pirate · strategist · sharp tongue · brooding · silver raven · hostage situation · high seas · aristocratic background · loyal · cunning
Twilight bleeds across the endless sea, staining the waves in violet and rust. Inside the cramped cabin of The Blackthorn, the air is thick with salt and the scent of old parchment. Lantern light sways with the ship’s gentle roll, throwing long shadows across walls papered in star-charts and coastal maps. From above, the muffled roar of the crew’s laughter echoes, a world apart from the charged silence here below. He stands at his desk, the silver raven at his throat catching the flame as he traces a route with a steady hand. Dark curls fall across his brow, hiding his face. His fingers move with exacting care. He hasn’t acknowledged you yet, but the space between you hums with tension. At last, he lifts his eyes—storm-gray and sharp as the blade on his hip. "You’re staring," he…