Those Condemned to Freedom
 

EARLY WARNING: Some installments in "Those Condemned to Freedom" maybe be too upsetting to some people, due to the use graphic imagery, pyscology, and so forth. Proceed at your own risk.
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July 4th, 1724

Delmaria and his crew had arrived in Port Royal in extreme quickness, managing to reach the island without gathering any attention at all. Graham Marsh welcomed the familiar face, as Delmaria had, as always, brought only the finest cargos, possessions his crew gathered while at the black market back in Rio Hacha.

However, Delmaria's face was far from familiar. In order to prevent themselves from being noticed and captured by the heightened security of the Royal Navy, the entire crew had given themselves a makeover. Delmaria's large, boasting beard, which twirled itself in to separate points at it's end, had been nearly completely shaven off, leaving only two small, bushy, parallel strips of black hair on his chin. The eccentric jewelry that littered his place was easily and carefully removed, preventing any blisters from forming. As for the daunting skull tattoo that outlined his face, Delmaria insisted that he refused to let it go, repeating that it was a part of his being. So, they took a few powders that Grace has bought, and smothered it over the ink. The transformation made the pirate look nearly 10, even 15 years younger, and was very popular amongst the crew - with the exception of Darkskull himself.

The pirates took up residency in the former residence of the Greer family. With Gordon out an about aboard the Black Pearl, and June's recent engagement to Blakely fellow, they were given permission to occupy the vacant house as long as they liked, until Gordon, whose name the house was under, was able to return to Port Royal and sell it. As strange as it was for the group of sea dogs to be working in disguise, it was an interesting and exciting change. Grace and Andrea had even taken the liberty of decorating the house with random furniture that had been thrown around under the deck of the Victory Shark, plundered from various Naval and Trading ships that had wandered in to unwelcome territory.

Delmaria studied various letters that had been sent to him, after a few of his landlubber friends had caught ear of his presence. They explained the recent on goings of Port Royal:

The recent spikes in Jolly Roger's attacks had been blamed on freebooters who roamed the islands of the Caribbean, trading with merchants of varied wealth and power. As such, the Navy, under the influence of the East India Trading Company, felt they had the guaranteed right to take drastic measure to "protect the island from wickedness."

Taxes on all goods coming in and out of the island increased significantly, especially on metals, both precious and constructive. Blacksmiths and Gunsmiths were also forced to hand over up to 15% of all profits from metal goods over to the government, unless they wished to be subject of "real 'force.'"

Guards now patrol all areas of the town more frequently, and have the right to pull over any person who looks, acts, or feels like a pirate. Any person that wishes to enter or exit the island is subject to profiling and interrogation, and any weapons found aboard the ship other than a few swords and the cannons for protection against pirates, would be taken, and horded in to Fort Charles, which has been blocked off to the public. Entrance to the King's Run and the Governor's Garden has also been restricted.

Along with these general punishments, the Navy made it very clear to the people of Port Royal was not allowed. They had taken all the pirates that lied dying in the jail, and had them lined up at the front of the now fully repaired Port Royal dock. All children under the age of thirteen were forced to watch each pirate, one by one, be tortured by having the symbol of the Royal Navy burnt on to their chests, and then shot through the temple of the head. While this went on, a High Officer read aloud a new law, which stated "Any persons that have partaken in piracy, are suspected of partaking in piracy, or have any affiliation with known pirates, shall be hung by the neck until death." So far, 17 people have been hung, 5 of them being children.

Riots have been taking place nearly every day, right outside the barricades blocking off Fort Charles. Once the first rock is thrown, the guards are instructed to arrest or kill as many protesters as possible. Over the course of the past five days, the jail cells have been filled to the brim, with conditions only worsening by the minute. As a way of punishment, instead of burying dead bodies immediately, they were laid out on the floor of the jail, and left to disgustify the place until the skin began to deteriorate.

Delmaria slammed his fist against the table where he sat, startling the crew. Except for Bankok, who was undoubtedly in a drunken sleep.


July 5th, 1724
1:35 PM

The crew began devising their plan as soon as Delmaria had received his letters, working through their dinner, and refusing to sleep or take breaks until everything was set in to a set schedule. So far, they had planned down how they were to get in to position.

"So, let's get everything straight. Every first Thursday of the month, the East India Trading Company ships make their monthly drop offs, unloading all the cargo they had gathered at the Port Royal docks, and then making their way back out. During this time, the doors of Fort Charles are left open to allow for the various boxes and crates to be horded in for counting, checking and taxing." Delmaria instructed to the crew, who huddled around him.

"Right. So, what does this have to do with anything?" Andrew poked his nose through the small circle.

"Well, at such a vulnerable time, we will be waiting at the dock under a shroud of darkness. Once the cargo is unloaded, we will sneak ourselves within one of the silk containers - as they are always unloaded last - in a cradled position so that their facing may shift if the position of the box does."

"All of us in to one container!?" Andrea cried.

"No, you nitwit. Now, if the Navy were in their usual mood, they would quit themselves half way through the list and-"

As they reached this point in over viewing their plan, a knock rocked against the outside of the door. Grace was given the list and disappeared in to the back room, with the others in tow. Delmaria shuffled his clothing in to order, and went to answer.

When he pulled open the door, he faced five orderly men, completely dressed in red shirts and pants, with a heavy white sash across their chest, buttons lining the torso. Each of him had to himself a bayonet neatly tucked in to the crevice where the arm met the body. Except for the man at the front, who seemed much more decorated from the rest. He lacked the sash which cut across the rest of his group's body, and instead was replaced by short, golden threads hooked at both ends to one button of a pair, creating a ladder affect. Over his heart sat a small array of shining, round medals, each to their own respective reason and dignity. To top himself off, he wore on his sleek, black hair a heavy, red ostrich hat, with a white feather poking out from the top. The sight of it was almost laughable.

"Good evening my fine sir." The officer spit out in an arrogant, "sophisticated" tone. "I am Captain James Dansburth of the British Royal Navy, specifically sent here to Port Royal at the request of Admiral Hugh Longshire's recent passing. As part of my right as a Commissioned Officer, my troop and I will be residing within the...." he read over the paper in his hands. "Balnette, residence. I believe this is to be you, correct sir?"

"John," barked Delmaria at the Officer. He didn't prefer being called by his "Englishman's" last name. "My name is John. And you will not be staying within my household."

"That's not a request, it's an order." Dansburth smiled.

"That's not a wish, it's a warning."

Andrea had by this time scurried out of the back room and to Delmaria's side, lovingly hanging over his shoulder. "Oh, hehe, please excuse my husband, gentlemen. He's in quite a bad mood today." She nudged her elbow in to his side, as she stepped out of the way, allowing the five soldiers entrance. "John, be a dear and get these fine lads a drink while I get them accustomed, will you?"

"Certainly...." Delmaria dragged his feet as he headed to the back of the room where the cupboard was, opening it and yanking out five wooden cups.

"Wine, if you happen to have any, please." Dansburth smirked as he plopped himself in to a chair at the table near the entrance to the house. As he and Andrea engaged in conversation, Delmaria, whose back was to the group, pulled out medium-sized bottle of red wine, and poured a regular amount in to each of the cups. As he placed the bottom down on the counter in front of him, he slide out a small tonic bottle that he had kept tucked under his shirt, held to his body by his tight leather belt. He dripped a few specs of the green liquid quietly in to each of the refreshments - which Grace had made for him earlier that day, "just in case" - and then hid it back at his side. He picked up the five glasses in a very awkward, grasping position, and placed them down on to the table all at once.

"Melissa, please follow me." He lightly pushed his hand on Andrea's back, and led her in to the back room where the rest of the crew hid, as the Navy drenched their throats in the poisoned wine.

Delmaria closed the door behind them, and quickly handed a potato bag to Andrea, Buck, Wisdom, Firesteel, and himself. He bent over, and told them in a whisper, "Alright, as soon as I open that door, we're going to have to burst out and wrap one of these things around the head of those mates, aye?" He peered his head through a small crack in the door, examining the scene in the living quarters. "Alright... Buck, Jack, you'll get the two mates by the door. Wisdom, the bloke that's leaning against the counter off to the side. Andrea, that mate that took your seat across from Dansburth.. Leave the Officer to me." He wrapped his hand around the door knob, and looked back at the crew, anxious and worried. "Make this count. Annddddd........ GO!"

The crew flung themselves threw the wooden door in a stampede, charging in to their respective targets. Before the soldiers had a chance to react, the pirates had gotten to them, pushing the bag over their heads and wrapping it tight. Each of them pushed their target's head against the wall or the floor, except for Darkskull, who took the liberty of using his favorite move, slamming the mate's head down face first on to the table. They all immediately slinked in to lifeless heaps, as the crew cheered loudly and laughed uncontrollably.

Grace and Andrew walked out from the back, studying the bodies lying helpless on the floor before them. "I saw no use in having to waste a perfect Sleeping Potion when you could have just done that." Grace snapped in only the most serious of attitudes. The rest of them just laughed.

"The trouble isn't knocking them out; it's keeping them in dreamland long enough so we can do what we have to get done." Delmaria winked as he knelt next to Dansburth. He smirked as he looked over him. "Forget those plans, mates. I've got an even better idea..."

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There we go, Chapter 1 in full! As you can see, sometimes the chapter may be broken up in to separate sections, depending on that part of the story. Hope you mates liked it! As usual, be sure to comment, critique, and rate!

*applauds*

Can't wait for your next one! :)

Epic Story Del! Impressive! o.o

*whistels*

totally awesome Del! :D

Those Condemned or The Condemned?

Oi, thanks Doggy. Fixed it.

Well, it was certainly one of the harder ones to write, but I managed to muster this beast! Hope you enjoy it, mates!

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July 5th, 1724
11:38 PM

Delmaria walked quickly through the torrential rains that doused the landscape. Not a soul was out in the streets, and only his path was lit by a few street lamps that were protected by their small glass encasement. Not like they were much of a help - the mixture of inescapable downpour with the shroud of the night left the visibility at 10 meters, at best. Still, he marched his way up through the town, not giving a look to any of the various shops or homes that he passed, windows boarded and doors locked tightly shut.

He wore the same exact outfit Captain Dansburth wore - the golden buttons with the shining laces linking them across the chest, the tight, authoritative shirt and pants, the massive black boots. He even wore that eccentric ostrich hat, the red body with the overbearing white feather at the top. The rain hit hard against his brim, and flowed down in to a part of the hat where a dip took place, leaking out a small, steady stream of water from his head. His beard had already begun growing back to it's full luster after only a few days, so much so he wore a red, silken bandana about his chin, mouth, and the bottom of his nose to hide the bush of hair.

He rounded his way around the Royal Anchor, off towards the direction of the port. He made a stern right before the ledge, and fiercely climbed up the steps. He hugged his path against the tents of the market, and made another right, through the tightly packed alley of buildings. Running his was through the small tunnel in the wall that divided the island in half, he passed through the small courtyard, and again made a right, dancing his way down the long, winding hill. He repeated this process three times, checking over his shoulder at each separate moment, to ensure nobody followed behind him.

At last, he broke the cycle, and went past the Rowdy Rooster in to the nearly desolate straightaway the townsfolk called the "Farmer's Row," mainly because of the piles of hay and discarded plants that lined against the huge stone walls that carved the path. He made a right down the row, staying close to the far left wall, nearer to his target. When he reached the spot to where the wall opened, creating the small area which led in to the hideously overgrown Governor's Garden, and the hill up towards the Mansion, he curved his vision around the corner to scope out what went about inside. Heavy patrols of Navy guards, flinching as they walked in to the rain, circled back and forth, not allowing any entry towards the Mansion.

Delmaria patted down the Officer's uniform that he wore, and fastened the brim of the large, drastic ostrich hat, and turned around the corner in a commanding strut, up the hill and past the array of soggy, disgruntled soldiers. He looked up as he walked closer to face the beaten and battered iron gates, and eerie reminder of the events that transpired only a few weeks ago. He shrugged it off, and continued in towards the Mansion.

The door to the mansion was blocked by two Navy soldiers, their bayonets crossed in an "X" shape in front of the door. Nobody was allowed entry in to the mansion, regardless of military or political rank, as declared by the tyrant that gripped his fist over the island. Delmaria quietly jogged around the side of the mansion, to its backside, which was overhung by a canopy of flowers and vines, blocking most of the rain from hitting the ground. Delmaria checked to make sure nobody was near, and crept up on to the small ledge of bushes. He uncloaked a small pair of knives that he had managed to pick up recently from a few freebooters back from a trip to Padres, and placed one in each hand. He forced both of them under the bottom of the hefty window, and slowly creaked it upward with all his might. He placed his right hand under it, stopping it from falling down, and eased himself inside. He lowered it back down after managing himself entrance, and tore of the ridiculous, embarrassing outfit, to reveal his usual attire - the shop vest, the worn, brown linen pants, the fisherman's shirt, with the bandana now wrapped around his forehead.

He had placed himself in one of the guest rooms of the mansion, often designated for visiting delegates or other worldly people of interest. It was lavishly decorated with heavy couches and chair's arranged at one wall, and on the other, a huge bed with overhanging curtains, fit for a king. The now dry pirate slowly crouched his way across the room, over to the door. He creaked it open slowly, and looked outward in to the brightly lit hallway. Not a soul in sight.

He made his way out of the room and in to the center of the building, where the foyer sat. It was dressed in a behemoth staircase, slinking inward as it made its way up, and then dividing in two directions to the upper part of the Mansion. Delmaria danced his way up the marble steps, and took the path to the right, heading up the flight of stairs with the agility of an alley cat. He was met with yet another hallway on both ends, but ignored them. Opposite of the balcony that overlooked the staircase, was a wide set of double doors.

Delmaria took a deep breath, and nicely opened them in to the Governor's room. It was lightly decorated with a few frilled and laced couches, chairs, stools, with dark brown, wooden, most likely hand carved furniture, ranging from dressers, to tea tables, to a large desk that sat elegantly over at upper left hand corner of the room, overlooking the dim, carpeted extent, and the rest of Port Royal through a few medium-sized windows that lined against the wall. The rain beat heavily against them, making a terrible ringing noise.

Delmaria stepped inward, closing the door behind him. He floated his way towards the desk, where a man, a few years less than 20 years younger than Delmaria, perched elegantly, reading a small, hard covered book.

"Hello, Delpadros."



July 5th, 1724
11:38 PM

The crew forced themselves up the steep hill, despite the fact the wind was pushing the rain right in to their faces. In retrospect, they thought to themselves, inside the cargo crates seemed like a much better place to be. Those actually in the crates, thought otherwise.

After Delmaria decided upon himself to take the Officer's uniform, just four outfits remained, to be divided in to for eight pirates. They stayed up for hours debating against it. Some argued that Andrew and Grace should be put in the boxes because they were shortest, while Prince argued that he looked "English-enough" to be wearing a uniform. In the long run, they ended up gambling them away. Naturally they all cheated, but Firesteel, Andrea, Bankok, and Prince cheated best.

Grace slammed her curled body against the side of her crate, nearly toppling Wisdom back down the hill. In rebuttal, he nudged his knee at the bottom of the crate, shutting her up real quick as they nearly reached the flat land. They took a moment to stop and stare at the giant fort in front of them, with its mammoth front walls, constructed in dark, haunting stones, it's large archway acting like a beast's mouth, with the staircase working as it's unraveled tongue, and a set of gallows off to its side to boot. "Take a good look mates," Lawrence whispered in a normal voice, to accommodate for the roaring tons of rain the splashed against the ground. "It's won't be the same for very long."

They trudged forward, carrying their crew mates up the steps of the fort, taking a moment to take advantage from cover from the rain in the small tunnel they passed through, and then out in to the opening of the fort. Not many were left, as most of the soldiers either abandoned their shifts, or were sent off to patrol the town, or carry in the cargo in to the fort. Aside from that, it looked the same - the desolate landscape, the ledge off in the distance, the ominous flag tower that spiked in to the sky. It was dark, but in the least sense, the visibility through the rain itself had improved drastically.

They headed on a rightward slant to where the pathway on the second floor left an overhang, and passed underneath it. They squeezed in to a narrow, almost hidden passageway, which hugged a very small yet length room, laced with a few boxes, barrels, and even a few cannon balls. It was here they carefully unloaded their crew mates.

"Ow, ow, OW! Watch my hair!" Grace cried as Wisdom pulled her out of the wooden crate. She stood herself up, and slapped him lightly across the face. "Haven't you ever handled a lady before?"

"You’re not a lady, Grace. Trust me." He replied in a snarky attitude. That's where she really slapped him.

"Enough horsing around you two, we got work to get done!" Andrew jokingly called out as he wriggled himself out of the barrel.

The crew proceeded down a staircase through an open door at the south of the room, where the previous batch of soldiers had unloaded their fair share. It brought them to a disgusting humid and dark room, boasting any sign of clean air or light. They could, however, make out the lines of huge containers that dotted across the humongous room, which acted as the full-scale basement of the fort. Firesteel had stopped to light up something, but Grace grabbed his arm. "Not yet, mate", and then winked at him.

Andrew glared over the room from one of the middle steps. "Alright mates, muster as many gunpowder tanks as you can find, and set them up as we planned."

The pirates went off in opposite directions, collecting as many container's of gunpowder as possible, while at the same time, clearing out those that were in the way of their path. They formatted the boxes of powder in a figure 7 across the basement. It began it's diagonal straight from the far bottom left corner of the basement (when standing at the steps of the fort), and cut through the middle of room, then hitting the opposite corner, right below where the ledge of Fort Charles began. Then, it hugged the line between the balcony and the rest of the fort, and ended at the corner congruent to the starting point. This a little over an hour for the swashbucklers, with plenty of splinters across their hands and sweat along their brows.

Once the chain of events was ready to be set, Andrew took large amount of hay, and organized it so that it formed a thick line leading from where the boxes started, to the base of the basement steps. "Alright mates, go get a head start! And don't stop for anybody! Ye best want to be long clear when this beauty goes off!"

After the pirates had sprinted up the stairs, Andrew crouched down in front of the beginning of the hay. He pulled from his side a small voodoo doll, which seemed as though it were falling apart at the seams. It was painted in a demonic fashion, a face that held a thousand, gruesome teeth, and eyes which no fear, peering right in to ones soul. He closed his eyes, and slowly began swirling the doll above his head as he chanted a strange obeah ritual. The words rolled off his tongue as though they were not of his own, as if the spirits spoke through him. A slow spark began to light up at the bottom of the neat pile he had formed, but he was not satisfied until he created a much larger flame. He peered at his work in sheer joy and amazement. "I had never conjured a fire this strong!" Andrew squeaked to himself! He was almost too caught up in the moment to really that the flame had already begun crawling its way across the floor, towards the gunpowder. He dramatically threw the doll out of his hands, and scurried up the stairs to catch up with the crew.


"Get out, now!" Delpadros threw the book violently across the room as he stormed up out of his chair. Delmaria swatted it away from his view, and whipped out his pistol before Delpadros could round the table.

"Don't make me pull this trigger on me own son." Delmaria warned.

"Please, don't insult me! I never wanted you as my father, you worthless scum! You abandoned Maria and I, she was left to take care of me all by herself! And when she died!? What do you think I was left to do?!" Delpados cried as he smacked his hand against his desk.

"Delp-"

"It's AMBROSE! Don't call me by my swashbuckler name! You’re a damned fool if you think I would ever like to be associated with the likes of you! As far as I'm concerned, I never had a father!"

"D.. Ambrose, this isn't the time to talk about th..."

"THEN WHEN IS THE TIME!?" Ambrose shouted across the room. He looked like he was going to charge Delmaria, but the pirate snapped his pistol, creating a daunting noise that shut Ambrose up. He wasn't afraid to have his own blood spilled.

"If you don't want to be addressed as my son, then you will be treated as so." Delmaria talked in a shake, as though he looked like he was fighting tears. He washed his free hand across his face, and continued. "Now, I'm here to ask you - what in the hell do you think you’re doing here, Ambrose?"

"What do you mean?" Ambrose tilted his head in confusement as he leaned himself against the desk.

"The killings, the taxes, the military building - your turning this in to a madhouse! You might as well change your title from Governor to Tyrant! And don't blame this on the pirates, because you know too well it's not!"

Ambrose turned away and stared out blankly, through the window closest to his desk, and out towards Port Royal. "Do you know what it's like, Delmaria? To not have a grip on your past?" Darkskull still seemed puzzled, so Ambrose sighed and continued. "Pirates, Delmaria. They have influenced my life to no bounds. I could have been a great man. Sadly, you had different plans for me."

"Ambrose, don't you sta-"

"SADLY, my life was never important enough." Ambrose clenched his fist tightly, as though he were going to punch the window out, be he let it go. Instead, it was replaced with a smirk. "Well Delmaria, these recent events gave me a new way to take control. With the Governor out on his trip, I managed to weasel my way in to his seat.. and now, things are going to change. It's my turn to get back at pirates." He turned away from the window, and walked very tauntingly slow towards Delmaria. "But you know what would be my crescendo, my dear father?...." He reached his hand down in to his pocket, and quietly pulled out a small, pointed dagger. "It's killing the man who left my life in ruins!"

In a blaze of action, Ambrose broke out in to a run towards Delmaria, the dagger waving in front of him. Darkskull was caught off guard, without warning. His entire body shook, his mind battling his heart, whether to pull the trigger or not. His heart and brain were of two nations, as were father and son. The distance between them closed. Three meters. Two meters. One. Death's face slowly gained on the pirate.

Without warning the pistol rang out. And with it, came a scream.

It took Delmaria a moment to realize what had happened. He looked around the room, the scenery all still the same. He looked down at his pistol, and then down even farther, to his son.

He laid flat out on his back, a pool of blood formulating around his left side. He gripped his left arm in pain with the other, letting out painful gasps of both air and shrieks, not able to recollect his thoughts. He pushed his legs against the floor, moving him away from the pirate captain. He laid his back against the front of his desk, as a tear ran down his rage-enflamed cheek. "Get out! GET OUT!"

Delmaria put up no fight. He threw his pistol down on the floor, and turned to walk out of the room. As he wrapped his hand around the knob, he turned to face his son. "I know I couldn't do much.. but I hope you like how we remodeled your little fort."

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As you can see, even pirates have souls.

Hope you enjoyed reading it, mates! Rate, comment, and critique, as always!

Big thanks to my invisible audience! :P

Well, hopefully you guys WILL comment on this chapter! Have a fun time reading it, aye?

**PLEASE NOTE: There is content in this chapter that may not be appropiate for those that take don't take horrid scenes lightly! Read at your own risk!**

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The crew left Port Royal early the next morning, right after their rebellion against the institutions of the island. They had quickly packed all their things, with the exception of the furniture, and boarded them back on to the ship, while the rest of the world laid distracted in the chaos they had ensued. As they sailed off in to the distance, Delmaria instructed Prince to make a quick pass by Fort Charles, to see how everything had turned out. At first sight, he began laughing hysterically.

The explosion had worked perfectly. The stone balcony off at the back of the fort had been completely cut off from the rest of the fort, shattering it off in to cold waters below. The front wall of the fort had been relatively destroyed, crumbling down at its left corner. The rest of the fortress was left in shambles, chunks of the walls lying scattered across all parts of sight, large cracks and gaps permeating through the floor, small spots of smoke rising up from various areas hidden away by the rubble. The entire crew was still in stitches as they pulled away in to the thick early morning fog.

They wandered aimlessly around the Windward Passage for a few days, practicing their aim with a few new toys the crew had salvaged from Charles before they blew it in to the sky. Delmaria was especially entertained by a set of throwing knives that he had found lying around in Greer's attic, most likely a piece of weaponry Gordon managed to hide away from his sister well-enough so that it wasn't trashed, melted, sold, or used as a cooking utensil. He spent hours on end throwing them across the deck, landing them square in the center of the large wooden wall that stretched across. By the end of the week, the wall had been covered in dagger marks, sword cuts, and bullet holes, which wasn't exactly an exciting moment for Dead, who spent his time repairing the ship. Every time a new board was put in, another fell off. "Captain, you best not be going to that Bollard fellow for repairs anymore!", to which they all laughed at.

Still, the crew could only keep themselves entertained for so long. It was only Monday until they demanded Delmaria to set course to the Hinter seas, so that maybe they could catch themselves a nice hefty War Galleon making it's way from Kingshead to Padres, filled with cargo holds on valuables. So, Darkskull preformed his usual ritual. He spread a map of the Caribbean out on the deck, and flipped his old lucky charm on to it. Where ever it landed, that's where they would head, he always prophesized. Sure enough, it landed roughly northeast of Padres.

They spent their time eagerly awaiting some form of action, as the Shark cut through the waves before it as fast as the seams of the sails could handle. Each of the crew mates speculated about what they would find, a rogue Spanish merchant ship, a plump East India Trading Company galleon, possibly even a cursed ship wandering its way through the fog to the other world. Meanwhile, they exchanged various myths and legends they had learned while about on the seven seas, telling of magical sea monsters of other worlds, maelstroms the size of countries, and all other fables pirates make up to scare each other senseless.

The night before they reached on their destination, Delmaria began getting a very strange feeling in his gut. He spent a few hours after the crew had headed below the deck for well over a few hours. Opening the windows, and then closing them. Lying down, and getting back up. He examined every little detail in his cabin, to the point where he had might as well gotten a doctorate on the subject. He finally accepted the fact he needed to put his mind to rest, and returned for the last time to his bed off to the side of the cabin, tucked away in the wall. He gazed out of the window that sat right next to him as he took a deep, calming breath, fogging it so that he may look at the man in the mirror. He wasn't sure if he saw the same person.


July 13th, 1724
2:25 PM

The bells of the Shark clanged rapidly as Delmaria shouted at the crew to get themselves prepared. The crew was still jumbling their clothes around as they pulled themselves out from the bowls of the ship, hopping on to the wood floor and grabbing themselves a cannon. "Move mates, move move move! Starboard!"

The clear blue skies above emanated the same color of the calm ocean waves below, slowing swaying back and forth, washing the side of the boat. Not a single cloud or island was in sight - but there was a ship.

The crew's luck had led them to a massive Ship of the Line, under the installment of the English Royal Navy. It sat off to their right side only a few kilometers away, it's proud, mammoth, red and white sails wavering in the light wind. Its hind side faced the pirates, leaving them to believe they hadn't even been noticed yet. Still, Darkskull wasn't willing to take the chance of giving up an early start.

