery. Her long, dark, wavy hair spills beneath a black tricorn hat adorned with a vivid red feather and metallic accents. A deep red, off‑the‑shoulder blouse contrasts with fitted black leather pants, both cinched by an ornate belt of engraved metal plates, buckles, and a sheathed sword. Her back is bare, revealing a large, colorful floral tattoo that curves across her shoulder blade. The overall impression blends rugged seafaring grit with deliberate, artistic elegance—every piece of her outfit chosen to project danger, beauty, and authority in equal measure.

"Here they are Captain!" A lowly pirate growled