Catalyst Gaming
General => General Discussion => Topic started by: Globey on April 21, 2012, 08:31:01 PM
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(OOC: This is the story thread for 'Cutlass, Sail and Cannon'. If you wish to participate, please refer to the information thread.)
Ernest Cumberbatch, Port Royal, Governor. Conducting General Management.
Ernest Cumberbatch stands on his balcony, looking out across the harbour of Port Royal. The day was hot and sweltering as the Caribbean sun blazed away in the sky above, daring people to venture out from the shade. From his position on the balcony of the Governor’s Mansion, he could see across the entire island. With a sigh of despondency, he tore his eyes away from the view before him. There was work to be done.
Turning neatly, Ernest strides back indoors and took a seat at his walnut desk.
Standing at 5 foot 9, and sporting a rather large stomach, Ernest was no intimidating man. He had blue eyes, brown hair, and was constantly to be found in the governor’s stately dress.
He sighs as he sits down, inching his chair forward so that his large stomach would come in contact with the table. Before him lay the regular; reports on property damage, reports on embarking and debarking vessels, and the endless assortment of documents that required his signature.
Suddenly, a resounding ‘BANG’ was heard out of his window, ‘Blast, those damned pirates are at it again.’ The Port was home to countless corsairs, buccaneers, privateers, and general scum. At any one point in time, there was some form of combat ensuing, and many more disturbing activities one would never know about.
The sharp ‘tweet’ of a sergeant’s whistle was heard as a squad of Royal Marines was dispatched to handle the issue. If not kept in hand, the pirates inhabiting the town would soon take over.
“Oh, Charlie,” Ernest calls, “Be a dear and shut the window, won’t you?”
“Yes papa!” Charlie shouts, as he waddles into the room.
Charlie, Ernest’s son, was a small boy – Only twelve years old. His size of carriage did little for what height he had, and he easily resembled a penguin because of this. With the same brown hair and eyes that his father possessed, one could easily determine the relationship between them.
Already breathing heavily, Charlie struggles his way over to the window, proceeding to close up the shutters, and tug the window itself into place. He leans against the windowsill, puffing.
Ernest smiles at his son, and gets down to work.
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Captain Renaldo Benito, Havana, Spanish Naval Captain; waiting for his crew, and orders from the admiralty
The fresh Captain sits back in a char outside of a bar, sipping his drink, and reading. Loud footsteps approach and a young man salutes, "Sir!" Renaldo puts his book down, and stands, while saying as he smiles, "Ah, you must be my new Lieutenant! Be at ease." The lieutenant stands casually out of attention. Renaldo continues, "Well, I guess you should be shown around." He nods, and walks towards the docks, with the lieutenant quietly following. They approach an older crewman, standing by a small dinghy. Renaldo speaks casually, "Well, Charles, we should get to the ship." The man nods, leading the two onto the dinghy. In the distance is the shadow of a large ship; its masts high, and its colors flying proudly. The crewman begins rowing towards the ship. The ship becomes larger as they near. It's beautifully painted, and her name shines a bright gold in the sun: Felicia. Before long, the three climb aboard, where they are saluted by several crewman washing the deck. Renaldo walks about the ship, showing each part to the lieutenant, who remains quiet. The long tour ends at the officer's quarters. Renaldo leans against a wall and says, "Well, here's where you and other officers will stay. It's nice, well kept. We'll be staying a while longer in paradise, so you enjoy yourself. Soon, we will meet our second lieutenant. Till then, I'll be in my cabin." He walks out the door, up some stairs, then turns heading into his luxurious cabin.
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Lieutenant Lorenzo Moreño, Havana, Cuba, on Board the Felicia
Lorenzo watched the captain leave, then looked around the officer's quarters. So far, this venture was a major improvement over the Perra de Mar, and his spirits were high. He grinned with pride and stroked his goatee before turning around and walking out onto the deck. There he stood for several minutes, regarding the sailors that he was to share this ship with. They were the exception to Lorenzo's good fortune. As he watched them scuttle across the deck carrying barrels of food and water, he remarked under his breath, It's like they were just grabbed off the street. Even though he had been in the Spanish navy for a while, Lorenzo still trembled at the thought that the men under his command were there against their own will. The only thing that kept them under his control was the fear of death. Eliminate that, and scurvy would be the least of Lorenzo's worries. The sooner they got out to open waters, the better. Disgusted, Lorenzo turned back around and returned to his quarters. He felt the urge to bathe.
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Gorbechev 'Rum' Tavern, Port Royal, Bartender; Serving customers and kicking back.
