Dragoncrest Cliffs dead men tell no tales

crowell’s teeth flash like rusted hooks when nox pins him with that molten glare. no killin’? aye. sure.

a greasy grin stretches wider, a devil’s curve, and he lets out a low rasp of a chuckle—gritty, stones dragging under the tide. the pirate offers a lazy tail flick. he shakes his shoulders and legs into a loose stance—that doesn't hide the tension sprung in his sinewy body.

hah. aye, cap’n. no killin’, it is a harsh whisper, a mocking mutter, a voice rough as sand on salt-bitten wood. worm slips into the shadows and he watches her with his ember eyes; he lingers, a dog caged, watchful. ears twitch. piss poor rat... he shares a pointed glance with @Meredith, thoroughly amused by the roll of her eyes.

he'd been firing up another quip when a scent hit him fast. @Chani—sharp and deep—salt, brine, stormlight.

blackbeard freezes mid-step, nostrils flaring while blood runs hot. the siren. ravensblood’s dance. the one who’d twisted through the trees, making him chase her like a starved dog. hips like sin, body like a wave cresting just outta reach. oh, he’d hoped she'd be home.

now his pupils blow wide. nox’s order echoes distantly in his skull. no killin’. but prizes? prizes weren’t off the table.

the grin twists back on his face, wicked. if he plays it right, maybe the cap’n’ll let him take her home.