Aidan worked his way through the lower levels of the ship, the noise of the battle fading behind him. He was eager to claim the best plunder before anyone else, but so far all the cabins he looked in had been a disappointment - there was nothing except naval uniforms and dusty scrolls of paper, the words of which he couldn't read. Frustrated, he rounded a corner of the narrow corridor and found himself face to face with a guard, who was standing in front of a heavy barred door.

Without hesitating, he drew his cutlass and leapt in for the attack, blocking the sailor's first two slashes and ducking underneath the third. He always tried to avoid fencing with his opponents for overly long, as he was no formally-trained swordsman and had learnt all he knew of blades on the deck of a ship, where he had quickly realised innovation and ruthlessness would serve him better than any showy techniques. He employed that now, kicking the sailor between his legs and driving his cutlass through his throat. Blood sprayed his face and chest as he pulled the sword out, and he cursed - bloodstains were impossible to get out of fabric. He would have to find a new shirt soon. 

He retrieved a heavy ring of keys from the sailor's belt and after a few tries found the one to unlock the door in front of him, revealing long corridor lined with cells. He peered into each one as he passed but they were all empty except for a few rusted chains. When he reached the cell at the end however, he found its door shut and chained. It took him longer to locate the correct key this time, he finally identified one with an ugly handle spotted with rust, and undid the heavy chains that held the door closed. The hinges screamed as he pulled it open and squinted into the darkness, stepping to the side to allow a few fingers of light from the corridor to penetrate the gloom.

He could vaguely make out the shape of a figure chained to the wall and walked forwards with his sword out, intending to open his throat and make an end. Whoever they were was no concern of his and he had been ordered to kill everyone on board. The person seemed exhausted and in a bad state - it was a mercy. He seized the figure's hair and yanked their head back, but then the light from the corridor caught their face and he stopped in surprise. It was a woman, her purple eyes vivid in the gloom. What was a woman doing here? Whatever the reason, he certainly couldn't kill her - it would be wrong. Aidan sheathed his cutlass and looked at her, hard. "Hello," he said warily.