"Da, dat vill be..." Gorbechev scrunches his forehead, his wrinkles raising from his trimmed eyebrows to his crew-cut brown head of hair, "Venty-five bronze pieces," he reaches down below the counter, grabbing a bottle of ale, a rubbed away signature is on the bottle. He slams the bottle on the table as it makes a clank, the fizzy alcohol inside swishing, "Please, come back again." The female on the other end ponders at Gorbechev, looking at his form, a tall male, around six foot, three inches, a large gut, and ageing skin, his body reeking of alcohol, "Aye, you too, mate." Gorbechev grabs a glass cup, decorated extremely, shaped into a narrow tube. He grabs another bottle, this time reading, 'El Vino', he recites it, "De Vine," as he grabs it, popping the cork off. He pours the wine into his cup, chuckling greatly, a wide smirk on his face, the wrinkles around the corner of his mouth folding on top of each other. He picks the cup up, swirling it around, the yellow-green mixture forming a whirlpool in the cup, some splashing out onto the bar. He looks beyond the bar, into the rest of the Port, the blue sky, very few clouds, the bright sun, "Da," he takes a large chug of the wine, "Ze vest vine in ze vorld, bahahaha," he was as cheery as could be.
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Ernest Cumberbatch, Port Royal, Governor. Venturing outside.
Daylight was begging to fade across the Caribbean, as Ernest Cumberbatch stood upon his balcony once more. He watched, pensively, as the sun eased itself abed. The waves lapped at the harbour walls, and the sound of many revels drifted their way towards him. Staring out across the waters, his mind started to wander.
'Stuck here in this thrice damned shit hole! Nothing but whores, buccaneers, and a million ways to die. Nothing's the same, not after Ju--'
The balcony doors slapped open as a middle-aged Royal Navy marine briskly stepped outside. He stood at about 6 foot 3, with blond hair and blue eyes, adorned in a bright red uniform. A formal tricorn perched upon his head, and he bore the insignia of a lieutenant upon his shoulder. "Sir!"
Ernest wheeled around, hand leaping to the sword at his belt as his mind froze in confusion. Slowly, after much thought, he realized that he recognized the man before him. "Yes.... Uh... Thomas?"
The man's eyes narrowed as he found his name forgotten, "Sylvester Butcher, at your service, sir!"
"Oh yes, yes. Erm - What did you need?"
Sylvester sighs clearly displeased with Ernest. "You had agreed to take a night off work with the lads, sir!"
Ernest's eyes grew wide at this latest sentence, but quickly recovered himself. "Oh, yes, right!"
He stepped forward and edged past the marine. He removed his own tricorn from its place upon his bust, and set it upon his head, "This way, please!"
Together, the two of them made their way out of the mansion. One and a half squads of marines joined him; Six men to carouse, and the other twelve to stand on guard while he enjoyed himself. Clearly, there were to be no chances taken with his safety. Although much of the port held no loyalty to the recently deposed Spanish governor, there would still be those who would leap at the chance to get some notoriety to their name. Positions aboard ships were heavily competed for, and any sort of major crime attempted would result in near instant gratification among the crews of the buccaneers.
Ropes creaked as ships tugged at their quays, the vicinity practically abandoned because of its proximity to the orderly compound of the Royal Marines. Gradually, their surroundings became teeming with drunken pirates, practically all of whom were staring at Ernest. He started to blush in nervousness. It was a ritual any new Governor had to weather; The locals hadn't seen much of him thus far, and were only all too curious to start 'investigating' his nature.
At last, the group was arriving at their destination, a ragged tail of pirates trailing behind them. The marine escort came to a rigid halt before the bar in front of them. Squinting in the poorly lit street, Ernest peered up at the creaking sign in front of him. Gorbechev's Anchor, it read. The off duty marines ushered him inside, followed by four of the escort. Slowly, the mob of pirates started to trickle in behind them.
Ernest groaned in anticipation as he discovered the new shadows he had accumulated. He resigns himself to a long night, intending to get a few shots of rum, and get out of there - Grog was never good, and a mob of curious pirates, worse.
He sits down at the bar.
