Lady Sanguine and The Blood Drinkers
The Admiral of the Blood Drinkers has never been as much a legend and mystery as the origins of that pirate crew’s story.
Our tale of the Blood Drinkers fleet begins humbly, with a ship’s crew in the Portcross Navy. The ship, known as the Crowe, had settled into a small port to restock and make preparations to return home. The captain, Ezran Graywater, had taken to the local tavern, the Slippery Clam, as it were. The tavern was, of course, filled with its common drudgery: drunks, rogues, and whores, with bawdy tales being spun and the regular clamor of chatter.
Ever weary, the captain scanned the room his eyes laid upon a woman of dark and alluring beauty, her skin like alabaster, her lips red as wine - the kind a man could become drunk on with a single kiss. She was adorned in fineries and carried herself with an air of dignity. This lady stood before him and she was suddenly all his eyes could see
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The captain, so enamored by her, immediately made his approach. She murmured something in his ear - exactly what, to this day cannot be said - and her words alone were enough to bring a blush to his stern features The captain, now witless and spellbound, led the haunting beauty to his ship.
They descended into his cabin as he fumbled with his trousers, prompting nothing but a smile from her at his clumsy urgency. As she mounted him on the bed she drew a blade, and there, in the flicker of candlelight, she extinguished his life.
The rest of the ship’s crew were quietly besieged by her band of brigands under the cover of nightfall. And as she emerged from the cabin, the sultriness was all gone, replaced with a feral look in her eyes, holding a chalice in her right hand. The ship’s crew, now held at the point of cutlasses and daggers, could only look on, their eyes wide with terror. The red of her dress drug across the deck as she stopped in front of an officer. He looked into her eyes and, loyal to the last, demanded for his captain to be returned. .
“Captain Graywater is dead,” she said, her free hand reaching out to caress the man’s face with grim satisfaction. And then she stood a long moment, they say, grim eyes boring into the crewmen, looking into their very souls. By charm or charisma, they watched her with weary eyes, held spellbound.
Only one thought to speak: “She-Devil!” he gasped. He spoke no more, after that, ran through by a brigand.
“I shall give you an option, drink the blood of your dead captain and pledge your allegiance to me, or be slaughtered.” She held the cup to the officers’ lips with a twisted smile “I offer you a life that breaks the shackles of your service, a life of freedom under my flag.” Her tone was a melody as she looked into their eyes.
Whatever look she gave those men, whatever witchcraft might have been it, I tell you they willingly obeyed her without question and drank from the glass. As the Lady Sanguine began taking over other ships, rumors spread of her blood rites, her passion, and rituals. They say even now, that where the Crowe sails, dark deeds follow in her wake.
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