Prince quickly grabbed a hold of the wheel as Firesteel and Andrew released the sails, spinning it wildly to keep the ship on a quick turn. The breeze was in their favor, pushing them with a powerful force towards the behemoth of a war ship. As they neared, the elegant red painting shined through to them, giving away in the nearest detail, with the gold lining below the numerous rows of windows boasting a royal decree of force.

Delmaria was prepared to shout off the call of the cannons, when he laid his eyes on what he saw before him. A void of nothingness. The ship sat there, refusing to move. The wooden ledges of the ship missed large chunks out of them, breaking the majestic red and gold patterns to protrude splintered, careless wooden pricks. The sails were weathered at the sides, torn in to small strips that flung themselves in to the wind, like the flags of a thousand separate empires. Delmaria had Lawrence round the War Frigate to the side of the denounced giant, where the devastation only further continued. Gaping holes sat in scattered spots across the hull, revealing the lonely darkness that was the inner sanctum of the ship. The bow was the site of the worse dishevelment, where, from its furthermost tip to at least 10 meters in to the frontal deck, it had been ripped completely off, only leaving behind a flood of scrap wood that floated on the surface the abyss it sank within. The only sign of life was an eerie, black ladder that hung over the side which faced the pirates, who had all gathered at the side to witness the disaster.

"Captain, it looks like this has already been hit pretty bad. Should we just move on?" Lawrence questioned over Darkskull's shoulder as he studied over the ship of the line.

"No, no. Just because it's been attacked doesn't mean it might not have anything useful left. Lower the boats, we're heading aboard." Delmaria ordered as he tugged off his long, dramatic coat, folding it over his forearm and heading off to his cabin to place it inside.

The crew hastily pulled themselves in to the dinghy and paddled furiously over to the boat, excited by what treasures they might find aboard. The small row boat clunked lightly as it splashed against the floating wreckage, and one by one, the pirates raised themselves up along the black ladder, which looked as though it itself had been the subject of torture for hundreds of years, ropes snarled and planks cracked.

The first who reached the deck was Grace, who, upon peering across the boat, let out a dramatic gasp of excitement, fear, and disgust. She fell back and clutched the shattered railing tightly as the rest of the crew made their ways up the heightened path. In their view, countless bodies of Navy soldiers littered the deck, decorated respectively in their own gruesome fashion. Although they all were quite good distances apart, the blood of the deceased mixed in a dance, surrounding various severed pieces of flesh and limbs. They all shivered, especially shaken, and all gave another glimpse at the row boat below them, taking in to account the possibility of going back. "Uhh... c'mon mates... just.. uh... let's spread ourselves."

The crew wearily separated, heading in different directions. The deck was covered in battle scars, black spots and wide, open holes leading in to the deck, requiring caution while they continued. Wisdom and Grace headed over to a pair of boxes that were hidden underneath a mesh of teamed fish nets over by the helm. They stumbled up the damaged steps, passed the burnt steering-wheel, grip marks still fresh at its crown, and began tugging them off. "Ugh.. this ship smells like..."

"Your part of the quarters?" Wisdom smirked wise-crackily, cutting off Grace as she struggled with a patch of the netting. She immediately threw it at her feet and pushed him with incredibly surprising force, cleansing his face.

"What in the hell is your problem with me, exactly!?" she challenged him, taking a big step forward as she clenched her fists. She was a sizable height below Wisdom, but her fierce attitude made up for it. He just stepped back a moment, to let her steam down. "I thought not. You best not try anything round me anymore, or you might not just wake up tomorrow!"

At the farther end of the deck, Delmaria, Andrew, Firesteel, and all the others stumbled below in to the dark void of the highest level of the hull. It wasn't much - just a large mess hall, with a kitchen that was originally set off to the side, now filled in by a new "window" to the outside world. Past their vision was the crew quarters, and then behind it, sat a single, elegantly decorated door. The rest of the crew went further down, except for Andrea, who went wild collecting the silverware that lined the table, so it could be melted and fashioned, and Lawrence, who sprinted towards the door at the other end.

It was fortunate for Lawrence that there were so many intrusions of light in to the place, for he almost constantly found himself nearly tripping over, or falling in to another hole through the wood floor. It wasn't before long he had made his way past the tremendous twin pair of tables, the various, small, twin beds that lined the sleeping area, and a small cargo hold that carried only a few small barrels of spices before he reached the door. It was quite astounding in itself, hand crafted showings of cherubs, lions, and the waves of the ocean, boasting the divine triumph that "was" the Royal Navy. He ran his smooth, light hand down the door, tantalized by what he would find behind it. His hand slid down it's front, off to the side, where it met the lavish metal knob. He gripped it tightly, opening it, and revealing the captain's quarters.

It would have surely been a beautiful room, if not that all of it's breath-taking assets had been littered across the floor in chaos. Papers were skew against every inch of the thick carpet beneath his feet, trivial dressers and tables thrown down face first, or on their side, often accompanied by whatever possessions they held, now broken and shattered. Lawrence's feet crunched against the papers and glass that were below him as he studied across the room, slowly making his way towards the general direction of the wall of uncontained, extensive windows. What perked his eye the most was a big, black, brimmed hat, protruding out of it a extravagant, golden feathered. He reached to pick it up, but was startled to realize that somebody else had intended to take it as part of their decor in the afterlife.

By the time Delmaria had reached the lowest level of the ship, the others had departed him across the other cargo bays, going wild as they danced from crate to container. He instructed them to only take as much as they could use, but he knew right well they would do all in their power to take excess.

He had made his way in to a very strange area, unlike any other war ship he had ever plundered or voyaged aboard. The staircase he came from led in to a small, enclosed corridor, leading out in to two different openings at two separate walls, one behind the staircase, and one to the opposite side of where the staircase sat. These doorways then led in to other corridors, which only led in to more. Each was small, and empty, leaving very little, yet a sense of personal, room. Eventually, the corridors intersected to form in to a single entrance, which led to a remote, dark, tall yet wide and short in length, room. Its front curved gradually in an upward, ending at the top in an eccentric, single point. The room was divided by a single wooden column in the middle, and then surrounded by an array of cargo. Delmaria was prepared to turn around, when he noticed, out of the corner of his eye, a darkly tanned hand.

He rounded the boxes to other side of the cargo, previously hidden to him, revealing a beaten and bruised, and nearly lifeless man. His bushy brown beard hugged against the bottom of his face, like the line of trees at the end of a plain and the beginning of a forest, was dripping in a line of blood that poured out of his wide, open mouth. His shirt and jacket had been torn in to small pieces of fabric that danced around him, leaving out his tanned, hairy chest, black tribal markings encircling around both of his arms. A dagger poked in to his body, up behind the rib cage, leaving a grand cut that stretched across the majority of his torso's width. It was Don Victorio, the liberalist "governor" of Padres Del Fuego.

Victorio himself had been a part of Padres Del Fuego for as long as anybody could remember. When Delmaria was younger, if he wasn't practicing his swordsmanship with Thorhammer, he was with Victorio, exchanging stories in the Skull's Thunder, playing their time around town, even heading out on some occasions to plunder a few Navy ships wandering out from Dundee. It truly was a shock when Delmaria had returned five years later to find his pirate friend the "governor" of Padres.

The situation was, however, he technically wasn't. Soon after Delmaria departed from Padres, the Navy found themselves dealing with unholy amounts of pirates running aground. It wasn't too long until a large crime wave struck the volcanic island, escalating in to a struggle of power between the freebooters and the Navy. After roughly a few weeks, the fight came down to a draw, simmered by negotiations - Don Victorio, one of the prominent forces behind the debacle, would take the seat as the de-facto governor of Padres, while the Navy had the right to keep their current institutions, as well as any rights to land claims, and so forth.

Victorio's grip on Padres, at first, was very lenient towards piracy, so long that it wouldn't affect his influence. Yet slowly, he became much stricter on the policies of the island, instructing various taxes, and taking numerous bribes in exchange for "Naval security." It wasn't before long Victorio took it to the extremes, leaving behind the roots of his power. He began construction of a large stone wall, which encased the majority of the island's town, preventing any pirates from making their way in, or out.

At the time of Padres's "remodeling," it was quite unsure why the town was destroyed - some saw it as the gods cleansing the island of the wickedness that ran amuck, some believed that it was the East India Trading Company's way of getting back at the pirates. Yet many had the descending opinion that it was meant to destroy the town walls, thusly and symbolically marking the end of Victorio's rein.

Of course, Victorio believed otherwise. He only became more of a blockhead, taking the largest center of commerce on the island, and placing it behind a piece of the wall that still managed to stand tall. Only a few weeks before today, Victorio announced his plans to rebuild the town walls to its fullest, which would encase every single establishment across the place. It wasn't to Delmaria's surprise he was lying dead and cold on the floor.

As he slowly approached the body, he noticed he was gripping a map of sorts, curled up in to a roll. He leaned over the corpse, careful not to land on top of it, and slowly untwisted Victorio's bony fingers. He didn't even bother to look at the map, but instead, just tucked it in to his shirt.

Suddenly, a tortured, painful cry rang out from above. Delmaria instinctively bounded out up the steps, blazing out in instinct his sword, rag around the handle, as his feet pounded up the numerous stories of the ship's hull. He managed to pass by Prince, Andrew, and the others, as they too joined his path in aid of the call.

They opened their way back up to the deck, and were met with, to say the least, and unpleasant surprise. The former bodies of the Navy soldiers, once tossed across the deck, were now reanimated, slowly making their way across the ship, away from the, towards the direction of where Grace and Wisdom were when they last saw them. The crew sprinted across the deck, easily catching up the slowly-walking skeletons.

Delmaria hooked his sword in to the first of the skellies, scrapping his blade right straight through its spine and coming of through the front by at least half a meter. It slinked its way off the blade, bearing down with it it's large bayonet. A skeleton that had been marching a little after the one now on the floor swung it's cutlass in a back spin, nearly cleaving off Darkskull's head as he ducked to avoid the blow. It then caught back its footing and came it's blade down in a cleave, but was met halfway by the enchanted blade, sparkling it's golden blade in the bright yellow sun. Delmaria then pushed his legs upward from his crouching position, springing the skeleton off balance as the pirate landed a mistimed kick to the right knee, knocking the rusted bone right off place, and toppling the undead grunt.

Darkskull ran off towards the helm of the ship, where the screams of pain continued uncontrollably. He hadn't even bothered with the rest of the skeletons, he simply ran past them, pushing them off to the side as though he were running through the crowd of Tortuga at high noon. He finally had pushed his way up the stairs and over to the wheel, where Wisdom was pushing his shirt in to what looked like a big cut that went across Grace's thigh.

"What the hell happened!?" Delmaria questioned exhaustedly as he knelt down next to Wisdom.

"I-I don't know, she just started screaming, and then the skeletons, and the.. the.." Wisdom seemed frantic, and, for the first time, scared, unable to think of what to do. "Do something! Heal her, can't you!?"

"You expect me to be able to do such a thing? I'm no wizard, my friend!" Delmaria shouted over the roar of clashing metal and bone.

"You must know something! Please, captain, she'll die!"

"We need to get her outta here, is what we need!" Delmaria picked Grace up by her back, and slung her over his shoulders. "Stop.. I.. STOP that Grace! Hold still! Wisdom, clear the way!" Wisdom came to the occasion and swiped up a large, rusty broadsword that sat at his side. He walked about a few meters in front of Delmaria, as he cleaned the path of any skeletons that walked over their way. Darkskull shouted to the rest of the crew to abandon their fight and retreat back to the boat, and so they did, flooding back towards the ladder that lead down to the dinghy. Wisdom stood at the side of the ladder, instructing the crew down as he fought off the skeleton onslaught. As he lowered himself and Grace down the ladder, he took one last look at the pirate.

The captain and the disable crewmate plopped down in to the dinghy. "Andrew, take care of Grace," unloading the girl in to his arms. "Unlatch the dinghy!" The crew just sat there, staring blankly.

"But, Wisd..."

"LAUNCH!" Delmaria shouted. Firesteel unwillingly pushed the boat away from the war ship, back towards the Shark. They floated back in silence, not taking a look at one another. Until it was broken, by a load splash behind them. They all turned their heads to face a flurry of water spattering across the view, crashing and breaking wildly. They forced their eyes to look through the light bursts of water, to see that same pirate, floundering about in the water. An uproarious cheer commenced as Wisdom pulled himself up in to the light craft, all except for Grace. She just smiled.


The funeral was short, and quick. Not many were in attendance, except for the crew, the priest, and a few Navy officials, forced to attend under quota. Their black clothing fixed itself against the black obsidian that they stood on, under tarnish by the torrential rains that poured down on them. Delmaria had the honors of stepping forward and lightly tapping the coffin with the wingtip of his shoe, sending the hollow, open box on its voyage in to the unknown. "Goodbye, old friend." He was lucky the rain was there to hide the fact he was crying.

"So what is the plan now?" Prince mellowed as they walked away, back towards the town. He has to talk pretty loud, against both the roar of the rain, and the roar of the crowds that had gathered not too far from them, tearing down the town walls brick by brick.

Delmaria simply patted against the pocket that sat against his chest. "Great things, my friend. Great things..." He stared out in a northwest direction from the island, peering past the rain, past the night, past the limits of his vision.

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If you really want to know, that chapter had around 3,800 words, with over 23,000 characters. Yeah.

So, big things to come! Please feel free to comment, good or bad!

Aww, that's a sad story.

Goodbye Grace, we shall miss you eternally! Best wishes. :p

Nice story Del! Great job!

Thanks Dog!

Sorry this took so long, RL has been pretty.. erg.... Well, anywho, just go on and read!

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It was an eerie sight, gazing over the town of Padres, stripped of it's protective stone hide. The mobs of people easily had overpowered the Naval presence of Fort Dundee, holding them off with one hand, and breaking the barrier stone by stone with the other. All through the night, hundreds to thousands flocked to throw a bottle, raise a voice, or crash a mallet at the time of restlessness in the Caribbean. A few dozen people had climbed their way to the top the top of the outer wall, perching themselves with one leg over the side of the town, and the other out towards the crowds.

Chants shouted from the crowd all through the night, almost blanketing the occasional roars of the regularly erupting volcano above. "He's dead!, at last, he's dead!" they cried, throwing up their hands, reaching for the stars above them.

Delmaria was standing at the front of the town the next morning, the rioters scattered, the wall destroyed. The backs of various stores that lined the inner corridors of the town faced at him, acting as the foreground to the triumphant cluster of buildings that rose up with the slope of the mountain. The pirate walked his way in to the small enclosements of the center, weaving in and out, pacing slowly back and forth through each. He looked around at every detail of the clothing stores. tattoo parlors, and houses he graced by, enlightened by the dim dawn sun.

Delmaria took a moment to stop and stare at the place where a once proud statue of Victorio stood. The pedestal still remained upright, in the very center of the room, yet the memorial itself laid skewn across the ground in large chunks, pulled out of place by a rope tied by the neck of the stone giant. It was a chilling moment for him, as though he was watching the body of his friend designed across the ground again.

The crew left port early that afternoon, making haste towards Tortuga. They all had previously agreed, however, they would plunder any misfortunate ships that passed their way, as a need to satisfy their thurst for gold.

And that they did. The Shark had reaped in a sizable assortment of crates, chests, and pouches salvaged from at least 3 ships they had taken out - an EITC Galleon, and two Navy Sloops. They spent the nights after their battle celebrating with hearty dinners, laughs, and shanties, throwing around the loot they collected in a disorganized attempt to share it amongst each other.

Delmaria spent his time at the bow of the ship, starring out at the horizon. He wouldn't move, nor speak. The crew became concerned for him, but Lawrence just reminded them to leave him off in his world until they reached Tortuga. "It's for the best that he simmers.", Lawrence assured.

Through his mind, ran constant thoughts of many things - of his father, of his son, of his deceased love. Yet among them he most, was Leanne. She danced through his mind in painfully beautiful images, her hair streaking a flash of light across his mind. He stood there, thinking about her, his hand in his pocket, fiddling with those same rosary beads.


The ship slowly glazed across the water up to the docks, where the usual business commenced. As they drew closer, the lanterns scattered along the dock illuminated the scraps of pirates unloading their cargo, pushing hefty boxes through the list nightly mist on to the wet, wooden dock. It was quite crowded, yet still not so that it provided enough private space for each littler sailor or merchant.

The ship parked itself slowly in to a large open spot over by the dock, stopping itself a few feet before it's overpowering bow crashed in to it. Andrew and Lawrence laid down a few planks connecting the wooden pathway to the ship, and carefully slid their cargo down the makeshift chute. Other pirates across from them watched in awe as they slide down crate after crate of plundered goods and riches.

Delmaria strutted his way on to the dock after all the cargo, and instructed some of the crew to carry off the boxes to the auction house, to be sold off in bulk. However, Wisdom insisted to take care of Grace, who still remained in feeble condition after the incident aboard the ghastly boat, to which Delmaria approved of.

As they all separated, Delmaria made his way in to the thickly brushed town. Revelers and drunks danced around him in circles, enticed by flirtatious and disturbing women, thrusting their hair in to the moonlight that hung over the French-style quarters and buildings of Tortuga. One of the women threw a wink over to Darkskull, who had a gained himself a custom of wearing a bandana over his mouth in public places, to which he simply nudged off in disgust. She quickly scurried her way over to him, her overpowering make up and highly frilled dress swaying across the dirt ground, to which she laid a hand over his shoulder. "Ey there love, hows about a strong man like you in a place like this? You seem.. lonely." She whispered seductively in his ear.

Without notice, he turned about and violently shoved her across the courtyard, nearly tumbling her over. By the time she had gathered herself, he had pushed through the crowd, and was long gone.

"C'mon, mate, ye gotta do better than that!" The pirate taunted as he swept his enemy to the ground. The man took a rage out of his pocket, and wiped the blade of his sabre, cleansing it of any sweat and blood it had picked up. His opponent got up, and, embarrassed beyond thought, gave a last, tempered glare, and ran out through the small crowd had gathered in the open area. "No other challengers, I assume?"

"Ah, I see nothing has changed, Jack." Delmaria called out as he walked through the archway. He tore the bandana off his face, revealing a small smile, and stuffed it away to his pocket. The crowd before him parted to unconcealed the center of the small ring.

Jack took a step back. "Well, haven't had the indescribable chance to lay eyes on... you, in a while, have I, Mr. Darkskull?"

"The feeling is a mutual. So what are you up to know, mate, swindling these poor blokes out of anything they have left, as a way to salvage gold to your next voyage?"

"A mystic, I swear you are, Delmaria. How did you possibly know?"

"Your treating me as though my age proceeds my ability to know things. I assure my, my brain is not as frail as your swordsmanship."

"Oho, so you really think that you want the chance at going at wits with me?"

"You have wits?"

Jack smirked. "Fair enough. Now, I assume you have a sabre?.. Good. Enter the circle. Mr. Darkskull. And... en garde!"

Jack began the brawl with a quick stab towards the pirate, but Delmaria easily jutted himself away, swatting at the blade with his own. Darkskull sat there as his opponent sent flurry upon flurry at him, but to no avail. Delmaria often fought defensively, despite his tremendous inner power - only in pure strikes of anger, which did not burst often, could he truly activate his inner bull. Jack, on the other hand, was the near opposite - he took every chance he got to put in a blow, whether weak or strong, yet quick enough to avoid leaving him vulnerable. He relied on the intimidation factor to offset his opponent, that which he did not have here.

Sparrow had pushed Delmaria gradually through the small gamblers ring, and out through the archway, directly in to the main street of the pirate's port. Passerby's simply watched in a surprised glare as they were pushed aside, making way for the two duelers. Delmaria had finally decided to jump himself backwards, to give himself a breath, but all he did was land backwards on to a fruit cart. While his predator approached him, Darkskull swiped up a melon that his back hand had landed on, and threw it outward. Sparrow ducked as the plant flew over his head and smacked in to a poor pedestrian who was walking behind him, exploding on his cheek. Before Jack could recollect him, another went his way - and another, and another. Before long, the two were playing a one-sided game of dodge ball, with the mess on the ground growing wide, and the melons in the small wooden cart going thin.

Delmaria gave one last throw towards Sparrow, and finally took a lunge at Jack, hiding his blade behind the flying piece of disgraced food. His stab took a cut to the side of his cheek, but Jack could still slide away before it landed square on his nose. The tables turned on itself, now with Darkskull taking the offensive for the first time. Low, high, right, center, high, left, right. It was hard to notice any pattern in which way the sabres hit against one another. They danced around in the middle of the dirt ground, kicking it up in the faces of the betters who had ran over to continue watching the test of strength. Too bad for the thick circle of spectators, they did stay there for long.

The pirates pushed each other back and forth with their blades, knocking each other in to a few townsfolk making their way past, or a few pirates who were loitering up against the side of one of the weapons shops. They would occasionally be knocked back in to place by a disgruntled passer-by, but they seemed unaffected by it. The fight had gotten intense to such a point they began running through the streets of Tortuga, dodging in and out of the crowds in their way, careful not to strike anybody with their sabres.

They finally reached the center courtyard of the island, where the main street bulged out in to a bustling mecca. Grand French-style buildings lined the outside of the wide clearing, with their doors flung open (some not even having doors at all,) their lanterns blazing, swinging at their sizable balconies, and the commoners, and the not-so-commoners, trading, yelling, chatting, drinking, and all other things casual and abrupt. In the center of the square was a gigantic fountain, a large, meter high circle surrounding a small tower, which slowly converged in to a point at the top, with smaller circles sitting around it to catch the water that busted out of it's peak.

Delmaria jumped himself on to the edge of the fountain, taking a high-field advantage over Jack, allowing him to swing downwards at him in more powerful strokes. Yet his opponent persisted, joining him on the ledge only moments later. They were forced to stand on their toes, their feet stanched wide apart, to avoid toppling over in to the waters at their side. Delmaria broke the monotony of the fight with a wild spin cut, taking Jack off balanced, and leaving him open to a stern kick to the chest, toppling him over to the ground below. The pirate dashed down at his predecessor, but Sparrow managed to roll himself out of the way before the sabre stuck him in. The momentum he had gained finally stopped Delmaria at the base of one of the buildings, placing his hands in front of him to avoid meeting impact with a large, wooden pole, the connected to the balcony above. He turned over his shoulder to see the progress of his foe, and latched the bottom of his foot atop a stack of nearby barrels, pulling himself one over the other, creaking against his weight. Balancing at the top of the stack, he desperately threw him on to the nearby wooden balcony, kicking over the top box towards Sparrow, who had reached the foot of the tower.

Delmaria landed face first in to the rough boards, flustering two women who were standing over the railing, swirling their drinks as they swifted their long, dramatic dresses. He pushed himself up and scurried to the opposite end of the balcony, turning about just in time to watch his opponent climb his way up on to the ledge. Sparrow dusted off his jacket, and with a sigh, remarked "You sure are one to keep up a good fight! But, I say that the climax of our fight, be a little more interesting." With that, Sparrow gripped his free hand around the wooden pole at his side, and swung himself up on to the narrow, wooden banister. He wobbled a bit, before he balanced himself out, and mischievously beckoned Delmaria up with him.

The pirate easily pushed himself off the ground, putting one foot on the rickety rail, then the other. He slowly stood himself up in an upright position, until he managed to grab hold of the low hanging ceiling. He readied his point at the pirate, and as he let go off his support, he dealt the first swing - a light, swift cross, to ensure he didn't throw himself over, down to the dirt below. Sparrow dodged his blade, and returned with a straight stab, forcing Darkskull to curl himself around the wooden post to avoid being run through.

As Darkskull gripped the post, a hard, raging migraine ripped through his head, flashing his vision in and out. He heard painfully familiar voices ring through his head. "No, no, hold the blade like this.... yes, like that! Good, good!" His surroundings before him flashed in and out, from where he wa, to places he never wanted to return to. His head became heavy, this eye lids weighting him down. He swung his blade dramatically outward, throwing himself drunkenly down to the floor below.


"Blah, that tastes like death itself!" Delmaria spit out the elixir being shoved down his throat, as he pushed the bartender away from his chair. He was leaning back, relaxed, his coat and shirt slung over the table next to him. He looked out through the wide opening in the wall, the door less opening to the tavern. He stared mistified at the fountain, spewing out water.

"You get used to it after a while." Sparrow commented as he sipped through his rum bottle.

Darkskull turned in his chair to face Jack. "Alright, enough beatin' round the bush, Jack. You well know why I'm here."

"Really? I wasn't aware." The pirate smirked, but Delmaria was not moved. He sighed. "Alright, fine...

"I'm sure you've heard the stories. The change in the tides, the heavy rain, the new bursts of fog - must be happening for a reason, why? Well... it finally happened.

"A few days ago, 's what I heard. A few pirates were sailing after a ride to Perdida - for whatever reason - and caught themselves in a huge wave of fog. Wasn't 'fore long they realized..

"That the stories were true?" Darkskull butted in.

Jack unraveled a small map that was on the table, and point to a big circle, at an open spot, off the side of the half way point between Cuba and Perdida. "There's the spot."

"Interesting. What did they find?"

"We can't be sure..."

"Why not?"

"... they never came back."

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Del... I absolutely love this story. You have amazing detail, imagery, and honestly, the length of the chapters only add to it. What really comes out to me in this, though, is the tone. You create a world that is the POCTO we know, but at the same time, you have created it your own. I can feel and relate to the characters, even though I have never been put in a position remotely like theirs. You make my gut clench in fear when you're boarding the ship of the line, and make me laugh when Del doesn't like the elixir Jack gives him. That is what really makes this story. Well done mate.

Wow... just... WOW. If I could find a more beautifully written story, well I don't think I could lol. The way you add all the little details as to what is going on and how it happens and where you are is ridiculously amazing. Keep up the awesomeness man!

Thanks guys! That means alot to me :sailr:

Sorry this took so long... hit the infamous wall of writer's block. Fortunately, I came up with something...

Again, be aware, this chapter gets a little graphic after a while - proceed at your own risk.


The crew was strangely uneager to continue on to their destination, actually unaware of what and where it was. They had been sailing for well onwards of a few days, with no sight of land, or life, for that matter. They took turns hanging themselves over the side of the Crows Nest, looking for anything that might catch their eye. It was futile, they all thought - but they saw it as a way to keep them from spiraling in to a depressive state.

