Crimson Blade {inspired by Our Flag Means Death}

What We See When the Sun Rises

The first thing Luka Littleton sees when he peels his eyes open is the sun. Though it's not scorching his skin or blinding him, as would be the case on another day, on a different ship. Instead it is peaking softly through thick red curtains, the light warm and bright on his face.

After a month of malnutrition, days on end spent in total darkness, or tied to a mast on the hottest days, the sun burning and peeling his vitamin-deficient skin, he is disoriented to say the least. He can't fathom that the sun is not a weapon to wield or a gift to withhold any longer.

This can't be real.

Luka rolls away from the sun and stretches his limbs, trying to take in his surroundings and fight off the brain fog that's rolling in. He's still trying to figure out how he got here and where exactly he is, the latter part answered almost immediately. As someone who's been working aboard pirate ships since he was thirteen, Luka knows what a captain's chambers looks like.

The bed he wakes in feels like a cloud that was pulled from the sky, beautifully wrapped in golden silk sheets, and he's been thoughtfully tucked into the softest comforter, intricate floral patterns stitched into it. He traces his fingers along the stitches, realizing they are hand-sewn, which warms his heart and reminds him of the only home he ever had on land, as brief as it was.

Luka's eyes adjust to the soft light coming in from the window above the bed and wander to the giant stained glass one that spans the majority of the wall across from him. Half of it is open, pushed outward to allow the sounds of seagulls and the constant whoosh of the ocean to seep into the room along with the smell of salt. Flecks of colored light splay out across the captain's desk which is littered with documents and maps. Luka sits up and stretches his sore muscles, swinging his legs over the edge of the lofted bed and standing up. Directly at hip-height, a golden tray waits for him, displaying glass chalices of various liquids. Immediately, he picks up the water and finishes its contents in seconds. It's when he's reaching for the refill pitcher that he notices a piece of parchment on the tray where his glass had been. He holds it delicately between his thumb and forefinger as he reads:

Unaware of what you would prefer.
Options are whiskey, wine & water.
- T

Embarrassed, though there are no witnesses to his flushes cheeks and soft smile, Luka presses the parchment to his chest and downs the whiskey in a single gulp, "I'm fucked..."

He takes in the rest of the room: a dressing area featuring a rather impressive closet full of beautiful fabrics and garments, a corner dedicated to weaponry with swords, daggers, whips and other impressive munitions scattered about haphazardly, and a bookcase overflowing so abundantly that every other flat surface in the cabin is littered with books as well. Some have the corners of their pages folded over to tab their spot, a book on sign language has the last stopping point marked with a small dagger tucked in between its pages, and one lies open on the couch. All of this displays a lack of organization, not born of carelessness or recklessness, but confidence and ease, a skill set that Luka isn't sure he'll ever be able to wrap his mind around.

The man can't help himself and picks the book up off the couch, curious as to what someone like Theo Crimsonblade spends his time reading. He thumbs the page and flips it closed, looking for a title or author. The cover is a soft brown leather, marked only by a T that's scratched into the material. He opens to where his thumb is tucked between pieces of parchment, and he's met with scratchy handwriting, some things circled or underlined, a few lines crossed out and illegible. His eyes skim the page and pick up a few phrases that make no sense to him:

Never lifted sword. Trust or overconfidence?

Flecks of green mixed into the blue - color of the water in Deadman's Cove in June