Horror of the North
Hunter
Largot woke an hour later. Helen was standing over him as the ship's doctor examined his eye.
"Get off me!" he yelled as the doctor brought a scalpel down to take a sample of his eye tissue. "I don't have time to heal. Helen, I helped you kill your father, can you do the same for me?"
Helen only nodded. She knew that either she would help, or he would leave and find his own way.
Largot then took the helm and followed the wind northeast. He knew that ship couldn't be caught with the Iron Shaft. He had put two and two together.
Float's last prophecy was to seek the Red Fang.
The Red Fang was a Dunmeri-Nordic legend about a ship, controlled by the spirits of it's ancient captains, that sailed the Sea of Ghosts to the northeast of Morrowind. It was said that no ship was faster. After days of searching, Largot was about to pull the ship into port in Khuul to restock and refit. It was Marduk's keen eye that caught the dim phosphorescent glow on the water. Largot steered the ship over and began following the twisted course. Seven times that night the Iron Shaft nearly sank on the jagged rocks of the Sea of Ghosts, until, a few hours after midnight, they saw it.
The ship itself did not glow. It seemed rusted and mundane, at best, but Largot knew it was the one. He was prepared to push the Shaft to the limit, but the Fang stopped and let them pull alongside.
"I'm going this one alone." He said, then walked aboard.
The air chilled, a slow, steady, almost inaudible breath was heard from behind the door to the Captain's Cabin. Largot followed the sound and entered.
The room was so bizarre. It seemed like each of the captains that had taken possession of the ship added one thing to the cabin. Most recent was an ornate desk with a globe of Nirn on it. In the corner stood the captain who added it.
"Ye impudent whelp! How dare ye attempt to board my ship! CREW!" he called, and then the entire horde of ghosts that crewed the ship was upon him.
His borrowed longsword could do nothing to the spirits as they clawed at his flesh, ripping his clothing and leaving horrid, sticky gashes down his chest. His silver eye glowed red and he swung out with his bare hands, and each ghost the smoke douched dissipated instantly, as though the magic holding them to reality had been suddenly severed.
"Such terrible power… Perhaps it is finally time." The Captain said. "Belay! Stand down and return to your haunts!"
Largot panted, staring as his eye slowly returned to its silvery color.
"Ye have true strength. What is yer purpose here?" The Captain asked him.
"I need your ship to avenge my family." Largot replied.
"Ah, so it's a noble, honorable anger, is it lad?" The Captain asked. He began to form a more coherent shape. He was, in life, a Breton. He had a huge head of hair and a long, thick beard.
"I, too, took this ship for that cause, lad. My brother was killed by a band of Imperial Privateers. So I took this ship and used it to get my revenge on the East Empire Trading Company. I succeeded, but I never passed the ship on. Those who die while it is their soul still bonded to the ship are cursed. I was one such man. I am stuck here, until a worthy successor can again captain this accursed vessel, and beings of true flesh and blood crew it again."
The Captain sighed. "Do ye give your name and word to me, Connor MacPherson, that ye will not be the same fool I was, and pass the ship on to a successor while ye still breathe the air of the living?"
"I am Largot, the bastard son of a bastard father, and you, Connor MacPherson, have my word."
With that, the wraith smiled and faded away, as though he had never truly been, and Largot was granted the knowledge of the ghost ship and its secrets.