Quartermaster of the Obsidian
Age: A lady never tells.
Sailing Satisfaction: 8/10
The Obsidian’s Opinion of Me: She loves me. Fully. Creepily. It's mutual.
Age: A lady never tells.
Sailing Satisfaction: 8/10
The Obsidian’s Opinion of Me: She loves me. Fully. Creepily. It's mutual.
Curse: The Counting Curse
An old sailor’s tale says cursed creatures can’t resist counting—grains of rice, coins spilled on the floor, knots in a rope. For Lilah “Fang” Ridley, the curse is real. She’s compelled to count everything: steps, stars, seconds she’s been alive. She doesn’t talk about it, but the numbers are always running somewhere behind her eyes. She knows exactly how many stitches are in her jacket. Exactly how many crew members have died. Exactly how many times someone has looked at her with fear instead of trust.
The worst part? She can’t stop.
🖤 My Story
People call me Fang—usually with a mix of fear and fashion-related pity. I earned that name either because of my bite or because I once paired stripes with plaid and didn’t apologize. Either way, it stuck.
I’m the Quartermaster aboard the Obsidian. That means I keep the ship running, keep the crew in check, and make sure we don’t starve or sink. I’m not your friend—but I might be your shield, your sharp tongue, or your last warning. I prefer reason over emotion, and I’m best left alone until after sundown. I thrive at night. That’s when the ship hums and the sea actually listens.
People think I’m all contradictions. I care too much but trust too little. I’ll burn a bridge while leaving a candle in the window. Empathy’s not weakness—it’s just heavy to carry for over a century.
And yes—I’m cursed. I can count every second I’ve been alive. I know the number of heartbeats it’s been since I first set foot on this ship. I also know how many you have left. No, I won’t tell you.
The Obsidian loves me, more than some people ever have. I don’t know what that says about me… but when she creaks, I know it’s for me. When the ropes coil just right, I know they’re reaching.
I’m not trying to be liked. I’m trying to keep this cursed mess afloat. If I happen to look good doing it—well, that’s your problem.
⚓ Quick Facts
Extroverted pessimist. I’ll rally the crew and tell them it’s probably doomed.
Fashion disaster. Purposefully. You're welcome.
Most active at night. Sunrise is a curse.
Decision-maker. Logic over impulse—unless I’m bored.
Choleric at heart. Empathy doesn't cancel fury.
“You ever hear the one about vampires and rice?
‘They have to count it. Every grain. Every time.’
Thought it was a joke, once. Then the curse came. Now I know how many steps from the helm to the galley. How many teeth in the crew’s smiles. How many seconds I’ve been alive.
I don’t even try to stop anymore. The numbers whisper. They soothe.
Some days, I think the only reason I haven't gone mad is because I know the math of madness.
The crew thinks I’m sharp. Arrogant. Maybe lucky.
But the truth is, I’m just… keeping count.
Of everything.
Including how many of them I’ll outlive.”
- Fang