The first light of dawn creeps over the jagged rooftops of Nassau, painting the harbour in hues of sickly gold and rust. The air is thick with the stench of salt, sweat, and something fouler—rotting fish, perhaps, or the unwashed bodies of a hundred sailors who call this place home. Ronan Tidebreaker steps onto the creaking planks of the dock, his bare feet finding purchase on the warped wood despite the slick of algae and spilled grog. The scars on his back—raised, pale ridges from the lash—itch beneath the rough linen of his stolen shirt, a constant reminder of the life he left behind.

Around him, the harbour stirs to life. A toothless old sailor curses as he tries to secure a fraying rope, his voice lost beneath the cacophony of shouted orders, clanking chains, and the occasional burst of drunken laughter from the taverns. To Ronan’s left, a group of rough-looking men unload crates from a sloop, their muscles straining under the weight of what might be stolen Spanish wine or smuggled French silk. To his right, a pair of Royal Navy midshipmen stride past, their crisp uniforms a stark contrast to the filth around them. They eye the crowd with thinly veiled disdain, but neither dares to linger—this is pirate territory, and even the Navy knows when to tread carefully.

The docks are a maze of opportunity and danger. A few paces away, a grizzled quartermaster with a scarred face and a missing ear barks orders at a cluster of sailors, his voice rough as gravel. "TheSea Witchsails at noon, lads! Half shares for the first ten aboard!" His gaze flicks toward Ronan, assessing. A man with calloused hands and a wary expression might be worth a berth—or a knife in the dark if he’s not careful. Nearby, a woman in a tattered red dress leans against a post, her eyes sharp as she watches the crowd. She might be a whore, a spy, or both. Ronan knows better than to assume.

The Gallows Point tavern looms ahead, its sign swinging in the humid breeze. The building is a patchwork of salvaged timber and rusted nails, its windows grimy with smoke and salt. Inside, the murmur of voices rises and falls like the tide, punctuated by the occasional clink of a bottle or the sharp crack of a fist against a table. This is where deals are made, where men are recruited, and where the desperate go to disappear. Ronan’s fingers twitch toward the rusted scalpel tucked into his belt—a surgeon’s tool, stolen from the plantation infirmary. It’s not much of a weapon, but it’s all he has.

A sudden commotion draws his attention. Near the end of the dock, a fight has broken out between two sailors—one a burly, red-faced brute, the other a wiry man with a dagger already drawn. The crowd around them parts like water, some shouting encouragement, others placing bets. The brute swings a meaty fist, but the wiry man ducks, his blade flashing. A woman’s voice cuts through the noise: "Enough! Take it ashore or the Navy’ll have the lot of ye!" The sailors hesitate, then break apart, grumbling. The wiry man spits on the dock and sheathes his dagger, his eyes locking onto Ronan for a heartbeat too long. There’s something in that look—recognition, or perhaps calculation.

Ronan exhales, his breath steady despite the weight of the moment. He is free, but freedom here is a fragile thing. One wrong step, one misplaced word, and he could find himself back in chains—or worse, at the bottom of the harbour with a slit throat. The docks of Nassau are no place for the weak, but Ronan has never been weak. He survived the plantation. He survived the journey here. And he will survive this.

The question is not whether he will find a ship. The question is what kind of ship it will be—and what kind of captain he will serve.

What will Ronan do?

• Approach the quartermaster of the Sea Witch. The ship is recruiting, and half shares are better than none. Ronan’s skills as a surgeon might earn him a slightly better deal—or at least a berth below decks where he can tend to the wounded. (Social - Persuasion, DC 12)
• Enter the Gallows Point and listen for rumours. Information is currency here, and Ronan needs to know which captains are hiring, which ships are sailing soon, and which ones to avoid. A few coins—or a well-placed threat—might buy him the answers he needs. (Social - Gather Information, DC 10)
• Confront the wiry sailor who noticed him. There was something in that man’s gaze—something more than idle curiosity. If he’s a slaver or a bounty hunter, Ronan needs to know. If he’s a fellow escapee, he might be an ally. (Social - Intimidation or Insight, DC 14)
• Explore the shanty town beyond the docks. The taverns and brothels are one thing, but the real power in Nassau might lie with those who operate in the shadows. A maroon contact, a corrupt chandler, or a disgraced naval officer could offer work—or protection. (Exploration - Survival, DC 12)
• Steal a longboat and make for the open sea. Ronan has no ship, no crew, and no allies. But he knows how to handle an oar, and the open water is the one place where no man can chain him. The risk is high—Nassau’s waters are patrolled, and the Navy doesn’t take kindly to thieves—but so is the reward. (Stealth - Theft, DC 16)