Crow’s Bounty
As Crow sailed into the mist, hand steady on the helm, he glanced down at the deep black onyx beads circling his wrist. They echoed his mood powerful, dark, and unreadable. Trickery ran through him like wind through sail.
Smirking, he reached into his coat pocket and pulled free a second bracelet polished, delicate, glinting even in the low light. The one he’d set aside for her.
He turned it over in his fingers, already imagining the look on her face… the warmth it would buy him.
Crow’s Bracelet
The Captain’s Mark
Black onyx beads, worn to reflect power and control.
His Mistress’s Bracelet
Name: Whispergilt
Delicate, glimmering, and hidden in his pocket as the ship burned.
A gift meant to charm…
As the Galleon sank beneath the waves at Gallows Point, the sea took its prize with a hunger not grace. From the wreck, a small wooden chest broke free, drifting quietly to shore.
It was one of many.
Scattered along the coastline, boxes of gemstone bracelets
spilled across the rocks some split open, others sealed by fate.
One chest found its way to a market trader, and traded by a
starving urchin for bread and drink. Inside were six bracelets shimmering, intricate, and untouched by time.
Treasure From The Chest
The Stirring of the Graves
For what felt like a thousand years, the Captain slept.
Buried under shifting sands, bones locked in cursed sleep,
his mind drifted through dark seas and forgotten dreams.
Storms raged above.
Empires rose and crumbled.
The world turned, and still he slept.
But curses, Captain... curses don’t fade.
Not truly.
Deep beneath the earth, in the quiet black, something ancient stirred.
The tides shifted.
The ground trembled faintly as a storm, far greater than the one that wrecked him, lashed the coast.
Lightning tore across the night sky.
Rain hammered the cliffs and beaches with a fury that made the earth shake.
And somewhere in the heart of that storm
the Captain's hand twitched.
Above him, the sand began to weep away, washed clean by the pounding rain.
First a hand broke free crusted, scarred, strong.
Then an arm.
Then the battered face of a man the world had forgotten but the sea had not.
The Captain gasped a ragged breath cold, fierce, alive.
Around him, other hands broke through the earth Elias. Luca. Finn.
His brothers. His crew.
Eyes burned with the fire of men cheated of their fates.
They rose slow, broken, but unyielding reborn by the rage of the storm,dragged back into the world by forces old as the ocean itself.The Captain staggered to his feet, sand spillin’ from his battered coat, his long hair matted with salt and time.
Above him, the storm howled like a mother callin’ her lost children home.
And in the distance, across the boiling black waters...
a ship's lantern flickered.
The Captain's fists clenched tight.
They were awake.
They were free.
And somewhere out there...
Crow's blood still stained the waves.The storm had eased into a sullen drizzle by the time they left the beach behind.
The Captain led the way, boots crunchin’ on the damp stones, eyes wary under the grey dawn.
The world smelled the same salt and seaweed, damp earth and the heavy clouds made it easy to believe they still walked the same cursed time.
The trees rose tall, but their shapes were different.
The air held a hum low, unnatural.
The Captain said nothin’, but his gut tightened like a knot of rope.
They walked up a hill and looked down on a small harbor, still shrouded in morning mist.
Beyond the water sat a village squat stone buildings, lights glowin' in windows, and there
a tavern, its sign swinging in the light breeze.
The Captain pointed.
"We make for that place," he barked, voice rough as sand.
Down by the water, a strange vessel waited wide and low, all iron and noise, with a little hut at its stern.
Not a ship by any proper measure.
Without thinkin’, the Captain led his men aboard.
A man appeared from the wheelhouse, mouth fallin’ open in shock at the sight of them four rough, wild-eyed figures, hair matted, clothes torn, skin streaked with blood and sand.
"Wha what are you doin’?" the man stammered.
The Captain stepped forward, hand restin' firm on the hilt of his cutlass.
"Our ship's gone to the bottom. We must reach yonder tavern.
We'll take yer craft."
The man, seein' no good way to argue with four desperate-lookin’ strangers, just nodded quickly.
"I’ll... I’ll take ye across."
The engines roared to life with a rumble like a chained beast, and the craft shuddered forward, cutting across the still waters.
As soon as they nudged the opposite shore, the Captain leapt off, boots hittin' the stones with a thud.
Elias, Luca, and Finn followed close behind.
They stormed into the tavern heads high, eyes sharp.
Behind the bar stood a woman with dark, curly hair that framed her face like a crown.
Eyes deep and curious, a slow, wry smile curlin' her lips.
The Captain marched up, bold as a king.
"I am the Captain," he barked.
"Our ship’s lost to the sea. We require food and drink."
The woman blinked then chuckled, shakin’ her head."Bit early for fancy dress, isn’t it, love?" she said, laughin'. "You lot look like you just stepped out of Pirates o' the Caribbean."
The Captain frowned, not understandin’ a lick of what she meant.
"Our mouths are parched, woman! Bring forth yer best ale!"
"Alright, alright," she said, laughin’ still.
"This one’s our most popular."
The Captain, growlin’ at the delay, pulled from a hidden pocket a heavy gold coin the last of the treasure he'd kept close to his heart even through the sleep of ages.
