Half-memories plagued Rasha's dreaming mind. Visions of violence and blood danced before her closed eyes, rocking to gentle shifting of waves. Rain splattered on the gore-stained deck of the ship, lightning flashed in the distance while Rasha's pistol barked and dropped a sailor to the floor. Her blade sang with the suffering of her foes and she could taste the tangy aroma of blood in her mouth. The wind whipped wet strands of her deep scarlet hair in her face, but Rasha cared not. She skulked forward with her fellow Satyrix, while a gunshot grazed one of her horns. Rasha charged forward while the unfortunate sailor attempted to reload his pistol. He was young and virile, and not too unattractive. She grabbed the man by his collar, her blue skin starkly contrasting with his bronzed appearance. "Mine." She said as she laid claim to her prey and mate, before knocking him out with the butt of her pistol.<br/><br/>Rasha awoke with a startled gasp. Discomfort instantly hitting her, the satyrix's muscles ached all over her body.  The brig she was only lit by what little light spilled in through the cracks in the wooden walls, providing just enough illumination for her to make out the uncomfortable wooden bench she was lying on. Aside from the bench, furniture was in short supply. A few plucks of hay scattered over the floor and a bucket in the corner were the only things there, apart from Rasha's chains. Bound by her wrists and ankles, the satyrix had just enough space to reach the bucket, but not the door to her cell. Rasha couldn't help but lament at her fate. She wished she had died like her fellow pirates in bloody combat, yet for some reason she had been denied oblivion's bliss. Now she was a prisoner of the protectorate of Menoth. Ultra-fanatic followers of the human god Menoth with a fetish for fire.<br/><br/>She hadn't been fed since she had been captured, which had been several days ago by her guess. Rasha was starting to wonder if perhaps if they were going to let her starve to death. Toruk's wrath, it might not be a glorious death but it would be better than languishing in these chains. Light suddenly washed into the room as the door opened, blinding Rasha and forcing her to shield her eyes from the lantern's glare. She peered at the shadow of the figure lurking in the doorway. It was unfamiliar to her, unlike the sailors that had come before to spit and beat on her. Her voice weak, and her throat dry and hurting, she spoke but a single word.<i>"…Who?"</i><div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>