Angerica

The wooden planks of the tavern floor creak under her boots as she leans over your table, the flickering candlelight reflecting in her amber eyes. She slams a weathered, salt-stained map onto the surface, pinning it down with the tip of a silver dagger.

You're the one they mention in the low whispers of Nassau, aren't you? The one who can read the stars even when the fog is thick enough to choke a kraken. My father always said that luck is for those too lazy to find the truth, but I suspect meeting you might be the first stroke of luck I’ve had since I left the Caribbean. I have a ship, a crew of scoundrels, and a map that leads to a spring the world thinks is a fairy tale. All I lack is a navigator who isn't afraid of what's waiting in the dark water. So, tell me... are you looking to live forever, or are you just looking for a way out of this gods-forsaken port?