He slammed it onto the counter.
The woman raised her brows.
"Blimey," she whispered. "You makin' a movie or somethin'? I better get the manager."
She darted away, returnin' with a man in a crisp shirt and worried eyes.
The manager’s face paled when he saw the coin real gold, heavy and pure.
"Give them what they want," he said fast, voice low with excitement.
Plates of steaming food appeared, tankards of ale flowed, and soon the crew were feastin’ like kings.
The woman lingered, curiosity sparklin’ in her eyes.
She asked their names.
Listened to their strange speech.
Watched the fire that burned behind their battered faces.
And though the Captain didn’t know it yet this woman would soon become more than just a barkeep. She would be a bridge between two worlds.
And perhaps, the start of a new legend.
Bonny and the Black Stone
The tavern buzzed with latemorning chatter and clinking tankards, but the Captain was restless.
He sat stiff, his eyes not on the food, but on the far window where sunlight poured through like golden ropes.
He turned to his crew Elias, Luca, and Finn, all still deep in their drink and meat.
“Stay here,” the Captain barked.
“Keep sharp. Keep quiet. I won’t be long.”
Without waiting, he rose and motioned to the barkeep with the dark curls and curious eyes.
“Bonny. Walk with me.”
Bonny Vale, still unsure if this was all a strange dream or part of some elaborate film shoot, wiped her hands and followed him without question.
The Captain looked at her, eyes hard, unreadable.
“This world has changed,” he said flatly.
Bonny nodded. “You really don’t know what any of this is, do you?”
“No,” he said. “And it matters not. I’ve no love for magic or machines. But I’ve a task yet unfinished and time runs thin.”
They reached the water’s edge. The tide lapped gently. The wind curled through the ropes of the moored boats.
The Captain stared out over the harbour, jaw tight.
“My cargo,” he said, almost to himself. “Crow took it. Sailed off before the curse. But he didn’t know... not everything was gold and rum.”
Bonny looked at him, brow furrowed. “What was so important?”
He turned to her, serious as death.
“There’s a map,” he said. “Hidden inside the wood of one of the chests. Not drawn carved. Hidden, so no man would find it unless he knew where to look.”
“A map to what?” she asked, voice low.
The Captain’s eyes narrowed. “To the Black Stone.”Bonny tilted her head. “Black stone? Sounds like something from a legend.”
The Captain nodded slowly. “Aye. But legends often start with truth.”
He reached into his coat and pulled out a small, splintered shard of stone, polished and dark nearly black, but with a shimmer of color hidden deep within the grain.
“Like this... only whole. A stone full o’ colors, shiftin’ like a storm in oil. No gem can match it. Not in beauty. Not in value. It’ll fetch a king’s fortune or start a war.”
Bonny’s expression changed. Curiosity became concern.
“Why would Crow want it?”
The Captain looked her dead in the eye.
“Because power like that don’t go unnoticed. The Black Stone calls to men. And if Crow finds the map... he’ll hunt it too.”
Bonny looked out at the harbour.
Something had shifted in her eyes.
She wasn’t just the tavern girl anymore.
She was a listener to legend.
A keeper of a new path.
And perhaps...
a future pirate herself.
Oaths Under Modern Skies
The wind curled off the harbor, tugging Bonny’s dark curls around her face as she leaned against the railing beside the Captain.
His eyes were still locked on the horizon not the one in front of him, but a memory far off and full of ghosts.
Bonny broke the silence.
“If you knew the map... couldn’t you just find the Black Stone from memory?”
The Captain turned slowly, a tired smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.
A low, dry laugh escaped his throat.
“Oh, Bonny...” he said, his voice like old oak. “Ye’ve much to learn about pirates.”
She raised an eyebrow, arms folded.
“We don’t lay our treasure bare for any fool with a compass to claim,” he said, tapping his temple.
“The map don’t just show a spot. It holds riddles... reference points. Landmarks carved in ink and bone.
Clues that only make sense together. It’s a trail of shadows not somethin’ a man can carry in his head.”
Bonny nodded slowly, absorbing every word.
“Then we need the map,” she said quietly. “But to find it... we have to find Crow first.”
The Captain’s jaw tightened.
“It won’t be easy,” he muttered. “This world’s twisted strange. Crow could be dead. Lost to the sea...
Or worse, livin’ fat somewhere under another name, lettin’ the map rot in some attic chest.”
Bonny glanced across the harbor a taxi rumbled by, a cyclist passed wearing headphones, oblivious to the weight of legends in the air.
She looked back at the Captain, eyes burning not with fear but fire.
“Maybe so,” she said. “But that map... it means something to you. And if there’s even a chance it still exists... don’t we owe it to try?”
The Captain studied her.
Long and deep.
Then quietly, low and slow, he asked:
“Can I trust ye, Bonny?”
A long pause.
Then her voice, clear and sure:
“You can, Captain. You can trust me. I’ll help you find the Black Stone.”
He nodded once not the nod of a man in command
but the nod of a man finally not alone.
And in that moment, under the rusted railings of a modern harbour,
with traffic humming behind them and the sea stretching out ahead
a new alliance was born.
One made not of blood...
but of belief.
