Pirates: A new beginning

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Arvin DeGrath was standing at the helm of the Violet Marauder. As he looked down the decks of his ship, he could slowly see the port of Freetown slowly coming into view. Looking at his ship, and crew, he felt his chest swell with pride.

The ship wasnt big, by general standards, but of reasonable size for a pirate vessel. She had only 2 masts, with a short sail at the rear to help her maneuver. She wasnt designed for heavy combat either, only having 5 cannon on each side of the vessel. Arvin used the speed and maneuverability of the vessel to capture and board vessels bigger, and more heavily armed than his own.

The name, Violet Marauder came from the violet sails that she sported, and her history of piracy was well known. His crew, was good at their tasks, and well known for their savagery in fighting. The hold of his vessel wasnt huge, meaning they had to be selective in what they looted, and there were only 4 cabins, the main one being his. It was larger, because it also served as a meeting room, for making plans and the like.

At this moment, however, his ship wasnt overly pretty. His crew had been through a tough attack on a tax vessel. His ship had taken moderate damage, and crew losses were also medium. As he came toward Freetown, ironically named, as it was a home to pirate and freebooter tyranny, he was looking forward to repairing his ship, and hiring more crew. Plus he had some lucrative booty to spend.

As the Violet Marauder entered the harbour, the bosun called up that they were close to dock.

"Drop the Anchor Mr. Carson, and moor her to the dock."

Turning to his Quartermaster, he made sure that the loot was ready to be tallied, and handed out.

"Let the men off slowly, but always keep some behind as guards, and dont let the parties get too large. We dont be needing too much trouble. Not like last time"

Entering his Cabin, Arvin picked up his cutlass, and a pouch of dabloons, and set off for the Rotten Kelp, local watering hole, and home to his kind of people.

Yes.... He had the feeling that something big could be coming his way.

[ September 11, 2004, 16:54: Message edited by: Takara ]

 

Swiftly, Sol gathered his scimitar and walked down the gangplank of the Violet Marauder. He was tall 6'3 and lean, dark of hair and eyes and heavily tanned from weeks on end of the open sea. His hair was long and with several thin braids. He wore white baggy half mast trousers and no shoes or boots. Whilst usually he wore no top, he had pulled on a red waistcoat to enter the town in.

With the scimatr strapped across his back he moved into the town. The captain was said to be heading to the Rotten Kelp and Sol decided it was as good a place as any to stay while at port.

 

Jean E'Brea was doing what he did second best in his favorite tavern: trying to get various drunkards who didn't know him, or were really wasted, into bets on his formadible skill with throwing knives, and in the meantime looking around for people who might be worth the effort of a mugging or burglary.

At the moment, however, 'business' was slow, and he had to be careful, as the authorities or what passed for them had been growing an unhealthy interest in his occupational behaviour.

Although a master of various arms, he was not about to cross the Captains' council - he valued his life a little too much for that.

He was wondering what his next occupation would be, as (a rather loud) word reached him from an entiring trio of pirates - the Violet Marauder was back in port, and could be recruiting.

Jean smelled an advisable, and profitable, change of scenery here.

Knowing that the Rotten Kelp would be the first place a recruiter would show up, he moved into a corner table, ordered another glass of wine, and putting up a 'if you bother me, you'd better be able to make it worth my while' face, he waited.

 

Sol walked down several back streets, his bare feet pattering softly on the cobbles. Soon enough, he came to the swinging sign of the Rotten Kelp. Stepping inside, he looked around. There were men gambling on throwing knives, cards, drinking games and an odd acrobatic competition with goblets and tankards in a corner. Stepping inside Sol realised he had overtaken the Captain.

Walking to the bar he asked for a tankard of dark beer. The bartenders reply was “All we have is grog.” Sol sighed, the same in every run down pirate venue. Sol accepted and wandered over to the knife throwers. One man seemed slightly more coherent than the others, he was drinking wine, something that surprised Sol, and he was tempted to return to the barkeep. He decided against it though, he might want another drink later.

The man had just finished emptying two drunkards pockets and was collecting his knives from the leg of an upturned barstool. He was smiling widely as he returned them to their sheaths. Sol was interested in testing his own skill, but was too wary of the way knife throwers in these establishments worked. Instead he took a deep drink of grog and settled back.

 

Turk took his usual post on the deck of the Violet Marauder. He had, like always, volunteered to stay for the first shift of watch. He knew all to well what type of place Freetown was, and he had plans for his small, albeit well earned, portion of the haul.

