The Crimson's Curse

Chapter One: Aboard the Crimson Widow

The wind clawed at my hair as I steadied my footing against the rocking deck, fingers clenched tight around the salt-crusted railing. The Crimson Widow sliced through the waves like a beast with a purpose, her dark sails looming against the storm-laden sky. To anyone else, the sea might seem cold, endless, merciless. But to me, it was home, my only home.

I drew in a deep breath, letting the sharp tang of salt fill my lungs. The crew's gruff voices filled the air as they hauled ropes and shouted orders across the deck, their movements swift and practiced. But even after all these years, some of them still looked twice, with a hint of disdain, when they saw me.

A woman.

They never said it outright. Not while Captain Mordain stood nearby. It was a reminder that my place here had been earned with calluses and blood, not given. Mordain made sure of that. To them, I was just the girl who happened to be on their ship, which was unusual to them. But to me, he was something more, a father, of sorts.

Raised on the salty waves, I was cradled by the rhythm of the tide and the shouts of the crew. Mordain had taught me everything: how to wield a cutlass, how to navigate the stars, and how to survive in a world that looked down on me for my gender. He was gruff and demanding, but in his fierce training and unforgiving ways, I felt his care. I'd never known a family other than the motley crew of the Crimson Widow, and I couldn't help but think of him as my protector and my mentor, even when he showed me no mercy. He was my father after all.

"Eyes up, Aggie!" His voice cut through the sounds of the sea. I snapped my attention back to the deck. "Quit staring out at the waves. There's work to be done."

"Aye, Captain," I replied, straightening up and pulling my gaze from the horizon. I could hardly tell him what I truly thought, the weight of the Bleak Tide Map hung heavy in the air, a promise of treasure and danger. But I felt an unsettling dread lurking beneath the thrill of the hunt, a premonition that something dark awaited us.

Mordain's obsession with that map worried me. He had spent months trailing whispered rumours, cutting deals in smoky taverns, and skirting the edges of the Navy, all for that scrap of parchment that he finally got his hands on. The way he looked at it, as if it held the very essence of our fate, disturbed me.

I shook my head, forcing myself to focus. Maybe I was wrong about him. Maybe I'd spent too many years overlooking the shadows of his past. But the map felt like a weight dragging us down, leading us toward something far darker than any of the crew could imagine. The legends surrounding the Bleak Tide Map haunted every sailor's dreams, whispered in hushed tones over steins of rum. They said the map led to a treasure so grand that it could change the fate of a pirate crew overnight, yet it was entwined with curses. The pirates yearned for it, lusted after it, but they also dreaded what it could bring.

According to the tales, the treasure is guarded by an undead captain, a once-mighty figure, now a vile and cruel apparition, his name; Dorian Black the Forsaken. The Captain was cursed centuries ago by a witch he betrayed. He was bound to protect her treasure for eternity, and transformed into a vengeful, immortal guardian. The legend spoke of his love for Esmeralda, a passion that had driven him mad. Despite his admiration, he decided a deal was not good enough, and to attempt to back out of their deal, thinking he could seize the treasure for himself. But her wrath was swift, and in his greed, he had lost his very soul.

I often wondered about that captain. Did he wander the fog-laden shores, forever seeking redemption, or did he revel in the power of his curse? Every pirate who sought the treasure would be challenged by his rage, a warning to those who dared to claim what was never theirs. As I moved through the ship, I hoisted sails, tied knots, and helped load supplies, my muscles straining against the effort. I thrived in this life, relishing the fellowship that came from labouring together under the watchful eye of the sea.