Day 1:

word count goal: 1,667 It's chilly in the hull, the impenetrable coldness of space seeping in through cracks and crawling against her skin. Ridley pulled the tattered blanket closer around her shaking body, stretching the foul fabric to its limits. Her breath clouded in the still air as the ship hummed around her; the steady heartbeat of steel and machinery huffing and groaning as they travelled through the Kestral Pass. Not much further to go now, they'd been travelling for almost a week and the rations were getting low, aches settling into bones, and sleep harder to find. Ridley would have felt more comfort in a gaol cell, at least then she would be getting fed and warm. And it's not like she could leave anyway, her freedom was spoken for already. She let the idea slip from her mind. It was a foolish fantasy and she had work to do. "Deck, I could use your help up here," called a tired voice from above. 'Deck' was the name she had given the greasy captain when she joined the ship on Fragmentum's shore. Admittedly not much of a name, but Vilko wasn't much of a captain either so he could take any opinions on the matter and kindly shove them. "Gimme' a sec!" She yelled up at him as she forced herself off the floor and tried to look awake. She had just brushed the dry crumbs of what passed for bread from her lap when a deep groan and the shriek of metal on metal filled the air. The floor shifted under her as the ship suddenly lurched starboard, and Ridley scrambled for a handhold amongst the wires that covered the low ceiling. Her stomach filled with lead and dragged her against the wall as she heard fighting from above. It wasn't too surprising that someone was raiding them, the pass was known to be dangerous and a picking ground for opportunistic pirates; it was only a matter of time until they drew the wrong kind of attention. Looking around the dingy cabin she frantically searched for her knife, hidden amongst her meagre belongings. Fuck. The noises were getting closer as she faced off against the door. Her fingers twitched as anxiety riddled her body and she imagined what might have happened to her shipmate. Vilko may not be the best captain, but he didn't deserve to die either. "Open up!" An assertive voice boomed from the other side of the door. Strange, the voice was more refined than she would expect from outer rim pirates, but she didn't take too much time to ponder as the door buckled under a kick. Another kick rattled the door on its hinge and strained the rusty lock keeping the invaders out. Quickly she slid her way next to the door and pressed herself against the ship's wall, knife poised to strike. Her chest tightened and sweat dripped sticky from her hands as the door was hit again. This time the wood splintered and flew into the room as the lock clattered to the floor. Ridley didn't wait to see who the stranger was before she drove her knife downwards with a yell. "Gah!" She was.. on the floor? Ears ringing she looked up from where she had somehow ended up. There were three? five? a number of soldiers looking down on her. Counting seemed much harder than normal, it didn't help that they kept moving. Oh, there was a blade in her face, a glaive maybe? Blinking the confusion away she examined the group. They were dressed in the gilded armour of the royal army, the famous white eyeliner and stoic expressions on their faces. Yep, those were definitely Golden Soldiers, but why? "Get up, slowly." Said the one holding the spear. Her face was young and sharp, auburn spikes of hair poking out from under her helmet. The two men at her side came forward and picked Ridley up off the floor by the arms. She tried to shake them off but their grip stayed fast. “The cabins clear, let's get out of here.” The glaive returned to the woman's side as she turned back to the stairs leading out of the cabin. Ridley kept her mouth shut as she was pushed forward; as much as she wanted to scream and fight she knew it would only cause more trouble. She had seen what soldiers had done to civilians when they get too mouthy, best not to test her luck. As she was marched out onto the deck she saw more soldiers holding Vilko, his body hunched over and a bruise blooming over his right eye. She was led to his side as more soldiers overturned crates on the deck, clearly searching for something. “Are you okay?” she whispered as she examined his face. “I’ll be fine, don’t you worry,” he muttered back, “as long as these bastards stop messing up my ship!” he yelled at the soldiers across the ship. He got a knee to the side for this comment and he hunched over even further. Ridley tried to reach out to help him but was pulled back by the men holding her. “There’s nothing here sir,” said one of the soldiers to a man facing away from them by the bow. The man wore a heavily embroidered silver coat that reached down to his ankles. As he turned the lamplight caught his flaxen hair and caused it to glow. His tricorn hat was tilted downwards as he leaned on his stave. “Are you unaware you are flying through an active warzone,” He snarled, the words dripping off his lips like thick oil, “or are you just plain stupid?” As he got closer Ridley noticed a stiffness as he walked, maybe an old injury, and how he leant on the weapon for support. He had a strong brow, a stronger nose, and a darkness in his eyes that drew you in only to judge you and throw you out again. And…. Ridley recognised him. “Shit.”