They hardly caught a glimpse of Delmaria these past few days. Only ever so often did he come out of his cabin, whether to instruct Lawrence on direction, inspect the state of the ship, and in his most frequent and patterned case, to eat. He would reside with them for ten minutes, at the most, collected and calm, until slithering away back to his room. He sternly ordered them to not enter, as he was "tending to private matters." Still, he anticipated they would try to sneak a peek at what he was doing, so he lowered the curtains all across the room, and kept a board sternly connecting from the door knob to the floor, preventing it from opening.

Delmaria was doing something he dared never let his crew see - he was reading. Yet, instead of common literature, it was a Bible he looked over, which he had "appropriately" stolen from a superstitious sailor who happened to leave it out in the open on one of the crates of the Tortugan dock. He sailed his eyes through page after page, story after story, teaching after teaching. He had no idea why he was doing this, only that it felt as though he had to. He sensed a vibe, a vibe that warned him of the comings of demons, mindset on brutalizing him. Demons, which could only be defeated if something relatively close to divine nature were on his side.

Of course, Delmaria himself did not believe in evil. From his experiences, he had learned that evil was only a state of mind, where those who are evil are simply those who go against the wider-practiced beliefs of society. He often connected himself to an old story he remember from his childhood - the one thing from it he still wanted to remember. The story foretold a witch, who flew throughout Britain, terrorizing it's people with her crafts and spells, until she was finally slayed by Arthur and his Court.

Yet his mind still wandered on his tale - who was this witch? Was she really evil? Or did she simply decide to walk the other way in the bureaucratic, systematic workings of everyday society? What was her story? What did she stand for? Was she really evil, or misunderstood? Are people really born wicked - or do they have wickedness thrust upon them?

Darkskull laughed at how deeply he was cutting in to his thought process. Yet, he felt that that laugh was simply how he had adapted to his environment - while his heart told him to stop, his mind pushed him to go further.


Nothingness was the only word that could describe what surrounded the crew. An ungodly thick blanket of fog encircled them, passing slowly in all directions across their near-sighted vision as they tried to peer onward. It had grown on to them to the point that Delmaria, who stood at the edge of the second deck of the War Frigate, could just barely make out the outlining of the main deck.

Before they had entered the wall of mist, it was the usual night in the Caribbean - a warm, slightly humid, still air sitting across the ship, an over light of thousands of glittering stars sparkling overheard, the bright, crescent moon acting as it's elegant centerpiece in the sky's lavish dinging table. The light it all blasted provided a relatively strong light on the deck, illuminating it to the fullest, getting even in to the small jagged patterns on the walls, used to represent the clatter and crash of the ocean.

It was due to this beautiful, natural nightlight that the crew had decided to stay up later that evening, as they sat across varied positions along the ship, whether on top of crates, over the railing, or atop a cannon. Even Delmaria took the time to come out from his studies and gaze in to the mystery of the night. He swooped his head back in to the night of the Caribbean, closing his eyes to take in the peace of the moment.

But this peace was only broken by a loud shout from Andrew, who had taken place up in the Crow's Nest (the crew often joked that he needed to be up there, as he was so short he couldn't see anything.) "Captain!! Fog, dead off the bow!"

Delmaria, perused by the rest of the crew, ran up the flight of stairs leading to the helm, next to where Lawrence stood. He looked outward, and was met by a huge wall of mist, heading at them as they enclosed on it. There was only about a kilometer between it and the ship, as it slowly engulfed the waters in to the abyss.

"Excellent! Just as we planned!" Delmaria hopped up and down excitedly, but the rest of the crew just pondered at him as if he were insane. He explain as he leaned eagerly over the rail, "I was told there was a huge cloud of fog surrounding the island - this must mean we're closer than I expected!"

Lawrence persisted, "Captain, we have no idea what's waiting for us there... Shouldn't we at least wait until dayli-"

"No, no!" Del shouted in the most disappointed tone. "The breeze only pushes the fog out at night! Continue forward!" Lawrence grumbled cautiously as he held the wheel still, as they began their journey in to the unknown.

It was a few moments of silence, before, CRAM!, the crew was thrusted forward in a sudden jolt of energy. Delmaria, not expecting the commotion, was thrown over the banister of the second deck, to the main area below. We fell to the noises of terrified shrieks, and heavy thuds.

He threw his body while in the air, flipping himself, and catching himself on the floor by clamping both feet and hands on the wooden deck. He stood up shaken, pulling a splinter out of his left hand. He shouted out to Andrea, who was staggering over from the bow of the deck. "What the 'ell was that!?"

She panted as she made her way closer. "We...e crashed in to something... go see yourself..." Andrea threw herself to the wall that sat behind Darkskull, taken a moment to collect herself.

What Delmaria met at the bow was, to say the least, surprising. They hadn't hit a rock, a cliff, or gone too far in to the shallows. The War Frigate had sailed itself directly on top of a half-sunken dock. The entire crew was stunned by the event, heading off to the very point of the ship to gaze over it. Darkskull simply ran to snag his cutlass, which was hung in his cabin.

He entered the room very quickly, for one of the first times, not even bothering to close the door to his room. He passed the clutter that surrounded his room, and picked off the golden sword from his desk, neatly keeping the same old, bloodied rug around the handle. He nearly trugged away, before he stopped, and took a moment to return to the desk. He pulled out of his pocket the book he was holding before, and laid it solemnly in front of him. He ran his fingers across the simple, leather nature of the cover, before running out of the room.


The crew's heavy leather boots crunched against the semi-gravelly sand that sat beneath their feet. They danced their way around huge pieces of driftwood that stuck out of the ground, attempting to protrude through them, as they walked out of the shallow waters of the beach. The shore in itself was not far in length, but wide, leading off at their right to a narrow passage, sitting in between two massive, jagged cliffs that reached far skyward, blocked at the front by a small makeshift barricade. The wall of protection, crudely thrown around, meaning a sign of previous destruction, was made of badly burnt barrels, tables, and wooden planks, plowed through in the center as a means of entry.

The twinkle of the stars overhead led the pirates against the dark obsidian streaks that reflected out against the regular black, dark rocks that surrounded them. They walked very wearily along the path, keeping an eye on all that went behind them, above them, and, especially, in front of them. A few ravens’s soared over them, scaring a few of the crew. Still, Delmaria trugged slowly onward.

The pass led the crew in to an opening that was only more cluttered than what they saw before. Rambleshaked houses were tossed against the large, tall walls of the circular area. The ground rose steadily towards the back, where heavily burnt trees gave way to a tall tavern-like building crumbling down at its side. On the opposite side of it, was a small shack, supported by what remained of a few support beams that raised it off the ground, tilted to its left by the slope of the ground. They stood in between another disheveled barricade, with a dark-gray, rectangular stone building of to their left, with a small yet numerous holes lining the front wall - almost like a jail, Delmaria thought.

Delmaria stepped forward in to the small place, looking around under the guidance of the moonlight. Yet he misplaced his footing, and his right foot plunged in to the rib cage of a skeleton, laid out on the ground, covered by a mound of dirt that had blown on top of it. He jumped back in terror, and caught himself before he fell over backwards. "Bloody..."

He was only thrusted back forward by a loud shriek that came from behind. He turned to face the rest of his crew running in horror towards him, as he pushed forward to see what was going on. At first, he could only make out a dark area in front of him.. yet that didn't last as he got closer. His stomach turned in to a knot, punching him to his knees.

It was Andrea. She was laid out flat on to the ground, her hair torn over her blank face. A stream of blood ran down in every direction, with gruesome cuys running across her body. She was twisted in only the most awful manner, as if she was simply thrown across like a rag doll.

She was dead.

Grace let out a terribly mournful cry as she sobbed heavily. Wisdom and Dead went to comfort her, while Bunk stepped forward to inspect his fallen friend. Andrea and Bankok were a tight-knit group aboard the ship, like peas in a pod. The sight of her laid out like that was too powerful to imagine for him. He ran his hand crazily over his face, and took a deep, shaken sigh as he let out "My God..."

It was only the least of their problems, however. A red glow began to emanate from past Andrea's body, standing over her in the most savage, triumphant manner. Slowly, a pair of legs began to form... then a torso, arms, until finally, a fair of dark, red eyes... no face, or hair. Just eyes, that peered through the pirates as if they peered in to the soul, so blank, with no direction, that it was a trial of will to not look away in fear. Drips of blood ran down its semi-palpable body, it's hands gripped in a tight fist. It spoke in a deep, satanic tone of a voice, mumbling far words of witchcraft. Its head twitched tightly and spastically as it examined the crew.

It took no hesitation for Buck to draw his old, rusted cutlass and charge head-first at the figure. "BUCK, DON'T!" was all Darkskull could force out before Bankok thrusted his fury of blows in to the ghost. The figure showed no sign of pain, it just stood there, as Buck connected hit after hit. Light streaks of fears rolled down the pirates face as he thought of his friend, but to no avail was his effort.

A sudden movement of the ghost was all it took. It outreached its blood-red arm, gripping Bankok's bicep, and squeezed, delivering a frightful crunch. Buck screamed, and as the ghost let go, he fell to the ground in pain, clutching his broken arm as he flopped next to Andrea. The figure slowly dragged its feet towards the disabled pirate, who could only think that death was upon him. Delmaria acted in instinct.

He dropped the rag around his blade, once again bringing the burst of bright green back in to his vision. He ran forward and pushed the ghost with his hand, although it was much, much heavier and dense than he thought it was. He stood over Bankok protectively, not allowing another mate to succumb to the eternal sleep. He turned around to look for support from his crew - but they weren't there.

The captain returned his vision to be met with a stern clock across the face, sending him over towards the jail at full-blazed speed. His body passed through the dark stone wall, and tumbled on to the cobbled floor. When he managed to recollect his thoughts, he was unaware at what he was surrounded by. The jail contained a few empty, rotted cells, wood and metal tossed around inside, and the doors either rusted in a locked position, or thrown completely off, across the room. The roof of the building was nearly crumbled, letting in massive holes that gave view to the stars above. Yet the most ominous feature was a strange, blue aura that danced around the room, almost as though the air had become visible. It was cold at the touch, and he scampered up to get away from the stuff.

Only to be pushed back down again. He hit the floor with a heavy thud, sending the golden sword out of his hands, skidding across the floor. He looked behind him, to see the same ghost again. He attempted to skitter across the floor, towards his blade, but the ghost fell on top of him, punching blow after blow in to his face. He tried to cover himself with his arms, but the ghost easily slapped them away, and continued his assault. The pirate felt all hope was lost, until he heard the door to the jail open.

The ghost looked up from his pray, to an awful sight - for it, at least. It ran back from the sight, but was too late - the object had caught up to him, splashing him at his back. He let out a terrible scream, throwing a fit as it bounced around the room, as if it were a slug that had salt put on it. It finally crumbled down on to the ground and great burst of light cracked from where it had sat, destroying it. The ghost had been killed by water.


Delmaria sat by the fire as the strange man draped the cloak around him. "Th-th-thank you, mate... I can't thank you enough for saving me."

The man walked over back to his seat, adjacent from Delmaria, and sat down. "Ah, anything for the Liberator himself, mate!" He chuckled as he plopped down on to his log. He was a thin, tall man, barely any facial hair, with a handsome, caring face. He boasted an athletic build, clearly having being strengthened by some form of exercise. His black hair hung carelessly in bangs that separated in to wild, free bands, curling freely down at his eyebrows, with the rest of his hair hugging his head. His dark brown eyes laughed very welcomingly - ironic, for his surroundings.

They were sitting in a small stone courtyard somewhere on the western end of the island, one of the last remaining areas of a recognizable town. A stone wall enclosed them, holding in it only a single double doored, Spanish-style home, and a small fountain off to the side. The entrance to the courtyard was littered with Indian-styled objects, feathers, beads, and all that stuff, meant to ward off evil spirits.

"The Liberator?" Delmaria tilted his head at what the young man called him.

"Ha, I suppose you haven't heard of any word?" He swirled the wine in his wooden cup. "Well, mate, just because I'm isolated from the rest of the world, don't mean I hear things! You and your crew have become quite a talk, taking that sort of action against Ambrose on Royal like that - a fine job fer us common folk, indeed!"

Delmaria winced at the mentioning of his son's name, but he couldn't help but become interested. "Have you heard of anything else that happened.. after I left the Port?"

The man looked outward, past the entrance of the courtyard. "Eh... well... 'hat Ambrose fella, he doesn't have the best of moods right now. For one thing, the man lost his hand, God knows how. But, believe it 'er not, he blamed it on you! He said you were the reason for his 'disablement,' and put a hefty price on your head.. 'course, everybody hates the guy, Ambrose, so I'm sure you have nothing to worry about."

Delmaria's attention shifted, as soon as he realized what was going on. "MY CREW!" he shouted, nearly scaring the man. "My crew... they're... gone! Where could they have gone!?"

"Uh oh... well..." The man hesitated, taking a minute to ponder if he should say anything. Darkskull looked stern, so he sighed. "Mate, I don't know how to tell ye, but.. I suggest ye don't get yer hopes up."

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN!?" Darkskull stood up in protest.

"Easy, mate... The last fellows who disappeared on this island, they got taken to..." he shivered. "The mines..."

"Alright, then where be these mines?! I need to find my crew!"

"Not such a good idea, mate... The mines aren't the best place to go... trust me, I know myself."

"Well I can't just abandon them, now can I?!" Delmaria cried. The man just shook his head in persistence. "I'll get you off this place! Please, just help me!"

The man was shocked, and suddenly, a grin reached across his face. "Well, if you insist...." He reached out, and shook Delmaria's hand. "Looks like we got ourselves a deal, mate. Oh.. and, 'he names John."

Delmaria froze for a minute. His old name was John.

----------------------------

Nothing against you personally, Andrea, but I had to take somebody out. Sorry!

Well, be sure to comment and critique, mates! With a short work week this week, I can hopefully guarentee a new chapter next weekend. Thanks!

You... you.... my god, you killed Andrea! Just... just... wow Del. Just Wow.

You are such an incredible author. You've kept me interested from the very beginning of this chapter, and all the way down to the last word. I'll admit, you have a rather dark story, but you do it so well! You do it in a way that brings the reader in, not makes them turn away because they can't stand to see what happens next (or, as I like to call them, Cringe Moments (which is also known as the entire show of Hannah Montana)). You take this new place Disney has granted us and turned it into your own, making it far more fearful than Raven's Cove originally was when it came out. This story is like an adrenaline rush for me, I get so into it. The imagery is incredible, only enticing me more. As hard as it was to read the death of Andrea... I loved it. Del... bottom line is, well done, as always mate.

I believe Kat just summed up whatever I was going to say, haha. Well done ;)

Ok ok ok. So.

Sorry that this chapter took FOREVER, but I never found the time to finish it. But, I finally pushed it out in the past 2 hours. Again, please proceed at yor own risk with this chapter. And so, I present to you all:


The sunlight of the early morning just barely broke through the dark gray blanket of clouds that covered the sky overhead. Still, it provided for enough light to get an idea of one's surroundings, and that's all that Delmaria was felt was necessary. He got a chance to better gaze over the little courtyard he had slept in - the half-collapsed building next to him, now recognizable as alike to the old blacksmithery on Padres, the badly burnt walls, and the scatters of driftwood that lied on the hard dirt ground.

Delmaria and John packed lightly before they set out, each bringing with them a small sack of daggers, tonics, and pistol or two, and a trusty sword at their side. "We won't be needing to worry about those red ghosts today - they usually only come out at night."

"Some they can smack the living daylights outta ya, yet their death potion is water and sunlight?" Delmaria commented as he slung the sack over his shoulder, having gathered all his supplies.

"Sounds about right." John smirked as he started to tie up his bag.

They headed out at around noon, rounding out of the small courtyard, and in to the massive clearing before them. Off to his left, Delmaria stared as he gazed over the rest of the town area of the island - what was left of it, at least. A loose, collapsed wall, now only standing a rough meter off the ground, gave foreground to a small urban area, composed of a line of homes that were sheltered behind it. There were holes the size of cannons in ever small corridor of the buildings, some even with well-contained fires that continued to simmer. A nearby tree had fallen in front of the broken archway, missing the majority of it's roof, that had been burned to the point it looked like nothing more than a 10 meter long toothpick. Through the view of the entrance was a straight clearing, leading out in a huge pile of rubble, that blocked any further view. When John noticed Delmaria had slowed in his pace to look over the remains, he stopped to look also, and comment, "Used to be the town square, it was. Truly a beautiful place.... when the place was attacked, cannoballs that had rained down from the bay... past the town, that is - knocked right through the place. Killed at least a few dozen souls, they did.. bastards..."

They walked through a small cave-like tunnel, large, jagged spikes sticking out through the walls and from the ceiling. Darkskull had to manuever his way around the body of a half-rotted Navy soldier that was slewn in to one of them, dried blood even showing through his bright-red shirt where it protruded his body.

They came out in to a narrow beach-like pass, raised off from the foor about 15 meters or so. The rough waves crashed viciously against the cliffs, and, despite the sizable height, were still about to clash over the view. Past a few giant slabs of rock that stuck off out of the shore erradically, misted in a slight fog, shown huge, daunting pillars of stone, thrusting out of the savage seas. They had to have been far past the height of a War Galleon, from the depths of it's hull to the peak of it's highest mast, and then some. The sight of them alone was something that would make a sailor quake with unimaginable fear. How Delmaria knew they were taller than War Galleons, was because of the wreckages among them. The pillars beared two wreckages. One was a War Frigate torn in two, caught in between the fork of an eccentric structure, it's stern laying against the back of the rock, and the bow perched carefully in the fork. The other was a War Galleon, nearly submerged completely by the waves, only a portion of it's deck peering lightly through, and then raised off at it's helm. A single mast - the middle one, it seemed - was still attached, peaking up off the ship, but not nearly as tall as the colossuses that surrounded it.

The pair continued down the gradually down-sloping coast, visualizing their surroundings. They passed by a few old shacks, worn down by rain and miscare. Delmaria swore he saw an old, wrinkled face pop out of him out through one of the windows, but brushed it off as the dust getting to him.

They finally hit a straight stretch of beach right at sea level, directly next to the alpine cliffs next to him. Delmaria was stunned at how tall they actually were - he commented to himself how they must have reached to the 3/4ths mark of that of the Padres Del Fuego volcano. The clouds swirled around them ominously, leaving a spectacle to be gazed at.

As Delmaria danced along an old, rusted metal track, probably used to cart minerals to and from the mines, John pointed out to the seas, where yet another wreckage laid out, with time on the beach itself. Only the center of the ship showed, a mast sticking out, and one hollow end of the hull popping in to vision, with the other hidden below the waves. He spoke, "There they are - those two explorer blokes. Coming to this island with no durection or what to expect is a fool's game, I tell ya!"

They finally reached the mine elevator, at the far end of the long, black beach. A small, wooden ramp led on to a small lift, that was supported by a large, solid box, connected at the side by a regular, generic wooden shack. The two proceeded in to the cramped elevator, where the both of them had just enough room to move their arms off their bodies. John closed off the door, and plopped his bag on the floor. He sighed heavily as he turned his attention up, to the low wooden ceiling above them. "As far as I know, the pulley no longer works here - so we're gonna have ta pull ourselves up." John pulled at a piece of knotted rope that sat tightly framed to the roof, slightly jolting them as he pulled it downward. Delmaria asked no questions - he was too eager to save his crew to stop. He grabbed at the rope, and began pulling downward to raise them upward.

They slowly ascended themselves up towards the top, their bodies working under serious strain as they forced themselves to continue. With each tug, a drip of sweat flung off their brow. Delmaria, who was facing outward of the island, got a chance to take singular glimpses at the bay before them, to check their progress. He was stunned at how high they had gotten in 5 minutes, doubled with the knowledge they were far from there. He was able to see the last of the gigantic pillars sticking out far from the island, like it stared at him with the taunting horror of the island.

As they finally neared the top, Delmaria was more than glad to realize he was moments away from giving his arms a rest. As they hit the top bar, which was used to prevent a function shaft from flying up, over, and out, John instructed Delmaria to pull down on the rope, as he tied to knot, to ensure that elevator would stay in it's position as they got off. He pulled the final end through, making it as close to the roof of the elevator as possible, and the two exhausted pirates grabbed their things, and stepped off on to the wooden platform.

The two proceeded down a small slope, that was surrounded at it sides by massively tall rock cliffs, jutting out sharp boulders at it's base to challenge the pirates as they carried on. Delmaria cautiously held behind John, who strutted out in front of him. The narrow passage was partially covered by a curved roof of rocks, dropping small crumbs of stone that patted against their hats as the fell to them. A stiff wind blew through that kicked up a little dry dust in their face, pausing them as they stepped out in to a small circular opening, where the ground met it's final descent, and then began to incline. The sun began to reach it's peak, as it had managed to creep over the highest edge of the walls above them.

"C'mon... we might as well get the worst part over with." John motioned Delmaria as the boy jogged lightly in the same direction, rounding a corner that was created by a shift in the path of the rocks, and disappearing behind them. Darkskull ran foward to see where he went, heading up the small hill and around the bank, to be met with a blinding blaze of sunlight. He slowed down while he tried to block the light out of his face with his hand, but felt a stern arm whip out and hit against his chest. He afixed his eyes to what was before him, only to jump backwards drastically, clutching his hand to a piece of rock that stuck out next to him.

John and Delmaria stood at the beginnings of an extremely long, slender rope bridge, spanning across the entire width of the bay of the island. The unwelcoming cliff on the other side was accompanied by a large mountain that broke high up in to the sky, looking as though it were taller than the Padres Del Fuego volcano itself. Rocky pillars stuck up over the horizon, surrounding the mountain and the areas at it's heightened base as if it were protecting something.

John gripped Delmaria by the sleeve of his coat and slowly ushered him foward, Delmaria in fear at how high up they really were. The Shark sat off to the right of the bridge, but even it's tallest mast was not enough to come close to the meniscus of the concave bridge, that tauntingly swayed carefully in the wind. "Oh no, no no no," Darkskull shook as he attempted to step back. "I've braved many things in my short life, but if there's one thing I'm not willing to do, is trust myself against gravity."

John sighed, and let go of the pirate. He turned away from him, and continued forward on to the bridge, out to the midpoint. He turned back to face Delmaria from the far out distance, and jumped up and down, to test the stability of it. "SEE!?" he shouted out, "IT'S FINE!"

Easily, Darkskull stepped out, planting his foot firmly on the first board of the bridge. He pushed it, to make sure it would not collapse out from under him, and put his other foot on the board after that. He reached his hands out to hold his balance, and tried desperately to focus on the other cliff, as he walked a step at a time. He controlled his breath, wrapping his fingers tightly on the one thing that stood between him, and toppling over in to the dark waters far below. He felt as though he was being played with, the cliff such a time away. He watched as John continued away from him, up to the other cliff, where he leaned against a badly charred tree that tilted over the edge of the island. His pace gradually picked up, wanting even more to get this torture over with. Finally, as he neared the final reach of the bridge, he broke out in to a sprint, flying up and over the end of the bridge, on to the cliff, and landing to his knees, kissing the dirt ground before him. John chuckled as he joined the pirate at his side, humored by the sight of the fearsome man thanking that he was able to brave a bridge. Delmaria growled as he stood up.

The place they entered depressioned down at their right further, meeting up with a large hole in the wall, and then twisting right around, and heading in the opposite direction across from them, still heading downward. Of course, the biggest feature which could not be ignored, was the colossal crater that sat in front of them. Created by the sides of the cliff, and a thin wall of stone that connected the two ends of it, the gap reached down in to a dark abyss, leaving no possible way to exist what went on down there. John picked up a small pebble, and threw it down in to the hole. When they didn't here a thud for over a few seconds, they stepped back in awe. Darkskull quickly tried to shake it off, and headed in the direction of the opening to the cavern.


The black abyss of the cavern was dank, and still. There was no wind, and it felt as though there was no air - only a blank existence. Droplets of water fell silently in the distance, as the growling heart of the Earth moaned a faint, sorrowful song from the depths of the planet. There was no light, no hope in this dark place - only but a chamber of what seemed to be the outer ring of Hell, dark and terrifying.

Through a small, cramped crack in a rock wall of the massive maze, a sizable coven hid silently in the void, away from the terrible presence of the rest of the mine. It came up from the sides in to a dome at the top, creating a very grand sense even in it's hardly extraordinary stature. Jags of a grey, emotionless rock stuck out like spears to threaten the limited contents of the room that sat on the floor, which was only but a few rambled rocks and hard, thick dust. That, and our crew.

They huddled themselves separately against the wall, except for Wisdom, who stood roughly at the edge of the center of the room, and Firesteel, who leaned against the wall parallel to the crack. The rest of the crew was silently sitting, staring out in to space, while Grace, in a shadowy corner of the room, tended to the wounds of an ailing Buck. The wounds on his arm were amazingly gruesome - at the place where the ghost gripped his arm, the muscle was dented inward, the skin scratched away to reveal his dark red muscle, and a light peek to the piece of bone that stuck out of place. He sighed heavily as she rubbed the last of her vial to it. "I'm out. We're going to have to get out of here soon if we want to save his arm, and I don't think that ghost is willing to compensate for him if it does..."

"You'll have to do better than that. We aren't leaving this place as long as those... things run around here." Wisdom shivered as he stepped forward in the center of the room, closer to the gypsy pirate.

"You don't understand... he might die from this, Wisdom. We have to.."

"No!" Wisdom growled as he stepped forward tauntingly. Grace nearly toppled over on to Buck, but put her hand on the ground to balance herself. "We aren't taking another chance! You saw what they did to Andrea..." his voice dragged off.

"Andrea..." Buck repeats quietly, half in the world of dream, half drowsily awake.

"Wisdom, Grace is right. It has to be daytime by now, so maybe we'll serve a better chance." Andrew concerns as he pushes himself to a standing position.

Wisdom turns to Andrew and struts right up to about a meter away, pointing his finger out at him. "Listen to me Andrew, Del isn't around anymore, and that means your not in charge of us anymore. Got that?"

On the other side of the room, Firesteel whispers to himself "He is coming for us.. he has to be..."

Wisdom turns on his heels to face Jack, but as soon as his back is to Andrew, the pirate gives a stern push to him, causing the pirate to stumble in the direction he was facing. His foot scraps along the ground, but he manages to stop himself before falling over, balancing out and spinning around back to face Andrew. He instantly unsheathed his cutlass and moved towards him. Before Andrew had a chance to back off, the pirate lunged at him, moving the blade right in between his arm and his chest, yet his blade still managed to scrap uncomfortably along the side of his body. He clenched his teeth and bursted out a long, tough cry, gripping his hand to the side as his body twisted, falling backwards to the short amount of hard ground behind him. Wisdom stood over him fearsomely, raisingly his blade to strike the final blow as the crew watched in horror - but he stopped.

