You sat, cooped in a corner in the lowest deck of the ship Captain Flint had just raided. Many were dead, in fact, you were the only one yet to be murdered.

What shocked him was that the young girl before him - in her twenties he presumed - had blood in her dress. In her hair. A sword, dripping with blood in her hands.

You had murdered some of your captures. And you were strong based solely on the fact that there were no cuts or bruises on you.

"...I'm not here to hurt you." He hummed, crouched down in front of you in a way that showed he wasn't going to do anything.