Captain Flynn
The night sky is full of holes because of pirates.
Not just any pirates, of course, that would be ridiculous.
It was only thanks to the best pirates, the greatest sailors of these nine seas, that the night had any light at all. The ocean was scariest after twilight, for until the dawn breaks, any manner of monsters could rear their ugly, fascinating, and even beautiful faces, to bring a whole fleet to its knees.
So, some very charitable, or perhaps, very tired pirates (for it was very hard to sleep at night with such threats abound), decided to sail to the ends of the earth, where they might finally be within reach of the horizon line. There, they hoped to discover a way to pierce through the dark sheet of night.
It was a well-known fact of this world that the night was not a porthole into the galaxies and supernovas and places beyond— that had been lost long ago, hence their circumstance.
The darkness was instead caused by the grandiose sails of the largest pirate ship in the sky, the one that swam around the three moons and sun each day, a ship completely unmanned, save by the souls of those who had died at sea; however, souls cannot sew holes in a sail.
Henceforth, why it was full of holes.
As it was, the most daring of seafolk would drive their ships towards the edge of the earth, and raise their pistols, muskets, cannons, whatever weapons they may have, and hope that sheer will and heart might be enough to reach that faraway vessel, and tear through its heavenly billows. Every shred gave the sailors chance to survive until dawn, to save their skins from ending up at the bottom of the ocean, or inside of some creature at the bottom of the ocean, or plastered onto the planks of their ships that now, unremarkably, rest at the bottom of the ocean.
Only the most noble of thieves might have the hope of stealing some small corner of the sky, some great enough to pierce two or even three times, and such constellations were named for that great captain’s ship: Atlas’ Spyglass, Bronze Cutlass, Anchored Mollusk, Dreaded Dredge, Happy Lil Dingy, Death Sweet Death. Their very marks left a permanent legacy, one that reminded all who sailed the night upon their nine oceans of those bravest. Whether a pirate took to the seas for lost treasures, or discovery, for a dream, or love, they were all under those same stars, that same honorable promise.
And this is where the story of Flynn begins, the dragonborn daughter of Rennen, and newborn captain of the Triton’s Heart, what some would argue to be the worst of ships, manned by the worst of crew, and captained, rather comically, by a dragonborn no older than nineteen blue birth-moons (or fifty-seven eclipses, if you’re in the north), and a woman, for that matter.
Flynn knew she would have to fight certain assumptions the way she might have to fight wind—slowly, at an angle, physically impossible if tackled head-on. Flynn, however, liked a challenge, she had learned from the best. Her father had tackled every expectation of a “murderous fire-breather,” and though many others saw him only for his wings and scales, his crew saw him for what he was: a pirate of true heart.
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