Wisdom's body began to shake uncontrollably. His hand untightened, dropping his cutlass from his hand. He turned off to his side, where there stood Grace. She was now standing there, legs spread and fists clutched at her side. Her face was lowered, but her gaze violently transfixed at Wisdom. Her face crunched as her head twitched, focusing more and more on the pirate.

Wisdom's body twisted off in the direction of her, and he then fell to his knees, scrapping his hands on the ground. His spine cracked upwright, and he let a painful shriek. Grace stares right in to his eyes, and recites "I... warned... you...." She swoops up her hand past her body, and Wisdom twists a final time, landing lifelessly on the ground.

Another pirate, dead.

Grace loosens herself, taking a heavy sigh as she slunks lightly to the ground, in front of Buck. She sits there quietly, thinking over heavily of what she just did. She cups her hands around her nose and mouth, as she closes her eyes, letting out a light squeek of remorse.

Suddenly, the pounding of footsteps rounds the corner of the crevace in the wall. They crew turns and looks to their captain, with a stranger in tow, sighing in great relief when he notices the crew. But at the sight of their solemn faces, he turns his attention to the ground, and notices his fallen crewmate. He steps forward quietly, the only sense of motion in the room. He shakes his head, too overcome in emotion to say anything. "John, help Grace over there with Buck - Firesteel, grab Andrew. Let's get outta of..."

The pirates calmness was broken, as a great, tremendous moan roars from the extents of the mine.


"RUN, RUN RUN!" Darkskull shouts as the pirates scatter out of the mouth of the cavern. The caravan of wounded pirates leads the pack, escorted by the rest of the crew as they push in a high sprint up the light incline to the wooden bridge. Delmaria stays in the back, jogging backwards as he shoots out his eccentricly beautiful single-shotter at their persuers. A bullet nails one of the horrendous creatures in the eye socket, pushing it back in to the mine. The now strong sunlight overhead shows the true identity of the monsters.

They were but ghastly, orange blobs of what outlined in to shape of people, forsakenly dissheveled and rotted, like zombies with flesh and clothing just barely in take. They roared ungodly howls after the pirates, running after the group in a furious rage. Their eyes were blank, yet their lack of the soul burned a scarring mark in to the mind of any being. It was as though a hot brand were being pressed against your mind as you stared at them, taking only the strongest willed to fight the urge to stand and ponder.

Delmaria hurried his crew forward as they reached the rope bridge, mushing them over one by one. He turned back to take a few more pot shots at the ghostly followers, and then turned, almost taking a mindless step on to the structure. He gasped in fear, but looked back over at his chasers - and decided to take a chance. He faced back and all out ran across the bridge, flailing his arms wrecklessly as the rest of his crew watched, astonished, at the other end. He feet pounded plank after plank, his progress being marked as the areas behind him began to shake violently. A few strides from the end of the bridges, he dived in to the arms of his mates, screaming wildly. His weight pounded in to them, but they stressed themselves to catch him, his feet only a centimeter or two off the ground. They pushed him back to a standing position, as he took a strong breath, and faced them. "Well? Don't just stand there! RUN!"

The crew ran hurriedly down the hill, the mountainuous rock climbing around them as they headed downward. One of those disgusting, fiery bats came out from their hiding spot, but Delmaria rushed in front, flipped over his pistol to use the barrel as the handle, and swung the gun like a small baseball bat, sending the bugger across their way, and then exploding as it made contact with the wall. Nonchalantly, he continued forward, the rest of the crew just a little concerned about when he gained the ability to "make things blow up."

They finally reached the mine elevator, until they inevitably realized that the small carrier could only hold two people. Delmaria quickly took action, taking Buck on to his own shoulder, and sitting him down on the floor of it. "Jack, put Andrew next to Buck. John, Grace, get on to the roof and lower yourselves down." John nodded obediently, picking the pistol out of Delmaria's hand, while Grace stood their starstruck.

"The ROOF? Are you crazy?" Grace protested, throwing up her arms as she was pushed up to the shaft. John, who was on the top already, grunted as he reached his hand down and helped to pull Grace up. He reached his arm under the roof, and, with one hand, untied the knot and pulled it up to his hand, jolting it down a little. Grace gripped on to the roof that hung down from the structure that held up the rope for her life, when the rest of the crew turned in response to another loud scream. Off in the distance, the ghosts had made themselves down the little hill, to the area where the bats were. They made eye contact, and began to rush forward.

"MOVE!" Darkskull pushed off and ran in the opposite path of the fork in the wall, leading off to an unknown way. He ran a short distance, until he stopped himself dramatically at the height of a cliff as tall as the main mast of the Shark, off in the distance. "Oh, no no no! I'll run across a bridge, but NOT on air!" Delmaria threw back his hands to stop the rest of the crew like a diva. Deadpool, in the back of the group, rolled his eyes and moved to the front, giving his captain a light tap on the back. Delmaria slowly toppled over, swinging his arms in a circle crazily. He shouted a few obscenities as he dipped over the drop, swooshing violently through the air. He could barely catch his vision as he rashly spun in the air, until he finally smacked the water with his back.

He floated himself upward, until he pertruded the surface of the water. He pushed up his drenched hair with a huff, and scooped up his hat as he paddled towards his ship.

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Nothing against you Dog - but don't worry, you'll be back in the story soon ;)

Loved it? Hated it? Please let me know. Thanks for reading! Next chapter on it's way!

And here we are, mates! Another chapter, just for you! Hopefully the title of this one sounds familiar... ;)

And so, I present:


The Victory Shark rocked quietly back and forth against the light waves that corressed it, the calm breezes of the night shifting the masts between their forward position, and being craddled backwards. The stars were shrouded by a topping of clouds that stretched from every point on the horizon, sending from the heavans a measly rain that pattered against the solid wooden decks. A faint glimpse of the moon vibrated behind the layer, but it was not enough to match the thick shroud of darkness that consumed the abyss. It was as though the ship was the only existence on these waters, a lone planet in the blank coldness of space. The latterns that usually sat along the edge of the ship to keep the night alit were now submerged out, either drenched of their fires, or thrown over in to the deep seas that rocked below. The only form of light eminating was that of a group of well-lit latterns and candles, that shined through the light within the Captain's Quarters.

The crew was allowed in this part of a ship only because of the unfamiliar cold weather that plagued the crew's quarters, and because it was a common superstition amongst the crew that the night after a crew mate lives, their ghost wanders by their belongings, until they appropiately sent off on a piece of driftwood. They sat on rare, tattered cushions scattered on the floor, chairs, and even on Delmaria's hammock, eating their dinner - Delmaria didn't mind, as he was more concerned over what he was reading.

The Captain's eye's glazed hurriedly over the journal, his feet propped up against a few less-than-important-more-than-dire papers that were now crumpled on his desk, leaning back in nearly and fourty-five degree angle. He was reading over the research book that Wisdom was almost constantly writing in, tucking it away when anybody ever tried to see what he was writing. The arcane images and texts that he had been writing down were disturbing and confusing, but Delmaria got the general idea down.

Wisdom was studying the nature of the Caribbean, how "it's waters were more majestical, it's skies more wide, it's depth more undefined" than any other place on Earth. He somehow connected the features and wavelengths of each and every near organism and event in the the sea to a constantly shifting yet relatable pattern, each moving in a direct and indirect direction to another aspect. When a tree was planted, five ships would enter port in Tortuga. When a pirate was hung, two alligators died, and other nonconsistent mumbo-jumbo like that. Yet Wisdom somehow broke it all down to a unique yet recognizable science, which was connected to everything, but nothing in particular.

Cracking this code, in Wisdom's mind, would give one sole understanding and control over the Caribbean, and in return, ultimate power. Unfortunately, he would never live to see his goal of supreme dictatorship reached, and Darkskull could care less about how fascinating the "logorithms of crabs" were. But he saw this as more of look in to a being than an experiment.

In reality, Wisdom seemed to be consumed by wisdom, ironicly. He would allow himself to be consumed by facts and theorums, preventing his mind from wandering anywhere beyond the realm of the known. Was his mind so hungry of knowledge that it could only be satisfied by a lust for power?

After reaching in to about a third of the massive book, Delmaria swung the book upward, and let it fall on to his desk with a loud thud. The entire group reached up their heads in response, as Darkskull folded is hands in his lap. He tilted his head back and stared up to the wooden ceiling, like he was expecting it to say something. He took a deep sigh, and asked out to the crew "Do you know why I do this?"

Andrew, who was sitting with legs crossed on a little cushion in the corner of the room, huddled over a small bowl sitting in his lap, cautiously answered "Do... what?"

Delmaria stood up, picking the journal up off the desk, and walked around, craddled behind his back. "Why I'm one of you, of course."

They looked around, questioning each other with glances. Darkskull rounded to the front of his desk, and sat on it's front. He shook his head with a light smile, and continued.

"Freedom is sometimes never a choice, my friends. I wasn't brought here by dream, by rebellion, by philosophy - I was brought here by force. I run my life constantly moving, not able to plant roots or enjoy the simpler things of life. A family, a home, a..son....." his voice trailed off, but he refocused and forged on. "I'm here because I was jailed in to this lifestyle, and I was locked in with no key to help me out. Life has simply turned me in to the mouse, and society is the cat. I wander, I fight, I plunder - but for what? I always asked myself. But now I have realized, I do it for a purpose.

"I do it because what we were taught is wrong. That we must not lead ourselves to follow, that we are precious in our own hearts and minds alike! We are not born to be the pawns in a game of chess! We are here to live, to thrive, and to be different! We are those condemned to freedom, but this is the prison we are proud to serve in!"

The pirates sat in silence, awed by the presence and voice their captain beheld to himself. They were unsure whether to cheer uproariously, or nod in agreement.

But the eerie silence was ended when Lawrence hurried himself in, and slammed the door behind him, the wind outside now at full blast. His clothes were dripping wet as he splashed to the center of the room as quietly as possible. "Destination set, captain."

"Destination?" Delmaria questioned. "I never said to set out anywhere.."

"Well, you said we needed some new mates, aye?"

"Aye."

Lawrence grinned. "Then I know just the place!"


"Bloodied privateers!" Delmaria cried out angriedly as he fell to his knees on the sun-frenched dock, staring at the numerous battle-scars across his ship. "Why in God's creation were those light sloops made to carry such artilery! Unnatural, I say!" He stood up and started kicking the wood below him, throwing his hat in each direction - running after it, throwing it, repeat.

The rest of the crew hopped on to the small dock, the sun blazing at it's highest peak in the clear blue sky, pappable to the crystal waters that sat with no motion. It glistened quietly, as the long, narrow dock led as though it were a connection the bustle of the strange strip of land off at their side. It was a long, horizontal beach that slowly inclined up to a break of vegetation at the left end, where the hill began stepper, and then led off to a group of trees that extended over a cliff parallel to the beach, which ended it at it's way inward. Huge rocks sat at the base of the massive cliff, which bore small, ragged tents that took shade from the light above. Among the tents where small shops - a small, wooden, black hut that had long drapes of exotic, silken cloth over it's front, a rogue gypsy cart that sat amongst the waves of people that flooded the sand - even a gunsmith, his shop craftfully shaped in the form of the bow of a large war ship that had "rammed" itself to the lower end of the wall of stone, where the continuation of the hill connected itself to the overpass. The land curved up with the hill at the right, creating a small wall that was washed by the licking of the waters. A small mountain rose out from the sea to meet that small end, and with it, in it's front, sat a tavern, resembling well to the others of the Caribbean, just barely touching the edge.

Delmaria motioned Lawrence over to the shipwright, a bag of clanking gold coins jumping from the captain's hand to his mate's, as they stepped from the meager dock to the wet sand below. They could finally see the full length of the island - and a sight to behold, it was. Hundreds, perhaps thousands of people, cloaked in soot and rich fabric alike, scattered amongst the massive crowd that moved from tent to tent. Tongues of languages of new and old flooded the air, making but a usual buzzing sound, with a slight accent of flavor. When the cliff made it's final curve with the wrap of the island far at the left, a large, stable tower rose out of the ground, the triumphant monument of the glorious scene. It was tall yet fat, a few stories high, opening at the top to a small area, then topped with a thick roof grazed with enormous mounds of boxes and barrels, sacks and bags. At it's face, a long, swaying flag of blue, white and red shined like the crown jewel of the port.

"This is where we're supposed to get our new blood?" Grace's jaw dropped as she sighed, waving her brimmed hat in her face to cool herself off.

"What did you expect? We need a cannoneer, and what not a better place?" Darkskull pranced as he headed up the littlr incline, emersing himself in the crowd. As the people passed about him, he twirled himself slightly, breathing in the embrace of the familiar area around him. He felt as though he had shifted back in time, remembering the old times he spent along this same patch of gravel, and the seas around it. He brushed his upper right arm lightly, where, under heavy layers of leather and cloth, sat the smeared ink of a fleur-de-lis.

A loud shout, smothered by the overpowering roar of the day, rang out not to far from Delmaria - at the top of the hill, at the side of the tavern. A group of highly decorated privateers, drapped in light, sleeveless, tight blue clothes from head to toe pushed over a small, young looking fellow as he tumbled over down the hill. A girl, screaming, ran down after him, as the men threw down small objects at him, ranging from rocks to fragments of led, most likely from cannonballs. He rolled until he was nearly hidden by the crowd, his outline glistening by the feet of other people walking by, not giving a care to the dramas about them. As long as they were not involved, they would not get involved, they talked to themselves, staring as they passed the flowly forming pool of blood that ringed around the boy's face.

Darkskull, compelled, ran to the boy as the frenchies at the top of the hill continued to call names. He knelt by the side of the blood, who was lying face first, his arms propped in a praying, bridge like position under his head, gasping heavily. "You ok, mate?"

The boy just turned to him, his face streak red, dazed and confused. He rambled out a twisted and tough work of slips and slurks, speaking in French, no doubt. Delmaria shook his head no, as the girl ran furiously to his side, kneeling opposite Delmaria. She called in a light french accent, barely noticable - mixed with English, it sounded. She swatted little bands of hair out of her face as she gasped "Oh, my poor brother! Are you ok?"

"He's just winded, is all. He'll be fine." Delmaria assured as he tugged off his heavy, black leather coat.

"Oh, I hope so.." She flipped the boy on to his back, whipping blood away from his mouth with a small, pure white hankerchief.

"His name?" Delmaria questioned as he tucked his coat in a ball under the boy's head, to act as support. The girl was too flustered to pay attention - she turned to face the men at the top of the hill, and began screaming at them as she pounded her feet up the hill, swearing in all unmentionable terms and slangs. She took of her small, black feathered hat and threw it on the ground, almost in a challenging manner, as the boys just taunted her. Delmaria turned back to the boy, and pointed to the boy's chest, shaping his face in a questioning manner.

The boy turned up, and, between a gasp, said "Je... je suis... je suis Le... Le Corsaire!"

Delmaria was to respond, when a shriek came out from the direction where the girl was. The pirate turned to see one of the privateer's gripping his massive hand around her arm, tugging her in sporadic directions to shake her up. She was not scared nor intimadated, but only kicked at him, trying to make him let her go. Slowly, the other men came down the hill, preparing to encircle her.

In a fatherly instinctive motion, Delmaria stood up and ran up to the one gripping the girl by the arm. Before he could turn to face him, a large, stern, tanned first crunched against his cheek, knocking him off of the girl, and away from him. Darkskull continued forward, sending another punch to the ribcage, bending the man over in a gasp of lost wind. He gripped on to the back of his head, pulled it up, and slammed the privateer's face directly in to his knee, tossing him away like garbage. When another tried to approach him in rebuttle, he simply slapped him in a mocking way across the face, then kicking him in to chest, away from him. As the others became interested, Delmaria whipped out his golden, shining cutlass, immediately turning them away.

"How dare you!" Delmaria shouted, almost disappointed. The others saw it as a challenge, but the captain elaborated. "To take advantage of a brother and sister of your native blood, and for what? Have you no shame! We are all equal, and you above known should know that! A disgrace to freedom is as free as you'll ever be!"

The privateers looked disgusted, and Delmaria jumped forward tauntingly, startling them backward. "You make my spine shiver, to think that I have to share these seas with the arrogant, otherly-loathing likes of you! If it weren't for my honor...." Darkskull was caught offguard by John, who clamped his hand on the pirate's shoulder from behind. He directed the captain's attention to the boy and girl, who were being helped up by the rest of the crew; that, and the circle of attention that had formed around him. Eeriely, it was quiet.


"I must thank you again.. you, have no idea..." the girl thanked over again and again, her hands rubbing against the wooden bar table. They sat in the middle of the French tavern, darkly and medievally lit and decored, although the setup was similar to that of the usual complex - circle of tables, unorganized, unassigned chairs, stools, and benches, random bottles and jars laying in every inch of movement, and a heavily packed bar at the back, with a long overhang of various cargoes of liquiors, meats, and grains tied and bound orderly. People flooded through the bar, much like outside, only cramped to a small quarter area.

"It's fine.. the buggers deserved it." Delmaria sipped an extraordinarily strong bottle of wine, more than likely spiked by the bartender, who Delmaria believed to be scoping him out "because of his devil-like looks."

The girl smirked, a little laugh, and said "I apologize," she reached out a hand. "Sierra, is my name. And my brother," she motioned to the man, heavily leaning over a bottle, his head tilted down to ignore contact, "his name is Adrien - but, he prefers Le Corsaire Francias."

"The kind of a blind patriot, I see. Not much of a talker?"

"Nah, he's much of one - he just needs to be opened up, get to know you. Plus, he understands little English."

"I assure you, I understand little English as well under certain conditions of intoxication."

She huffed. "Funny. What brings a pirate like you to the Rough Waters?"

"We've recently undergone a recent... change. We're missing two crew mates, due to them.. dropping out. And it seems, we'll be needing two more..."

She picked up the hint easily. "Well, I'm not sure... you see... I come here to raise my money, aye? My brother and I, we have no place to go - as do many of here, sharing the same situation. Many think that living the life of a privateer is glamorous, adventurous.... but all we know is fear. Constant fear, death, and sorrows. Not a day goes by we do not give our grace, pray that we were not left out on the waters which we sail every, single, day."

Delmaria hushed her, an understanding nod. "Which is why I'm here. I can be your messiah, my friemd."

"Blasphemy!" A booming, heavy accent screamed from behind. Delmaria turned to face the murky, overpowering stench of cologne, that smelled more like perfum than anything else. A stingy, heavily maked-up face stared down at him, the face pale white, with roses of red and blue showing out lightly in the cheeks and around the eyes. His long, pointed nose looked as though it was accusing you, but his red, curly hair contradicted that, more like a clowns wig than actual hair. "Ah.. so it was true!"

Delmaria stood up, giving a humorous bow as the rest of the tavern went quiet, hanging their heads in solemn, nearly forced respect. "Good evening Senorita Porc. And you are?"

The lord glared, but shrugged off the comment. "You know well not to come here anymore! Not after.."

"Your treason? Yes, I know of your tyranical, traitorious ways."

"SILENCE!" He snapped at him. "If you come here, you have come to repay your debt, NOT to take more of my followers."

"You mean slaves?"

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Well, that's it for now. I'll cut it off nice and abrupt - let your imagination take over for now ;)

i was scanning through your work and i did see the word rum. but no james drinking rum xD great stories, del :D

Okay Del. I just have to say, all that stuff on the French island was HILARIOUS. And the fatherly character you give... well, Del, is really great. You can't leave it to my imagination right there mate. It's rude, I need more! Haha. Brilliant, per usual mate.

The light broke up slowly over the windowsill, as the early morning humidity seeped in through the small window that faced out towards the ocean, nearly touching the height of the two story room. It was relatively dark, only lit by three small windows high off the ground, far out of arm's length. The room was long, not wide, a stone, bricked floor lying across, the walls made of heavy, thick, wood planks that ran up vertically in a single stride. A lone door sat on the right wall, up at the front, locked from the outside. Only a little, terribly creaky bed and a French flag decorated the room, both sitting on the left wall, where the side shined in, with a mirror sitting on the short, front wall. The waves crashed violently outside by the sporadic crashing sounds from the nearby cliff, so much so that some managed to hop over the railing, to the side of the building where the room was.

Delmaria stood staring in to the window, as he buttoned the royal blue sack vest, button by golden button. The outfit he wore was lavish - at his head, a blue feathered hat, rimmed around the side by a thin golden outlining. A linen, ocean blue long-sleeved shirt sat underneath the beautiful vest, cutting down in to a deep-V, and then parting off at the bottom, just at the mid-thigh. Gold buttons ran down it up until below the groin, with a rich yellowish-gold sash tying around the waste, and then hanging down at the side. His pants were a dark blue, tight and linen, with a thin gold streak running down the side. The feet were covered by a blackish-blue pair of boots, with little silver cotton balls at the side and front to add a little effect. Delmaria smirked at himself as he fixed the last button, and then walked back over to the bed, where the final piece laid. It was a long, heavy, leather, blue coat, with silver buttons running down the side. Picking it up reminded Delmaria of lost memories, as he rubbed his right arm, where a fleur-de-lis sat.

Delmaria was a privateer in his young adulthood, after recently travelling to the Caribbean. After voyaging from Padres as a stowaway aboard a grain ship heading to Port Royal, Delmaria found himself with barely any food, gold, or other necessities. Meeting up with Nelson in the Rowdy Rooster, who would develop to become a long time friend of his, he was redirected the the newly founded French station of Ile D'Etable de Porc.

Upon arriving, Delmaria was instantly welcomed to by the little-known Pirate Lord known as Pierre le Porc. Delmaria was trained like the best, to become the best - everything he learned about the seas, he learned from Porc himself, alongside a few of his finest captains.

With their help, Darkskull rose quickly through the abstract ranks of sailing notoriety, until he became one of the most revered privateers to sail under the French flag. He grew to claim so many ships and crew men in his own personal fleet; he began to challenge the presence of Porc himself. And that, did not please the Pirate Lord.

Porc began to try and smother Darkskull, knowing that allowing his command to grow further would cause for a possible break-away from the French, leaving Porc subject to a final, lethal blow from the Spaniards. Slowly but surely, Delmaria was being disabled by his own benefactor, first being cut off from vital ammunition supplies, then crew, and even ships themselves. Seeing as to what was going on, Delmaria forged up his crew right before a deciding battle that might have just wiped out Avaricia, and instead, led a surprise attack against the French island, ironically ramming the bow of his ship in to the middle of a crowded area on the island (which is still jammed there today.) Within a matter of hours, Darkskull's crew had managed to break down an entire mecca of stores and buildings that had built themselves on the island, thriving under the prosperity of the island at the time. However, as Delmaria led his final assault on Porc himself, he and his crew were fired on by the remaining amount of loyal privateers, despite the definition in the Pirate's Code.

Porc received criticism from his fellow Pirate Lords for going against the Pirate Code, and was even stabbed in the hand by Captain Teague with a dining knife during a meeting at Shipwreck Cove. However, he simply denied his wrong-doing, on the grounds that "Privateers did not have to follow a code outlined for Pirates." By the end of the battle, a majority of the privateers, and the island's population, had been slaughtered, causing unreversable damage to the island, and thusly resulting in the state it is today. Only recently had merchants begun to return to the island, with specific orders by Porc to not remove the bow of the War Frigate, to keep it "as a beacon of victory over the wicked!"

However, it didn't stop there. Delmaria was condemned to death by Porc for treason, but was freed by an underground radicalist group known as the Libertists, for his actions against "one of the many tyrants of the Caribbean" (Delmaria would later become one of the higher members within the Libertists, now slowly attempting to get his crew involved in the secret organization.) Porc slowly began to shape his privateer force in to less of a mercenary group, and more in to a dictator-run militaristic city-state, with him as the sole "King." Delmaria has made few visits to the island since his outlawing, but when he did, they were mainly on undercover work within the complex systems of the island.

As Delmaria tugged the coat on, one of the guards busted through the locked door. "Porc is waiting."


The wind blew strongly as the fierce waves below crashed more and more. The skies were still clear from the day before, with the addition of a few minor clouds here and there. Armadas of ships raised their blue, red, and white flags, embellished with their own unique crest to symbolize their unity, yet individuality. Thousands of privateers moved through the maze of tents that lined the long beach below, the sun peaking over the horizon out across the bay. They all seemed to be a single body, dressed in the same strong, heavy blue color, moving all which ways like the swaying waves of the ocean. They efforted to mobilize quickly, crowding ammunition stores to ferry boxes over to the readying War Ships.

Delmaria was escorted up a ramp-like rope bridge to a covered, wooden platform, the deck area of the building he was previously in. A desk sat across him, with a man in a long, blue coat leaning over the far railing, long out over the bustling port. His red hair swifted a little as he turned to face the pirate, and he smiled, triumphantly, seeing his oldest enemy bound in chains, wearing his army's uniform. He shifted back and forth as he slowly walked over, motioning his guards to leave them in peace. His make-up was more prominent this morning; Darkskull struggled to hold back his laughter, as the pirate lord said, "Ah, if it is not Delmaria Darkskull. Good to be back in the place you belong, is it not?"

"I assure you, it's not as thrilling as you intended." Delmaria commented as he walked forward with his enemy to the far railing.

"Look at this," Porc motioned his hand outward. "You could not have chosen a better time to drop in, no? We are once again on the verge of victory over the Spanish, the day I have long waited for! And how appropriate you will get me there, hah! I swear, my comrade, history only chooses to repeat itself.. but today, I will be history's author!"

"You keep telling yourself that. You fuel your little imagination on the suffer of other people. Within time, they'll figure your little game out. And by that time, you'll be back where you belong - beneath my feet."

"Well, Mr. Darkskull, that's where our paths end to intersect,. You see, today, I have planned many things... but it would be so unfortunate if your ship was just chosen to head out against the Spanish... along the front lines? And if it just so happened a rogue bullet, of friendly fire, mind you, poked through your neck, right..." he pointed a bony finger at the jugular of the pirate's neck. "..there. Yes, so unfortunate, it would be."

"Don't get your hopes up. I've cheated death plenty of times, and I highly doubt Death has worse aim than one of your little cronies."