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Santiago Drake-Samana Docks-Mercenary Captain-Completing petty task, shipping out to Port Royale
Santiago held his small paper to remember the order of this task. He needed to board a small, canoe-like vessel, reportedly smuggling goods to one merchant, and the goods had been classified as black market goods. As he boarded the vessel, several men hoisted up the anchors, pulls the black sails out, and rode off in the dark. As they reached 10 miles from the coast, Santiago spotted the small, canoe, with only 2 men aboard. He sent his 2 tribal crewmen, Punjab and Karataiso, to swim into the ocean, up to the vessel, and slowly sink the ship. As soon as they dived into the ocean, Drake signalled them to swim toward the ship, spears in hand. The two men aboard suspected nothing as they both went underneath the ship, slowly piercing it. As the ship sank, the two tribesmen drowned the crewmen, returning to the ship with the corpses. "Right, I want 2 cannonballs on those, sink 'em to the "locker"." Santiago called "Davy Jone's locker" the "locker". The bodies slowly sank to the bottom of the sea, as Santiago sailed back to the port, with the "goods" of the canoe onboard. He went back to the bar, speaking to the merchant once more. "The deed is done, you can pay up for a successful job now." "Thank you good sir, I'll give you a third of the annual earning right away." He said, handing over 200 pieces. "Thank you good sir, now I depart for Royal in Jamaica. I must purchase supplies in the morning." "Thank you sir, you have gained my recommendations for all customers." "You're welcome." he said. As he stepped outside, an officer held him back. "Saw what you did there... might be able to "unsee it". For a price of course." "You have been a pain these last years Senor Phillips." Santiago said, handing 50 pieces over. "Well, at least this situation was resolved..." Santiago paid 10 pieces for his slumber in the bar's room upstairs.
In the morning, Santiago went down to the market to purchase food and weaponary supplies. Because of the profit from his job, he could purchase double what he usually buys, meaning he would no longer have to go to he market on his next journey. He stepped up to his ship, pilotting his men to go south to Port Royal. There, he could mark his name in the true pirate history, and prove himself once and for all, to be all that he could. The journey took many days, but the ship finally docked at the edge, where they were all allowed in after taking part in the census. "What now, sir?" asked a crew member. "Now, we do what is necessary to keep this town stable..."
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Captain Renaldo Benito, aboard the Felicia near Havana, Spanish Navy Captain; whipping his crew into shape
The Captain steps out of his cabin and looks around at his half-ass crew. Young men lean on masts, chatting, while old, fat men shamble around. Renaldo is disgusting. He looks to his left, and grabs a young midshipman. He asks sternly, "Who is the officer of the watch?" '
The boy sounds nervous, "I am, s-sir!"
Renaldo releases the boy, and brushes of his jacket, "Call to quarters."
"Sir?"
"To quarters, lad!"
The boy turns and shouts, "To quarters!" Men drop their "work" and look up, just staring. This doesn't make the Captain anymore confident in his crew. He is prepared to rouse them, and make men out of them.
He shouts, "Why are you just standing? If you do nothing, then you ought to sit! Sit on a dinghy and go home! The officer of the watch has called to quarters, and if we were under attack, we'd be sunk if you took this long to be at ready! The Navy says, "Stand fast!" Not, "Stand when you damn well feel like it!" So, get moving," he shouts louder, "to quarters!" The men suddenly begin running. Barrels are dropped, and men climb masts, race down stairs, rocket from one end of the ship to another. Renaldo smirks, taking place at the helm, next to the pilot. "Weigh anchor and head to sea."
The pilot looks over, "Where, Captain?"
"The ocean, boy! Lets go!"
"Aye, Captain." The ship turns, its large sails quickly unraveling; a large "whoosh" booms has the wind catches. Although large, the Felicia is a quick ship. The coast fades quickly. The Captain sighs, and prepares to drill his men into the ground, then drill them right back out of it.
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Enrico de Madrid, Pascua Florida: Trade Coordination
Enrico is a short Spanish man. He has white skin, blue eyes, and brown hair. His facxe always makes him look tired and exausted, partly because he is. Enrico sits in his office, writing a letter to his trade ships. "Dear Captains of PFTC ships, I would greatly appreciate if you could get your head out of your arse and log your travels! I have no idea where you are so I assume you are somewhere and send messangers, but to no avail. Log your travels or you will be excluded from the PFTC! (I will make one exception for the Man-O-War, if the issue is repeated, I will remove you.) That is all. On a side note, you all need to start bringing in 1000 gold or more per travel. If you do not do this, I will stop paying for your crew."
