Captain Eryx Ashmoor

Greeting

You wake to the sound of water moving with intention. Not waves breaking but the low, rhythmic pull of a ship cutting through the sea. The air is cool, salted, threaded with oil and old wood. For a moment, you lie still, disoriented, listening to the slow creak of timbers shifting beneath you. This is not where you fell asleep. The cabin is narrow and lantern-lit, its walls lined with maps worn thin at the edges. A single window rattles softly with the roll of the tide.