He had been part of the Marauder's crew since the beginning, something that not many men could claim. Life under Captain DeGrath was hard, but bountiful work, and Turk enjoyed it. The reason he had stayed aboard so long was because of his usefulness. He filled the role of a carpenter, a cook, and most importantly, surgeon.

Nobody aboard beyond the captian knew anything about Turk beyond what they could see. He had no friends among the crew, and had been on the ship longer then everbody, save the captain himself. The one thing that they knew for sure was that he was steadfast loyal to Captain DeGrath.

Tonight, however, none of the crew really gave much thought to Turk as they were slowly filtered off the ship by the Quartermaster. They all had coin in their pockets and a town full of 'accommodations' to spend it in. A few others beside Turk were on board, but he paid no heed to them. He was focused on the small boat about three fathoms off starboard and closing quietly. His keen eyes catching the glint of moonlight off of steel, Turk readied himself and the rest of the watch.

Tonight was not going to be one of the quiet ones.

 

Walking along the street, Arvin felt a cool early evening breeze flow through his hair. It ran about shoulder length, and was blonde, and curly. Arvin himself, stood at around six feet tall, and was only mildly broad shouldered. His appearence didnt seem to be one of a brawler.

That supposition would prove to be the downfall of many men, as he was quick on his feet, and had a very nasty fighting streak in him. This he hid behind the charming smile he kept on his face. With a blonde goatee, he looked more a rogue, than a pirate. Even so, at 38 years old, he was getting a premature tracery of grey in his beard, and hair.

Walking with a gentle swagger, one full of confidence, he approached his destination: The Rotten Kelp. A well known hive of villainy, it was his home away from home. The outside belied what it was on the inside. A wooden exterior, the angles to the place had a slightly old architectural feel to them. Used originally as a stopping point, to change horses on coach runs, it had the look of a coach inn.

Now, it was mainly a rowdy bar, but kept its rooms reserved for pirate captains, and their crews. Striding up to the front door, he could alredy hear the sounds of a bar in full swing. Chuckling to himself, he entered the smokey doorway, wondering what old friends, and old enemies, he might run into.

 

As the door to the bar swung open, Kray looked up from his drink to see a man sillhoueted in the doorway. A Cutlass was on his belt, and talk of the people earlier had been of the Violet Marauder entering the port. Could this be the captain?

Turning back to his drink, Kray pondered a chance to travel and adventure.All he needed was to prove his worth. Downing the rest of his cheap ale, he sat back and watched the pirate, keeping an eye for any guards he might have...

 

Descending into the Rotten Kelp, Arvin let his eyes adjust to the more subdued lighting, and smokey atmosphere. Taking a deep breath, he sighed with happiness as the familiar sounds and smells filled his senses.

How long has it been since I've been back? God knows

Feeling like he was home, or at least as much a home as any pirate had off their ship, he looked around the gloomy interior. Most faces he could see, he didnt recognise, but some of the old regulars were here. Also, he could see some of his crew alredy here, and enjoying spending their well earned booty.

Heading toward the bar, he caught the eye of the landlord, and barkeep.

"Bart, me ol' chum, it's been too long, har har! You've nay changed a bit since I been away. Gimme a tankard of rum!"

Letting out a bellow of laughter, the barkeep, Bart (short for Bartholemew) opened up some rum he kept hidden under the counter for... special guests.

"My God Arvin, how long has it been? last time I saw you was when you were chased out of port by Black Pete and his crew"

Wincing slightly, Arvin looked at Bart, "Dont be remindin' me. I lost him somewhere near Hangman's folly. But that's the past. Do ye be havin' me a room? Also, do ye be knowin' of any profitable ventures bein' floated about?"

Bart scratched his chin, " I'll have to make some inquiries about the work, though if you hang around something might come up. Words gotten out that you're back in town. As for a room, there's no problem."

Accepting the key passed accross the counter, Arvin turned his gaze on the room, selecting a table that was soon to be free.... though the occupant didnt realise it... he set off, looking to ease his weary feet.

 

Heads turned to the door briefly as Turk stumbled in, clothes bloodied and his face broken. While most of the taverns occupents went back to what they were doing, those from the Violet Marauder who recognized Turk leapt to their feet.

Turk had managed to stagger over to the table where his captain was now standing before he collapsed with a groan. Still desperately holding the 3 inch gash his side, Turk managed to utter some final words to his captain before passing out from the pain.

"Captain ... Pete's crew ... Maurader ... others all dead ... tried to fight ... too many ..."

With those words, Turk shuddered and fell silent.