-Enrico Arrenez
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Sanitiago Drake-Port Royal, Town Center-Mercenary Captain-Setting up work
Santiago directed his crewmen back to the ship. "You shall all be sleeping in the quarters, tell the fighters they can all share my room. I want that boat ship shape for when I return." He said, throwing the keys to his room at them. They saluted and ran back to the docks, while Santiago's assistant, Pepe, stayed close. "Senor, is this right paper?" He said, revealing a stack of papers "Si, si, they are of exceptional quality. Have a letter send to the creator, in thanks." and with a flick of his wrist, Pepe pulled out a piece of paper, his quill, and began writing down. "Dear Sir, slash Madam, Many thanks for the design of my advertisements, you have captured the essence of how I wish to appear to the public. Gracias..." Pepe wrote down every word as he said it. "Also, send 10 pieces to him." he said, handing a small bag over. Pepe put the paper away, and put the bag in his pocket, after which he began to stick up posters around the market walls, saying "Mercenary for hire, 100 pieces a job and EXPECTED reward afterwards. Any job can be done, and 100% complete. Talk to the bartender in the "Squirming Mermaid" near the docks and ask for Drake..." Santiago walked down to the docks with Pepe as he patted him on the back. "Go to the ship, it may be morning but get some rest, any job we do needs an energetic crew." "Si, senor." Pepe ran back onboard, as Santiago walked into the "Squirming Mermaid". He began to speak to the bartender. "If people ask for a Drake, tell them I am over there." He said, pointing to an empty table. The bartender nodded. "Any drinks, mate? Only 2 pieces a drink." The barman said. Santiago considered for a second, then nodded. "Glass of rum please, keep the change." He said, handing over 5 gold pieces. The bartender handed over a small glass, filthy and full of a brown liquid. Santiago took the glass and walked to his table, before a man tried to stop him. "Hey, Spaniard, we don't take to your kind in this bar, go to the "Cutthroat Squid" if you wanna be with your kind." the man said, with slurred words. His companions laughed along with him, before Santiago downed his rum and hit him over the head with a glass. He collapsed to the ground as one friend tried to fight Santiago, before he readied his sword and aimed it at his throat. "I drink where I want, so you can learn it the hard way, or the easy way..." He said. The men backed away, leaving their friend bleeding on the floor and completely unconcious. "Bartender! Another rum please, add it to the change I gave you." He said. The bartender laid his drink on the counter, as Santiago fetched it sitting on his chair. "Now... I wait for customers..."
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Captain Fenix Watson. Inside the "Drunken Loony". Pirate Outlaw: Looking for a new crew.
Fenix is a skinny man; he wears a red bandana around his head underneath his large leather pirate hat. He wears a white poet shirt with a long black vest and leather coat and tan pants with a leather belt with a large silver buckle. His brown boots cover his feet. He sits in the middle of a bar looking around at all the scum that surrounded him. Hitting on the slutty woman or passing out from too much booze. Occasionally someone would approach Fenix. This was that time. A rather large man with a large smile and hang me down clothes approaches Fenix. He spoke in a booming voice "I wanna join!" Fenix looked up at the man and raised a brow "Aye mate, what are your qualifications?" The man boomed out in a laugh "I be a brute!" Fenix sat back in his chair and placed his fingers into a triangle form. "Aye...That be...Different" Fenix said before placing his hands back on the table. "Are ye insulting me?!" The man said. Fenix raised a brow "What?" All of a sudden the man grabbed the table and flipped it over. Fenix fell onto the floor with an "Uff!" as the man roared. Another drunk came up to the brute and smashed a bottle over his head. He just turned and knocked the man into a group of people. All of a sudden chaos erupted and people started unsheathing swords and upholstering pistols. Silence stood for a few seconds until Fenix said "Well, what ye waiting for!?" All of a sudden everyone screamed out and began to shoot at each other. Fenix scrambled across the floor towards the exit until he felt a hand grab the scruff of his shirt and himself being lifted from the floor. "No one insults me!" Fenix got threw across the room, yelling out as he did until he hit a group of people fighting. Knocking them all to the floor. "That’s gonna hurt mate...” He said before getting up groaning and walking towards a stairwell. As he walked up someone threw another person over the banister. Fenix casually walked by before hearing loud footsteps and a roar. He turned to see the brute at the bottom of the stairwell. Facing him. "Well, this will be interesting..." Fenix said before walking slightly faster up the stairs as the brute ran up. He turned to go across the walkway but then looked up; smiling lightly as he turned to face the top of the stairwell; brute finally reached the top and stopped. Looking towards Fenix "Time to die little man!" He roared before charging towards Fenix. "No mate" Fenix replied with a smile before jumping up and grabbing onto a bar, kicking brute in the chest. Brute stumbled back until he reached the rail, falling over and hitting the floor with a thud. "Good day!" Fenix said before running down the stairwell past all the gunfire and brawls towards the exit. Flailing his arms about and screaming like a mad man before jumping out of the doorway and landing on the porch, getting up quickly and running into the night.
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Captain Renaldo Benito, aboard the Felicia in open waters, Spanish Navy; training his gun crew
Boom! Boom! Boom! Twenty cannons fire in a slow, disorderly succession, followed by the sounds of the heavy guns rolling back from recoil. "No! This is unacceptable! You will ready and fire your cannons before a man can drop a needle to the floor! We've got plenty of ammunition, boys, and there will be no break until I can call you polished shit without lying!" An angry captain strolls back and forth on the gun deck. Waves rock the ship and a cool breeze blows. No land can be seen anywhere, and the cannons are firing into an empty sea. Young officers shout orders with the displeased captain. "You are Spaniards! Fighting men! Sailors like you didn't take half the Caribbean, did they?" The captain holds a pocket watch and has been timing his crew. "I've not seen such a poor crew on a Sixth Rate in my life, but I will not give up hope! It will not be long until we are given orders, and in the time I want us to be ready! If we're not, then we're dead!" All this time, men having been breathing heavily while shuffling cannons and cannon balls about, and ready for the next broadside. The captain shouts, "Broadside port!" The gunner repeats the command and men quickly load the cannons. The first gun blasts, and not long afterward so does the second. The rest fire in clean succession. Renaldo throws his arms into the air, not concerned with the time it took. "Haha! That is like it, bo- No, men! Get some rest, and an extra serving of food!" Renaldo is smiling when he retires to his cabin.
