Blood of the Tides

Sanguine stood on the deck of one of her first ships, surveying the wreckage of the Portcross Navy fleet they had just sunk. She drew her blade across her palm, opening an old wound, and held her hand over the rail, letting her blood trickle into the Sea of Veil. The drops struck the water, and she turned, her attention caught by the faint sounds of screams rising from those clinging to debris in the waves below.   The Sunken took no mercy on those she had claimed for him. As her blood mingled with the sea, she felt a familiar pull—an acknowledgment from the depths. She watched as the struggling survivors were dragged under, their souls bound to his realm, forever prisoners beneath the waves. Those who weren’t drug beneath the depths were fodder for the sharks and pets of the Sunken.   Lady Nox roused from her altar aboard The Fiore, the sound of her bones rattling like ancient chains as she moved across the deck. She loomed over Sanguine, her withered hand reaching down, her tongue flicking out to taste the wound before it healed itself in slow, unnerving precision. It always unsettled Sanguine when Nox did that.   One of Nox’s old, wrinkled fingers waved in the air, careful and deliberate. "Ya need ta sail to Cindorria... make proper prayer to him."   Sanguine’s eyes narrowed, her lips curling into a snarl. "You need to crawl back to your piss-poor altar. I have my deal with him. As far as I’m concerned, until I sink The Black Revenant myself and slice out my father’s heart, I’m not doing shit."   Her arm swept over the horizon, gesturing to the sea where sailors screamed, their voices choked and broken as they were dragged beneath the waves.   "The Sunken will summon me when he wants me—" Her voice was thick with venom, dripping like poison into the salt-filled air. "And not a moment sooner."   As she spoke, the crew moved around them, busy with their duties, yet no one dared interrupt the exchange. Nox, undeterred, slowly made her way back to her altar, the distant smell of salt and blood mingling in the air like a familiar, foreboding embrace. The Fiore was a small, fast ship, and over time, she’d built her own small fleet. The men and women of these ships seemed drawn to her, bound by the same restless spirit and desire for destruction. She carefully tracked the vessels that sailed out of Portcross, keeping a watchful eye on those that crossed her path of ruin. And in the silence between the storms, she waited for The Black Revenant.   She knew her father, Hadrian Voss, all too well. The man who had evaded her time and again, the one who took people from the Islands of the Veil as if they were mere tools to be discarded. She hated him for it. And now, she would make him pay. She would run the sea red with his blood.   He had tossed her aside, like chattel, to die in the depths. She had been a child then, drifting beneath the waves, until the Sunken had claimed her. Held in a state of undeath, she made a pact with them, and when she rose from the sea, power coursed through her veins. She had grown into a formidable sea captain, feared and relentless.   Whispers followed her wherever she went. The rumors spread like wildfire, painting her as something unnatural—“vampire,” “sea witch,” “she-devil.” They called her many things, but none of them truly captured the wrath she held inside, the thirst for vengeance that only the sea could understand.   The day had finally come, a year and a half in the making. They had carefully planned, tracking his ship out of the Port of Tor as it sailed close to Asharia. The Dwarves and Gnomes had their own defenses, raising fire chains around the island to trap him. The Fiore led the charge, cornering The Black Revenant, leaving it with nowhere to flee. The ships around it sank beneath the waves, and the wails of dying men filled the air as Sanguine boarded the vessel with her crew.   “Hadrian Voss,” she spat, her voice dripping with venom, “I’ve come to collect your heart, father.” The winds began to whip around them, and the sea roared as though in answer. She stood tall, like a tempest itself, on the deck of the enemy ship.   “Father? Who might you be, one of my whores’ ill-begotten children?” Hadrian sneered, unsheathing his sword. He stepped forward, his eyes narrowing as he took in her figure. Then, as his gaze settled on her, realization struck him. She wasn’t the daughter of one of his whores. The fire in her eyes was too bright, too fierce. This woman—this child—was the one he had cast aside long ago. His wife’s child, the one he had claimed had died of sickness at sea. The one he’d rid himself of to take a new mistress.   He spoke a name, his voice a mere whisper, but the winds stole it away before Sanguine could hear. Her eyes narrowed, and with a roar, she lunged at him, sword drawn.   The fight was brutal, their blades clashing in a shower of sparks. The crew of The Black Revenant stood on the sidelines, resigned to their fates, watching as the two battled atop the deck. Neither gave quarter, neither yielded. It was a clash of blood and fury, a reckoning long overdue.   Sanguine prevailed. With a final, fatal blow to his abdomen, Hadrian's guts spilled across the deck, a grotesque spray of blood staining the wood. She did not weep. Without a moment’s hesitation, she drew a black dagger from her belt and carved his heart from his chest. The crew watched in eerie silence, none daring to stop her from this dark deed.   The heart still bled in her hand, warm and pulsing. She gave a curt nod to Lady Nox, who, without a word, leapt over the side of the ship and disappeared into the depths below, swallowed by the darkness.   Sanguine sank into the blackness herself, floating weightless as the cold ocean embraced her. The heart in her hands seemed to beat on, a lingering throb of life in the endless dark. Then, as if summoned by her thoughts, two large globes of light appeared before her, glowing faintly in the oppressive void.   She was lifted from the depths, held aloft by one of the Sunken's many arms. It took the heart from her, floating it before her eyes. In the eerie glow of the god’s eyes, she could see it still beating, pulsing with unnatural life.   “With this, I shall build a ward to protect one island. You must choose.” The Sunken’s voice rumbled through her, endless and suffocating.   “Cindorria,” she whispered, the words bubbling up through her mouth, as seafoam swirled around her.   At that, the deal was struck. The heart was taken from her grasp, and she watched, transfixed, as the Sunken wove his ancient spell. The tides above raged violently, and storms tore across the seas. The day would be remembered as the one when the ocean ran red with blood.   Then, as if summoned by the chaos itself, she was lifted again—this time onto the back of a massive tentacle, rising from the depths. It carried her effortlessly and deposited her onto The Fiore.   “Remember, you are my servant now I have fullfilled my end of this pact, my child.” the Sunken’s voice echoed in her mind, a constant, oppressive presence.   Sanguine stood, drenched from the depths of the sea, her crew rushing to help her as she stumbled onto the deck. The weight of her bargain settled in her chest as her eyes, now far darker than before, locked onto the horizon. She was no longer just a pirate. She was something more—an unwilling servant to an ancient god.   Cindorria lies blanketed in a thick, magical fog—an impenetrable veil that was born from the sacrifice Lady Sanguine made. The fog clings to the island, swirling in unnatural patterns, a barrier that only those who know the way can navigate safely. Others, ignorant of the proper path, perish in the fog, their ships crashing into hidden rocks or vanishing without a trace, lost to the mist forever.   The island itself is a treacherous place, covered in a dense jungle of tangled vines and thick foliage. Ravines slice through the landscape, while hidden springs bubble up from deep within the earth, their waters warm and murky. The air is thick with humidity, the heat oppressive, clinging to skin and clothes in a near-perpetual haze. Every step is a struggle against the suffocating atmosphere, and the oppressive jungle seems to watch, alive with hidden dangers and secrets.