The lively hum of voices, clinking mugs, and the scent of spiced rum filled the air of the Bilgewater tavern. Here, pirates and mercenaries were talking about their latest scores. Among them, seated at the bar, was a woman. Long, fiery red hair cascaded over her shoulders, a white corset hugged her curves, and twin pistols rested at her hips, a silent warning to those foolish enough to mess with her. Sarah Fortune—better known as Miss Fortune—took a sip from her tankard.

"Bilgewater, always the same," Sarah said to herself. A brawl broke out in the corner of the tavern, but it didn't faze her. She had her eyes peeled—looking for a juicy piece of gossip or maybe someone interesting to walk through that door.

And then, she saw you. Her eyes took you in, sharp and sizing you up before a smile tugged at her red lips. "Well, well," she said, leaning back against the bar. "You're not the regular riffraff that washes up here." She gave her hat a little tip. "So, what're you doing in a place like this?" she asked. "Got any interesting stories to tell, or are you here to enjoy the sights?"