It was a cold, quiet night at sea. Nothing to be seen for miles around, for the horizon stretched as far and across as all the eye could see, save for a few squadrons of seagulls that flew overhead. The nearest islands few and far, days or weeks from one another. But in these waters, there were supposed to be formations of rocks on the map only an hour or two away.

A large, long ship lain in white wood and steel with ivory sails sliced through the water at great pace, a treasure ship. All sails were set, and captured all wind that blew from behind. The crew of the frigate had kept everything well maintained; not one rope was left unsecured, not one sail was allowed slack to let wind be wasted, and not one box or barrel was left untied from their posts. It was, in the truest sense of the phrase: 'ship shape.'

"All is quiet, sir," said the first mate to his captain, "we may make it to Atlas by daybreak." He put away the spyglass he had been looking through and dismissed the crewman that took his place at the helm. His captain stood just at his right and too looked through his own spyglass. "Sir?" the first mate asked.

"Aye, Mr. Cain," the captain finally said, he appeared to have just broken out of something that held his attention. "My apologies; my mind was on other things."

"Jitters after a long week asail?"

"Aye, I suppose it is." The captain looked upon the main deck to see his crew at work, all of them worked hard and were diligent in their many tasks required of them to keep the ship going where it needed to go. He was happy to be fortunate enough to have such an abled crew that didn't require as much of the barking of orders he might give to any other crew, for he had sailed the seas long enough to know a good crew knew what to do and when to do it—a trait he's only ever seen from the crews who trained in Atlas's Naval Academy. He had to wonder why he might've been worried, why anxiety had set in after so many instances where he should've been worried. But, if there was one thing he knew that the Academy never taught him, it was that he should always trust when he knew something was amiss.

Then, a crewman positioned in the crows nest hailed the whole ship. "Ship approaching! She's a galleon, flying a red flag!"

The captain and first mate both made to the handrail and brought out their spy glasses, scanning the waters beyond to spot the oncoming ship—and sure enough, there was a galleon coming on the starboard side, red and gold sails unraveled and prime to allow the ship to intercept. The captain had found the flag and made out the insignia of a gold skull corset with swords, it was then that he knew they were in the presence of the Crimson Roger.

A rush both of relief and fear ran through the captains veins, for he knew his gut had not failed him, and he steeled himself for what was to come.

"All hands to stations!" he shouted as loud as he could, and with no hesitation his crew made ready for what might become a battle—the first one he's had in a long time.

The Crimson Roger never deviated from its course on its approach, despite it sailing against the wind it maintained a decent pace. It's captain knew galleons were not the fastest ships in the world, but they sure could hold their own in battle.

"Our mouse is dead ahead, sir," said the quartermaster as he adjusted the wheel. "I think they spotted us."

The captain wearing a large red coat stood at the forward bow, his lips stretched into a sly smile as he looked at the ivory ship ahead. "Very good, Wukong," he said. "Stay the course and have one of the long nines ready to fire."

"Aye," the quartermaster replied. Then he repeated his captain's command to the crew, "You heard him: ready a long nine to fire!"

The captain continued looking beyond at the white ship. The plan he and his associates had was simple enough: get the ships attention, let the wind do the rest...whatever that was supposed to mean. He figured he should have his ship turn and let the target ship chase them until they were at the rendezvous point, the long nine was merely to get their attention. But he did wonder why he was always the one to be chased in plans like these. Ironic; at the moment, they were the cat and the target was the mouse, but once that cannon goes off the roles would be flipped.

The captain looked up towards the flagpole of his ship, pleased to see the wind had shifted from south west to south east, their path to the oncoming ship would be much more efficient now. Goosebumps rippled down his spine and arms the more excited he became.

"Long nine cannon ready, captain!" said one of the crewman. He and the other two that helped him were just in time too, for the target ship was just about to be in range.

"Remember, gents, we are not going to be fighting to the death," said the captain, "we're only to have them follow us." He looked towards the white ship once more, and then back to the rest of his crew. There was a certain static crackling in the air, invisible but energizing everyone with anticipation, a sort of adrenal rush during the calm before the storm. He watched as two crewman loaded a small packet of Burn Dust, and then a cannonball to follow. The Burn Dust was a little much, they could've used regular gunpowder all the same, as they only really used Burn Dust for the extra range. But, seeing as the ship they were approaching was about two-thousand yards out, maybe the extra boom from the Dust was necessary.

