Pirates of the Caribbean: Scarlet Tides

Chapter 1, Part 1: The Arrival

The tavern was loud with the sounds of clinking mugs and drunken laughter, but Captain Liora Blackwell sat alone in the farthest corner, nursing a glass of rum and watching the crowd with sharp eyes. Her long, dark coat hung over her shoulders like a shroud, and the flickering candlelight caught the silver of the dagger at her side. The air was thick with the stink of unwashed sailors and stale ale, but that was the least of her concerns. She was waiting.

Through the open windows, the howling wind from the harbour carried the scent of saltwater and rot. It was a cold night, unusual for the Caribbean this time of year, and a storm loomed on the horizon, stirring the sea into restless waves. Liora's fingers drummed the table in a slow, deliberate rhythm, her mind elsewhere—on her ship, The Siren's Call, anchored just outside the port, and on the future spoils she was sure to claim. She had a reputation for chasing fortune, no matter the risk, but tonight was different. Tonight, she waited for a promise of something far greater.

Her patience was rewarded when the door creaked open, and a figure stepped inside. The man was tall, his face obscured by the shadow of a wide-brimmed hat, and his coat hung heavy with the weight of seawater. His boots squelched as he moved, leaving a wet trail on the wooden floor. He paused at the threshold, scanning the room until his gaze landed on Liora.

Without a word, he made his way to her table, his movements deliberate, purposeful. The tavern's noise seemed to dim as he approached, the laughter and chatter fading into the background like a distant echo. Liora didn't move, didn't blink, as the stranger sat across from her. His eyes, dark as the abyss, met hers.

"I hear you're looking for something," he said, his voice low, almost a whisper. It carried the weight of the ocean, heavy and ancient.

Liora leaned back in her chair, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. "I'm always looking for something, stranger. Question is, what have you got that's worth my time?"

The man reached into his coat and pulled out a small, weathered scroll. The paper was yellowed with age, the edges frayed, but the seal that held it closed was what caught Liora's attention. A deep crimson wax, stamped with an unfamiliar sigil—a skeletal hand reaching up from the waves.

Liora's eyes narrowed. "What's this?"

"A map," the man said, his tone careful, deliberate. "To the lost city of Maravique. You've heard the legends, haven't you?"

She had. Every sailor worth their salt had heard of Maravique, a city said to be lost to time and swallowed by the sea. It was a tale passed down through whispers and drunken ramblings—of treasures so vast they could buy kingdoms, and a curse so dark it had claimed the lives of every soul who dared seek it.

Liora stared at the map, her heartbeat quickening, but she didn't let her excitement show. She kept her expression cool, detached. "And why give this to me?" she asked, leaning forward slightly. "What's your price?"

The man smiled, but it was a cold, empty thing. "I don't want your gold, Captain. I only ask for one thing." He paused, his fingers tracing the edge of the map. "When you find the city... remember who gave you the key."

Liora's smirk faded. There was something wrong about this man, something that set her teeth on edge. But the lure of Maravique was too strong, the promise of riches too great to ignore. She reached out, her fingers brushing the seal, and for a moment, a sharp chill ran down her spine.

"I'll find it," she said, her voice low and firm. "And I'll take whatever's there."

The man stood, his movements slow, deliberate, as if he carried the weight of centuries on his shoulders. He tipped his hat, the shadow of his face still obscured, and turned toward the door. "Beware the Scarlet Tides, Captain. The sea isn't as forgiving as you might think."

Liora watched him leave, the door closing behind him with a soft thud. The tavern's noise returned in a rush, the clinking of mugs and drunken shouts filling the air once more. But Liora's mind was elsewhere, her gaze locked on the map that lay before her.

She didn't believe in curses. At least, not yet.

Liora stood abruptly, rolling the map in her hands, and made for the door without a second glance at the crowd. Outside, the wind howled, and the smell of the ocean seemed sharper, more ominous. A storm was brewing, but it wasn't just the weather that weighed heavily on her mind.

As she stepped onto the cobbled streets, she couldn't shake the feeling that something had already begun to change.