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Lieutenant Lorenzo Moreño, Open Waters, on Board the Felicia
Lorenzo watched the captain with a scholarly curiosity. The largest ship he had ever been aboard was an aging corvette that only had ten guns. That captain had had trouble enough drilling that many men; Lorenzo had no idea how Renaldo was going to drill twenty gun crews and make them work together. It only added to the surprise when the gun crews started showing improvement. Lorenzo raised his eyebrows and curled his lower lip, nodding his head as the port gunners perform a clean broadside. "Perfect job, señor," he told his Renaldo as they walked away. "I never thought it could be done!" "They'll get it eventually," the captain replied. "By the time we see combat, muscle memory should be implanted." "If?" Lorenzo cocked his eyebrow. "You say that like nothing will happen." "You can never be too sure. Some days, we get none. Others, we get swarmed. Only God knows what fate has in store for us." Lorenzo falls silent and stops, watching Renaldo enter his quarters. He turned around and looked back over the deck. He walked to the rails and looked over the side. For miles, all that Lorenzo could see was blue water. He stood there for some time, watching the horizon for other masts, just like he did as a child.
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Captain Renaldo Benito, aboard the Felicia in open waters, Spanish Navy; relaxing
"To quarters! To quarters!" A young boy is shouting. Men scramble from their rest after long drilling. Renaldo sprints to the starboard bow, and stands next to a Midshipman, the officer of the watch, who is looking at the horizon with a spyglass. The Captain pulls out his own from his jack, and extends it, following the boy's look. Clear as day, a ship is on the horizon, flying no flag.
"You're sure it is not civilian?"
"She has no flag, Captain."
"Aye, get in your position, then." The Captain folds his spyglass, and runs towards the pilot. He pushes past men running against him. The ship seems to be in chaos. People race back and forth, and ready for a fight. Some eventually stop where they're to be, and pant. Renaldo reaches the pilot. "Our men are too tried and not ready, can you evade?"
"I can try, Captain."
"Well, try!" The pilot calls for full sail, and spins the wheel quickly. The ship comes about, creating a large wave. The wood lightly creaks with the sudden speed. To the Captain's surprise, the ship seems to be on an attack course. "I can not believe it," he speaks softly to himself, "what mad pirate would take a Spanish Sixth Rate alone?" A young officer runs to the Captain. "Lieutenant! Go down to the gun decks and oversee the gunner."
"Aye, Captain." Lorenzo takes off. Renaldo stands back, looking over the situation. Men still run about the ship. Young and old voices alike tire their owner's lungs. The Captain squints toward the port stern. The ship is approaching fast, a small Corvette raises a black flag with red lettering curved over a white sword.
Renaldo speaks again to himself, "Privateers? No, less, mercenaries. Mad men." He turns to the pilot, "Show them our our port side!"
"Aye!" The ship again quickly turns.
The Captain grabs a young officer, "Boy, tell the gun crews to be ready. I want all 40 cannons loaded, Lorenzo will give the command. Tell the Marine Lieutenant to have his men ready on deck and at the swivels."
"Aye, Captain." The boy runs off.
"Go to half-sail." Renaldo's command is repeated in a shout, and the sails loosen. The ship is now slowly running perpendicular with the Corvette speeding towards its port side. The smaller ship is soon in range and begins turning, maneuvering in a position to fire and quickly circle around. A loud shout is heard, and 20 cannons blaze. The Corvette is hit twice in the bow, and fires back. The larger Sixth Rate is hit by all 3 guns, but is not damaged. The pirates quickly circle around, and fires their other 3 guns. Again, the large ship doesn't bruise. Another shout booms from the gun deck, and the starboard guns broadside. Four cannon balls wreck the side of the Corvette, and it quickly falls a little into the water, creating a large splash. The smaller ship slowly takes on water, and continues to sink. "Send her to the bottom. We don't need her for prize." Two marines fire the smaller swivel cannons at the Corvette, causing it to sink more quickly. Marines rush to the side of the ship, and fire into the sea, killing any survivors. The ship is put to ease, and Renaldo orders the pilot to go to the nearest port. They begin sailing back towards Havana.