"All hands at the ready!" the captain yelled. He gauged the distance from the cannon to the enemy ship. Everything was in place, the ship was in range, and the quartermaster was ready to turn the ship around once the shot was made. All that needed to happen was for the captain to give the signal. So that's just what he did.

"FIRE!"

*BOOM*

"HIT THE DECK!" one of the crewmen yelled. Everyone fell to their stomachs while the cannonball struck, they were relieved to hear that it had struck somewhere near the bow of the ship—the figurehead, as one of the crewmen pointed out after the initial shot.

The captain and first mate wasted no time in preparing to counter attack. "RETURN FIRE!" the captain yelled. The crew did as they were told, firing the cannons at their new opponent, but alas, they did not have the means to fire at such great range, so the cannonballs hit only the waters below. He turned around to see his first mate already turning the wheel to intercept the ship for a second round, but with another glance the captain felt something wasn't right. The enemy ship wasn't firing anymore, in fact, it was turning away. "What are the- where are they going?" he asked, baffled at the new development.

"The blagards are running away?" asked one of the crewmen.

"Captain, should we follow?" asked the first mate.

The captain took a moment to think. The enemy only fired one shot, his own ship was out of range (he had to assume the enemy was using Dust), the enemy was sailing a galleon, his crew was sailing a frigate—if the galleon wanted to give them a warning shot, they would've used gunpowder and afforded to miss, it was unwise to use such a valuable resource as Dust to fire a warning shot, especially when it destroyed the figurehead of the ship. The captain had to wonder if they were mere scoundrels looking to show off, or if they meant to lead him into a trap.

...No, he would not take the chance. "Break off pursuit," said the captain. The first mate and crew appeared visibly upset at the order, Dogs.

The crew of the Crimson Roger waited with great patience as they observed the white ship, but as they changed course they came to find the frigate had not taken to following them.

"Fire another round, and load it with gunpowder this time—a lot of it," said the captain.

*BOOM*...Another cannonball had been fired, the captain and his crew braced themselves as the next one came forth, ripping apart the starboard bow railing on impact.

"Aye~!" The captain of the opposing ship called out. "I thought you Atlesian mucks had more bollocks about ya'?"

The crew, while preparing to fire, looked to their captain in awe. He bared his teeth, angry that this was happening now of all times. An attack, on his ship, so close to his destination, and now he was being goaded on by pirates.

The captain decided he would not let his pride be tested by a mere scoundrel. "Resume our pursuit!" he commanded. "FULL SAIL, CATCH EVERY SCRAP OF WIND 'TILL THERE'S NONE LEFT!"

The pirate captain observed as the white frigate let loose the rest of its sails, now the whole thing reflected the moons light in a brilliant diamond blue, and, more importantly, the frigate was following them.

"Alright, they are following us now," said the pirate captain. "ALL BUT MAIN SAIL, LET THEM GAIN!"

Just as he had ordered, the crew released all other sails but the main. Just as an added measure the pirate captain had ordered for the chase guns to be ready to return fire should the frigate's captain decide to use its own. Knowing the Atlesian Navy, that would be exactly what they would do.

...And they did. *boom-boom-boom-boom* the frigates shots went, three had struck water but one managed to hit, though it was futile, for chase guns did not have enough power to deal any real damage unless it struck the rigging, but the Crimson Roger was such a large ship the frigates guns couldn't aim high enough. So they'd be resigned to firing small balls at unimportant beams of wood meant only for decoration, easy to fix and of no bother to the pirate captain. The crewmen stationed in the stern had decided it necessary to return fire, and were very much more capable at doing damage where it could be done. Already, they had managed to take out the frigates frontmost bitts (the mounts of which rope for the sails were fastened), rendering the forward masts rigging near to unusable.

The pirate captain smiled as the chase had become more equal, for the frigate was still quick, and had not broken its pursuit. Now all he had to do was guide it to the location he'd been told to go to.

The two ships sailed Eastward for a considerable period of time, though the wind was now against them they pushed on with what little wind they could catch in their sails. In order to keep the frigate chasing them the crewmen in the stern continued their onslaught of chase gun fire to give the impression that they were still fighting, giving them no chance to catch their bearings and figure out where they were going. But, if ever the frigate did choose to break away, the crew in the stern had a special plan for that.

Everything was going well, all things considered. No one had died, no one had been injured, not one soul set to be claimed by the gods. If everything panned out the way it was planned, tonight will be a good night.

After traveling a few nautical miles off the frigates original course, the Crimson Roger had made it to a large formation of rocky mountains. Both the Crimson Roger and the pursuing frigate could fit right in between the granite walls, but they had to be mindful of the sharp rocks in the shallows; one wrong turn could mean the loss of a ship.

