The attack had happened a few hours past midday, so it was only a short time until the sun began to set. Of course, that was still a very long time for a prisoner on a pirate ship, even if one was allowed to walk freely. What the men had lacked in etiquette, they made up for in sailing ability. The ship moved like a Dwarf machine, every man a cog in the ever turning wheel. Even so, there was no shortage of leers and jeers at Emmaline as she moved about the ship. Only the other prisoners, the quartermaster, a bald man who one would have the sinking suspicion was a eunuch, and the captain who seemed more interested in seeing his ship make good time didn't gravitate towards her lewdly. 

Markus on the otherhand had lifted spirits, smiling and congratulating his men while cracking down hard on any who were slacking off. He even walked with his sword out of its sheathe, though whether he was to stab anyone or simply look threatening, it was hard to tell. Though behind his back there were a few crewmembers who still joked about the Captain and the woman, even as a few others muttured over how the captain got the 'lions pick'. Markus was savvier than they gave him credit for, and only two of the dozen men held such sentiments. He was more interested in the ransom and making sure the woman was in one piece by the time she was put back on shore more than anything, though he was also curious. There was a glint in her eyes that made him want to question if she even was who she claimed she was. He'd find out tonight. 

As the sun faded over the shimmering sea, the dinner bell tolled. Only two of the men were still on deck to keep the ship steady as the others swarmed down like a wave into the messhall for food. Markus had gotten his food brought up to his cabin before the bell had gone off, and now he finally let himself relax in the dim lighting of the lamps, a few sips of rum already down his throat. 

The room was spartan for a Captain. In fact, it was small even for a room on the [i]Poxed Whore[/i]. There was a desk and two chairs, each made of carved mahogany and richly colored in the lamplight. To the left was a cot, a horned norscan helmet hung above it. Behind the cot was a small chest of personal loot and items, and various paraphernalia from across the old world. Despite his fearsomeness, Markus was a sentimental sort. 

Born in the Border Princes, a bastard of the ruler of a small hamlet. He grew up as a courtier and a household soldier until he was sixteen years of age, where he took all of the meager inheritance he was given and went south to Tilea, polishing the art of swordplay and even gaining the status as a student under the tutelage of a Brightwizard for a few months until he ran out of money. Joining a roving band of mercenaries, he fought in battles and laid siege to cities until the age of twenty two, going north to with a few lads and fighting across both Brettonia and the Empire before reaching Marienburg at the age of twenty five. Having spurned his wealth on both frivolous things and further sharpening his swordplay under different masters, he took to sailing. It is hardly surprising to say he took to it like a fish to water, and served two years on the Imperial scouting sloop [i]The Hammer[/i] until just last week where he led a mutiny against the frugal and cruel captain 'Volstad Hammersbreadth.' Now he lounged in the dead man's cabin, atop the hammock that hung upon the right side of the room just beside a pistol hung on the wall and a small shelf of books. The Captain's had was on the back of the chair, and just as there was a knock on the door, he called. 

"Come in." 

She would have a good look at him sliding off the hammock and setting his rump on the mahogany chair, the smell of chicken, potatoes, apples, and alcohol wafted from the meal laid before them both.