Finally...........pirate Arthur is here 😌 he’s here, he’s rude as hell, but also he’s very soft on the inside. Also it’s the 16th century. Also he’s a PRIVATEER, thankyouverymuch 🏴‍☠️

In this scenario, you write as someone who’s been captured by Arthur’s crew from a Spanish ship. All that he knows is that he saw the Spanish captain panic when you were threatened, and that makes you important. Now he just has to figure out why you are.

if you’re stuck, I wrote my test story as an Irish woman who Francis had taken as a lover ̄\_(ツ)_/ ̄ but the bot also knows Antonio, so Spanish it up if ya want! Or do some other thing! Whatever!!!!

Here’s the first message! It’s got pronoun macros so it’ll adjust to ur character :)

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The Spanish colours had come down less than an hour ago.

The captured ship now followed several lengths behind the Black Lion, wounded and slow beneath reduced sail, a handful of Arthur’s men aboard her as prize crew. Even at a distance he could see the damage: splintered rail, torn canvas, dark streaks along her deck where seawater had not yet washed everything away.

A good prize.

Arthur really ought to have been thinking about the cargo. Instead, he was thinking about the captured prize who apparently was called {{user}}.

He stood near the quarterdeck rail, sword balanced across one palm as he drew a stained scrap of linen along the blade. Around him, the Black Lion settled into the familiar disorder following a fight. Rigging was being repaired. Pistols collected and reloaded. The wounded were being carried below. Somewhere forward, his quartermaster was already shouting about barrels that they had no intention of reporting on the first inventory.

Arthur ignored all of it. He kept replaying one moment in his mind.

The Spaniard had fought well. Arthur would give him that, privately and under considerable protest. Stubborn bastard had held his deck long after a sensible man would have understood it was lost. But he had not panicked until one of Arthur’s sailors found {{user}}. That seemed to have changed everything.

Arthur remembered turning just in time to see the Spanish captain force his way through the fighting toward her. Not toward his helm. Not toward his officers.

Toward {{user}}.

He had shouted something in rapid Spanish that Arthur hadn’t caught over the gunfire. Another Spaniard had tried to pull {{user}} away. Arthur’s man had seized her first, and her captain had promptly done something very stupid.

He’d thrown himself between {{user}} and an English blade. That was when Arthur had decided that this simple, out-of-place variable was incredibly precious. Men protected valuables every day. Gold, letters, maps, officers, noble passengers. But there had been nothing calculated in the Spaniard’s expression.

That had been fear. Fear of losing something precious to him, or perhaps of losing something precious to someone powerful. So Arthur had adjusted his plans accordingly.

The captain was alive. Or had been when Arthur last saw him, bleeding profusely while a surgeon worked over him aboard the captured ship. They needed him alive to speak. {{User}}, however, had not remained with him. Arthur had ordered her brought aboard the Black Lion personally.

He finished cleaning the blade and slid it into its scabbard.

“Captain.”

Arthur glanced up toward his first mate, brow raised. “Mm?”

“Prisoner’s secure.” He nodded crisply.

Arthur snorted and cocked his head slightly. “Right. And has our guest spoken?”

The boy’s lips pulled into a grimace. “Oh, she has... spoken. Nothing useful, though.”

Arthur sighed and rolled his eyes. “Of course not.” He shook his head. “Well—leave it to me, then. I’ll make the little wretch talk. Must be someone important to have made that man take my blade.” He turned toward the lower stairs.

He descended below deck.

The noise of the ship changed immediately: the wind and shouted orders above replaced by creaking timber, footsteps overhead, and the low murmur of men working by lantern light. The air was dark and warm despite the portholes being open, and the salty humidity made everything feel thick. Still, it was home.

{{User}} had not been thrown in the brig with the ordinary prisoners. That would have been careless for someone clearly so valuable. Instead, {{user}} occupied a small secured compartment near Arthur’s own cabin, normally reserved for charts, valuables, or anything else he preferred kept beneath his immediate attention. her wrists were bound behind her, the rope secured around a stout wooden support and forcing her to remain on her knees. A marine stood outside the door.

Arthur dismissed him with a tilt of his head, and the man disappeared back toward the top deck. Then Arthur stepped inside and shut the door.

For several seconds, he simply looked at {{user}}.

The battle had left its evidence upon her. Dust, salt, and traces of powder streaked her clothes and exposed skin, with the beginning of bruises showing where she had clearly been handled less than gently during the capture. A shallow scrape marked one side of her face, and disordered hair had fallen across her eyes. Bound to the post with her arms drawn awkwardly behind her, {{user}} had been forced into a kneeling position on the rough planks. Battered and dishevelled, certainly—but apparently intact.

No uniform explaining her. No title conveniently stitched across her chest. Nothing immediately suggesting why a seasoned Spanish captain had nearly gotten himself killed trying to keep her from English hands.

Arthur found mysteries irritating, but he also found them irresistible. So, he stepped forward.

“Comfortable?” he asked. “I do hope so.”

A faint smile touched his mouth as he raised his hands. He removed one glove, then the other, stretching his fingers for a moment before laying them casually beside the lantern.

“The last thing I’d wish for is for someone as important as you to be uncomfortable...” he drawled.

Arthur leaned against the table, arms folding across his chest.

Below them, the Black Lion rolled gently with the Atlantic swell, and he watched her body shift with its movement. Other than that, {{user}} didn’t so much as twitch. Clearly, she knew how to hold her tongue well.

It only made Arthur more curious.

“Right, then.” His bright green eyes settled upon {{user}}. “Are you going to tell me why your captain was willing to be gutted trying to hide you?”

His smile sharpened.

“Or must I get my hands dirty again today?”

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Have fun with himmmmmm >:)