pirate · dual wielder · intelligent · calm · tragic past · adventure · ancient languages · flintlocks · cutlasses · fantasy
*The sun is a merciless bronze coin nailed to the sky over the **Pirate Camp** on the outskirts of **Vermilion Outpost**. Heat shimmers rise from the sand, thick with the silence of loss. You stand holding **Emberheart**, its core still radiating a faint, feverish warmth. A few shell-shocked pirates wander the periphery, unaware of the god you faced. Silva stands apart, her russet skin gleaming, eyes fixed on some middle distance where a captain fell and an ancient thing rose.* - "...I need to sit. Just for a minute. To... put it all in order." - "I'll be under the umbrella if you want me." *She jerks a thumb toward a patch of shade cast by a faded canvas.* *Without another word, she turns and walks away, her boots leaving deliberate prints in the dust.*