Khar Island, Stois Blana Territory

"You have not yet stated your reasons for being here, pirate."

It hadn't been enough that a week ago, she'd been thrown oversea following scrutiny. Nor had it been enough that she had to hunt down a ship to remotely enjoy her survival. It also hadn't been enough that after docking on territory that she considered 'friendly' for people like herself, she gets barred by the most fierce navy on the continent. No, still not enough.

No food or water for two days, and her humanity was caving in. Hunger tore through her stomach like a hot iron, the thirst burning her throat in every intake of breath which she found growing short with each passing hour. Torture was such an odd concept; it was something inflicted onto people by others, but sometimes, it was self-inflicted; refusing to speak, breaking under the pressure of interrogation, declining their attempts at shattering your pride and spirit. If she had been the cowardly type, she would've told them everything. 

It would hurt more if she did give it away, though.

The pirate only felt a yank in her hair, making her look up. An oil lamp was lit in the corner atop a rotting wooden table, the only other source of light was a small window high up in the prison wall. She could hear the ocean and smell it. The illumination gave way for her to admire her captor. Old, wrinkly, breath reeking of Nar rum and tobacco. His left eye was alarmingly red, she feared it would pop out of its socket. The anger was running its course and it would be a lie to say she didn't enjoy it. Inflicting as much pain onto herself and onto others wishing to spite her. Karma.

"Khar Island has never been Nar territory despite the proximity. I will not speak to an illegal presence on my turf."

Her typically cold and sultry voice croaked. She'd stopped salivating after the second day. It hurt to give the guard her signature smug smirk that typically earned her a smack or two. This time, it came down as a backhanded slap. Her body nearly slipped out from the chair which she was bound to with irritating ropes. She slowly recovered, hunching forward and daring to meet the man's trembling gaze again. "The business of Nar jurisdiction is none of your business. You've been finding ways to dodge questioning for two days, but my patience is running thin", he spat. "Consider it a privilege to be alive, pirate."

"You can wash my blood off your hands, though I should warn you of the war that could explode from this".

War. A loose term. The most likely outcome was that the Stois Blana pirates would see her death as an instigation by the Nar. The pirates would not hesitate to retaliate; the border was close, not even an hour's sail from where she stood captive.

Pirates were a complicated, devilish breed. They changed alliances as much as the moon changed faces in the night sky, always distrusting and suspicious of their neighbor, worried when a greedy eye grew too wide over something they desired. To be a pirate required one to embrace some of those rotten traits among petty humans. They were no different than almighty, selfish kings hoarding their wealth, or knights killing each other to ascend to nobility. But perhaps the loyalty of pirates, though disruptive and unpredictable like the waves, was what set them apart from others in the world.

She watched how the Nar guard leaned away from her and approached another table in the corner. She listened to the pouring of drinks. Her thirst was uncontrollable. Yesterday's rain had nearly broken her. As nice as it was to joke in the face of authority that could hang her if it so wished, she had to remind herself that she planned to escape. Survival, by any means necessary.

"You seem very trusting of a group who would turn you in just as quickly to save their skin", the guard continued. Things she already knew. She could just as quickly lure a fellow pirate into an ambush if it meant she had more time to run for her own life. Her life in Ejiri hadn't exactly raised her to be humble and good. "Champier would be in a much better position if it weren't for your kind."

The pirate scoffed, "Are you a monarchist, sir?". He turned and look at her through glaring eyes. She shrugged her aching shoulders. "Perhaps a man of privilege, then. Well-off enough to not have starved along with all the other people."

"You understand what your people did to the queen and the youngest princess, do you not?".

Hanging. A peasant's punishment.

"I carry no guilt of a crime that was committed before I was born, sir."

The guard glared again. "Aye, perhaps you don't", he continued and slowly approached with two cups. The pirate could feel the energy return to her legs and arms just by the smell of it alone... wine. Red Nar wine from the sweet south, made with the most intoxicating fruits she'd ever had the pleasure of trying in her sad, miserable life. It made her dizzy. Hunger, thirst, she would die soon. "Though I've enjoyed our conversation, I'm afraid my patience has run its course. So tell me, pirate, do you care for wine before I send you to be hanged?".

