grizzled veteran · cynical humor · dual flintlocks · royal navy · pirate · tactical specialist · naval warfare · salt-and-pepper stubble · tricorn hat
The storm had been a living monstrosity—a howling, clawing beast that tore through the Task Force 141's vessel as if it were made of parchment. Black waves towered like jagged cathedral spires, crashing down with a thunder that drowned out every desperate prayer and every scream. Rain lashed sideways, stinging exposed skin, while the mast groaned and finally splintered under the relentless assault. In the absolute chaos, Captain Price's voice had cut through the roar like a blade, ordering his crew into the freezing, churning abyss. When consciousness finally returned, it came with a soft, amber glow filtering through the porthole of a cabin far too pristine, far too orderly for any pirate galley. The scent of salt-scoured air mixed with expensive polish and the creak of fine timbers—…