Suddenly, a massive migraine shot through Delmaria's head. He collapsed to the ground, his chained hands gripping around his head. As he writhed in pain, flopping back and forth on the floor, his vision flashed wildly before him, in quick, bright lights. He heard shouts, screams... fire. He looked in to the cold stare of Death, and was pushed back before they touched.

His eyesight cleared up, the Pirate Lord standing over the pirate, taunting him and calling him names. Delmaria was overcome by a sudden urgency, as a great gust of wind blew out across the island. In act of desperation, he rocketed his leg upward, slamming it in to the groin of Porc. As the man fell to the ground, Darkskull struggled to his feet, and sprinted across the platform, down the ramp, and on to the soft grass before it.

Instantly, a roar ripped across from behind, so extensively loud and crushing it deafened any sense of sound Delmaria had. He spun around, still lying on the ground, to see a flurry of cannonballs rip through the tower he just stood on, splitting the wood banisters and walls that supported the structure. In seconds, the majority of it was reduced to splinters, toppling over in the opposite direction from Delmaria in a heavy swoop. He sat there in his own world for a moment, quietly staring at the pile. At last, he was dead.

He turned his attention out to the bay, where the lead came from. A group of the awfully familiar black, tattered, skeleton-like ships lined the waters, pumping round after merciless round in to the island. Darkskull crawled over towards the cliff were the waves carried by the wind sprayed in his face, lying down still giving him a vantage point past the rubble of the tower, to the beach.

The crowds ran amuck as the cannon fire poured down, bringing death and destruction against the tent cities that had been set up. Pockets of fire tore through every fragment of cloth, metal, and anything flammable as people tried to break through the crowds, to some form of protection up in the hills, or in the bay. Men, women, and children alike fell over, either crushed by the cannonballs, or trampled by the stampede of people. Smoke flew across the island, blurring his vision far off.

A deep hand wrapped around his arm from behind, dragging him away from his spot, towards a little area off at the side of the island, between the end of the hills, which dropped off in a rounded cliff, and the edge of the island, creating a narrow way to the back of the island. He bumped and rocked over the dirt and grass of the island as the sounds of terror in the port faded, finally rounding the rock, to a small crevice between the edge and a boulder. He laid his back against the wall, and looked up to meet Lawrence, who was working at cutting the chains with his dagger. "What in God's name is going on!?"

"Ssshh...." he whispered as he finally cut through the chains, pulling Delmaria up to a standing position. He continued as Delmaria tugged the ridiculously heavy coat off. "Roger... he's attacking the island. By the looks of it, it's not just a usual attack... he's getting closer, meaning he's going to attempt to invade."

Delmaria sighed heavily, putting his hands in his face, and rubbing. "Are all the survivors on higher ground?"

"Aye."

"How much time do you think we have before they decide to land?"

"An hour at most."

"We'll work with it." Delmaria commanded as he rounded back around the cliff, heading up through the front.


The survivors all sat down huddled in to little balls across the extent of the elevated, grassed area, covered with a luscious rooftop of trees, providing shade. They cried and screamed, thousands of people huddled in to such a limited length. They leaned of each other, rocking back and forth, crying, sobbing, coughing, screaming in outright grief and despair. Soot covered their faces, their clothes drenched in water, sweat, and blood. The blood of their brothers.

Delmaria, Lawrence, and John carried a large crate to the center of the plateau, in a little opening between a few of the people. As they laid down the box, Delmaria caught the eye of a small child. He huddled alone, with a small sailor doll clutched to his chest, soot across his face. He looked up at the fearsome pirate, and talked in French to the man. Delmaria couldn't decipher it, but he made out one word - mother.

Darkskull stepped up on to the soapbox and shouted, trying to get their attention. When they didn't respond, he sighed, and whipped out his pistol, shooting it up in the air. They immediately snapped to attention, fear residing in the sound of another gunshot. He cleared his throat as the masses turned to him. "That's better. Who were can speak English?" Delmaria questioned. The majority of the people raised their hands, wearily. "Good enough.

"My friends. We sit here today, concerned, scared. In fear. And for what? Are we simply going to sit here, and allow them to come to us without resisting? Shall we just condemn ourselves to death now, and save them the trouble? Shall we let them come and take our children, our women, our valuables, and our lives? Our shall we take a stand?

"I, for one, refuse to die without a fight. I have lived too long to go down in vein! I will not sit here, and let you all perish at the hands of them!" He motioned outward towards the sea. Slowly, they began to nod, murmur agreements, and wipe their eyes dry. "We will leave this day today, not in a box, but on our feet! And we will walk across through the shadow of the valley of death, we will look the Devil himself in the eye, and we, will, LAUGH!" Delmaria shouted in a crescendo. A few men in the crowd stood up, yelling excitedly, willing to fight.

"We will slay those that wish to destroy our way of life, for they underestimate what it truly means to be free! We will no longer have to live in fear, unsure that we can not take a punch and deliver one back! We will make our stand today, and we will leave precedent our children, our children's children, and generations to come, showing them what it means to be unbound!"

The crowd instantly began to erupt, in a scream of challenging and triumphant roars and cries. They stood, jumped, and raised their arms as one, willing to take the fight to the aggressors. They rallied behind Delmaria, sending waves, nods, and other good gestures in his direction. "Good," he whispered to himself. "Now we're getting somewhere."


Within minutes, the elevated forest area of the island had been transformed in to a bustling hub, groups of ready-and-rough pirates and privateers running back and forth with anything that could be useful. A small tent had been furbished at the center, where the box Delmaria stood on had originally stood, now acting as the center of the revolution. A desk salvaged from the wreckage of the tower laid out an old map of the entire island, showing each and every feature, bend, curve, and structure. The table was surrounded by Delmaria, Lawrence, Andrew, John, and a few of Porc's former captains.

Delmaria pointed down to an area on the map, near the rising of the hill. "Set up a barricade that runs out from the brink of the hill, across to the tavern. Be sure to reinforce the area closest to the hill, so they can't climb up. Run a couple of gunpowder barrels embedded inside the length of the barricade, and take any of the alcohol you can salvage from the tavern, and stock it up next to the fireplace in a nice, big pile. We'll need somebody to stand at a distance from the tavern, with a musket. When I give the signal, that person will shoot in to the tavern, and in to the bottom barrel of the pile. If it goes as planned, the explosion caused by the bullet, mixed with the pile collapsing in to the fire, will cause a big enough explosion that ignites the rest of the barricade, causing a string of parallel explosions that will easily knock out the first dozen lines, and probably more, if he brings along his Keg runners."

"I'll be the shooter." Lawrence steps up, without a flinch. The crew looks at him, unsure if he is bluffing.

Delmaria turns to him. "Lawrence.. are you..."

"Captain. I was raised on this island. I'm prepared to die on it."

Delmaria nodded, motioning a nearby man to throw Lawrence over a musket. As he captures the glistening gun in his hands, he runs off, giving a nod to his captain.

"Alright. I want a row of sharpshooters here, here, and here. We'll line up our combatants behind the barricade, and they'll play cat and mouse until the undead can create a thick enough of a line that we can do some serious damage. Also, keep some gunpowder storage along the edge of the cliffs, in case they get.... ferocious."

"And if we fail?" One of the captains muttered.

"We won't."


The sky blackened overhead as the final crates were thrown on to the hill barricade, the wind kicking up high the waves, some five meters up on to the beach. The clouds swirled overhead ominously, the trees rocking violently back and forth, as the masses of makeshift soldiers readied themselves in their assigned positions. Groups of men lined behind the barricade, wielding weaponry from cutlasses, to shovels, to broadswords, to brooms. Along the sloping edges of the grassy cliff, the lesser of the fighters sat their quietly with guns in their laps, fiddling with how exactly they could pull the trigger. Andrew, who was leading that group, kicked one of them, who was prepared to shoot themselves in the leg.

Off in the distance on an adjacent cliff, far behind the tavern, Lawrence sat their quietly, and alone. He meditated there, looking back on his life. He wondered to himself if it was worth living, and what his impact would be on the world. He was determined that if could not have done something monumental in the past, he would do it here.

Delmaria stood under his tent, along, running his hand over the blade of his golden cutlass. He sighed heavily, taking in the world. The heavy shifting of the trees, the glazing of the wind, the crashing of the trees, the obedience of his new army. He reflected not only on the moment, but on himself. Was he prepared to do this? Was he ready?

Delmaria tugged on his usual black leather coat, slipping his hand comfortably in to his pocket. Yet, he felt something. It wasn't gold, it wasn't a trinket, but it was.. something. He pulled it out slowly, and looked over the old pair of rosary beads. The same rosaries that woman had left behind during the attack on Port Royal. He clenched them in his fist, and kissed his hand, placing it back delicately in to his pocket. He immediately swooped up his cutlass, and ran to his men.

"Get ready me hearties! Today be the day that we show the world what we are - free!" The word gave them another strong, prominent rally cry, waving their weapons above their heads. But they were silenced by the crack off lightning on the horizon. Delmaria turned to see that eerie green fog roll in to the harbor. It was time.

The Undead stormed up the beach heavily, and quickly. Dozens, then hundreds swarmed up to the barricade, as the sharpshooters on the cliff fired down one by one at the invaders. They were picked off, but it wasn't enough to slow the process of the gruesome creatures that trenched up the beach. They moved across from both sides of the shipwright building, which was now set aflame by a few skeletons who carried along with them a few pieces of witchcraft.

The first direct blow was laid on a skeleton as he approached the barricade. This initiated the outbreak of war, both sides swarming from different sides of the barricade to take a knock at each other. They ducked, dodged, jumped, and lunged, trying to swing their way in to the enemy. The humans were far more resilient than the skeletons - but the skeletons had numbers.

They came again and again. When one fell, two rose out of the waters. They had flocked the entire side of the beach, pushing with a great, sweeping motion to try and break through the barricade. Delmaria ran up to the top of the hill, and screamed out "LAWRENCE, SHOOT!", right as the barricade toppled over.

Prince readied his gun as he watched the hundreds of undead pour on to the humans, mixing the battle in to a soup of violence and war. He pointed his gun straight down, a clear shot through the open back door, at the bottom barrel of the tavern pile. As he clicked the trigger, he realized that the gun was jammed. A no go.

It took him no time, no hesitation. Prince immediately stood up and ran in the direction he faced, down the slight slope, towards the tavern. Delmaria, who fought off a rogue skeleton as he scanned for Lawrence, saw his first mate dash in to the tavern. "No..." he whispered.

Lawrence slid to the base of the pile, and began to push with all his might. But the weight was far too overwhelming for him, and he rocked back in to a sitting position. He turned to a loud banging noise at the front of the tavern; the undead were attempting to bust down the door.

Prince jumped up, and walked casually over to the bar. He took a deep swig of a bottle of rum that layed out on the counter, taking a heavy breath. He turned around, the bottle in his hand. And faced the door. He took a final gasp of air, and let it out with a smile, as the skeletons burst through the door. As he looked in their eyes, he smiled, and said "Go back to hell, you dog." He took up the rum bottle in his hand, and threw it out, across the room - in to the fireplace.

Delmaria fell back on to his back as the initial explosion rocked. All he saw was a fireball rocket in to the sky, followed by a string of rapid, strong explosions that ran across the barricade. Fire and shrapnel ran widely, scattering across the entire battlefield. Screams of terror and pain rang out through the island, but to the humans, this was good - they were coming from the undead.

It was a sight to see. Thousands of bags of bones, screaming, running, writhing in pain, set aflame by the explosion. Some slanked to the floor in a heap, others tried to kill themselves with their weapons. And the rest, ran back, back across the hill, the beach, the sand, to the ocean.

They had won.

The pirates threw up all they had, screaming and crying in joy, dancing over the destruction and rubble. Husbands hugged their wives, mothers hugged their sons, brothers embraced their brothers. For the first time of that day, there was a new hope - a hope of freedom, not from government, not from dictators, or tyrants, but a freedom from fear. They reveled, not caring what the future held for them. All they knew is that they survived, and that the future was bright.

Delmaria paid no attention to the celebration - he ran to the fiery remains if the tavern, a simple pile of ash and rubble set at a blaze. He threw away whatever he could - tables, scraps, chairs, anything that could be moved. He went in to the middle of the chaos, searching wildly. This victory to them would be a loss to him.

Finally, he gave up. He feel back on to his heels, his head down. He took off his hat, and laid it down on the floor in front of him. As he fought back his tears, he pulled out the rosaries from his pocket, and put them out before his hat. He took a deep sigh, and questioned not God, but himself. Why had he let this happen?

And then, a tap. A tap on the shoulder. Delmaria turned slowly and reluctantly, to a bruised, burnt, soot-covered face. "Captain, did you honestly doubt my speed?"

And that was the one time Delmaria Darkskull cried in front of somebody. His first mate.

nice!! love your story mate!

Thank you SEAKING! Glad to see more readers are becoming interested in my story!

This one was a little late in terms of my pattern of posting chapters, but I believe the length will make up for it. So, without further adue, I present to my readers...


The waves rocked along the tanned shore quietly, uncurling the sand grains nestled in the beach, and slowly unwinding them to the seas. The sun delicately rose over the gleaming horizon, in between the far out rocks that scattered themselves across one's vision. The orange, blue, red, and purple pigments swirled around in the sky, creating a breathtaking painting-like view that captured the soul of a being. It was quiet, like that like before it begins to snow, graceful, peaceful - eerie, almost. The island was bare - the tents, gone or left behind, the shops, boarded or burned, and the bay, free from any ships, aside from the Victory Shark, and a single vessel that slowly made its way out, away from the desolated space of land.

Delmaria walked along the beach of the island, from the hill, down across to the shipwright, letting the little waves ripple against his feet. Off in the distance, he stood and stared at the burnt pile of rubble, still steaming a little from the events of the night before.

After the celebration of their victory over the invaders, the privateers went mad, pillaging, plundering, and burning anything they could get their hands on. A few of the remaining French Officers tried to hold them off from breaking the island in to chaos again, but they were easily overpowered by the masses of freebooters. They grabbed any piece of French symbols they could find, from flags, to paintings, to even jewelry, and tossed them on top of the pile of wood that was once Porc's beacon of "justice." They then created a massive bonfire out of it, before gathering their personal affects and fleeing the island in sprees.

Delmaria easily trotted up to the pile of wood, his royal blue, embellished tunic still floating in the wind (he believed that if he was given it, he would keep it.) It was beholding, standing before the former stronghold of one of the greatest centralized forces in the Caribbean. He walked forward, stepping over the little fence-like burnt area of wood, in to the actual site. The cooled embers and splinters crunched before his feet, as he climbed plank over plank to look further in to the wreckage. He had his sights on one item, solemnly determined that it was still there, despite the destruction. And sure enough, as he pulled over the base of a destroyed crate, it was there.

A little, alabaster box sat tilted over on the floor, smoked lightly by the fires that were doused with the rain earlier that night. It was very small, palm sized, but so beautiful carved and textured, that it had no bumps or blemishes. Delmaria scooped it up, and carefully opening it, revealing gold, shimmering ring. It had a simple, gold band, but was topped at the top with a craftful, amazing gemstone. It was a star sapphire, crafted by the mystical powers of the Earth to a bare a deep violet base, with a white, five-point star reaching out over it. Delmaria slipped the ring on to his finger, and nodded quietly, gripping his hand.

The ring was stolen from him by Porc far back during his rebellion against the Pirate Lord, and since was a prized possession of his, often flaunting it at any prospecting privateer who wanted to join his ranks. Delmaria smiled as he felt it on his hand. He turned, and walked paced back to the Shark, eager to reach his next destination, still fiddling with the ring.

He boarded his ship in an eager swiftness, the rest of the crew lousily making the knots in the ropes as they prepared to launch off in whatever direction. Lawrence tranced down from the second deck to his Captain, who shifted his way to the center of the main deck, around the crew. "Seas are open, captain. Guess all of them got scared out. Winds are good, too."

"Excellent. Preload all the cannons and set course due South-southwest. We might just hit up a few ships along the way."

As the crew ran off in their separate directions, Darkskull took one more look at the ring. Eccentric as it was, it was special to Delmaria. It had belonged to his wife.


The sun slowly began to ascend back up across the horizon, the glistening on the water strengthening to create a mystifying entrancement that glazed the eyes of the travelers that lined the large stone dock. A magical blanket of the clear blue sky created a free, limitless atmosphere, until one turned their attention to the sight before them. A thick, large stone dock rose steadily, then faster to the base of a great, massive set of walls leading off in both directions, fading as they cut off around a corner a little less than a kilometer away. The sight was amazing, to think that a man-made structure could be made at such a stature. At the end of the dock was a high, arching stone gate, that led off in to the entrance of the fortified island. Travelers, commoners, and elegantly dressed folk alike bustled up and down the dock, shifting in to and out of the entrance.

On a straightaway along the great stone dock, before the faster incline yet after the steady one, a pile of boxes layed next to the barely unprotected edge of the walkway. At the side of the pile, that faced towards the island, Delmaria stood, his heavy, black brimmed hat lowered to shield his eyes from anybody who tried to meet them. He watched the crowds go by, staring down at their feet. He didn't look, but observed, watching and waiting, cautious yet patience and quiet. He didn't shift or move, until the clank of Navy boots marching in sequence passed by him. As the group of six soldiers, lined in two rows of three walked by, their bayonets pointed in to the air, Delmaria slowly merged in to the crowd only a meter behind them, continuing quietly as though to blend in with the crowd.

When he passed under the daunting shadow of the gate, stepping out on to the short, fuzzy, firm grass below his boots, he paraded past them, now quickly pacing through the crowds, whom were lighter here than on the dock. He watched off his left, gazing over the outline of houses and shops that lined far off in the distance along the great wall, the center area cleared to allow for an expansive place for training, where the public could gaze as they went about their daily activities. A small group had formed near a formation of a few soldiers, who readied their guns at a few sack dummies, firing and stabbing them in unison as their bearded officer barked at them from the front. The esteemed crowd clapped casually, as in respect to the soldiers.

Another separate fort rose to the left , raising up high in to the sky, as Darkskull walked up a small hill, and under yet another gate, larger than the one at the entrance, as a few disgruntled Navy officers glared over the people that walked back and forth. One of them had suspiciously locked on to Darkskull, be the pirate ignored him, proceeding in to a longer strip of land that headed off to the right, the right wall that extended from the front of the island had now worked its way to move down the right. A little ramp led down from the left, where the massive second fort sat, which bore out from the fortification to allow entrance. A few minor tent shops had been set up, where a few people bargained and negotiated in a loud buzz over things from meat, to clothing, to supposed voodoo relics that were told to "cure all illness and disability." Yet the most impressive sight of all was the godly hill that rose straight out along the left wall, reaching far in to the sky. It was crowned by a great fort, which one might say could allow a single person to gaze across the entire Caribbean.

Darkskull headed down the stretch in the direction of a lavish, semi-forested hill that lead up in to another region of the island. Yet he ignored it, and, after checking that nobody was looking, made a sharp, quick right, up to a heavy pair of wood doors. A little slit was on the front of it, just at eye level. Delmaria checked again, and then knocked in a specific order, two heavy, slow taps, followed by five slight, quick taps, and then ending with three unevenly spaced knocks. The slit opened to a strong pair of eyes, which glared heavily. "Password?"

Delmaria, without hesitation, recited "In nomen of Licentia , Nos coma concussio.", followed by the two of them translation at the same time "In the name of liberty, we stalk the oppression." The slit closed, with the door creaking slightly open, followed by Delmaria instantly stepping in, as the door slammed behind him. The large, heavy set guard turned to him, his brow leaning over his gaze.

"Glad to see you again, Captain Darkskull." He saluted in a nod.

"Ah, good afternoon Herald. Glad to see you still are with us." Delmaria looked forward, in to the quiet room. It was a large storage room, piles of boxes, crates, barrels, sacks, chests, and containers of all sizes tossed around in a semi-orderly fashion. Halfway in to the room, it let down in to a depression, which was not visible from where Delmaria stood, due to a large stack in front of him. Little candles sat along the pillars of the walls, lighting the room. "I'm guessing that everybody is in the underground?"

"Aye." He shrugged, returning back to his post at the door. Delmaria walked down, past the pile of boxes, in to the depression. Walking in to the little area, he headed over to the far right corner, where two huge boxes sat side by side. Darkskull gripped them, and shoved them away from the corner, revealing a small, wood paneled door, which was only up to Delmaria's stomach in height, yet was twice in width. He tugged at a small handle on the side, and uncovered the grim sand and dirt floor that he could see from his point. He got down on to a lying down position, and crawled through the small space as though it were a usual routine. He crawled only a small length, before coming in to a narrow, long cave, that winded downward and to the left steeply and sharply. A few torches that were held to the wall by metal holders illuminated the dank, brown cavern, the ceiling looming overhead.

Delmaria headed down the cave in a nice, swaggering walk, preventing himself from toppling over in the abyss. The path was never straight or predictable, constantly turning around and around. It was only after a few minutes of walking and whistling did Darkskull reach a well-sized stone facing, bearing another large, wooden door. The white stone studded out from the deaf surroundings, peeling away a slight light of civilization. A little ornament hung down at the door, to which Delmaria took and slammed it on the door three times. After a few seconds, it opened - and with the door, opened the livelihood.

The pirate found himself submerged in an underground parlor room, filled with tables of happy revelers singing, drinking, and chatting, maintaining a healthy level of insanity, to the point that nobody got in to a bloody bar fight. A bar sat along the far left wall, where groups of men and women dressed in extravagant gowns and common linen alike clinked glasses and ordered round after round, flirting and mixing with each other. It had the regular dim orange hued-light of any other Caribbean bar, but the type of atmosphere was different - tight-knit yet crazily active and joyful, like the feeling of a large family reunion during the holidays. They were all relatively different in appearance, but they had one common piece that dignified them as a group - a little silk band, like a flag almost, that sat over their heart. It was three vertical bands of color, red, blue, and yellow, with their crew's or family's coat of arms put over the bands to represent individuality, yet unity. The red, represented the color of courage and revolution. The yellow, represented justice. And blue, represented freedom.

As Darkskull stepped in to the party, heads began to turn, to stare at the pirate. Slowly, their voices quieted, Delmaria coming down to a halt as he walked among the tables. As he stopped next to one, looking around to see the many faces, a man leaning back in a chair next to him, patted him lightly and cautiously on the arm, stating "Welcome home, Liberator!"

They all raised their glasses in unison and gave a cheer of support, before returning to their disrupted activity. Although it would humble most, Darkskull continued forward, past the room, and up a set of stairs that started at one end of the back wall, and rose to meet a walkway that continued above the walls surrounding the bar. He went up the stairs, rounded around the corner at the top, and then headed across an overhang, a little path that jutted out over the bar, where the chandelier hung from, to the other side. The other side led directly in to another room, with a few steps that ran from wall to wall leading entirely open in to an office-like area. A desk waited there, with a man leaning against it's front, his arms crossed in a smile as Delmaria approached. He was shorter than Delmaria, wearing an old, grizzled white bear, with a rough tricorne sitting on top his dwindling hair. He was puggy, but still in a normal shape. His old, blue eyes laughed as the pirate approached him, climbing up the steps and standing before him.

"Ah, my old friend, Delmaria, good to see you!" He clamped a heavy hand down on the pirate's shoulder, and shook Delmaria's hand with the other.

"And you as well, Admiral."

The two pirates sat there for at least a few hours, elaborately and dramatically going over anything from politics, to past ventures. Delmaria stood firm on the ground that his raid of Havana with the crest of Captain Gerald Blackly far outmatched the cunning of when the Admiral took down a half of the Spanish Royal Fleet Caribbean Division with only a War Sloop manned by himself an a one-legged pirate named Jeffrey. It got to a point where over a simple debate over the profits of silver trafficking did Delmaria nearly punch one of the Admiral's crew mates squarely in the brunt of the nose. It finally began to simmer as they slinked in to a period of silence, and Delmaria got back to the reason he took time out of his day to come here.

"Edward, perhaps you've seen a recent.. pattern in the current events, correct?" Delmaria asked as he propped his legs up on the desk before him, his back leaning towards the open space that led over back down to the bar.

"I'm not sure I'm catching your drift. Explain, please?" The Admiral questioned as he leaned forward in his chair.

"Well... the assassinations, Edward. Longshire and Regald, yes, they were on our hands - but I never heard any plans to eliminate Victorio, nor Porc. And I'm almost positive Roger isn't interested in joining the Libertists. What I'm saying is... don't you think it's a bit odd that Jolly has decided to take breaking down the tyrants of the Caribbean in to his own hands?"

"Well, as much as I like the fact we're getting somewhere in finally opening up the seas again, I can honestly say that I have expected something. What, with this base being directly under the capital of Beckett's iron fist, I can assure you we hear plenty of rumors. Anything from gold resivors to voodoo relics is the supposed reasoning behind Roger's reasoning. I've even heard rumors Roger is trying to work out something with the heavens, but I highly doubt somebody with his... stature, has faith in above."

"There must be something, though. Surely you have an idea."

A sudden roar of screams rang out at the bar, followed by the simultaneous blasting of muskets in the direction of the doors. Orders and shouts, heavy, male shouts, rocked and boomed as the sounds of not only tables flipping over and glass shattering, but retaliation, as cutlasses and daggers flew through the air, out of sight. On the second level, where they were, pirates ran back and forth along the walkways, until one of them ran in to the open room up to his leader. "Admiral... the Navy, they found us!"

Edward had an immediate streak of disbelief run down his face. He quickly rummaged through the pairs on his desk, and threw an envelope in to Delmaria's lap. "Head to building 122 up in the town, and stay low. Everything else will be explained in that letter. Take the door across the walkway, it'll lead you through a passage to a back dock on the island. Good luck."

Delmaria shoved out from the desk and flurried himself across the decorated rug, down the little stairs, and pushed his way through the scatters of pirates out on to the walkway. Darkskull looked down to the bar as he crossed over, watching the groups of red uniforms pile over the pirates, stabbing and swinging their bayonets with precise precision in to their bodies. The large wooden doors were flung open in to the room, a group of Officers making their way in to inspect the floor. A heavy, blank uniform stuck out behind them, but Darkskull darted out to the door across the walkway before he took notice.

Delmaria quickly grabbed the door, went through, and slammed in shut, murmuring the screams from the room behind him. He was again in another tunnel, only much larger in width and in height, with a less dense aura of light to guide his way. He began to walk slowly, until another shot rang out in the room backwards. He came back in to realization, and began to run down the flat, wandering passage. His feet thudded against the hard rock ground, the elevation of the ground staying platued and consistent.