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Lieutenant Lorenzo Moreño, Open Waters, on Board the Felicia
Lorenzo is jarred out of his daydream by the yells of the midshipmen. Wheeling around, he saw sailors running to and fro in a panic. Looking up to the bridge, he saw Captain Renaldo looking through a spy glass. Dashing up the steps, he approached him. Almost immediately, the captain looked at Lorenzo and shouted, "Lieutenant! Go down to the gun decks and oversee the gunner." "Aye, Captain." Jacked up on adrenaline, Lorenzo runs down to the gun deck, almost bowling over dazed crewmen in his path. As he reaches the gun deck, he surveys the crews, "Move into position! Gunners at the ready!" The atmosphere became thick with adrenaline as the crew loaded the cannons. Lorenzo gazed out a portside hole and saw the ship move into view. "Port side, ready!" he yelled. He waited a few moments longer then yelled, "Dispara!" All twenty port side guns opened fire, and Lorenzo regained his composure soon enough to see a few impact the bow. "Reload!" Suddenly, three puffs of smoke become visible on the side of the corvette as all three cannonballs impact the side. Several loud knocks are heard as they bounce off the hull. Lorenzo then becomes aware that the ship is swiveling around. "Starboard guns, ready! Dispara!" As the shock from the 24-pounders wears off, he looks out the starboard porthole and sees four shots hit home. The side of the corvette cracks open like a crushed egg and begins taking on water. "Hurra! Well done, compañeros! The flesh pots await you back in La Habana!" He is answer by a loud cheer that is quickly drowned out by the marine guns on the upper decks. As the adrenaline starts to wear off, Lorenzo straightens his tricorne and heads back up top, heading back to his quarters.
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// Guess I'll keep this going, then
Captain Renaldo Benito, Havana, Spanish Navy; recovering from battle
The dinghy slowly rows into port, with several others. Some officers step off, and onto the dock. The crew remains on the Felicia. Renaldo inhales deeply, looking around. He speaks with the dock master, "Give the Felicia any repairs she needs." He walks into the main market plaza, looking around at the stalls. He approaches and older woman selling meat. Renaldo hovers his hand over each item, stopping at a cut he seems to like. He purchases it, and continues walking around the plaza. He purchases several other goods: vegetables, fruits, luxuries. He has an aide carry them to a high class inn, and purchase a room for Renaldo to stay in. After a day in the market, Renaldo heads into the inn and purchases a drink. He smiles, and tips well, as he carries it outside to enjoy. He drinks slowly, enjoying the drink, when two men approach the inn. They are large, and reek of sweat and fish. They violently open the door, bursting into the inn. The Captain senses trouble. He stands in the doorway, idly sipping his drink. The two men approach the innkeeper, and speak to him rudely. They argue about debts and unpaid tabs. One of the men grabs an empty bar stool, and smashes it on the table. Renaldo couldn't stand to watch this treatment any more, he saw such behavior to be like a pirate's. He approaches the bar, leaning against it, making his large ceremonial sword easily visible. "Do you like causing trouble?"
The man stands straight, looking the Captain up and down, before saying, "I'm not afraid of you."
The Captain coughs at the man's awful breath, and brings it up, "I am afraid of that breath of yours!"
He gets into the Captain's face, staring down at him. He easily towers the Captain, when he booms, "This is not your problem."
"It was as soon as you created it. I'm sure we can solve it easily." The man grumbles, and lifts the Captain up by his shirt. That simply won't be tolerated, the Captain quickly kicks him in the gut. Keeling over, the large man becomes infuriated. Before he could do anything, however, the Captain throws a heavy punch to his face, and the man falls back into his friend. "Get out of this fine town, it is no place for your." Fear could be seen in the giant's eyes as he and his friend scurry out.
"I thank you much, sir. You can stay as long as you'd like, no charge."
"It is just my occupation and interest, please. Good people could use money." The Captain strides to the stairs, and to his room, having proven his worth to the townsfolk.
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//Well, Ernest is tied down until the bartender replies. I was going to make a post - But it deleted itself just as I was about to post it. I'll try to scrape up something in the mean time. It won't be the fun 800 word post I was going to make on my merchant captain. If there's one thing I hate, it's re-writing.
John Gastby, Somewhere Near Trinidad, Pirate Surgeon. On the Attack.
The wind was chilling; the night dark. All was quiet as John Gatsby paced back and forth atop the brigantine 'Brimstone' he now called home. Not a single living creature stirred - Only the monotonous, yet dynamic waves, lapping at the hull. John was alone to his thoughts, and was left abandoned to the night. Was it always to be this way? Throughout the ten days that he had served with the new crew, not a single mention had been made of going after a prize. The captain had ordered a course set for Trinidad, and had not said a word since. Suddenly, something thumped behind him. Hurriedly, he clutched at the cutlass he had no idea how to use. Half scared witless, he looked behind him - Just Captain Peter Morton.
