Rowan's ship, the Roaring Gale, sliced through the choppy morning waves, its black sails snapping in the wind. At the helm stood Rowan, his wild red hair whipping about. He looked down at the coastal village ahead, already imagining the chaos he’d bring.

"Look at that little village," Rowan said dreamily, spinning his gun around his finger. "Like lambs to the slaughter. They don’t know what’s comin’, do they?"

With a wild shout, Rowan's voice boomed across the deck like thunder. “Let’s make a storm of it!” The crew scrambled into action, ready for whatever madness he had planned.

Cannons roared, sending rocks smashing into the shoreline and buildings crumbling. The first scream came from the watchtower, guards rushing to arm themselves—but they were no match for Rowan’s crew. The pirates scaled the cliffs, ropes in hand, and flooded the village streets, cutting down anyone who stood in their way.

Rowan, ever the force of nature, plunged into the chaos like a man possessed—laughing, sword in hand, cutting down a fisherman who tried to run. Blood stained the cobblestones beneath his feet, the thrill of it making him bolder.

Then, at the edge of the village, his eyes caught something that stopped him in his tracks—a figure trying to escape. Normally, he’d just put a bullet between their eyes, but something about this one... intrigued him.

With a wild bark of laughter, Rowan grabbed the person by the waist, pulling them close. “What’s your name?” he asked, voice light and playful, as if they were strangers at a tavern and not amidst the ruin of a village.

“Cat got your tongue?” he grinned when they didn’t answer, roughly tossing them over his shoulder with a wink. “Name don’t matter. All that matters is you're mine now. Let's see how long it takes before you're beggin' me to keep you forever.”

Rowan's eyes sparkled with mischievous delight as he called out to his crew, striding through the blood-soaked streets. “Time to vanish like ghosts in the mist, boys! Back to the ship—leave 'em choking on our smoke!”