Darkskull finally came to the exit of the cave, rounding a corner to meet a huge carving in the back of the island, the wind spraying water in his face as he stepped out of the passage, and on to the wooden dock. He looked down to his left, where the dock continued hugging the island until a jutting out from the island cut it off. Above, the sun peaked over the edge of one of the higher forts, now at full blaze. He walked along the small dock, the heavy wood not noticing his weight. The waves were quiet, despite the winds beginning to pick up a bit.

When he reached half way down the dock, the heavy pounding of feet made him turn to face a group of gruff Navy Officers, escorting the man in black from before. His body was roughly draped in black, a heavy leather coat covering layers of eccentric white and gold patterned vests. A thick pair of gloves shielded his hands as he slowly ran his fingers up and down a knife of some sort, a black, embedded tricorne covering the area of his face above his brow. His face was middle-aged, the rough edges of his face showing stern order and horrors untold. He stepped away from behind his enforcers, to face Delmaria.

“Mr. Balnette, I’m going to ask you politely at first to come in to our custody. Should you fail to make the correct decision, you will be brought back by myself, alive, or dead.” The man instructed as he stepped forward tauntingly.

“Oh Mr. Mercer, haven't you learned anything in my time in the Caribbean?" Darkskull said as he turned about, returning to his little stroll down the dock.

"As you wish. Ready your aim, ma-!"

It took Delmaria only a few seconds to garnish his dagger and spin around, sidewinding it across the deck. It barely passed by Mercer, but dashed the leg of one of the soldiers, causing him to fall down on to his knee and trigger his bayonet, that shot a fellow soldier in his foot. By the time Mercer turned away from the confusion to look for the pirate, he was gone, diving off the dock in to the waters below. The assassin ran to the edge of the dock, to watch Darkskull swim off around the corner of the massive cliff.

He frowned, disgruntled, as he turned back to his soldiers. He walked past them, back in to the cave, stuffing his throwing knife back in to his pocket. He walked over to the wall, where a torch sat, and picked it up off it's place. He walked back over to the dock, and tossed it, setting off a fire at the patch of the dock before the wounded soldiers. As the fire spread and the screams rang out, Mercer returned back in to the depths of the underground.


After taking a few days aboard the Shark to relax and allow for things to calm back on Kingshead, he instructed his crew on the plans. They would spread out across the island, and head to the safe house at building 122 at different intervals of time, so that not to draw attention. Delmaria would go first in the early morning, to ensure it would be a safe venture.

He walked up the dock, past the marching fields, and up the long, gardened hill, trees coming off at the sides in a spaced and consistent pattern, leaning over the stone walls at their side. At the top of the hill was yet another large, stone gate, roughly the same size as that of the entrance. A few Navy soldiers stood there, watching the people walk in and out of the town. Luckily, Delmaria was cloaked over so that his appearance was hardly recognizable. He bypassed the guards in to the town, a quite small expanse, reaching to the left about half the length of the marching grounds. Houses and buildings run along the walls of the town, sitting cloaked under pillars or overhangs. Delmaria finally found building 122 nestled in between a gunsmith and a storage facility. After checking to make sure nobody was looking, he pushed through the small door and shut it quickly.

The building was completely vacant - no furniture, no forms of life, nothing. It consisted of a regular foyer with a vertical staircase leading up around a bend to the second floor, where two adjacent bedrooms sat. A little corridor sat to the left of the foyer in a little depression, and then down a long, narrow halfway, at the side of and then under the staircase, sat another, empty room. Delmaria triple checked the building, making sure the rooms were empty, the floor boards secure, the windows nailed shut. Finally, he went in to the left room from the foyer, sat down right in the middle, and tugged his massive coat off. He got himself settled, and pulled out the letter that Edward had given him.

All throughout the day, as crewmate by crewmate made their way in, Darkskull focused on the piles upon piles of documents that poured out of the envelope. From detailed trade routes, underground maps beneath Port Royal, Delmaria shifted through all of them, studying them.

He finally came to a report written by one of the captain's of the Libertists, to the Admiral, concerning the siuation in Kingshead:


Admiral,

Libertist ships have successfully managed to cut of grain supplies coming in from the South and West, which we've ferried back to the safehouse in Perdida. Navy soldiers are being deployed back to Port Royal in order to compensate for the lack of food. We've reported upwards of at least 250 soldiers returning to Charles, and 100 to Dundee.

Spies planted in Beckett's Quarry have uncovered the rumored plans by the Company, which depicts a new tunnel that will be excavated to go under the Corzana Tattoo Parlor, stretching out under the bay. Fortunately, it's path will not come within reach of our rumrunning path from the Skull's Thunder to the docks.

Reconstruction of Fort Charles is steadily gaining momentum with the influx of Navy soldiers. Progress is expected to slow, however, once Christmas arrives. Libertist Lt. Johnathan Perels, Captain Ronald Times, Officer Luke Rials, and Captain Delmaria Darkskull and their crews are to be rewarded for their ability in aiding in a swift a destructive cleansing of Fort Charles.

Lord Ambrose Royals (Delpadros Darkskull, son of Libertist Captain Delmaria Darkskull) has begun the militarization of Port Royal. Reinforcements of Navy soldiers have begun regularly patrolling the town and port, with inspection of all cargoes and ships entering and leaving the port increasingly significantly. Taxation on all land claims, imports, and exports have increased by 3.58% in the past two weeks. Children in schools have had their courses shifted to include lessons on "The Evils of Piracy" by Herald Lessington and the Mandate of Laws and Actions for the Reprimandation of Acts of Piracy and Treason. Execution rates of all pirates, suspected pirates, and relatives of pirates have also increased. Until further notice, all Libertist members should remain away from and around Port Royal.

On a further note, Lord Ambrose Royals has recently planned an unannounced trip to Kingshead, in which he will meet with head Naval and East India Trading Company Officials. He will arrive in the port roughly three days after you receive this letter. An assassination order has already been filed against him, and will be conveniently carried out by Libertist Captain Delmaria Darkskull.

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Ok, so this wasn't extremely exciting, but it was filled with more story than action. At least this will set the foreground for things to come ;)

Can't wait to here comments and reviews, mates! Thanks for reading!

:pirate2wn0: finally, pirates are planning to take over port royal!

I tried to mix in a little suspense with this one, although I'm not sure how it'll be blowing over with you all. Either way, need to experiment, aye?

Here you are, mates! I present to you all:



It didn't take Delmaria long to prepare for the evening. Before him on the wooden table, located in the middle of the little corridor he had furbished in to a small planning area, he laid out everything he might need. He was cloaked completely in black, linen clothing - tight, moveable pants, light, buckled boots, a flimsy, airy long sleeved shirt, and a small black bandana. He tucked in a few daggers in to his belt, along with a bag of firecrackers, for reasons unknown even to him. A map of the fort that was sealed in with the Admiral's envelope was tucked in to his right boot, full with details on the patrol routes of the soldiers.

He had spent the past two days laying low in the empty building, syncing together each and every aspect and detail of his plan. The crew spent their time around the town, perhaps stealing a few odds and ends, despite their captain strictly telling them to not draw any attention whatsoever to them. The only people who stayed in the house regularly were Buck, who was receiving delayed kick-backs from the medicine Grace had given him to heal his wounds back on the Cove, and Grace, who was responsible for healing him.

Finally, earlier this morning, the crew was spread through the gathering crowd, watching Lord Ambrose Royals being escorted by his convoy of guards from the deck, up through the town, in to the higher areas of the island, which was blocked off from the public. As he passed, random people in the crowd booed and threw rotten fruits and vegetables at him, jeering out against his actions on Port Royal. Delmaria was all the way in the back of the crowd, and although he could barely see his son, he knew that something was different about him. Whether it was a vibe of confidence, or depression, Delmaria couldn't tell.

As he checked all of his things a final time, and quietly made his way to the door, to undisturb the crew sleeping in the rooms upstairs, he was caught off guard by, of all people, Deadpool. He was standing at the top of the stairs, in his night clothing. He stared at Delmaria, who had his hand gripped around the door knob faintly, looking at him. "Captain, I know he's your son," Dead said shaking, "But I want you to kill him slowly and painfully, like they did my father."


Delmaria walked swiftly through the town, hugging along the buildings to his left, towards the two pathways one on top of the other that ran up across the side of the fort. He walked over to the pillar all the way at the end, closest to the fort, and looked around quickly to see if anybody watched him. When he saw he was along, he passed the corner of the store that nearly hugged him, in to a little space in between the column, and the wall of the store. He put his feet on the wall, and his hands on the pillar, and used the counteracting pressure to scale himself up, to the lower of the two walkways. When a nearby tree began to reach over, Darkskull slowly slung himself on to it, easing his way up on to the thick branch. His height was just enough to allow his arms to reach the edge, and jumped up to grab it. He scrapped his feet on the wall to help him, and watched silently as the guard passed by. As the guard went on to his left, marching towards his goal, he instantly sprung up on to the path, and wielded one of his daggers. He ran up behind the guard, grabbed the back of his head, and slit his throat from the front, tossing his body off the cliff to the right, to the deep waters stories upon stories below.

He went across the rest of the passage to a little tunnel that led to a small courtyard, with a stone staircase leading up to the next level. A guard lazily stood at the top, letting his eyes wander around him. Darkskull got as close as possible before being detected, and then flicked his dagger at the guard, piercing him in the pelvis. He toppled over head first down the stairs, the pirate letting his lifeless body pass him. He dragged the body in to an empty barrel, and tucked him in before putting the top on. "Sweet dreams, mate."

The stairs led him up to the top of the square courtyard, where he followed up a little hill, then turning around a bend to continue it. A single guard stood in his way, but he quickly grabbed him by his collar, pick him off his feet, and tossed him violently behind him, rolling him uncontrollably down the hill. When the finally reached the top of that incline, he faced the top fort of the fortress, beckoning him like the crown of Mount Olympus.


Ambrose delicately poised himself, back straight, head up, as he dunked the bag lightly in to his tea cup. He easily let it down, to let it rest. The heavy, red outfit he was wearing was, for the most part, ridiculous. A tall, overpowering hat ran from the front of his face to the back like a white, blazing mohawk, dressed in gold and red embellishments and fabrics. He coat was thick, blood red, with golden lines running across from button to button to create a regal affect. The rest of his fancy, tuxedo-like clothing was hidden under the coat, except for his lavish pants and boots, and the white gloves over his hands - or, hand. The damaged one was still wrapped.

The small, gothic styled room was a greatly dramatic, almost church-like office space, with a small window in the stone wall behind the desk that let in a small midnight breeze. Two Navy guards shifted back and forth over by the wooden doors, sighing in a tired and hopeless manner.

"I assure you, Mr. Mercer, by the time my reconstruction project is complete, The Company will have it's very own head office in the new and improved Fort Charles." Ambrose assured as his hands went on to the table.

Mercer, who sat on the opposite side, erect yet slightly bent forward, his usual stern gaze staring down at the Lord like the barrel of a gun. There were a few smoke spots on his cheek, but he brushed them off so not to draw attention. "That's not exactly the point. Your dues are long over your time limit, Mr. Royals. You exactly expect Lord Beckett to continue waiting, buying over favors for you, while you pass over project and project alike? And I ensure you, he grows more impatient than me."

"Trust me, Mr. Mercer. These will produce, over time, serious resul-"

"You can't just play the 'Son of a Pirate' card every time trouble pops up. The Company paid good money to cover up your past, but all you seem to focus on is your past. Do you really think things will go well if you prove common speculation?"

Ambrose had enough. He stood up, taking off his hat and throwing it on to the table. e undid his bowtie as he walked towards the door. "I’ve had enough prosecution for one day. Good night, Mr. Mercer!" The two guards opened the double doors, and he strutted out in to the cool night.

He paced to his right, down the long, stone walkway that ran at the top of the wall of the highest fort of Kingshead. He looked out over the edge - from his vantage point, high in the sky, the marching grounds far below looked like a blur in the night. The ocean was limitless in his view, him being able to make out the shadow of a nearby wild island, and off in the distance, the Spanish island.

He let the cool winds hit him as he neared the end of the West wall, now approaching the North. He was coming upon it soon, when he stopped in his tracks.


"Move and I kill you." Delmaria threatened as he pointed the dagger in to Ambrose's throat from behind. He shook him a little, then gripped his head with his hand, and threw him over, on to his back. The pirate stood where he was, brandishing his pistol menacingly.

"Get away from me, you bru-" before he could finish the sentence, Delmaria threw the dagger with the flick of his wrist and nailed the dignitary in the left thigh, send him in a shock of pain. The pirate walked over and commandingly pulled it out, side winding it far, over the Northern wall, in to the night and down to the oceans, right as he pulled out another. He stood up, and stamped on the cut.

"If you don't want to be considered my son, then you won't be treated us such." Delmaria grunted as he kicked Ambrose in the chest, then picking him up by his shirt, and tossing him over to the North wall. Ambrose caught himself, throwing his left arm on to it, supporting him as he bent over on his wounded leg, facing Delmaria. The pirate just stood there, viciously. "Now, I'll ask you, what is your name?"

After taking a deep gas on breath, the Lord pushed out "Ambrose Royals, governor of-"

"Wrong answer!" Darkskull shouted, flicking his new dagger so that it grazed through the air tauntingly, only a few decameters from his face. "I'll ask AGAIN, what is your name!?", almost yelling as he stepped forward tauntingly.

He heaved in pain and terror, finally, almost begging, "D-d-d-Delpadros... Delpadros Darkskull! Delpadros Darkskull...." he repeated, terrified.

Delmaria instantly put away his dagger, taking another step forward. "Good. Maybe now we can talk, hm?" He wiped his hand over his face, pulling his bandana off and rubbing it over his face. "Well, Delpadros, you really are a piece of work. Dedicating you life's work to killing your father, just because you couldn't succeed at doing it yourself."

Delpadros struggled to stand up without using the wall, his wide stance wobbling under pain and pressure. His face was glaring, a few strands of hair falling in to his face. "All I've ever wanted was you out of my life, but you can't seem to get the hint. I've been forced to take matters in to my own hands."

"Ah, but I'm your father. It's my job to watch over everything you do, no matter how far you try to push me away. And I can't do that if I'm dead, can I?"

"I don't.. need YOU. Do you ever think that if I as a child had to live without a father, that I can support myself without a f-"

"My father is DEAD!" Delmaria stepped forward in rage, almost like he was about to pounce. Delpadros fell backward, sitting with his back to the wall. "When I was younger, I never had a father. He went from place to place, because he was a PIRATE. The only time I ever got to see him was once in a blue moon when I was younger, and by the time I was an adult, do you realize when was the first time I saw him? He was in my arms, bleeding to death! I never even knew him. But do you know what?

"I still loved the man. I didn't care that he was never there for me. I loved him because I was his blood, and THAT SHOULD BE ENOUGH FOR YOU!" Delmaria shouted, almost shaking.

The two just stared there, silently, for a few minutes. Their throats calmed, their eyes retracted, their breathing slowed. Delpadros steadily returned his attention to his leg wound, but he was still distracted, almost. Finally, Delmaria spoke:

"Join me." He instructed affirming, looking confidently at Delpadros.

"What...?" The son asked, trying to understand if he heard that right.

"Think of it, Delpadros. Think of what we could do.. together. You'll be free again."

Delpadros slinked back, letting his eyes wander off. He thought heavily, concentrating all of his thought on the subject. Delmaria just stood firm, watching his son contemplate the one thing that may revive their bond. His heart raced in anticipation. As Delpadros took a final sigh and prepared to speak, and click.

"Step aside, Mr. Darkskull." Delmaria turned to the barrel of a pistol staring straight at him, held at the handle by none other than Mercer himself, yet again. His attention was not focused on the pirate, however - moreover, on the lord.

Delpadros stared wide-eyed, kicking his legs to push his back on to the wall. He looked at Delmaria, who was slightly off to the side, so that the assassin had aim, but was still right by Delmaria. He looked to Mercer, then his son. And in his eyes, he saw fear.

"Your dues are much too much to burden, Mr. Royals. Mr. Darkskull, please, do yourself a favor and walk away. I will just be easing your load. I promise, it'll be quick." Mercer nodded, motioning his free hand to send Delmaria off.

Darkskull watched himself. He remember, his son will forever be his son - but he came here not to mend battle scars. Slowly, he shifted over to his son, nearing to the side so that he may round the corner. As he neared, Delpadros's heart sank. He looked at his father, not saddened, but ashamed. He felt that the one hope that could liberate him, that sat far back in his heart, was gone. Yet as he gave a finally look, he saw only one thing - a flash of hope, in a wink of an eye.

As he hit the corner, Delmaria spun instantly, wielding his pistol and instantly shooting it at Mercer. In a stroke of luck, the bullet graced through the air, and made impact - squarely in the forehead.

As the blood ran down, Delmaria rushed over to the body, appropriately dressed in black. He went to his knee and looked it over, unraveling the pistol from its hand and tossing it over his should. He glazed his eyes, quietly, looking over his results. He took his hand and ran them in to Mercer's coat, pulling out that long, embodied, eccentrically lavish set of knives, wrapped in a small cloth. He nodded in solemn approval, put them in his weapon belt, and turned back, to face another gun.

His son, whom he saved only moments ago, had Mercer's pistol, now pointing it at his savior. His face was red with shaking anger, grunting as his hand wrapped around the gun. Yet it was blanketed lightly in regret, as he whimpered, "I'm so sorry."

He gripped at the trigger, but immediately dropped the gun before it fired. Off from the right, along the North wall, an empty rum bottle was throttled through the air, crashing and smashing on Delpadros's head. He went in to a shocked daze, before slinking off in to sleep. Delmaria looked over to John, standing there swaggeringly.

"You’re welcome, Captain." He chuckled.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Not sure how I can really respond to this chapter... so I'll leave that up to you all!

Also, just a note. The next chapter involves a new character entering the story, so, for just this once, I'll open a call for anybody that wants to nominate their pirate for inclusion. Just post below, or PM me, if you want to apply.

Be sure to comment and review, mates! Thanks for reading! :bookishfj7:

Great chapter mate!

The excitement has gripped me into the moment! I wait for the awesomely awesome answer to the cliffhanger!

Thank you mates!

Sorry this took a while mates, but between Real Life, and the overall length of this chapter, it was quite the ordeal. But, I finally managed to get myself to finish it! And so, without further adue, I present to you all:


Delmaria, John, and Lawrence returned to their makeshift home quietly and undisturbed, the rest of the fortress still sleeping, unaware of what had transpired the evening before. They were met, however, quite warmly, as the rest of the crew was left restless after Lawrence and John went to the aid of their captain. The rest of the crew had prepared a hearty breakfast of pork, eggs, and rum, all of which had been stolen beneath the grubby hands of the towns citizens the day before. The crew was eager to head off the island, but Darkskull persisted they were to stay for just a few more hours. "I have a plan.", he told them.

The next morning, the sky was once again clear and crystal, shining like a mirror of the glorious ocean that gleamed at itself. The port was filled with a great bustle, for what was to be occurring. All through the night, the Navy was occupied with making the public hangings of all the Libertist pirates they were able to capture.. before they killed themselves, at least. They had set up gallows in the side-fort over by the market place, right past the marching grounds, picking off the pirates six at a time on the hour. As the sun rose, the crowds around the area grew, and the bodies rose. Yet the Navy saved the best for last, so that all the dignitaries and people of the island may observe the last and most anticipated hanging, at noon - that of Libertist Admiral Edward Low.

Masses of people had flooded the floor of the fort, with Navy Officers and British Officials looking down like vultures to their prey. Among them was Lord Ambrose Royals - and he himself was a spectacle. His right eye was swollen black, and bruises danced around his face and body. Ever so often, the people around him would turn to take a glance at the shipwreck of a man, to which he turned them away with a snarl.

At the far side of the fort, across the entrance, was a small, wooden door, which led in to a jail-like area - a wall of cells lined the right side, and on the other, was a wall of separated openings that looked out over the grand ocean and all its glory. It's here where out vigilant crew worked hurriedly, using their cutlasses to hastening cut open the locks of the cells, hurrying the ragged jail dogs out. Delmaria, in his great black outfit, brimmed hat and all, stormed in to his crew. "Are all the wires set?"

Andrew, who was digging his blade in to the last cell, yelled "Aye captain! All factors are as go!"

"Excellent! Ok, Andrew, Dead, ferry these scurvy knaves down to the docks. The rest of you, assume your positions. I'll be in here to set the fuse."

On his word, the crew automatically flipped up the hoods of their long robe-like coats, draping their head and down in to their vision, and scurried quickly out in to the crowd that waited out in the fort. Once they left, Delmaria walked over to the openings in the wall, and leaned over one of them, taking a breath of the soft ocean air that swirled around him. For just a moment, the roar outside calmed - it was only him and the ocean, thinking and moving back and forth subconsciously as one, the pirate and it's only master. He was at his nirvana.

And then, the great forthcoming.

The crew, who had scattered themselves throughout the crowd, turned their attention with the rest of the jammed fort to the entrance, where a path was formed, along with two Navy soldiers, side-by-side, dragging in what seemed to be a person. As they passed, the crowd erupted in jeers and calls, throwing both words and objects at the prisoner, who was purposely exposed by the Navy for humiliation before execution. His clothing was tattered and soaked and blood, with a dingy potato sack over his head.

They dragged the poor soul up across a flight of wooden stairs that led to the platform of the gallows, where now they had a clear view of everything that transpired before them. The stocky man was decorated in a nearly destroyed, mangled outfit, that was both regal and rebellious, golden studs running over the shoulders, vest, and arms of the dark black jacket. The two soldiers tugged his coat off, handing it to another soldier who waited off at the side. They then proceeded to pull off the bag over his head, revealing to the crowd the bloodied face of the Admiral.

Delpadros stood up from chair that watched directly down towards the gallows, and flicked his hand to hush the crowd. When they all were silenced, he began to speak. "Mr. Low, any final words before you return to where you belong?"

At that call, the crew spread out and took a quiet standing behind a few of the Navy soldiers that stood at attention in the fort. John rushed back to the jail, where his captain stood, staring blankly in to space. When their eyes met, Darkskull instantly nodded, and drew his sword, cutting it along the floor to ignite the string, the flame creeping along it, out the door, and in to the fort.

As the spark moved quickly, Dead and Buck moved along either side of it, pushing people that were unknowing as to what was going on off its path. The string had one flight path in mind - the gallows.

Up on the gallows, Low stood, his head lowered and his eyes half closed. He seemed to be thinking - but instead, he was waiting. He waited until he began to hear the faint noise of a sizzling off in the background. At that, he turned his head up, as the flame along the wire neared its final destination. He looked Delpadros square in the eyes, and said, with a smile, "You lose, mate."

The instant the spark made contact with the crates of gunpowder, they instantly ignited, exploding in a great boom that took out the two back legs of the gallows. Dozens of people were lifted off their feet, thrown in the air by the great fireball, as Dead and Buck ran to the now collapsed structure, where the Admiral had rolled to on the ground before him. As they ran to recover their comrade, the crew made a swift cut with their blades across the throats of the soldiers they were standing near, ripping off their cloaks and hurrying to meet up with the others so they could rush to the bay.

Delmaria rounded out of the jail to observe over the scene - the great, beautiful chaos. Masses of people were thrown rampant, running in every direction possible to move, somewhere. As Darkskull stepped out of the shadows, he turned his attention the sky, pulling out his pistol. He watched up on the ledge as his son protested what was going on, banging his fist in terror on the stone slab as he shouted over and over in to the fort. His red, horrific face finally turned in the general direction of Delmaria, all the way yonder. The pirate readied his pistol and aimed it, leaving a wash of unexpected terror on the dignitary's face. "Politics are politics.", he whispered under his breath, shooting the bullet through the air. It took only a second for the projectile to take his son in a twist down to the floor, out of vision.

As the captain ran off to catch up to his crew, John chased after him. "By God Captain, what was that!?"

"Relax," the pirate assured as he briskly made his way down the stone ramp, "any pirate with good vision could tell all I did was pierce him in the shoulder. Fortunately for us, I hit him over his good arm."



The Victory Shark waked quietly in the warm ocean waters below, rocking side to side as the great gusts of wind came and knocked waves on to the deck. The night was dark, with only being able to see maybe thirty feet off the side of the ship. The rest was a void, hidden in the droplets of water that swirled through the air. The ship was alone, the outside quiet. But the inside of the ship was just the contrary.

The two crews, Darkskull's and Low's alike, mingled with each other below the deck, in the crews quarters. They chatted, rambled, and laughed, as they tried to out-do the other crew in terms of strength and stories. The wind roared outside, but the bustle within the quarters was overpowering it with ease.

Up in Captain's Quarters, Delmaria and Low were alone, both wielding long, narrow sabres. They had been practicing their technique throughout the night, trying to get to the other round after round, game after game. Both had begun to break a sweat, but the competitiveness between the two comrades was enough to keep them both occupied well in to the night. They would take a few seconds in between each round to laughingly exchange either insults or compliments, then throwing immediately back in to the duel. It must have been at least three hours, a little after midnight, before Low was able to cut his blade and knock Delmaria's saber out of his hand, flying it across the room. Darkskull turned to the captain and said "Touché, Admiral."

"Ah, you're not so bad yourself, mate." Edward set as he let down his blade. "Gah, I'm getting too old for all this pirating business."

"What do you mean, Admiral?" Delmaria stopped in his tracks as he was stunned by what he heard.

Edward continued to run his cleaning rag along the blade. "You know too well what I mean. I'm well past my prime, mate. My bones creak and my legs ache. After the little switch-a-roo I pulled in Martinique at the gallows, I suspected the world lost sight of Captain Edward Low. Unfortunately, I was mistaken, hmm? Needless to say, my involvement as a pirate has begun to bring more terror than prosperity. After I can get back to the nearest port, I'll be sailing off, alone, to a quaint little village up in forests of eastern Mexico. Safe and away from prosecution, where I can hopefully live a peaceful elder life."

"Oh, like I haven't tried that, mate." Darkskull said as he went behind his desk to sit down. "I've made plenty of attempts to seek refuge from civilization."

"Ah, but Delmaria, your failure to do so isn't that you couldn't do it, it's that you didn't want to do it. As much as you try to convince yourself you never wanted this life, that rush that tingles in you veins... you taste it once and only want more, eh?"