John swallowed nervously. Morton was never predictable at the best of times, and was none the better for the bottle. A tall, dashing, yet imposing figure, Morton looked the stereotypical swashbuckler. He had brown hair, blue eyes, and always dressed in a set of old, grubby clothes. John came to a position somewhat resembling attention, "Sir!"
Morton turned to John, one eye gleaming on the poorly lit deck, "Today's the day, lad."
"The day, sir? Erm - What?"
"THE DAY!" Morton roared. Grasping John's shoulder, he wrenched him into a position facing to the port side. Slowly, John was able to make out a gleaming light on the horizon. And there -- To the right, moving towards the first dot! A signal lamp flashed, directed towards the Brimstone. A radical change appeared to come over Morton. Grabbing at their own signal lamp, he silently flashed to the other ship. No reply ensued, save for an eyrie silence, and disappearance of the light. "Go an put out our lantern, boy."
Glaring at Morton over the demeaning term, John complied. "Aye!"
Below decks, men were beginning to stir. Some were beginning to drift to the deck, armed and ready for battle. John felt nervous - He began to back away from the rail, towards the center of the ship.
The first light was becoming distinguishable... A large vessel, certainly. And then it hit him. A Spanish galleon, stocking up just prior to rendezvousing with the treasure fleet. He looked about wildly, intending to try and convince the captain to pull back. At first sight, however, John saw it was useless. Morton had a look in his eye. A look that would spell only death, and destruction.
The second vessel became clear too - A pirate schooner, chock full with sea scum. Morton turned around, grabbing John by the arm, and thrusting the grip of a musket into his hand. "This be it, boysie. There be four and twenty aboard the schooner, and 19 of us. There ought to be somewhere between six or eight score Spaniards aboard the galleo'... Here's the plan - Start to board, snipe the watch when they notice, and fuck them over better than a harbourside whore after a grog fest. We have fourty more men aboard the ship already, play actin'."
John started to shake nervously. Never before, had he been involved in something such as this. He looked down at the musket in his hands, sure that he couldn't hit a thing in this light.
They were drawing near, now. The schooner was a murky shape in the darkness, and the galleon appeared abandoned. The vessels pulled up along side the galleon, pirates swinging boarding grapnels. A quiet order was called; Out the grapnels went, wrapped in cloth so as to prevent detection. Some muffled thumps emanated from the deck, and the ropes creaked as the ships were secured either side. Marksmen stood atop the railing, or in the rigging for better angles. They straightened up in anticipation, as the first boarders began to creep up the lines, and ascend up towards the larger ship. Suddenly, a cry screeched from the enemy ship, the watch finally having noticed the limpets. Seconds later, 'BANG!' Shot after shot cascaded upon the Spaniards, the watch being snuffed out in in instant. The first boarders heaved themselves up onto the deck, and ran to fasten the hatches, until their compatriots could join them. The marksmen, having partially reloaded, started to jog to the boarding lines; they would make fresh their weapons while waiting to ascend.
The whole galleon was awake, taken completely by surprise. The entire watch was dead in seconds, the crew left clueless as to the proceedings. Large groups of Spaniards ran onto the deck, only to be cut down by the dozens of pirates awaiting them. Inside the galleon, it was clear that a struggle was occurring, both factions attempting to wrest control of the powder room from one another. The infiltrators were doing their job.
It was John's turn to climb into the meat grinder - Not having fired his musket, he stuck the barrel through his belt, and started to pull himself up. Several feet above and to one side, a small 6-pounder was being hauled to the decking. After what seemed a decade, John finally cleared the railing.
The scene before him was gruesome. Man after man was downed beside the hatches, and clumps of marksmen sat taking pot shots at the occasional face that showed itself within. The 6-pounder was being positioned on the deck before the main hatch, a block and tackle system being hastily hammered into the planking either side. Unsure of what to do, John jogged to the main hatch, and joined the musketeers there. He saw a face; fired; missed. With a sigh of despair, he started to reload.
Without warning, a sudden rush of Spaniards charged from the depths of the ship. Only two muskets were loaded, and did nothing to blunt the point of the assault. Swordsmen backed off instinctively - You could teach a pirate how to fight, but never to be flagrantly careless of his own life. But all was not lost.
With a sudden roar, the cannon flared. A shower of grape shot crashed through men and timber alike, scything through the swathe of men. Tightly packed as the 'attackers' were, it was bloody massacre. Easily twenty men were just gone, victims to the deadly power of a canon. The swordsmen, courage restored, charged in to deal with those who remained.
