User blog comment:Doctor Ibrahim/The Fatekeeper/@comment-28718853-20161207021653/@comment-28358106-20161208123645

In a way that seems like he's always been there, Flamer suddenly finds himself in someplace different. Wooden planks are beneath his feet, and massive masts with riggings surround him. The creak and groan of a vessel at sea fill his ears, and the sky is a dull, hanging gray, like a low cloud lit from beneath at night. He's on a ship.

"Captain Annabella Blackmane.  Black Annie to me enemies, Blackie to me friends. Captain t' everyone else, if they got smarts."

Flamer looks up. A Hellhound, dressed in the manner of a corsair with a sword on her hip and a flintlock on her belt, walks up slowly from the darkness of the deck beyond. Even for a Hellhound, she is large, muscular and trim, and her ample bust isn't very well hidden; she doesn't wear a lot under her greatcoat.

The flames from her eyes burn a deep violet red. She grins as she walks up slowly.

"Well, now.  Ya spoke me name and now yer here.  Better get used to it lad; the Mori don't work like normal places." She folds her chiseled arms and grins a toothy grin as she stops a short distance away. Her glowing eyes size him up.

"Ye look like ye've been put through the wringer, boyo.  I hope ye ain't come lookin' fer a spot in the Mori.  Ye look half dead as ye are."