Delmaria leaned back in his chair to think. Was he really the civil, quiet person he thought he was, condemned to his waters, or did he really subconsciously force himself to not give up on the life of pillaging and plundering? He didn't want to go in-depth, as he was tired. But a quick snap in his mind led him to change the subject. He immediately tugged out a folded piece of paper he had in his pocket, and unfolded it.

"Admiral, I now remember why I came to see you. I found this map here on the person of the now deceased Don Victorio, bless his soul, cradled in his cold, dead hands aboard his death voyage. Needless to say, it must be something if he gave his life for it. I tried to decipher it, but it's... different." Darkskull took the ancient piece of parchment and handed it to Low.

The map was less than ordinary - it was not a map of the actual Caribbean, but just random areas thrown unorganized all over the place, out of order and coordination. It was surrounded by words in all sorts of languages, unnoticeable and unreadable. The sight of it nearly gave the Admiral a headache, but he certainly recognized it. "I remember seeing this somewhere... just, not sure where. All I can tell you is that that little island right there seems to be.. well... it looks like..."

Delmaria instantly raised his hand to silent the pirate. They looked around, to the faint noise of creaking. Delmaria slowly walked over to the window of his ship, and, through the fog that covered them, say something moving, from the back of the ship to the side. It was more of a flutter than a solid shadow, but nevertheless, terrifying. Darkskull watched it move along the side of the - followed by a fierce flash, like the crack of lightning followed by thunder.

The entire ship jolted back and forth, as if they were being attacked from all angles. Delmaria fell to the ground with a thud, bringing his hat off his face to frantically look about the earth quaking cabin. The Admiral was using the desk as a support, swiping Darkskull's cutlass of the table, and tossing it to him. Darkskull staggered to his feet, caught the handle, and busted down the little hallway, through the door, in to the night.

The wind whirled and the water flew as the waves slammed over the deck, creating a great, dramatic effect that swirled around him. Delmaria yelled across the ship to bring all crewmen to attention, as they spilled out from the hull, running to any cannon in sight. They were caught of guard, straggling, but the two combined crews moved with swiftness and anger that strived them to create chaos amongst the enemies as was done to them. Suddenly, a large, firm hand clamped down on his shoulder, and the captain faced Low, who pointed his attention to the sea, on both sides. "Look!"

Delmaria turned to see the running about of sets of triangular sails, a vibrant green with golden crescents that hung down in its shape almost down to the slender, sleek hull. There was not one, however, but three attack ships, moving around the Shark fiercely in a circle. "Corsairs!? What in God's name is... BAH!"

"Shall we send them to the locker, captain?" Lawrence shouted as he ran from the main deck, up the stairs, to his captain.

"No, no. They're too quick to hit. Look-" Delmaria pointed to a noticeably bigger ship between the three. "That one. We'll need to board it."

"Aye aye! ALL PIRATES, LOAD YOUR HOOKS AND AIM FOR THEIR ARMS!" Lawrence shouted as he ran off to the side. As he reached the side, the middle mast of the massive War Frigate toppled over to the right side. The great creaking and splintering as it fell magnified as it swooped through the air, almost flying in the wind to land off in to sea with an amazing splash. The cannon fire raged through the enormous distraction, hurling from both sides as a few cannoneers tried to grapple the grand Xebec. Their shots just fell practically short due to the wind, until a lucky shot latched down on to it. The Xebec was in no comparable weight to the War Ship, so a single hook slowed it enough to allow the others to bring down a few more. They then attacked the ropes to the gigantic pulley system, pushing with their might in a circle of labor to turn the ship in to them. This went on as the two other ships fired down, and the free crew of the ship fought them off with anything from heavy round shot to simple knives and spoons that they shoved in to the cannon.

As the side of the two ships met, the sight became clear - a crew of about eighty aboard the War Frigate against close to two hundred running above and below. Darkskull instantly pulled up a rogue plank, torn from the ship, and laid it down between the two, instructing to his crew "Let's show these Barbary bastards who boss, aye aye?!"

As he yelled, a Corsair jumped on the board he had laid down and came at him. Delmaria instantly flew his cutlass and cut down across the chest of the pirate, sending him bleeding in to the rough waters below. "Move pirates, move!" The captain yelled, followed by a flood of Shark's crew pouring over the little planks laid in between the two ships, and on to the deck of the Xebec. Delmaria was one of the last to come over, and by that time, the battle was already in full swing. Each pirate was left to himself to fend off two Corsairs, but they were doing a good enough a job as was. As he feet slammed to the wet, lightly colored deck, the pirate ran straight in to the mix, taking his first jab through the Corsair's stomach. Almost as if it were instinct, three other Corsairs came down upon the Captain, but they their light sabres were easily deflected by the thick, heavy cutlass.

The middle Corsair came in with a thrust, but the captain was easily able to curve around it and return with a deep cut that ran from the Corsair's right shoulder down to his pelvis, then running off and chopping the Corsair next to him in the leg. As the two fell in pain, the third came rushing in with a flurry of spins and jabs. His accuracy was incredible, but his blade went only so far as meeting with the golden sword. Finally, in his drunken rage, the Corsair slipped on a pool of blood and fell, and Delmaria took that advantage by jabbing him in the foot.

Delmaria then called on a few of the double-teaming crew mates off on the bow to begin to make a push towards the cabin of the ship, to which they did. The crew pushed back the remaining Corsairs with quick jolts and stabs that blockaded them backward, across the deck and the longboats, behind the masts, all the way up to the wall of the cabin. There were about twenty Corsairs left, as opposed to fifty of the Darkskull/Low crew remaining. Low walked to the front of the oppression line and yelled "Drop your weapons, or he'll make sure you do!" he then turned his attention to the man who looked like the first mate of the ship, richly draped in soft silk and linen. "You! Instruct the other two Xebecs to cease their fire, lest they want to be killed too!"

The Corsair's unwillingly raised their hands and dropped their blades to the ground, as the first mate ran to the masts, and, with the help of a few crew men, lowered the beautiful green and gold pennon, and raised the doused white flag. The crew erupted in victory as the Corsair's surrender waved in the sky. Meanwhile, Darkskull had other things on his mind.


"What is the meaning of this!?" the old, weathered Algerian man protested as Delmaria, Low, and a few other crewmen walked in to the lavish quarters. There was a long table dressed in eccentrically designed cloth, that was covered in gold and silver bowls, plates, and other dining tools, drown about. The old Algerian stood surrounded by a few other, younger advisors, who were dressed in to the same extravagant style as he - the flowing silk, the crowning jewels, the dangling trinkets. The all stood their defensively, cautious.

"I should ask the same thing, Your Excellency. Is it just a coincidence that a group of the mighty Dey's corsairs come to ambush me, thousands of miles from the homeland?" Delmaria asked as he reached the far end of the table.

"You have no business in knowing our trials or ordeals in these waters! We are on official business, a-"

"So you decide it proper to risk the structure and stability of your own country to come and fight a simple, resting pirate ship? Hmpf. Guess my assumptions of your inability to fill ben Hassan's shoes were corre-"

"BEN HASSAN WAS NOTHING MORE THAN A FOOL!" the Dey cried. "I will not stand here and let my title be tarnished! Do you are to with us, if you must!"

"Rest assured, Your Excellency, nothing will be done to harm you any further, if you're willing to answer a question or two." Delmaria slyly negotiated.

"Fair enough." Pasha nodded.

"Firstly, why are you here in the Caribbean?"

Abdy sighed as he paced along his side of the cabin. "A few months ago, I received a message from one Lord Ambrose Royal's, from Port Royal. He told me we had business to discuss in terms of our current trade agreement, but felt that it would be appropriate for me to come instead of a dignitary. We met with him just a few days ago on Kingshead, but just a day ago, he ordered a change of plans. He ordered us that if we were to keep any trading ties with the New World, we were to capture and kill a one Captain Delmaria Darkskull. Too much of an offer to refuse."

"An honest start. Now, next question," Delmaria tugged the old piece of parchment, and shoved it in to the arms of the Dey. "Any idea what that is?"

The Dey unfolded the map and read over it for a good five minutes, before he puzzled and handed the map back. "It was definitely Arabic... but the wording was very strange. One could say that would date back to the time of Muhammad himself, but even I doubt that. The only imitative you might be able to follow is the one port that was mentioned on there - Havana."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I'm actually very proud of myself I was able to incorporate actual people in to the story :)

My apologies to Dog for not being able to hit him in here, but I think it might be possible in the next one.

Well, what did you all think? Please, if you read my story, don't feel shy to comment and review. I know there are alot of pirates out there that read, but don't comment. So, please be sure to review, it'll only make me writing better!

Thanks mates!

Hey del, Just so you know, i'm arab, and your story seems to involve several arabs. so if you need to know anything about that subject, Pm me.

Thank you for the helpful instinct, but that won't be necessary. My Alergian friends were just a little side-character group, which won't be appearing again. Thank you though :)

Aliright Del, anytime. I will wit for the next chapter!

Ok your stories are one of the best series of stories i have every read. (dont kill me) They are very descriptive, easy to follow, and long (good thing) and I await your next chapter! Again don't kill me.

Thank you, mates!

Now, I had originally planned to have this chapter in two parts, but I felt that I could edit out a few unneccesary parts and condense it in to one, which is exactly what I did. This one is a little Christmas directed, so I guess releasing it on the 26th counts :)

So, without further adue, I give you:




The crew pulled in to Havana just days after their encounter with Corsair's, and with magnificent timing. They were hoping to pull in to port just in time for the holidays, so they wouldn't have to spend it aboard the ship, and they conveniently did, porting in the overflowing Cuban city just at dawn on Christmas Eve. They were accompanied by a beautiful sunrise that broke just off to the side of the stone, fortified face of the fort. As they passed in between the massive Spanish War Ships that danced around the bay, some twice the size of the Shark, the half-constructed City Walls revealed themselves to be lined with beautiful decorations of the holiday, wreaths and other delicate plants hanging from it. Behind the walls were rich, gothic buildings, short and stout, so uniquely designed, even though they were just common stores and homes.

As they walked on to the dock, Low came down to Delmaria, who waited on the long stone structure. They met eyes, as Low raised his hand. The two nodded as they shook hands, and Low threw his free one over the pirate's other shoulder. "You will do great things, my friend. Keep the faith." With that, he slipped away, off in to the crowd of the port. The last sighting of Captain Edward Low.

The crew went their merry way, look around the beautiful port. As the crowds move around them, they pointed out to each other marvelous do-dads, eyeballing decorations, and festive revelers and merry-makers that preached old Spanish carols. Le and Sierra were extremely weary, staring suspiciously at anybody they say wearing red, yellow, and orange. At one point Corsaire was even prepared to jump out at a soldier who was prancing around his a French flag, as his friends laughed at his foolishness. Delmaria, however, drew him back with a hand.

Sierra seemed to be listening to Le's whispers, then turned to her captain as they walked around the port. "Captain, aren't you... worried, about our safety?"she said as she looked around worriedly.

"Nah, relax, mate. Back when I rebelled against Porc, he sent word to the big shots down in Pointe-à-Pitre, who were trying to found the city at the time. Had my name plastered on any piece of parchment they could grab. Naturally, the Spanish heard of this, and ordered an entire convoy to ensure my passage to here. Once I got here, they gave me an immediate commendation, and handed me down my first real good ship - the Dragon. Anytime I needed anything, these mates supplied it. Fitting to spend Christmas here." Delmaria told.

After spending anything they had in their pockets down to the last morsel, they got to work. Every crew member headed off to a district of the packed city, looking for some sort of marker to match the map. The map depicted a large, carved bell tower, with a grand christening light emanating from it's beautiful crown where what it seemed like a figure stood. All but Grace, who insisted on staying aboard the ship to practice a specific spell, were shifting through taverns, shops, even barging in to homes just to try and find an answer.

Delmaria was just passing along the side of a long aqueduct that cut through the city, the buildings rising on both sides of it, when somebody violently brushed past him. When he turned to look, he felt his arm tugged toward, and out of his hand slipped the map, flying away in the hand of another. He caught a glimpse of the figure before he ran through the crowd, and the pirate immediately ran in a violent pursuit after him, pushing people this way and that to gain speed on his robber.

As they entered a large, open square near the harbor, Darkskull lifted off his feet and rammed himself right in to the back of the thief, hurtling them both to the ground. He then assumed a flurry of punches to the man's face, spilling blood across the cobblestone. This soon ended, however, when a found a ring of swords pointed down at his neck.


The group of red figures escorted Delmaria in to the main entrance of the Church of San Francisco de Asis quietly, shoving him if their pace turned out faster than his. They headed down the long aisle, passing the dark, wooden pews, as Delmaria from the corner of his eye gazed over the features of the stunning, huge cathedral - the stained glass, the dramatic depictions, the great sculptures. As they approached the alter, shimmered in gold and white, Darkskull found himself before an elderly, withered, Irish-looking bishop, dressed in red and white, staring gravely down at the pirate from his stand.

"Good evening, Your Excellency." Delmaria nodded as he walked up the steps, alone, to face the figure.

"Good evening, my son. What brings you to my church?" The old man greeted in a lightly accented, dry-cracked voice.

"Apparently you do."

"Ah, yes. So I suppose you are the infamous Captain Delmaria Darkskull?" He questioned as he rounded his alter.

"Who needs to know?" Delmaria took a step back.

"The Spanish Inquisition does, my dear friend." He said as one of musketeers came up and handed him the map, the corners dipped in dried blood. "It appears to me you have recently come in to acquiring an artifact which is of great interest to us - this map. Do you have any profound idea what this leads to?"

"I'm sure you do?" The pirate puzzled.

"Ah, you know as much as we do. I guess I shall explain, then;

"Many months ago, we were doing a little work to ramble through some things one of our passed brothers left behind. Among his things, we found this map. Unsure of it's meaning, we sent it off to the Governor, who in turn sent it to our freebooting friend Mr. Avaricia, so that he may send it to one of our newer branches on Padres. Of course, the ship was raided by a brigade of Undead pirates, for whatever reason. We were afraid it had fallen to their hands - but seeing that you hold it makes it much better circumstances."

"So, you're saying, the reason Roger has been dismantling the higher offices of the Caribbean is-"

"-because he believed that we were trying to hide the map away from his grasp. Whatever that map leads to, is definitely important. Which is why we need your help, Mr. Darkskull."

"I'll help you when your soldiers will stop pointing their swords at me."

The bishop nodded, and waved the soldiers away. They instantly went off in a separate corridor to the back of the church. "Anyway. My studies have suggested the map once belonged to a line of Mozarabic knights from Toledo in Spain. And it just so happens, this map would, if it belonged in said line, be in the hands of Havana's very own Governor, Cervantes Aguilar."

"And how exactly am I supposed to be involved in any of this?"

The bishop turned away, to scribble something on a piece of paper, before handing it to Delmaria. "Tonight, the Governor will be holding a Christmas Eve Ball at his manor. I was originally invited, but I feel that editing the invitation to send you off would work much better for the both of us. I must attend to a vigil anyway. When you get to the Ball, I'll need you to pull the Governor away secretly to go over the map with him. Understood?"

"Hopefully."


It was bleakly dark outside at night, but that was covered well by the great illumination of the huge amounts of torches and lanterns that danced around the streets of the city. Groups of beautifully and gorgeously dressed nobles, dignitaries, and other people of some form of social status came in groups through a large, lit garden of shrubs and greenery to approach the official, gothic front of the royal manor, designed like the mansion of a plantation, only much larger, and more dramatic. Among the crowd was Delmaria - just it wasn't really him.

He had once again ridded himself of the Blackbeard gracing of facial hair, for a simple, tamed gotee, with hair cut to hug his head without hanging or bushing up. He was wearing the usual formal attire of the times - the little coat, the tunic, the ruffled shirt, the tight pants and the high stockings, although the attire was as a whole directed towards the Christmas-like end of the spectrum - warm, vibrant colors, like red, yellow, and slight areas of orange and green hued lightly. His head was topped off with a yellow and white feathered hat, as usual.

He walked through the white, luxurious doors, down a long, carpeted hallway, in to a long, high ball room, complete with beautiful wall paper, fine woodwork, and a grand, shimmering chandelier to top it off. The pairs of people swirled regally to the music of the band of instruments that played off to the side, in a little break-away from the room set aside just for them. The mood was charming a lively, but Darkskull ignored any of this.

All Darkskull did was stand in the background, watching, waiting, like a vulture ready to swoop down and claim it's prize. He watched the medium-sized Governor, dressed in an array of frills and pleasantries make his way around the room, chatting with others about things from trade to opposition in the Caribbean. He was wearing a huge, breath-taking hat, which made up for the eye patch that covered his tanned, Spanish face. He watched them laugh, disgusted. To think beyond these walls, people were starving, dying of disease and of poverty.

When Aguilar finally broke away to be by himself, Delmaria followed him. Out of the noisy ballroom, down the carpeted, narrow hallways, up two flights of stairs, and then quietly on to a balcony that looked over the port, glistening in it's own celebration of the holiday as the armadas of ships rocked off in the distance, the land slowly running from the manor, in a slight downward slop to the harbor. The pirate stepped out on to the marble structure, still undetected, where it was only he and the Governor, away from the rest of the world.

"Good evening Mr. Darkskull." Cervantes said over his shoulder as he leaned over the stone railing, still having not looked behind him. The pirate was shocked, and the feeling must have run through the air, as the Governor continued. "Please, like you think I didn't know you were here, following me. Like I didn't recognize that cunning face of yours when I looked over the room."

"Fair enough, Governor." Delmaria walked forward. "So we can make this quick and enjoyable." The pirate proceeded to pull the map out of his coat pocket, and handed it to the Governor, who had turned around in curiosity. "I'm hoping you'll recognize that somehow."

The man's eyes widened in excitement. "How could I possibly? This is amazing! I never believed to h-"

"Easy, sea biscuit." Delmaria put his hand lightly on the top of the map, to reassure his possession of it. "I need you to tell me what exactly this leads to, and what the hell this map is, anyway. After all, a map with no idea what it is has no purpose."

"Ah, yes." Aguilar pondered as he walked around the moonlit balcony, trying to grasp words to explain. "Captain, I'm assured you know the tale of Baron Blut Schädel, or more properly known as Bloodskull, correct?"

"Trust me, more than qualified on the subject."

"Well... during this unpopular reign over the majority of Antilles, aside from many of his famed personal possessions, he gained control of a very wide range of cargoes and treasures, that he entrusted here, in Havana. Of course, after his death, anything with the name 'Bloodskull' on it was subject to destruction, so my forefathers found it their responsibility to hide it in such a way, that it would be nearly impossible to detect or find."

"No wonder this thing is written in nearly a dozen dead languages."

"Precisely. You see, Delmaria," he said as he walked around the pirate, "We can't let this fall in to the wrong hands, now can we? So, I'm afraid this is where your role comes to an end." The Governor, who was over by the sill of the balcony, then drew his sabre, and snapped in to a ready-to-fight position.

Darkskull backed up a little, his stance widening. "Unfortunately, I don't have a blade on me. But, did you expect me to come here empty handed?" Darkskull quickly tore off his coat, revealing a large, full jar of alcohol, and with his right hand, pulled off the wall a lit torch. He popped the top off with his thumb and poured it in a swing to the ground at the feet of the governor, then throwing the torch on top of it. It instantly busted in to a line of flame between them.

As the Governor tried to turn away from the blaze, Darkskull spun around and picked up a vase that sat on a little table at the wall, empty its contents and then jumping over the flame, to where the Governor was. Aguilar flailed his blade, but the pirate hit the jar with it, smacking it away. When he landed, he switched it to the hand farthest back, swinging it over his head and smashing it in to Aguilar's shoulder. The glass pricked out of it in little cuts as a few lines of blood ran down, and as he began to fall in pain, Darkskull grabbed him by the collar and threw him over the wall of flame, he in pursuit. He stood over the laying, defeated man as he hugged his wound, the Governor's royal, shining sabre in hand. He swooped down and picked the map out of Cervantes' hand, and putting it away in his vest pocket. "Can we actually maintain a discussion, or should I take your head away with me, so I can talk to it later."

Aguilar panted heavily with the heat of the fire a few feet from his face. "Gah, the next spot is Port Royal, alright?! Get that damn blade away from my face!"

As the Governor screamed for mercy, off in the distance, three Spanish guards busted through the door, looking for answers to the yelling. When they saw the pirate standing over Aguilar, the rushed in with their bayonets. Darkskull gave Aguilar a final curb stomp to the stomach, and hurriedly wiggled his left foot out of his boot about halfway. When the first guard got to him, he knocked away a bayonet stab with the sword, and kicked up his heavy leather boot, knocking him in the face. He then began swinging his sabre along a horizon to keep the soldiers backed up, until one of them began to stumble backwards. With that, Darkskull spun the sword to cut the standing soldier across the neck, and impale the other one right at the heart. Leaving the three bleeding to death, he jumped over the ledge of the marble balcony, falling behind a very tall shrub that walled in the walkway leading to the entrance of the mansion.

Darkskull quietly gathered himself, lying down to watch as the guards patrolled back and forth. When they were called in to the house by one of their Officers, Delmaria ran out from his hiding spot, down the path, away from the mansion, under the cover of darkness. The blazed through the garden at top speed, the light of the manor fading off behind him. He could begin to make out the dimly lit gates, closed shut and guarded by a single soldier on the outside. Darkskull crouched and made a sleathly approach behind the guard, wrapping his free arm around his neck and stabbing him with the sabre through the back. He let the man slunk to the ground, as he chipped away at the gate lock with his sword. It took a good few thrusts to chop off the metal lock, but once he did, he pushed with all his might to move the iron gate, slipping through the little exit he made.


It took Darkskull a full fifteen minutes to get himself submerged back in to the bustle of the city, blending in perfectly. He had ditched his clothing out in the back quarters for his usual attire that he left hidden in an empty barrel in an alley, and he was now walking around the city, looking for his crew. He knew very well that they had planned to celebrate the arrival of Christmas in a tavern off at the bay, but Darkskull had a different idea.

He walked away from the craziness and caroling of the marketplace, back in to the all familiar square, and through the hardened, gothic doors of the church. He walked in to see only a few elderly men and woman scattered throughout the pews, praying. He walked down the pew, looking at them all. They seemed so solemn and quiet, even with the most anticipated of holidays upon them. Only a few candles lit the huge, majestic cathedral, as his foots on the carpet echoed a smothered sound.

He finally reached the furthest up pew, where there kneeled the Bishop. Delmaria slid down the pew and knelt down next to the Bishop, making not a sound. "I assume you found everything out?" He whispered to the pirate.

"Aye. The map continues on at Port Royal."

"Interesting. Tell me, did he say anything about what it leads to?"

"Supposedly what we're looking for is an artifact left behind by the tyranny of Baron Bloodskull. Of course, he drew the line in the sand at that, and that's where he became less than friendly."

"Bah, good for nothing politicians. Looks like we've got somebody else looking for it, along side the other two."

"Other two?" Delmaria puzzled. "I thought the only other way Roger? Who else could it be?"

With the end of that sentence, the smooth, faint blurbs of cannon fire exploded out from the bay, a light shining through the windows high at the top of the church. The other people in the church began flocking out, and the Bishop hurried up, over to his office. "You'll find out mighty soon, my son. Please, make it out of this port alive tonight, and do not delay in your travels to Port Royal. Everything else will become clear from there.", slamming the door.


Delmaria walked out in to a heavy, chaotic night, with a large buzz of noise roaring past the flurries of people running around the courtyard, over by the bay. Darkskull pushed his way through the aggressive, fleeing people, out in to a little alleyway, and then right out in to the bay, along the pathway that hugged the long length of stores before the docks. What he saw was less than expected.

Out in the bay, the waters churned in a great, destructive swing. The armada of Spanish War Ships out in the bay was under attack by an equally large fleet of pirate ships, pounding their guns in to the hulls of each other. At the center of the epic battle was a group of Ship of the Lines swirling around, their sheer size creating a kind of awe, as though the giants of the Earth were battling before you. Darkskull was caught in this trance, the vagueness of the battle, when across the dismantled crowd, and group of Spanish soldiers noticed the pirate, and began to charge towards him.

Delmaria ran back down the alleyway as a bunch of rogue cannonballs ripped through the air to pocket the town. Stones, dust, fire, and sparks were thrown every which way as he ran through the courtyard, back along the canals, and across a small stone bridge, the soldiers slowly gaining on him. He tore himself through a tented marketplace, pushing away dirtied merchants as he sprinted by like a deer pursued by a pack of wolves. He was nearly cut off by two soldiers who intercepted his path, but he was able to slip his way around them, and continue his run.

So much whirled in his mind as he went on, almost without using any brainpower. Why was the port being attacked? Who was behind the other group after the map? How would he be able to breach through Port Royal?

Finally, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a little path in between two buildings, and he slowly meandered over to it, then violently dodging in to the dirt and grime of it. He crawled behind a stack of barrels, and waited until the Spanish soldiers bypassed him before he let out a sigh of relief. Or should have he?

He turned his head down to the other end of the alley, when a figure who must have been running down the chaotic streets as well stopped before it, then slowly turning to look across, where Delmaria was. She stood there, silent, until she laggingly walked in his direction. As she neared, her face became clearer and clearer. There was no denying it.

"Good evening, Del." Leanne called as she came closer and closer with every step.

"Leanne!" He hurried to his face and began pacing towards her in excitement, before he heard the familiar sound of a pistol being pointed at him. He stepped back, shocked, as the front of the pistol stared at him as serious and blunt as she was. "Leanne...?" He questioned her. Did she notice it was him?

"I wouldn't come any further if you want to live." She urged, glaring at him through the darkness.

"Leanne, what is the meaning of this!? I don't see you for months, and now you come only to pillage the city and point a gun in my face?" He protested, clenching his fists. He didn't feel as angry as he did disappointed.

"I'm only ever so friendly when you don't stand between me and what I want. The map, please."

"Ah, so you're after it to? I can't believe you would let something like this stand between us! I thought we had.."

"All we had was convenient company, Mr. Darkskull. Don't let the empty void in your heart where a family should be cloud your ability to think. I want what is mine, and I wanted it now."

Delmaria was instantly heartbroken. The one link he thought he had in this world returned to him, only to shatter in his face. His stomach sank and his heat fell, as he shaking reached in to his pocket for the map. He pulled out the old crinkled thing, and carried it towards O'Malley. She reached out her hand, triumphant, as the near-defeated captain approached her. Of course, she didn't feel so high and mighty when he kicked up his foot, sending a cloud of disgusting muck in to her face. As she stumbled back to clear her eyes, he ran up, pushed her, pulled away from her pistol, and continued out of the alley, sprinting towards the harbor.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There you go mates! Next chapter should be out before the new year, so not much waiting left!

