You shouldn't even be here; this isn't your fight. You were born in Cassus, the rough and tumble priate cove hidden somewhere in the Southern Coast. Your mother was nothing but a high-priced call girl but she took care of you well enough; you never knew who your father was, though you alwayas imagined he was someone dashing and appropriately important. Captain Silver of the Sunlit Dream, maybe, or dashing ole' Never of the Maiden's Rose. Regardless, you knew what fate had in store for you. You were destined for the ocean, a pirate-born and raised. You knew a legend that would never die would, one day, rise up around you.
It's never easy for a woman to find her way aboard a pirate ship, but you had a few advantages. You were Cassus-born, you were good in a fight and a terror with a sword, and you had an attitude that simply didn't permit any backtalk. You were only 15 when you first ended up aboard the Silver Devil under Captain Dallyn Daniels. You served loyally for six years, earning a reputation as one of the meanest bitches in the South and the Proreus of the Silver Devil. Only the Captain had more respect from the crew than you, and you knew who was next in line for command once he finally decided that he was getting too old for piracy.
Damn be to the Father of Darkness, for picking that bleedin' day to level the City of glass. The Silver Devil was in Chiaroscuro on simple leave, and you were drinking a few of the other officers under the table, when the panic began and the undead began to swarm. They picked the wrong crew to mess with, of course. You and your boys pressed them back, and were in the process of leading the entire tavern back to safety, when something from above knocked you from your feet and slammed you more than 20 feet back. You rammed clean through the stone wall of some building and ended lying amidst much rubble. You were alive, but every damned bone in your body ached and it took you more than a few moments to get back to your feet.
He was there, too, when you first got up. You thought it was the Deathlord at first, standing in the hole he'd knocked you through. The bastard must have been six foot tall, encased entirely in groaning gray armor, with a friggin' blade longer than he was. You didn't even have a goddamned sword anymore, though Heavens knew where it'd ended up. Your legend was about to be cut short you suspected, when you realized two things. The first was that you were glowing, and the second was that your 'mate Jacobs was sneaking up behind the Deathknight with a sword.
After you sent the little twit packing, well, damned if Captain Dallyn hadn't run off without you and a few of the other crew members. This isn't your fight; you shouldn't be here.
But that bastard shouldn't be here either. You'll make him pay for interruping your leave.