 

Seething with Fury, he ordered his crew to find the best sawbones in Freetown and get his friend patched up, immediately. Taking the rest, including Sol to the door.

Turning to the rest of the Inn, Arvin made his voice heard. "All those of ye who fancy joining me crew, and seeking plunder... join me now, and ye'll find money to be yers"

With that he took the men out of the inn and headed for his ship at a fast run.

 

Quickly, Jean pocketed his knives, kept two in hand jumped to his feet along with what was probably the rest of the crew, and an unknown amount of people who smelled a profit.

He hurried up to the man the wounded man had spoken to, and said: "seems you've just started recruiting, as fas as I can see... I'm handy with a knife, and looking for a 'little trip'. Interested?."

 

Sol's sword flashed into his hand as he charged out the door after Avrin. Glancing behind him he caught sight of perhaps a half dozen people racing to join them and fourteen of the crew.

He was sorry to see Turk as he was. He didn't really know Turk, but he was a constant thing on the Marauder. Admittedly, if Turk didn't cook for a few days Sol would not be disappointed.

As the group tore into the harbour, they noticed that there were more men than they had expected, as a Ship berthed nearby were piling down the gangplank swords and pistols in hand.

Avrin shouted to Sol "Take a half the men, and block them at their ship! I'll retake the Marauder!"

With that he charged for the ship with ten men against nigh on thirty. Sol was hardly suprised though, more than once the captain had pulled them out of situations like this, and Sol trusted wholeheartedly he would do so again.

And with his own band, Sol charged the other ship.

 

Looking at the man in front of him, Arvin sized him up. The knives looked fairly lethal, and the man clearly knew how to use them.

"Sure thing. I tell ye what... Ye can be joinin' me crew, and as a starter bonus, I'll give ye 5 dabloons fer every man ye dirtnap. But ye best be quick, offer only stands as long as me ship does."

 

Running along with rest of the pirates, Jean was eager for the thrill of blood and battle... drawing out his two finest throwing knives, one in each hand, he threw them as Arvin and his thrust into battle, one plummeting into a throat and another hitting a man in the shoulder.
Quickly drawing and throwing another four daggers, another two men were killed by knives in their eye and one tearing open the hips' artery, squirting great jets of blood.
A third was crippled by a dagger in the hip, while the fourth dagger clattered to the deck, narrowly missing the head of a fourth assailant, he drew two heavy fighting daggers and jumped into the melee, hamstringing and throat-tearing as he went.
Clearly, Arvin was winning the battle, but the crew was taking hits
Laughing like a maniac, Jean could already feel his pouch going heavy with dabloons as he let blood run liberally over the deck

 

Sol slashed a weapon at through the stomach of one man, continuing the movement to parry a cutlass aimed for his heart. Men were filing down from the ship, it seemed a full crew was aboard. Sol had sent half of his men to gain hold of the other gangplank and they were struggling as hard as Sol's.

Sol, parried again, and sent a riposte into the man's neck. Their suprise attack had brought them to the gangplank though, and Sol, hurled himself at the men coming down. Two of his group had fallen, but the other two were alive and fought together, their back to the sea as a group of men attempted to rush them from behind and allow more men to come off the ship.

Sol had no time to look to the other group to see how they fared, he was too hard pressed, his years of experience and skill pushed to their full to save himself. The rest of the crew would have to enter the battle soon, or the battle would be lost.

 

Charging headlong up the gangplank to the marauder Arivn was about to attack the men to his front when they fell back with daggers in them.

Damn that guy is fast

Reaching the top he charged at the first man he saw screaming with rage. Twisting to the right just before he reached him, his cutlass whipped round opening him from stem to sternum. As blood sprayed across his face, he looked around. By the door to his cabin, he saw Black Pete going inside.

Roaring in anger, Arvin started to push is way across deck. Moving with Startling speed, even for himself, he let none bar his path. Screams were echoing all around, but he was oblivious to them, and to the wounds he was recieving in his push. He had but one goal, and he'd make it if it was the last thing he did.

Bursting inside his cabin, he saw Black Pete tossing a chest out of his Cabin below, presumably to a waiting rowboat.

"PETE! ye bilge swigging piece o' scum, yer goin' to pay for this!"

Turning around, Black Pete had a merry look on his face.

"You should not have come back to port Arvin. Now you're going to lose everything"

"I may have run last time, but I be younger then, and not as experienced. Now I'm gonna kill ye and yer crew."

Chuckling Pete replied, " They're not my crew. I sail as a captain, but I sail my ship under a different captain. Our two ships have caused quite a stir. Your coming back has been a wonder. Now we have this chest you took off the tax vessel, we have what we need. Killing you and your crew would have been an extra pleasure. I'll be seeing you!"

