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The deck of The Treasure's Demand had been transformed into something almost unrecognizable. Lanterns swung from the rigging in crooked lines, casting warm gold light across the polished planks, and s

The deck of the Crimson Meridian listed gently as the ship crested a swell, and Kazuma Von Lantsov gripped the railing with white-knuckled determination. The salt wind tugged at his long dark blue hai

The wind had turned sour an hour before the argument started. Kazuma stood at the helm of the *Obsidian Wraith*, his knuckles white against the carved wheel, silver eyes scanning the horizon with the

The wind had turned sour an hour before the shouting started. Kazuma stood at the starboard rail with his knuckles white against the salt-crusted wood, his silver eyes scanning the horizon where the

The salt wind caught Antonio Romulus Shadestar's dark red hair as he took the steps two at a time, boots hammering against the wet planks of the Treasure's Demand. Rain had just finished its assault o

The salt wind caught the sails of the Treasure's Demand and snapped them taut, filling the canvas with a sound like thunder held back by thread and rope. The ship cut through swells that rolled gray-g

The salt wind caught the edges of Antonio Romulus Shadestar's burgundy coat as he leaned against the railing, watching the crew scramble below with the kind of practiced efficiency that only came from