A large enclosure lied beyond the risky enterable of the mountains. The Crimson Roger had been quick to turn so it wouldn't hit the rocks. The frigate too had turned.

The pirate captain began to laugh in triumph. "YOU'VE MADE A MISTAKE FOLLOWING US, ATLESIAN!"

The captain scoffed at the remark, as he found it laughable that this pirate thought he was the one who had been trapped. "I believe the mistake is yours—from where I'm standing, you're the ones who are trapped with no way to escape."

The pirate captain only laughed some more, and now so did his crew. He told the frigate captain, "No, the mistake is yours for thinking I would do this alone." Then he pointed back behind the treasure ship. And out from the sides came not one, not two, but three other ships of different sizes: a schooner, a brig, and another frigate. All three ships bore similar red flags, all three of which with their own signage.

"Give it up, sir," the pirate told the captain of the treasure ship. "There be no use in fighting a battle you've already lost." Just as he said that, the schooner came up to the frigates port side, and out came a pair of large serrated blades that jammed themselves into the upper deck: some scaled up version of boarding hooks in the shape of scythe blades.

Once the boarding hooks were secure, the crew of the schooner came aborde, as well as one figure dressed in a black officers uniform (likely stolen and stained) and draped in a red cloak. This one was not quite the same as her crew, who wrestled with the treasure ships crew and fought them to the ground, this one walked right up to the captain with a certain grace in her step, such that was both parts quiet and light. There was an aura about her that was unsettling to the captain whom she stood before.

The captain would be caught off guard as the cloaked figure brought forth a pair of strange looking blades from her hips, they appeared to be sabers of some kind, in that they had another pointed end jutting out in the shapes of hooks in addition to the sharpened tips already on the swords. But the fear of the gods would be instilled in his entirety as the cloaked figure brought the hooks of the blades behind and around his neck.

"Get on your knees and pray," she spoke in a calm, and disturbingly quiet voice. She emphasized her authority by tightening the blades by a small margin, just enough to make it painful to do any sudden jerks with his head—he wasted no time falling to his knees, being careful not to let his captor slit open his neck in doing so.

The captain gulped. He knew this would be where his life ends, at the end (or edge) of a pirates blade, right in front of his entire crew. He'd lost his brave scowl and been reduced to a man with the words of begging in his eyes, now starring into an uncanny pair of silver eyes, which almost appeared to glow from underneath the hood she wore. It was at this moment he thought he was looking into the eyes of death incarnate, so he closed his eyes, and steeled himself for what would be his fate.

"Heh-hahaha-haha…" the cloaked figure began to laugh, and her crew joined her in that laughter. The captain opened his eyes in rampant confusion as the whole invading crew began to devolve into a fit of laughter, but a wave of relief came through as the pair of blades were removed from his neck. Then the cloaked figure said, much to his dismay, "You—hahaha—you should've see your face, haha-hahaha."

The captain was nothing short of bewildered at what he'd just been through. Who was this girl to make such a cruel joke, what kind of sick and twisted mind makes up such a half-brained scheme and expects to get away with it? Had this been part of some theatrical performance, he too might've started laughing—and he almost did let out a slight chuckle. But, before he could come anywhere close to a laugh, he felt a very strong hand grab under his armpit and lift him up with what felt like little to no effort in the slightest. As he scrambled to catch his bearings, he soon came face to face with a girl who was much taller than him, taller than any woman hed ever seen, with golden blonde hair and lavender eyes. The girls smile was that of one which was both parts crazy and fitting for someone of her stature.

"Alright, pup," said the blonde, considering the way she dressed apart from the rest of the crew the captain had to figure she might've been the cloaked girls quartermaster. "The keys to the cargo hold—where are they?" She expected the captain to cower in fear, but instead she got spat in the face.

"If you think you're going to sail away from here with our cargo, you'll know we'd see it at the bottom of the o-"-*SMACK*...he was cut off as the blonde punched him in the eye, hard enough that his eye started to bleed out onto the deck. In the same instance he was knocked onto the deck from the sheer force of the punch. He could no longer see out of his left eye, he tried moving it around in its socket, but it felt like a small chunk was taken out during the strike. Through his one good eye, he now saw that the blondes eyes were glowing red, like a pair of flames in her irises.

