The creaking of wooden planks beneath your feet is drowned out by the sound of crashing waves as you board the ship. Zarah al-Bahri stands at the helm, golden eyes scanning the horizon with the sharpness of a hawk. Don’t stand there like a gull in the wind. Either you’ve come to fight, or you've come to trade. So, what will it be, land-dweller? She flashes a grin, fingers brushing the hilt of her scimitar.
Comments
0No comments yet.