Perhaps I am a corsair

Quietly, Dread fussed over the leg. It was his fault she'd been stabbed, after all. It was his fault... his fault. Just like with everything else, it was his fault. Though he was grappling with self doubt and maybe some pity, he didn't want to mope. He didn't want to let all the thoughts in his head put a damper on the fact that he'd started the rest of his life a little early. There was a whole wild world out here, and he had to enjoy it. Otherwise, what's the point?

He'd joined them on their rummaging trip, though not without some hesitation. Dread wasn't used to being out like this, he wasn't used to being exposed. That's the thing that's struck him about being stripped of his family name, of his Armada affiliation. There's something freeing about it, but something terrifying and lonesome as well. Dread wouldn't fess up to being scared, though. He wouldn't put those feelings into words. Still, they manifest in other ways, like the careful way in which he picks around the old ship. Searching and rummaging through long forgotten compartments, caches of things long forgotten in a safe place. The rickety old ship did not seem like a safe place at all to Dread, but what did he know about that?

So he's a bit late coming down the stairs, drawing himself into what Deluge has to say. "Information is an awfully lucrative trade," Dread replied easily. A glimmer in his eye as he moved to stand with the rest of the ragtag little crew. Maybe... maybe. Maybe he was going to do okay for himself after all. Joining Deluge on an adventure had to be just what he needed, right?

"speech"