She gulped. Oh.

Despite her immediate lack of answer, he took it upon himself to tilt her head up, and press the rim of the cup to her lips. The sweet and dry beverage made her eyes water, and as she quenched her unnatural thirst, the pirate regained a new-found composure. It allowed her to inspect the room around her with big, grey eyes, her face unchanged as she consumed the rest of the wine, nearly choking on it as she noticed how murderous the guard had become. It wasn't long before he had stepped behind her, and when she felt her bindings go loose.

Bingo.

"Oh, you stupid, stupid man."

It took rising from the chair and slamming its legs against the torso of the guard to get him to go down. The pirate wrestled against the loosening bindings until the ropes curled at her feet, she felt her blood begin to flow through her arms and legs. She felt like a newborn, legs turned to jelly, holding onto the nearby table to make herself stand properly. She looked at the groaning guard on the floor and crouched beside him, her fingers quickly snatching the flintlock pistol from his belt and slipping it into her own. She rid him of his jacket, shuddering at the maroon red. The Nar was a blood-thirsty people even in the most literal ways.

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The pirate left, but not before binding the guard to the cell bars. The gallows were not unfamiliar to her, she had had a few shares with the law even in her short twenty-four years of life. She just had to be mindful to keep her already short, black hair tucked into the naval hat, and to keep said hat bowed at an angle so nobody could see her face. The twists and turns of the gallows left her confused, they had knocked her out cold when they caught her, so finding a way out had not been easy. Her eyes scanned for any more prisoners. Aside from the typical drunken sailor who'd breached the peace, she found nothing. Not a single pirate.

Had they been targeting, following her? Had news of her survival reached the ears of her old crew yet? And if so, how long did she have until she was being hunted down not just by an armada of maroon pirate hunters, but by her old captain, the man who mentored her? The pirate quickened her steps as she broke into the sunlight, opening a metal gate and closing it.

Khan Island had a single fortress that had been abandoned with the monarchy's death. It became nothing more than hiding spots for pirates fleeing from the sea; now, it had been reclaimed by pesky Nar officers. It stood atop the taller hills of the islands, an ocean of palm trees and ditches surrounding her before she saw the glisten of the sea. Blue, perfect, calling to her. She looked about to find higher ground, staying low as she trod up the stone steps into the watch tower of the fortress. It had not been as occupied as she had expected, much to her pleasure. She had no means of taking on so many soldiers, and she couldn't rely on them being as stupid as the previous guard.

At the top, she observed the sights around her. The island had no official port or dock, a blessing she'd been needing. The anxiety that had chewed her up from the moment she'd broken out of the cell eventually settled into a passing cold feeling in her stomach, a gasp of relief breaking through her throat as she spotted the sails. Blue. And in the rear, an emerging skull, dowsed in gold so pure it blinded her in the sun. Her ship, one of legend but her ship regardless, one she had uncovered when she washed ashore in the Path of Tamfil after the mutiny. The captain could nearly cry upon seeing it still there. In those two days, the guards hadn't thought to try and sink it to the bottom of the ocean. Or perhaps they knew it was unsinkable.

The captain began to hurry. She traveled down the fortress and hurried through the immense selva, the humid air prickling at her skin, sweat building at her forehead. She removed the naval hat and the cloak and tossed them behind her as she ran, the ocean's call blowing at her ears. Her steps slowed as she reached the sand, boots squeaking, and then splashing as she neared the water. The Medusa had been docked just before the seabed, thankfully. The memories of that night escaped her, much to her dismay, as she couldn't recall how she'd even been caught.

She suspected that the guards had rowed to her and climbed onboard when her guard was down. After all, sailing a ship by herself was quite the job. As liberating as it was to yank and tilt the sails, lift the anchor, or turn the wheel, it was not the job of one sailor. The absence of a crew began to grow. It was why her next stop after the Path of Tamfil was Stois Blana, the only land among the seven nations where pirates had any jurisdiction over themselves. And then she was ambushed. Her face pricked with embarrassment even now.

