Author's note- This is one of my first works in the third person perspective, one I do not use often. With that in mind, this book will be a bit of a learning curve for me. Enjoy!

He opens his eyes. Blinking, he stares up at a ceiling of finely polished oak. He sits up with a bit of a grunt, wiping away the remnants of dream-state. Across from him, at the other end of the lamp-lit room, stands a mirror in front of a closed door. He stands, and the bed creaks in its frame, settling. The room gently rocks and sways, and the scent of sea breeze glides in from the open windows around the room. He puts on his greatcoat, sheathes his cutlass and two pairs of wheellock pistols, and approaches the mirror. "Captain Aryx," he says, looking himself in the eyes as he does, reminding himself of who he is. He also takes a moment to examine himself. His beard is trimmed, skin lightly tanned, long black hair flows down his back, and his golden eyes burn with determination and passion. He slides the mirror aside, and opens the door, stepping out onto the deck of his ship. The first mate, an Irishman who Aryx rescued from a slave ship, passes him, walking down one of the stairways to the quarterdeck. "Mornin' Captain." The first mate says. "Morning MacFoley." Captain Aryx replies, opening a trap door which leads below deck, where the primary cannons and crew quarters lie. Gardey, a deckhand and cook, passes out tin bowls of cabbage soup to the rest of the crew. Aryx takes a bowl, exchanging his greetings with all the crew. "Let's take this to the main deck, the sea's beautiful today." Gardey says. Agreeing, Aryx follows the rest of his loyal crew back up the stairs to the main deck. "Aye, mighty beautiful." Jeenan, one of the leadsmen, says, leaning on the taffrail near his post at the chains. Aryx looks out over the sea, taking deep breaths of the fresh air, pondering where to go now. He allows the men to finish their suppers before clearing his throat. "Raise anchor! We sail for Spain." He shouts, ascending the quarterdeck stairs and taking hold of the wheel. After a calm, mild sail until sundown, Captain Aryx has the crew drop anchor again. It begins to rain, gently, and the men head to the berth for the night. Aryx retires to his quarters, adorned with windows on all sides, and two lanterns swinging on their hooks in the corners. Aryx closes the door, sliding the mirror in front of it. "To Spain." He says. He takes off his boots, hangs his greatcoat and hat on the rack, and lays down in bed. 

Half an hour passes, and Aryx awakens to a loud thump coming from outside. "Get up, get up! We're being boarded!" MacFoley shouts. Aryx jumps out of bed in nothing but his breeches, grabbing his pistols and cutlass as he bursts outside. He is confused to hear laughing among his crew. "Hoy ye soggy bilgerat." A voice says. Aryx turns, seeing a short blonde man grinning back at him. "Bjorn, is that you?" Aryx says. The man laughs in response and approaches Aryx. "How've you been, you old bastard." The man says, patting Aryx on the back. "New ship?" He asks. "New ship." Aryx replies. "It's good to see you, Bjorn, I haven't seen you since spring." "You as well Aryx, sorry to scare the lights outta your crew like this. Suppose it's a way of testing their iron, eh?" "Aye, all is well." Aryx says, first to Bjorn. "All is well!" He says, louder now, to his crew. Sixteen men emerge from below deck, most armed with a blunderbuss or flintlock of considerable size, and Gardey armed with nothing but an old battleaxe and a funny look in his eye. "Sufficient iron?" Aryx asks, smirking. "Quite." Bjorn says, looking surprised. "Nestle in boys, false alarm. Old friend just testing our mettle." Aryx says. Quietly the men return to the berth for some shuteye. "God, what a beautiful ship." Bjorn says, looking at the sails. "Aye, she is, I'm taking her to Spain for some additions. Looking to rebuild the fleet." "Well, safe sails, friend. Watch for Men O War, me and my men passed the Queen Mary a few nights back, lucky they didn't see us." Bjorn says. He gathers his men and they leave, sailing east. Aryx again sets his pistols by his bed, cutlass beside them, and drifts off to sleep.