Daliaghna Blackwater
The sea air smelled stale and metallic. Daliaghna Blackwater stood regally in the rigging of her ship, The Screaming Siren. She sighed slightly, rubbing the bridge of her nose as the helmsman expertly piloted the vessel into the port of Freeland. "We're here M'lady." The bos'n spoke as he walked toward the captain. Her golden eyes snapped onto the man, glaring him back down. "I can see that, idiot." She snapped. The man smiled sheepishly at her. Stepping down to the deck the woman ordered the gangplank lowered onto the dock. The ship groaned underneath them, they had sustained a lot of damage from their last plunder, losing several good crewmen. However, the plinking of her very full gold pouch told her they were easily replaceable. "Bos'n, get the men working on repairing the body of my lovely lady." "Aye m'lady!" There was the hollow clunking of the woman's boots as she walked across the deck and down the gangplank. She was headed to find more men. Several men gaped at her as she passed, whispering her name "Black Dahlia" they called her. She smirked slightly. The name had been started by a pair of Eastern fishermen she'd come upon in the faraway seas. They could not speak her language and as she introduced herself Daliaghna Blackwater had been shortened and translated into Black Dahlia. She had shown the cowering filth mercy, slaying the rest of their crew members. They scattered after she'd left, spreading story far and wide of a vicious fiery she devil pirate named Black Dahlia. Not that she minded the name, of course. On the contrary, she found it suited her and struck fear where she wanted it struck. The woman swept down the crowded town streets and alleyways, her long black coat flowing behind her. She kept a dark glare on her face, frightening away the men that stared at the frightening, yet alluring pirate. She was dressed for combat in black leather boots and black pants made for movement. On top she wore a white men's blouse under a red corset and the coat that she wore everywhere, which reached almost to the floor behind her. Her red hair was adorned with her captain's cap. Up ahead she spotted the tavern where she hoped she could find the men she needed. "The Final Resting Place" it was called. Suitable, for many a man had lost his life in the useless brawls of drunkards. She slammed the door open, stepping inside the dimly lit tavern. It reeked of alcohol and body odor. Her boots were the only sound as conversation lulled around her. The dark woman strode to an open table by the fireplace, instantly seating herself in a chair and leaning back, placing her feet upon the table. She tossed a coin to a passing barmaiden, ordering herself a flask of rum. Daliaghna cracked her knuckles, resting them on her thigh. Her eyes scanned the room, looking for likely men to join her crew.