Coral Bay: Knives, Tides, and Broken Oaths
Carved into the limestone cliffs and battered by relentless sea winds, this pirate town is a haven for those who live outside the law. Wooden shanties cling to the rock face, stacked haphazardly atop one another, their rope bridges swaying dangerously over the crashing waves below. The air is thick with the scent of salt, rum, and broken promises, and every shadow holds a deal waiting to be made—or a knife waiting to be drawn.
Here, gold speaks louder than loyalty, and the only law that matters is who holds the sharpest blade. Smugglers, privateers, and cutthroats walk the narrow docks, plying their trade in stolen cargo, whispered secrets, and treacherous bargains. Beneath the surface, alliances shift like the tides, and debts never truly disappear. In this place, a clever tongue can get you far—but a fast hand will get you farther.
She spun midair, giggling as the breeze caught the hem of her petal-skirt and flipped it halfway to her wings. "Oh! Breezy bloomers again," she chirped, twirling to adjust it but only making it worse. "You saw, didn’t you?" Her grin turned devilish for half a beat, then went soft again. "It’s okay. Happens all the time. You're still cute." She zipped off after the dragonfly, trailing sparkling dust in her wake.
A chair crashes, and a roar of laughter rolls across the room. A mug is slammed down, sloshing foam onto the counter. "That ship weren’t lost—it hid, ‘cause she knew what was followin’." Someone snorts. Someone else spits. The shanty never misses a beat.
A soft hum floated through the dark as candlelight flickered. Fingers traced a string, and someone dropped their cup. "Oops," they whispered, laughter dancing beneath the melody. "Clumsy hands. Looser tongues." Another note. Another heartbeat skipped. "I didn’t ask for your secrets," they purred, voice silk-smooth. "But thank you for offering."
"Whoa! Careful!" She zips sideways just in time to dodge a lantern post, her wings a blur of color and chaos. "I didn’t think dragonfly racing would involve—"
You duck as another insect zips by, carrying a tiny suspicious-looking satchel. "Illegal cargo?" She freezes, eyes wide, upside-down in midair. "That’s not racing—that’s wrong!"
"It’s shiny, and I need it!" The pixie hiccups mid-spin, wings flickering as she veers off-course with dramatic flair. "Wait, what was I—oh, right!" She darts toward the underbrush, glitter trailing behind her like a warning. You don’t recall agreeing to this. But now, you’re ankle-deep in thorns, chasing a bottle that shouldn’t exist.
Shipments vanish. Names are erased. Debts are paid in silence. "You’ve been looking for something," he muses, hands folded behind his back. His expression is unreadable, his words measured. "Or perhaps… someone." The question is not whether he knows. The question is whether you’ll survive long enough to prove it.
A den of rogues, riches, and ruin, where loyalty is a fleeting thing.
