<hr/><div align="center"><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: courier;"><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 20pt;"><strong>Game Master</strong></span></span></div><hr/><br/>The Captain's private quarters were a place few eyes had ever seen the interior of. Rosette de Courtenay safeguarded it in a manner that gave it an air of mystery, of wondering what hid behind the sturdy wooden door that warded any curious onlookers and kept any less trustworthy sailor from having a peek or thinking they could claim one of the treasures within for themselves. The door was locked with a key that the Captain kept on her person at all times; a single spare existed but currently belonged to no one. There was little reason for anyone to spend time inside other than Rose herself, and even though the old crew members knew that their dear Captain had invited the occasional man -or woman- into her bed, they were often too distracted by the sight and feel of naked flesh to wonder about what else hid in the private room of their commander.<br/><br/>It was a pity though, really, that few people got to enjoy the trove of information and invaluable relics neatly stowed away inside. Despite the Captain's love for adventure, for excitement and even a good measure of chaos, her room was well organised and neat looking. Her bed, lavish and covered with wine red sheets, went hidden between two sturdy book cabinets, and the big tomelike books contained on the shelves were of a vast assortment of subjects. Many of them revolved around nautical information, some directly linking back to the Naval Academy of Marseilles, but even more told stories of mythical legend, of tales almost forgotten with but a hair of truth to them. Among them were scrolls, too, although most maps were stored away in the navigation room instead, where they would best serve their purpose.<br/><br/>There was a single wardrobe, containing most of Rose's clothes and personal items. A few more cabinets littered the walls, with trinkets, prizes and extraordinary treasures from past victories stood on display for no one but her to see. There were gems, gold-encrusted weaponry and dazzling jewels. There was a strangely shaped skull, a shriveled leg of what might have been an oversized chicken and a fang as big as your arm. A sizeable table was placed at the heart of the room, with a well-crafted chair placed against it. Upon it stood a sturdy jar of quills, with a carefully closed pot of ink beside it. A thick scroll, covering almost the entire wooden surface, lay rolled out on top, with an intricate display of images and symbols seemingly etched into the sturdy parchment. It was covered in a wax of sorts, which had aided in withstanding the test of time, but it did little to explain the enigmatic nature of what was written on its surface. The scroll was a secret that even Rosette de Courtenay had thusfar been unable to unravel. But with her new crew, and with one man in particular, she had good faith that was about to change.<br/><br/><br/>