The Kingdom of Madya is a peaceful country located in the Northern Atlantic Ocean. One fateful night, the kingdom falls under attack and the only survivor of the royal family is Princess Idina Maria Odette Burlyon-Gotha. She quickly finds herself hi...
The moment I tossed what was left of my chemise into the ocean, it symbolized the death of my old life. The fabric floated amongst the sea foam then slowly drifted down, getting swallowed by the ocean. It was rather bitter sweet—I was going to miss my old life, but I needed to say goodbye to it before I could move on with my next chapter.
The Wicked Wench was far more impressive than the Golden Skye. She was a three-masted Spanish galleon pirate ship. Her hull was painted red and black while her stern was decorated in crimson-red and gold colors with ornate gold plating. Her armament was composed of at least eighteen cannons. Her firepower was strong enough to damage a stone fortress and allow her pirate crew to invade an unsuspecting town. Through my months of studying these kinds of vessels, I noticed that some details of her hull and rigging imply that she was a Spanish vessel before she was captured by these pirates and converted into a pirate ship.
As the day drew on and the sky fell into a blanket of darkness, I was leaning against the smooth taffrail, looking out into the void. We had slowed down, so I knew that an island was nearby. I heard footsteps approach me, and Jack was by my side.
He said, "we should be approaching Tortuga soon. The men and I are going to galavant around the port for a bit to get our land legs. Would you like to join us?"
I could see myself being a part of this world. I said, "I would indeed, yes."
A small smile perked up his lips. "On our way."
I glanced back at the ocean, where I saw lanterns slowly getting illuminated in the nearby distance. Jack told me that we were sailing through the Windward Passage and approaching Tortuga, a port within the Saint-Domingue colony. When Christopher Columbus voyaged to the New World in 1492, he noticed this island and thought it reminded him of a turtle shell, which was why he called it Tortuga. The island has been under French rule since 1625, however I have never had the opportunity to visit.
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The crew began shouting orders to plan to deboard. A plank was provided to walk off the ship and onto the dock. I was given a pair of brown leather sea boots to wear while on land, and I followed closely behind Jack. As soon as I stepped onto the dock, I felt like I was on the ship more than when I was actually on the ship. The earth was swaying as if it was moving with the waves. I could only guess that I now had my sea legs, and I just lost my land legs.
The way that Jack walked seemed like he had never gotten his land legs. He strolled like a drunk man stumbling out of a tavern. He had a swagger in the way he walked; cocky and confident. He did stop and he looked over his shoulder at me, and didn't walk again until I was by his side. It's feasible that he assumed I would run off, and it's probable that I definitely would given the opportunity.
Throughout the port, I noticed honest merchants with carts and stations selling pelts, dried meats, liquor, clothing, an assortment of tools, and even fruits. Men were playing lively musical instruments around the port, while bonny women were prostituting themselves for the unseemly men who just reached land.
