1751 - Somewhere in the Caribbean Sea…
The hull of the Falcon creaked as her captain leaned over a desk, dark amber eyes fixed to the map nailed to the side. This map roughly detailed the very tip of Florida and stretched down a swath of the Caribbean; the eyes studying it narrowed as they scanned up to a triangular area that the captain had circled, numerous times. Routes dotted the map, some labeled British fleet, Spanish fleet, merchant, but the circled area was well away from those routes. Others ventured close, marked with dates in a nearly-annual progression.
"Capitán Maria! We approach!"
Maria pulled herself away from the map, shaking off her reveries as she tousled her thick curled hair. Much of it was braided over her shoulders, with beads and silver threaded onto the strands to jangle softly as she moved. She snapped at the collar of her cream justacorps - the jacket hung comfortably to her knees, left open though the double-breasted collar sometimes threatened to fall free - before opening the door of her cabin out into the blazing late morning sun. Her crew was about their usual duties, though they paused to greet her with nods or a quick ma'am or senorita capitan as she crossed to the stairs leading to the helm. Rafael stood there, black hair falling straight around his jaw, and his black eyes darted to her before he nodded in greeting. With him was Maria's first mate, Luciano, smirking at her in greeting though some of it was due to a scar pulling up a corner of his mouth.
"We're nearly to our destination, captaine," Luciano reported, his smooth Jamaican accent a welcome contrast to the rasp of the ocean on the hull. "Though, to be true, dis weather's far fairer than de norm, where we be goin'."
"The Triangle can be deceptive, no?" Maria suggested. "Some days it is clear near that accursed place, others not so much."
"This is different," Rafael murmured in his soft voice, his hands steady on the wheel even if his stance was favoring his bad knee. "I don't like it, captain."
Maria turned to look out at the horizon, clear and open and shining under the intense daylight. Suddenly she saw what two of her most trusted crew meant; usually approaching their destination meant the air becoming unnaturally cool, fog and threatening rocks beginning to appear. This was not right.
"Sail on until we reach our usual position," Maria decided, frowning slightly. "Then we take in sail and drop anchor to look closer. Better to be safe than sorry."
"You always say dat when we approach the Triangle, captain," Luciano muttered, though he didn't complain. Most of the Falcon's crew had sailed under Maria's command over the past five years; they knew her roughly-yearly pilgrimage to the Devil's Triangle was no fancy or means to show her fearlessness to the men under her command. Maria knew they were all well aware of her reputation and her history, though it was not so storied as men like Blackbeard, Teague, or even Sparrow and Barbossa. But there was enough to make men uneasy at the sight of her.
She spotted the Falcon's boatswain and her uncle, Jozefo, at the ship's fore, watching the water and standing near where Maria had prepared the memory boat she always sent into the Triangle on this yearly trip. Like her, Jozefo was sensitive to spirits and strange occurrences, more so than Maria herself. If anything truly strange was going on, he would be feeling it. She decided to leave him to his study and remained astern, scanning the horizon for the telltale jagged rocks and fog marking the Devil's Triangle.
Noon had come and gone when Luciano shouted for the anchor to be dropped and the canvas brought in. Maria began descending to the main deck for Jozefo, an uneasy pit in her stomach at the clear horizon in front of the Falcon's bow. Her uncle was nearly head-and-shoulders taller than her, with midnight-dark skin that rivaled Luciano's, and a quiet demeanor that only seemed at odds with his tasks in keeping the crew in line. Jozefo turned to glance down at her as she stood next to him and sighed heavily, arms crossing over his broad chest.
"Something fearsome dark has been loosed on the sea," he reported. "Something the Triangle was holding at bay, but no more."
"Like what?" Maria dared to ask, frowning as she returned his look.
"Death."
Maria swallowed as her unease grew worse, but she made herself ignore it before climbing onto the rail to balance and look over the water more closely. The waves were choppy but calm, almost as if a ship had sailed through and departed hours ago. No sign of rocks, or that an island had even been here at all. The wind picked up, and Maria found herself shivering before getting both feet back on the deck.
"Captain! O'er here!" one of her sailors called out from the port side. "Summat in the water, there!"
Maria turned in time to find the man pointing down, and a few others rushed over in curiosity before Maria could push past their numbers around one of the top guns and look for herself. A small shape bobbed in the water, very near the Falcon's hull and about the size of a child's toy boat. Maria's chest clenched before she managed to reach for a hook to snare the object to lift it towards the deck and catching it in her hand: a small boat, complete with a mast and tattered sail. Waterlogged tallow, as if from a candle long snuffed out, clung to the bottom of the boat. As Maria ran her hands over the soaked wood, she felt runes and symbols roughly carved along its hull, signs meant to find a spirit and guide them on to the next world.
"Dios," Maria breathed as she began to sense energy from the little boat - one she had sent into the Triangle as she had for years - both the original guiding power and something else, something dark and vicious that the little boat had bound to it.
"Captain?" another sailor asked behind her. "What…what's the matter?"
"…we need to get to shore, make port as soon as we can," Maria insisted, turning away from the rail and keeping the boat in her grip as she passed the hook off. "If we can."
Maria shouldered through the crew, even passed a concerned Rafael, as she marched up to the wheel, keeping the boat tucked under her arm.
"You heard me, weigh anchor and drop sail!" she barked, sending the crew scurrying. "Vamos, if you wish to see land!"
Rafael was first to limp up to where she stood, concern etched through his eyes and brow as he sat on a chair nailed to the deck for him to rest his lame knee. Although he was still relatively new to the crew, Rafael's dedication to being the Falcon's helmsman had won him Maria's trust, placing him on equal standing with Luciano and Jozefo when it came to advising their captain. Maria was glad he let her sail directly for a time, to let her worry gnaw its way through her. The memory boat stayed tucked under her arm, close as Maria absorbed the feel of the aura now surrounding it. The anger, the hunger, enhanced and snarling such that it nearly devoured what little warmth came from it.
"…Maria, what is happening?" Rafael asked once the Falcon was underway under Maria's hand. "What's gotten you so anxious?"
"Some evil thing the Triangle was holding has been freed," Maria dared to answer, "and whatever it is, it is using my father's spirit."
She glanced to find Rafael paling at the thought of el matador del mar returned to the sea, and Maria turned back to focus on taking her hunting bird to safety. She had to know for certain, and even if it wasn't she had to protect her ship and crew, as captain. Once she knew…she could think of something.