His musket finally reloaded, John looked about the deck in disgust. He estimated that a good 120 of the Spaniards were slaughtered, taking only 10 of the pirates with them. A similar rush had been made at each of the minor hatches, only to be beaten back by a volley of musket fire.
Now, the once dignified Spanish crew plead for mercy. The buccaneers promptly relieved them of their valuables.
The battle was over. The day was won, just after a blood red sun broke the horizon. Red rays fell upon the gore stained decks of the Fairweather.
A gruesome sight indeed.
-
Captain Renaldo Benito, Havana, Spanish Navy; following orders
The dawn is quiet, save for a few joyous birds. A cool breeze blows, rustling the plants around. The morning is cool for late Spring, but Renaldo is not offset by it. He sits outside of the inn, in his usual location. He sips tea, and reads. The streets seem vacant, not more than one person to be seen at a time. It is a week day, and very early in the morning. A young boy approaches the Captain. He does not seem to enjoy the high life; he wears dirty, hole-ridden clothing, and no shoes. The Captain lowers his book, and looks up to the boy. "Letter, sir," he proclaims.
"From who?" The Captain doesn't bother to look at the letter's seal.
"The navy, sir." The boy sets the letter down, and begins to head off.
"Hey, boy," the young man turns around as the Captain places a holds a few pieces to the boy, "thank you."
The boy's eyes widen, "Thank you most, sir!" He grabs up the money, and runs off. The Captain sighs, and breaks the letter's seal, opening it. He skims it, not bothering to read it thoroughly. He puts the letter into his jacket, and heads into the inn. Renaldo pays for his room, and tips well, before heading off to the docks.
The dock master approaches him, "Your ship is, well, ship-shape, Captain."
"Thank you." The Captain boards a dinghy and is rowed to his ship. He immediately enters the officer's cabins and speaks with Lorenzo. "We have orders from the admiralty, Lieutenant," Lorenzo had been reading as well, and looks up. "We are to sail toward Trinidad. One of our galleons had been attack by several pirates. We must chase two small ships and capture their captains. Get ready, and inform the crew." Lorenzo stands, and does as he is told. The Captain sits in his cabin, and begins to write a letter:
Dearest Felicia,
I have missed you so. Being far from home is difficult, but I know what I do is important for my people, and you. I hope to do well here, and return home a hero. It will sadden me to be away from my love of the sea, of the ships, and of my crew, but my love for you is so much greater. In months, I will return, and we will marry. Take this letter as my heart, and keep it near to yours.
Renaldo
He returns the quill to the inkwell, and seals the letter, setting it aside. The ship's large and many masts unravel, and the pilot steers her against the current towards Trinidad. Lorenzo had argued that going with the current around Cuba would have been quicker, but the pilot took his own way. For hours the ship has battled the current and has moved a short way. She rocks has waves pound her bow, bring her up with them. Night has fallen before the ship has approached Trinidad. The Captain stands on the deck, skimming the horizon with his eyeglass. The officer of the watch stands by him, leaning on the railing. Suddenly, the Captain folds his eyeglass and whispers loud enough for the watch to hear, "Cut the lights!" The ship goes dark, and she is kept on her course.
The officer of the watch talks in a hushed tone, "What do you see, Captain?"
"A small ship, a schooner... she has no flag."
"What should I do, Captain?"
"Call to quarters." The midshipman quietly signals the watch, who each run to the crew and tell them to be to quarters, without making a loud sound. The Captain goes down to the gun deck, and speaks with the gunner, "Can you see the ship?"
"Aye, Captain."
"I want you to load the cannons with chain, and aim for her masts."
"Aye, Captain."
"On my word, disable her." The Captain heads back up to the deck, and tells the pilot to lower the masts and stop the ship. He walks to the Marine Lieutenant and tells him the plan. "Load your men onto dinghies and get as close to her as you can. When the cannons fire, and take her masts, board. Take prisoners, and do not kill unless you need to." The Lieutenant nods, and speaks to his men. The Captain returns to the gun deck. He pulls out his eyeglass, and looks to the dinghies approaching the schooner. There are no men on the schooner's deck, and the Marines are able to get close. The Captain shouts, "Fire!" Within seconds, the ship's port side guns fire, and the schooner's masts topple. Men shout, and the Marines jump from their dinghies onto the schooner. Before any man could react, a crew of crew was brought to the deck, a musket on each man's back. Renaldo has rowed to the ship, and boards her. "Who is the Captain of this ship?" No one speaks. Renaldo raises his voice, it booming about the open water, "Who is your Captain!?"
A small man speaks, his tone rude and his breath poor, "I am!"
Renaldo looks to the Marine Lieutenant, "Lieutenant, get as much information as you can out of the crew." He returns to the dinghy, scales up to the Felicia, and rests in his cabin.
-
// Sorry, Globey, I've been busy, I'll edit this post with my part when I have time soon.