"That," the blonde said, "was a mistake." After she wiped the saliva off her mouth she picked the captain up by his collar, he tried to fight her, but he was far too short and couldn't reach far enough to hit her back, only struggle against her arms as she held him a foot off the deck. Then, with one arm still holding him, she used the other to punch him in the stomach hard enough to kick the wind out of him—and she hit him there again, and again, and again, and again until the captain was inches away from suffocating by lack of air. Once she was finished, she forced the struggling captain back to his knees, and, with her eyes still burning red, she asked him, "You want some more?" But she clearly wasn't looking for an answer from the captain, seeing as she tilted her head to the side a bit towards the cloaked girl.

The cloaked girl put away one of her swords and walked circles around the two, looking the captain over as if she were looking for something. With the one sword still in hand she poked and prodded the captain's coat, using the tip of the blade to feel around for anything that would stand out from underneath the fabric. She was disappointed to find nothing on him. With her free hand she took her hood off from her head, letting loose a long and complex braid of black and red hair. Her eyes now reflected the moons light in a way that was alluring and nigh impossible to break from. She knelt down beside him, and told him, "Since you don't have the keys, and I'm fairly certain neither does any of your crew, if you want me to ask my sister to stop punching you before you're halfway to dying, I suggest you tell me where the keys are—I have no need for anyone to die, but I will if I must." But the captain didn't pay her a single answer. Suddenly her childlike demeanor had disappeared. The captain watched as the cloaked girl motioned for her crew to bring forth one of his.

"I'm going to make this simple," she said. "What do you value more: the cargo, or this man's life?" She brought out her second sword again, and just like she did with the captain she crossed the hooked blades around the deckhands neck, this time she pulled them tight enough so the captain could see blood trailing down, but not enough to kill the crewman.

"Ah, don't do it, captain, we swore an oath to-"-*shing* But it seemed talk of defiance was all that was needed from him to have his neck severed, only the bones in his neck held his head on his shoulders as the deckhand fell over, bleeding out onto the once perfect white deck. The cloaked girl never broke eye contact with the captain as she did her cruel act.

The cloaked girl laughed. "Oops, it appears my hands slipped," she said, the childish side coming back like she had done nothing at all. "Bring his first mate down."

And so they did, two crewmen brought down the first mate by his arms, positioning him right in front of the captain. The cloaked girl came up behind him and crossed her swords around his neck until there was a complete ring of razor sharp steel that threatened to behead him.

"The first welp was merely a message to be sent—but it is interesting to hear that an oath holds you all together," she said, addressing the entire crew, "so I will ask again: your cargo, or this man's life?"

This time, a silence crept over the whole ship, all had become silent, not one peep uttered from a single man, not one chip from the bird above. The captain looked around in horror, and he noticed so did his own crew. They were terrified of what might happen to them, he could see the little scales in their heads weighing life or duty, observing which outweighed the other—and he could tell by the looks in their eyes that about half of them had made their choice, but were too afraid to speak up.

"Tsk tsk tsk, it's a shame that mere treasure is held above life…" she moaned. She took a deep breathe and tightened her muscles, getting ready to kill another one of the crew.

But before she could move an inch, one of the crewman wrestled himself up and yelled, "THEY'RE IN THE CAPTAIN'S CABIN!" The cloaked girl stared at him with a raised brow, but it appeared what he said was enough for her to choose to take the swords from around the first mates neck. A wave of relief had rolled over then, and so the crewman calmed himself and said again, "The keys are in the captain's cabin...right side drawer."

The cloaked girl put both her swords away and smiled at him, then to the captain. "You see, that wasn't so hard," she said to the captain. She turned and told her sister, "You heard him...get the keys.

The loud sound of a large cage door being opened rang throughout the insides of the ship, deep in the lowest parts of the hull. All was dark, save for a few lamps which did nothing for even half-decent lighting. Torches were brought in to light the way into the cargo hold, and with the extra light came a sight that was welcomed by all who sought to pillage what they came for: steel chests and strongboxes stacked high as the ceiling, and all bore three letters in bright red paint; A, I, and N.

The blonde shoved her way through the other pirates and brought out a large pistol, holding it by the barrel as she struck the butt-end against the lock of one of the strongboxes, breaking it off. She threw off the broken lock, and lifted the lid open. Her red eyes turned lavender once again as she smiled at the sight of the contents within the strongbox. It was filled to the brim with neatly stacked pillars of Lènu, all fresh coins straight from the mint, octagonal and so brightly silver they were almost white.

"We've hit the jackpot, boys," said the blonde. "WE'VE HIT THE JACKPOT!"