Laughing to himself, Black Pete vaulted through the cabin window to the boat below, and began to disappear into the night.

Screaming in rage, Arvin limped to the window.

"PETE YE BLACKHEARTED SON OF A MEXICAN WHORE! I'LL HAVE YER SPINE SWINGING FROM MY FIGUREHEAD FER THIS!"

Collapsing from anger and frustration, Arvin finally heard the sounds of battle penetrate his cabin. Pulling himself back to his feet, and bleeding from numerous wounds, he staggered back to his door to re-join the fight.

Just then a large bald man, with an evil scar charged into his cabin. Looking into the mans eyes, Arvin prepared himself.

[ September 14, 2004, 08:57: Message edited by: Takara ]

 

Turk awoke to the distant sounds of battle and the smell of strong whiskey. Without even opening his eyes, he knew where he was. The local sawbones, as the captain would have said. Only a doctor had access to such strong alcohol.

He opened his eyes to a dimmed room. He sat up slightly, noticing a group of maybe five or six of his crew standing in the door.

His voice rattled in his throat as he spoke to them sharply. "What in the 'ell are ye doing 'ere?"

One of them came forward. "Da cap' said ta bring ya 'ere wyle 'e an da udders retook da ship."

"While 'e didn't say to stay did 'e? Get your arses out of 'ere and 'elp your captain! By Blimey... *cough* ... and gather any others ya see ... *cough*..."

As Turk began a long, hacking cough, the group quickly left to join the fray. After finally being able to stop coughing, Turk began to struggle to get off of the table he was lying on. He had swung his feet over the edge and was about to attempt to stand up when a small, but forceful set of hands pushed him down, his head smacking on the table as he went down. This started the stars spinning again, and coupled with the blood loss, he began to fade out.

The last thing Turk remembered before falling unconcious was thinking, "What a pretty lass. I wonder what 'appened to 'er eyebrows..."

 

Alexa rolled her eyes as she forced the stranger back down onto the table. Men, they were all the same, never realizing when they needed help. All she knew about was that his ship was being attacked, and that he had been injured in the initial assault.

Working quickly, she washed the gash with some alcohol and started to stitch the sides together. As she worked, she kept glancing up, listening to the sounds of battle coming from the harbour.

Soon, she was finished, and she wrapped a bandage around his abdomen, covering the stitches.

Alexa kept an eye on her patient, as she walked over to another table, this one covered with scorch marks and gunpowder. She started to hum as she started combining certain liquids to create a small firebomb.

A groan from the stranger made her lose her concentration, and her hand slipped, knocking the flask over. A small fire flared up, then dissipated, leaving behind an acrid smell, and singeing her clothes.

She smiled wryly. "At least I know that this combination won't cause too much damage to a ship...."

She trailled off, noticing that her patient appeared to be regaining consciousness.

Alexa approached him, and rested a hand on his shoulder. "Be easy, friend, you are safe here. You must rest in order to speed up your recovery."

 

Continueing to carve an effective way through the enemy crew, he saw the small rowing boat depart, and heard the swearing of Arvin.

Realizing a chance when he was smacked in the face with it, he yelled at the top of his voice "Your captain is running! You cannot escape! Surrender and pray for mercy!

He hoped the fight would, one way or another, be over soon, as he had received over half a dozen superficial cuts allready, and blood loss was starting to add, making him feel light-headed, and he was literally drenched in the blood of the fallen.

 

The ship was nearly empty now, men were flooding across to the Marauder. Sol leapt feet first at a man, flooring him before slitting his throat. His entire band dead Sol cursed and searched around for something to use.

An idea came to him then, and he rushed down to the Gun room and then the powder store. There were dozens of caskets lined against the wall.

Taking a hand-axe used to open the caskets, he split several and tipped them. He opened one more and poured a powder store to the bottom of the stairs.

With flint and steel, he lit the powder trail, and fled up the stairs. He didn't care to look back to check the powder reached the caskets, he doubted there were any in the world as dedicated to getting a job done to do that. Instead he hurled himself from the ship. The explosion hammered at his ears and blasted him out to sea as the fire illuminated the harbour.

He was lucky to stay conscious as he buffeted the water. Winded and disorientated, Sol allowed himself to float before he could find his way.

He caught sight of the sundered ship disapearing into the water of the harbour before he realised the blood streaming from his nose and ears. Slowly, he forced himself to swim back to shore, where the battle for the Marauder was still far from done.