You unfurl the scroll handed to ye by your loyal first mate, the aged parchment whispering tales of the sea as it unfolds. The bold hand of Blacktide Bartholomew, a name spoken with a mix of dread and respect in every tavern across the Caribbean, beckons from the page. The Pirate King calls for  Parley! His words, stark and unwavering, command all captains worth their salt to converge on the first night of the waxing crescent, under the watchful eyes of the stars, at the notorious Cove of the Black Sails.

Ye find yourself musing over the dark undercurrents of Blacktide's summons. The high seas have been awash with troubling yarns of late – stout galleons disappearing into the blue, leaving nary a trace nor a soul behind. This ain't your usual tales of misfortune at sea, nor the doings of the dreaded Royal Navy. Nay, this speaks of a deeper horror, a shadow in the depths that takes all and leaves nothing.

Turning to your crew, a hardened lot of sea dogs and ruffians, each with a tale of their own, you issue your command, "Hoist the sails, lads! We set our course for the Cove of the Black Sails." The canvas catches the wind with a roar, as your vessel, a queen of the seas, carves her path through the waves. The waxing crescent moon looms on the horizon, heralding a gathering that might well alter the course of your destiny. The Cove awaits, and with it, answers to the riddle of the vanishing ships.