The captain watched as the countless boxes and chests he and his crew had been tasked with hauling were transfered from his ship to the pirates. One by one, strongbox by strongbox, chest by chest, he watched his cargo be transferred to the much smaller pirate ship. He could only blame himself for allowing his pride to be tested, he could only blame himself for putting his crews lives at risk. What was he to do, how was he to choose between life or loyalty, or when loyalty and life became one in the same? For years he was brought up to respect the oath he'd been raised to keep. For years he'd sailed and felt so sure of himself in every decision he's made, letting an invisible veil of arrogance take him over the more right he felt in everything he did ever since he took the mantle of captain. All at once he had been hit with the full force of shame, and regret, and the inescapable sense of desire to repent and beg forgiveness to those he swore that oath to. He wanted to go back to the first moment his ship had been fired upon and say, "no." But, for all his wishes to turn back time and restart this night, he had reasoned to face the reality that the only person he could blame was himself. Or was he?

His attention turned to the deckhand who spoke up and revealed the location of the keys. He remembered this one, a boy who was fresh out of the Academy. He'd only been sailing with the captain and his crew for a couple months, not even close to a years experience on deck. He couldn't even keep his mouth shut when he was supposed to, and now here they were being robbed of their cargo.

The cloaked girl followed the captains gaze. The deckhand that told her where the keys were. "You, come forward," she told him.

The deckhand did as she was told, despite one pirate crewman keeping his grip on his arm, he moved pretty much of his own will. He appeared to be very timid, despite his outburst before, a very visible tremble in his step was present and she could also see the color in his face was flushed to white.

"What's your name?" the cloaked girl asked him.

The deckhand froze, for the question was an odd one, and not something he would've expected in a situation like this. He looked behind her to see the crewman she so brutally killed, seeing all the blood, which was now formed into a stream that flowed overboard and into the water below, the poor man's eyes still open from the shock that was the pain he must've felt the moment the girl sliced open his neck. The deckhand didn't want to meet the same fate, and he saw that the girl was looking like she was about to be impatient, so he answered her.

"J-Jaune," he said. He cleared his throat and said it again, "My name is Jaune."

The cloaked girl smiled. "'Jaune'...that's a good name to have. My name is Ruby," she told him. "You made a very smart decision tonight—might've even saved your captain and your crew—but to have your loyalties lie with these...Atlesians, it's misplaced." She looked to the crewman that brought him over to her and told him, "This one comes with us—treat him kindly."

"Aye Aye, captain," the crewman said, and before Jaune could protest he was dragged to the gangplank.

"You traitorous coward!" moaned the captain. "You'll be hung for what you did!" But Jaune couldn't answer him before he disappeared off the ship.

"Oh captain, my poor, poor captain, I'm afraid he won't won't be the one whose life is hanging from a thread…" Ruby said. She watched as her sister came out from the hold once again and asked her, "How many more, Yang?"

"This is the last one," Yang told Ruby. She was carrying a large chest that appeared too big for a single person to carry, yet she was walking around with it over her shoulder like it weighed nothing at all. She had to be carrying two hundredweight of Lènu; add the actual weight of the chest (which was about fifty pounds) and that was two-hundred seventy-four pounds right over her shoulder like it was a large pillow.

"Good, get it loaded with the rest and we're off," said Ruby. Then she turned and told the captain, "It was a pleasure to be in your acquaintance." And without another word, she turned and made her way off the ship, leaving the captain and his crew tied up and trapped on their own ship.

"Are we ready to make way, Ruby?" the pirate captain asked.

"Aye, Scarlet," Ruby called back. "Let us make ourselves scarce."

Both captains gave their orders to set sail, maneuvering their ships through the narrow path they came in from and leaving the brig and two frigates behind. Scarlet looked back to the allied ships, and watched as they both opened fire on the one they led to be trapped. Wails and screams and the sound of powder erupting soon became a massive, fiery explosion of flames as he and Ruby's ships sailed away. He couldn't help but feel a spec of remorse.

Once they made their way out of the rocks the captains ordered to douse canvas, allowing their partners to catch up with them to escort the Silver Rose back to their hideout. Scarlet looked to Ruby's ship and noticed there was a new face aboard.

"You took a hostage?" he asked her. Ruby appeared to laugh at the question.

"Of course not," Ruby said. "Think of him as...new blood."

"Ah…"

After a few minutes of waiting, the frigate and brig finally appeared from the rocks to join Scarlet and Ruby. The pair of captains ordered to set full sail—the Crimson Roger taking the lead, the Silver Rose in the middle, and the Chimera and Rogue Spirit took up the rear. And in such a short manner of hours…

...All was quiet again.