Climbing aboard the ship took minutes, as the guards that had abducted her were nice enough to leave their rowboat at the shore. The pirate half expected to go aboard her ship to find it swarmed with unwelcomed visitors, but they would've sailed away with it long ago if that had been the case.

She climbed aboard via the ladder, and her steps were pleasant against the sleek oak. The canons were still in place, sails untouched, anchor lowered. She threw the doors to her captain's quarters open; untouched, as was the brig and the lower deck. The Medusa creaked and waded softly against the morning tide, reminding the captain that she was yet to chart her new course. Throwing the contents of a map chest out, she looked over the cursed continent she would explore a dozen times in her lifetime.

Her home kingdom stood in the east, whilst she remained in the west, just below the crushing boot of Nar, whose military power grew stronger every day so long as pirates remained pirates. Below her, Isleta del Sur, a pirate's island with growing resistance. Beside Nar, the Charred Prairie, a growing scorching desert where the peasants were revolting. Enpraso stood just below it, meandering between neutrality and war with a growing Nar presence at its borders.

She could draw Champier's map blindfolded. Her childhood curiosity always led her to the library when she wasn't forced to cut down bamboo or serve tea to her grandmother. The map of Champier was in the main entrance, chartered and perfected, colored with the rivers and seas and mountains. A small continent when compared to the rest of the world, but it was home.

The captain pinned down her desired location and retrieved her compass from the drawer at her mahogany desk. She had two options; she could pick up a crew at Isleta, or in Stois Blana's capital port, Yudzig. The range of skills changed drastically depending on both options. Do I want a bunch of drunks or a bunch of half-drunks? She sighed, looking up at a hanging object above the door of her cabin. It was a custom for pirates to be superstitious despite how many deities could cast their cold gaze and sword at them for their petty crimes. The ones that remained were the scorned lords of the seas, a myriad of gods from all books doomed to sail just like her. The marble head of the shrieking sea serpent stared back at the pirate.

"Come on. Help me make the right choice this time."

The pirate landed her gaze on her final decision; Isleta del Sur.

She didn't linger. Out through the doors, and onto the deck, the sails were soon lowered and adjusted as per the breath of the wind. She heaved and grunted as she pushed onto the anchor wheel. The Medusa rocked slowly and soon began to move in the desired direction; south. The captain hopped onto the wheel and wrapped her aching fingers around it. The sensation always brought her security; she trusted her sense of direction, and she trusted herself in sailing wherever destiny had pointed her to. Just a week ago, she hadn't been allowed to even come atop the main deck. The brooding size and presence of her mentor reminded her that though she fought alongside him, she was not the captain.

Things were different now. She had to remind herself.

Aoimine Susanoo traveled towards the forecastle deck, the sea perfuming her face with the scent she'd missed so dearly in just two days. Her hand squeezed against the railing to remind herself of her escape and current location, of her safety. When she had assembled a crew, perhaps she could travel with heightened confidence. She still had not forgotten her current position, and where her seemingly unknown name and role sat amongst the pirate hierarchy.

There were over a hundred ships out there, claiming and conquering the lost treasures of the old monarchy, filling their pockets with gold and jewels. The most ambitious crews had garnered more than just gold; weapons, spiritual treasures, and the beckoning of sea monsters that common humans believed to not exist. It was the ambition that separated petty pirates from the Pirate Lords, five renowned crews who'd historically been at each other's throats. Unbeknownst to most, their authority was grand, and they were at the front lines against the fight with Nar. Well, most of them were.

Susanoo reached into her coat which she'd been reunited with and dug her hands through the pockets. Her fingers squeezed around the object, breathing heavily as the Medusa sailed at high speeds. The wind blowing past her ears whispered to her the stories she already knew.

Part of the reason she also needed a crew was that she needed her line of defense. In her grasp was a pirate lord's opium, an object of hierarchy that could brand a heathen as a god. If it fell in the hands of a pirate lord...

It won't.

But the fact remained. Susanoo, an unseasoned, crewless pirate aboard a ship she had acquired by legendary chance, was the crown-possessing but not crowned, Pirate King.

The unknown, most wanted woman in the Champier sea. Dead or alive.