Loved it? Hated it? Please be sure to post! I find it that I have a lot of readers that do not post! In that case, I need all those shy readers out there to please take a moment to review my chapter. It will only make my writing better!

Thanks mates!

You are a master at story telling. Your story makes me really, really want to go write one myself; if only i had the writing and thinking skills that you do, keep writing mate!

Love it!

But i'm confused, did he take the map or not?

Del still has the map :)

Ahoy Del! I have been very busy with writing my own story, but now that I have concluded it, I do plan to begin reading yours! I read a few passages, and it seems very good. So do expect me to be lurking around here on occasion!

Thank you mates!

I was really eager to write this chapter, so I banged it out quickly, as I foretold. Enjoy :)


The crew escaped the battle at Havana just barely, squeezing in between a battle between two of the War Ships and fleeing out of there at top speed. They found themselves being followed by one of Leanne's tracker ships - a small, barely sail worthy schooner - but they were able to lose it in a small rock formation about fifty miles east of the Spanish port. Along the way back towards Antilles, they tipped off a few Freebooting ships and French Naval Ships that there was a little skirmish going on in Havana, hoping they would head along and slow any of those ships heading towards Port Royal.

When New Spain finally faded in the background and Cuba rose along the horizon before them, Delmaria began to survey everything. All of the knaves that they had used in the battle against the Corsairs were either captured by the Spanish Guard or ran off back in Havana, but Darkskull always felt it was better to have a small, trusted crew aboard his ship than an army of bilge rats. It was vital to take count of everything, as when they ported, they didn't want the Navy slowing them down over suspicious cargo. It was when the ship came within a hundred miles of Port Royal did trouble arise.

Darkskull awoke that morning to find his ship surrounded by a group of British Navy War Ships. He barked at his crew to quickly ready the cannons, until he realized they were tied on the main deck of the ship. Running down to them, he was faced by a stern, croaking Navy Officer, encircled by a group of his crew mates. Instead of saying anything, he stepped aside to very official looking many dressed in black and white, ruffles and heavy cloak covering him all over the place. He was crowned by a white, powdered wig. He rolled out a scroll of paper, and began reading aloud.

"I am here today, Mr. Darkskull, to present to you your respects from the written will and testimony of Lord Ambrose Royles, who-"

"Will and testimony?" Delmaria cut him off. "What happened to him?"

The Navy Officer interjected. "A bullet that had shot him in the shoulder ensued a very lethal infection, which has left him in a very sickly state. He's not dead, but will be soon."

The man in black continued, "-who has left among his titles and possessions to you, Mr. Delmaria Darkskull, the office of the Governorship of Port Royal."

Before Darkskull could respond in his overwhelming wave of shock and surprise, the man continued. "However, it is by the will and influence of His Majesty the King that this motion is challenged in its current status by Commodore of the British Royal Navy, Sir William Teller, who is seated to my right, which shall result in a duel between opposing forces at James’s Cay, Jamaica."



Delmaria slammed his hands down on the table in authority as he looked over who stood in his cabin. Before him stood four captains of the Brethren Court, called in by Delmaria to aid in the upcoming battle. Captains Engrad McRoberts, Margaret Helkins, Jack Landon, and Martel Killings bowed as they entered the cabin, as a sign of respect to the Minor Pirate Lord. Basically, in the event of the Pirate Lord of that region dying or resigning, and none of his crew have the ability to claim Lordship, the Minor Lords of that region will fight for his/her seat.

Before them was an overview of James’s Cay - a large, wide expanse that ran at the side of the massive island. The coat ran straight, north to south, until it cut out west at its farthest southern point, slowly progressing off. Four large rocks were scattered in the battlefield - the first and largest, roughly the size of Devil's Anvil, sat about a mile off of the coast. A few miles south of that was another, smaller rock, almost acting as the centerpiece, with its nearly identical sister sitting directly east, hugging the coastline with only about a ship's length of space to spare. At the south of the area, where the coastline ran horizontal, a rock roughly smaller than that of the Northern one hugged where the coast began to curve, with a space that could fit a Frigate, at most. Delmaria stared at the map for a minute, wondering how to plan.

"Tell me, what are our capabilities and ships?" Delmaria asked to no person in particular.

Landon responded in his offbeat, English accent "Alongside our five warships, ten Frigates, three Galleons, two Schooners, and... a Sloop. A Lighter Sloop, to be exact."

"As opposed to...?" responded Darkskull, still not lifting his vision from the map.

Helkins butted in, in her usual know-it-all Americanized voice, "Three British Ship of the Lines, three Men Of War, ten Frigates, eight Galleons, and five Schooners. No Light Sloops, unfortunately."

"Brilliant. Twenty-six Pirate Ships against Twenty-nine highly trained, well-equipped ships of the British Royal Navy." Darkskull sighed, as he straightened up, looking down at the map. "We'll work with it.

"The British will be entering down at the Southwest, and spread along the Southern Coast before making an advance. Killings, Landon, you will take about two-thirds of the ships and wait to the West of the large rock at the North. McRoberts, Helkins and I, along with the rest of the lot, will wait at the East, between the coast and the little island.

"When you see the British have spread themselves and begin to make their advance, I want your left flank to break Southwest, and your right to head down Southeast. When their Western division moves up, have the ships in the center move directly south, while the rest of you head around and circle them. If we're lucky, we won't end up sinking ourselves.

"Our Eastern Division will wait until their East responds to the Western attacks. Knowing Teller, his ship is going to stay away from the battle, guarded by a few guard ships. We'll maneuver our attacks and sneak up on them with full force. The rest, we'll take from that. Any questions?"

"What of the Light Sloop?" McRoberts asked, smiling.

"Ah, yes. I have plans for that."


The sky was clear and the seas were calm, as the wind blew at their backs. All of the pirate ships were in position, hushed and quieted, keeping their eyes at the other end of the waters, waiting for the British to make their arrival. Delmaria's division was comprised of eleven ships - at the front, four of the ships guarded the light sloop, which looked laughable compared to the size of it's protectors. McRoberts and Helkins's War Frigates say right off of Delmaria's bow, while two other pirate ships sat about half a mile each off the opposite sides of the Victory Shark. He couldn't see what was going on on the other side of the larger rock that divided the northern waters, but he was hoping that everything was out of the usual, and nice and organized.

It was roughly half an hour of tense waiting before the British armada finally rounded the Southern Coast. The daunting red and white war paint that covered their ships seemed to cause doubt amongst the crew, but Delmaria stood at his wheel, firm, proud, and confident. As he predicted, the Navy began to spread along the Southern Coast, the majority of them staying in the West. Delmaria could see Teller's large Ship of the Line pull in and take a hiding spot behind a minor rock at the very far end of the waters, escorted by two guard ships. The rest of the ships took in front of him, lead by another of the Ship of the Lines.

And there they sat. The two forces rocked in their respected spots, staring at each other. Their sails still, their voices hushed. Silently, Darkskull closed his eyes and whispered to himself "Go, Landon, go..."

His eyes were locked near the center of the battlefield, just at the end of the large rock that separated the Pirate forces. His hopes that Landon and Killings would pull through almost faded, until he saw the beautiful black pirate sails of their ships pull from behind the rock, barreling down towards the Navy. The two ends of them split, creating a V-shape that soon engulfed and circled the British's Western division, with the center ships cutting right in to their middle. At the first shot of a cannon, chaos erupted.

Delmaria watched as the fleets of the two forces rained down on each other, the British trying desperately to turn their ships to keep up with the Pirates. The British constantly kept knocking in to and firing at each other, almost as if they were doing more damage to themselves than the pirates. Fires ripped, sails and masts toppled on to other ships, and explosions cracked. Darkskull restrained himself from cheering for his allies, until the rest of his crew started to. Then, he started screaming.

It was about ten minutes of fierce fighting before the first of the Navy ships had an explosion in the interior of their hull, bursting out and tearing it in half, splints and panels flying each way. It was a beautiful sight, Delmaria thought to himself, as his forces slowly began to pick up the pace in the fighting. Rapidly, ship after ship, whether British or Pirate, began to explode, sink, topple, and overall, destruct.

Suddenly, the Navy's Eastern division began to respond, beginning to sail towards the fighting. "Go go go!" yelled Delmaria, motioning to all the ships in his area to begin their assault. At the front lines, the guard ships hugged the small Light Sloop, rogue cannon balls nailing them instead of it as they neared the South. When it seemed the British realized the rest of the Pirates were invading, they begin to circle wilding, trying to turn about to face the Brethren.

But it was too late. Delmaria, McRoberts, and Helkins turned first, sending out a shockwave of lead, fire, and even cannonballs coated in napalm, which broke right in to the scattered British ships. They tried to retaliate, but they were too distracted to prevent crashing in to each other, and the rocks, to fire effectively. Delmaria cut in to the middle of them, came directly up to the Ship of the Line that lead the offensives, and had his crew release a fury of destruction that tore a gaping hole in to the center of the hull. For a moment, Darkskull had an eerie flashback to the Ship of the Line he boarded, where he found Victorio, but he brushed it off, his excitement overpowering it. Port Royal was almost free.

While the pirates had a field day destroying the Navy Ships, Delmaria ordered John to grab the helm while he ran off to the side of the ship, to watch his master plan unfold. He watched as the Frigates, escorting the light sloop, neared up to Teller's Ship, who hadn't yet noticed the presence of the little fleet. The crew of the Light Sloop began to jump, one by one, off the ship, on to the Frigates. When the Light Sloop was fully abandoned, the Frigates pulled away from it, the little ship still going at top speed. Darkskull cheered as he pushed one of his crew mates off a cannon, loading in a single lead cannon ball.

He readied his aim for the Light Sloop, and took a moment to say a little prayer. He only had one shot to take. The one shot that would decide the fate of piracy in the Caribbean. He got in to position, and waited as the Light Sloop neared the Commodore's ship of the line. Four-hundred meters. Three-hundred. Two-hundred. One.

Darkskull fired his cannon, the lead shot flying through the air with mighty speed, whirling through the air. It hit the peak of its arch, and turned downward, descending at astonishing speed. It would be a close one, Delmaria thought. He closed his eyes, and prayed once more. He prayed for his crew, for his brethren, and for himself. But more than anything, he prayed that damned cannonball would make its mark.

At last, he heard it. It turned his head up, and saw he had hit his target. The Light Sloop ignited in a gargantuan, dazzling explosion of fire and might, just meters from the Ship of the Line, setting fire to Teller's ship and his guard ships. Just hours before the battle, the pirates had stripped the little ship, and filled its entire hull and deck with barrels of gunpowder, napalm, and fireworks. The perfect formula for destruction.

The hull of Teller's ship was in full blaze, as the fire ran up the masts and snapped them. A giant plum of smoke ran up to the heavens as the ship spun around slowly in shock and devastation, before finally exploding itself, toppling it's remains in to the warm Caribbean waters. They had won.


Delmaria walked up through the hallways of the Governor's Mansion, all by himself. Cheers and roars echoed the empty halls from outside, where the new Governor of Port Royal, Lawrence Xavier Prince, was making his Inauguration Speech. Delmaria had told the officials of the port he felt the seat would be better held by Lawrence, who was shocked by his captain's choice. Nevertheless, he accepted, with his captain giving him a final piece of advice before they parted ways: "Don't let politics block you from getting what you need to get done, done." He urged.

Darkskull had a full blown smile on his face, knowing he had done well to assure free trade in the port. Still, he felt heartbroken - his most trustworthy crew mate was leaving his ship. Memories that he had with Prince flashed through his head - the raid of Fort Dundee, their charades in New Orleans, their little "Wine Escapade" in Tortuga - he felt as though a piece of him was gone. He would surely visit his mate whenever they were in port - but things wouldn't be the same.

Delmaria finally ascended the stairs, and reached the doors of the Governor's room. He brushed himself off, and went in, shutting the white doors behind him. He was once again in the same familiar office, only it was now accommodated to work as a bedroom. The fireplace blazed off in the left, across from the large king-sized bed, its intricate carvings of royalty and "justice" dancing around the boarding. In the middle of it, was Ambrose - sickly, defeated. His skin was pale and his eyes were blank. He had no emotion - only a small sign of pain, and depression. Sorrow, almost.

"Father..." he called out in a croaked voice, raising his hand.

"Hush, Delpadros." Darkskull said as he neared him. "Did you honestly think you could win me over by sending me to my doom, again?"

"I didn't know...." Delpadros tried to assure, as Delmaria walked around the room. He stopped in front of the mantle over the fireplace, which was decorated in honors and awards. They were either weapons, medals; anything that could be considered valuable. He ran his fingers over them, but stopped when his son said to him, "I'm sorry...."

Darkskull paused, before turning around slowly, his hands behind his back, slowly walking over. A smile was on his face, as he approached the side of the bed, looking down on his son. He flashed one more smile, and said, almost giggling, "I'm not."

Out from behind his back, Delmaria pulled out a shining, gold dagger, and came down with it, stabbing Delpadros right through the neck. He instantly turned away, walking out of the room triumphantly, as his son sat there, motionless. The dagger gleamed as a ray of light glistened on it. "AN EXPRESSION OF GRADTITUDE, FOR ALL YOUR SERVICES," it read.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

:)

Aha, glad to see my invisible audience has returned :p

Well mates, I bring to you my last chapter of the year - how fitting it takes place at that time, as well. Either way, to ring in the new year, here is my next chapter:


The death of the former Lord Ambrose Royles was clear in Port Royal just a day after the murder transpired. All of the ports citizens rightfully knew it was Delmaria who did it, so much so even the Royal Navy knew. Yet the soldiers themselves were too afraid to arrest the pirate, knowing that doing so would result in a public uproar, much more so than what was going on at that time. Celebration had broken out in the streets, much like that of when Don Victorio succumbed to the same fate. Any and all institutions Delpadros tried to enact were pulled to pieces and burned to the ground, from his government banking system, down to a banister of codes that was posted at the front of the port. The textbooks that he had set in at the schools of the port, which denounced piracy and portrayed famous pirates as ruthless, evil mongrels, were taken and used to create a large bonfire at the foot of a statue of the fallen Lord, located right on the hill that lead to the mansion. The statue was also burned.

Delmaria walked around the island in the early morning, the riots calmed and the air stilled, much like he did on Padres. He had gotten in to a routine of taking walks around the port he was at dawn, to help collect himself and his thoughts. He ran his hands along the dirt, the ash, the soot, and the rubble that littered the cobblestone streets of Port Royal. What was once a proud base of military power was now restored to a free, progressive city-state; or at least it was getting there. Darkskull made his way over to the Commerce Quarters, by the small spice market by the Rowdy Rooster, and looked out on the small stone bridge that carried over the small canal, to the lower areas of the port. He stared out as the red-and-orange sun peaked over the horizon. The blood of tyranny was on his hands, and its disgusting taste would plague his thoughts, regardless of whether he who was slain was kin or not.

The day in the port was filled with repair, reveling, reconstructing, and preparation. That year's annual supply of firecrackers from the Far East had finally made its way to the port, with only that day to spare. It was common worry that Delpadros would have confiscated them and brought an end to the long-standing tradition, but that was long gone. The entire town had gone in to ready mode - the firework ships were sailing in to position, the decorations were being hung, the stores, taverns and restaurants were being stockade with food and supplies of all sorts. It was a wonderful time in Port Royal once more.

Away from most of the chaos and chatter, Delmaria had assembled his crew to meet up in the Rowdy Rooster, where they would discuss the further whereabouts of the next objective on the map. Entering the tavern, Delmaria was bombarded with a flurry of "thank you” and cheers, all from one person - Nelson.

"God bless you Delmaria Darkskull!" the bartender screamed as he gave his old friend a joyful handshake. "I can't imagine what would be going on now in this tavern should that old dog collected those outrageous alcohol taxes! Prohibition - PHAT!"

"Consider it public service. A pitcher, please, and make it extra strong. I need a wake-me-up."

The crew straggled in at about nine in the morning, still half-asleep. Lawrence often took to the job of waking them up in the morning, so he assumed they got up when their hangovers started to wear off. Nonetheless, the sight of rum seemed to perk them up, and they snapped in to business as they looked over the map in the near-empty tavern.

"Alright mates. So here we are, in the center of the Caribbean, looking for.. Whatever the hell that is." Delmaria pointed to Port Royal, where there sat a whirling gust of wind, which winded in and out between a few tall trees, leaves and branches flying with it. It was outlined in a dark aura, with the vague peering of two small, dark eyes staring through an open gap between the trees.

"I'm going to need a few more drinks if I want to understand any of that." Firesteel joked, to which they all chuckled.

Yet Grace, who seemed almost like she was scared, grabbed at the map and brought it right to her. She stared down at it for a minute, worried, wide-eyed, as the rest of the crew watched her. She pushed the map away slowly, and leaned back in her chair, almost dazed. She turned to Delmaria, her face blank, and asked, "Captain, have you ever heard the story of the Ligahoo?" When they shook their head no, she sighed, and began:

"Hundreds of years ago, before these lands were colonized; the indigenous tribes of the islands spoke of a haunting, ancient legend. It told the story of a man known as the Ligahoo, who made a pact with the devil in exchange for eternal life. He got his wish, yes - but in return, the Devil cursed him, transforming him in to a hideous, God-awful looking monster, taking human form only during the day. At night, he takes his forsaken form, and wanders aimlessly, killing and sucking the blood of anything that crosses it's path.

"The legend says that the thing which keeps the Ligahoo in that form is some sort of satanic charm that was lodged in his heart. The only way to defeat him, is to beat him to death.... with a stick."

Delmaria dropped his jaw at her. "A stick. Really?" He looked like he was about to break out in laughter.

Grace was still dead serious. "Yes. A stick anointed with holy waters and oils."

"And you're saying that if we want to continue our little journey, we need to kill this thing?"

"Pretty much."


The crew trucked through the dark, deep jungles of Port Royal that evening, just as dusk fell on to them. They took the entire day to stock up on anything they might need - bullets, gunpowder, throwing knives, voodoo trinkets, tonics, and tools, and all other noteworthy necessities. They took off from the usual paths that led in to the less dense areas of the forage, and instead cut out of the King's Run right as they hit the tree line. The vines, leaves, and roots that the jungles were infested with kept sticking out at them, but they cut them down with ease, clearing a small path in the tightly packed wilderness.

The lights of the day faded to black as they continued deeper and deeper, climbing up and down hills both little and small that they encountered in their path. The plants near and far rustled in an ominous tone as they continued, feeling as though they were being watched, as the heavy humid air dropped to a cool, comfortable atmosphere. Grace led the group, a torch held up to light their path, brave, stern, and determined.

"How much more walking, Grace?" Delmaria asked, who a few steps behind her was.

"We won't find it, Captain. It'll find us." Grace assured.

It was about five more minutes, until they noticed a change in their surroundings. Not much a physical change, but more of a mental perception - the world around them had turned from eerie and mysterious, to dark, yet home-like. The trees slowly began to space out as they progressed, until the group found themselves walking through in a pack instead of a line. They came to a sudden halt when a tremendous gust of wind came whirling through the jungle, nearly pushing them off their feet. The crew tensed and shut their eyes, hoping it would be over before they were tossed backwards. When it finally calmed, they were greeted by an unusual sight.

Before them stood a short, African man, about three and a half, maybe four feet in high, stout a plump. His was heavily wrinkled, showing signs of great age. Instead of clothing, he was completely covered in hair - only his face and hands were bare from it - with cloven feet, like the hooves of a horse. From his face hung a long beard, made of not hair, but leaves, along with two little horns poking out from his head. His face was laughing and his eyes joyful, accompanied with a large, happy smile. He carried with him a long, wooden branch, taller than him, which he used as a walking stick.

Grace instantly did a little bow and secretly beckoned the rest of the crew to do so, which they did. She rose with a smile and greeted, "Bon jour, vieux Papa."

"Ah, and a good day to you as well, travelers." He smiled. He spoke in an old, yet smooth tone, with absolutely no hint of any kind of accent. "What brings you to my forest?"

"We have come searching for the Ligahoo, sir." Delmaria spoke from behind Grace, with utter politeness.

"Please, call me Bois. Papa Bois." The old man insisted. When a period of silence pursued, Delmaria came to realization, and continued.

"My apologies. We have come in search of the Ligahoo, Papa Bois."

"And what would you want with a creature so vile and evil? Surely you must have a good reason, seeing as how your artillery suggests you have come to slay the beast." Papa Bois said with questioning of reason.

"The Ligahoo has had enough time for terrorizing your forests, Papa. We do not wish for this to continue." Grace poked in. She knew she was lying, but it had to have been done. She knew Papa Bois was against killing for the sake of killing.

"So it be, then... I wish you good fortune. He wanders just over the next hill, behind me. Please, take this with you," the old man then proceeded to grab at his walking stick, and snap off a fragment about the size of a forearm, as though the huge, thick tree branch was a twig. He handed it softly to Grace, and nodded his head. "Good evening."

With the blink of an eye, he was off. The hermit ran right past them. Despite his age, he ran at the speed of fifteen deer put together, blazing in between the trees, and out of sight.


As they peaked over the small hill Papa Bois instructed them to go over, the crew found themselves looking in to a dark, bleak void. Below the steep decline was a swamp, where the King's River crossed in to the forest. The pungent smell of wet and aged plants gave away to the towering, dark trees that mixed in the water. The vegetation was thick and wet, dancing and whirling in both the air and in the murky dark waters as if they were performing a play. Eerie sounds creaked and chirped silently off in the distance, as they looked around to each other, wondering who would make the first descent.

Grace finally took a step forward and eased her way down the small, steep hill, in to the swamp. When she accustomed to it and beckoned in the rest of them, Delmaria followed. His body slicked along the wet grass as he slid down, finally landing his boots with a plop in the putrid waters. The swamp came up roughly right below his knees, making it somewhat difficult to shift through the thick substance. Still, as the crew lowered themselves in, he trudged forward, behind Grace.

The atmosphere in the swamp was that of death. Dark, hopeless, and lost. Each stride they took made the aura of evil that roared silently from this place stronger, boring in to their souls with a sharp undertone. They looked around cautiously, as one by one, they drew their weapon of choice. They all knew something was there, with them.

They all halted, as the demonic figure appeared before them. It was roughly thirty meters away, but the sight was still equally horrifying. Past them, was a man, nearly eight feet tall, covered in tattered and bloodied cloths, walking across from them. In place of his head, was a small, wooden coffin, of traditional shape and style, which he balanced atop his neck with his left hand. Atop the coffin were three small, lit candles. At his waist, a heavy, iron chain looped around him, and carried behind him the rest of the length. He dragged his feet, as he pushed through the waters. Finally, it stopped, and turned to them. It had no face - but it knew they were there.

The monster uncurled a loud, angry screech, enough to put a siren's call to shame. As the crew gripped at their eyes to try and block out the sharp, high-pitched noise, the Ligahoo fell forward, completely submerging himself in the water, ending the terrible sound. The crew instantly jumped up on to the roots of the swamp trees, trying desperately to keep from staying the water. When they all stilled, they watched as the flow slowly twisted through the waters in between them. They held their breath, hoping for the best. Only when it came apparent that it was heading for Delmaria, did Grace scream "DEL! CATCH!", throwing the wood branch through the air.

As the chilling monster jumped up through the surface, delivering it's unnerving cry, Darkskull caught the stick and swung it, knocking the Ligahoo right in it's short, stubby neck. It toppled down with the blow, but as it fell, it began to - shift. The outline and figure of the body began to rapidly condense and change, twisting and turning until it finished right as it went back down in to the waters. Yet it instantly popped up again, this time, in the form of a large, ragged wolf. It's sharp, bone-crunching teeth directed towards Corsaire, who was directly across from Delmaria. The privateer shot his pistol, but it did nothing to quake the monster. He jumped off his root, but the wolf cut him at the arm, spilling a squirt of blood in to the water.

As Corsaire yelled in pain, getting picked up in the water by Sierra, the Ligahoo hurried to the drops of blood in the water, lapping it up. Grace yelled from the other side of the encounter, "It feeds on blood! Del, get it!"

Delmaria jumped down from the root and dived at the wolf, striking its back with the stick. It yelped, jumping back and turning at Delmaria, as the pirate flurried left and right with a group of swings. Each of them just missed the Ligahoo, that dodged in and out by moving its head around, until it hit with a smack at the top of its head. As it snarled in anger and pain, Delmaria leaped forward and did it again, until the monster was knocked off its feet on the fifth side-swiping blow, and toppled back in to the water. The captain backed up, stick in hand, waiting for it to arise.

It was when a giant splash came from behind him did Delmaria turned. Yet it was a late reaction, as the Ligahoo came at full speed and rammed Darkskull, pinned himself up against a tree. As Delmaria fought of the daze that covered his eyes to look, he saw before him a large, raging bull, with black horns that twisted in a demonic spiral, and then back out. It kicked up its feet, readying to charge. Darkskull clutched his hand, but the stick was gone - he had dropped it somewhere in the water. The bull then snorted, making its fatal charge.

Delmaria rolled out of the water, pain streaking through his body, as the bull rammed directly in to the tree. He watched as the might of the thrust went and threw down the tree, creaking and swooping until it hit the water with a tremendous force. The impact sent out a mass of waves, six, seven feet high, that knocked the crew and the Ligahoo backwards in to the further depths of the swamp. Delmaria spun through the water, trying to grab a hold of anything as the waters churned. He finally caught the root of a tree, and pulled himself up. His hair dripped in a stream, and his hat was floating in the water off to his side, right next to where Buck popped up through the surface.

He wiped the water from his eyes, to look around him. The massive bull was nowhere to be found. As the crew came towards him, drenched in water, Delmaria turned slightly to Grace. He panted as he quietly asked, "Grace... what exactly was the third form of this thing, again?"

Grace pushed herself on to the tree, exhausted, blowing her long, wet hair from her face. "A wolf, a bull, and... ah.." she paused, almost as if she had seen a ghost. "Water...."

In that instant, they looked as they saw a small ripple of water race through the swamp. It circled them four times, before speeding off between the trees, west of where they were. Dead ran up a few feet, in questioning. "It's heading up river, to where the King's Run is! There's a firework station there!"

The entire crew paused, before jolting like a bullet out of a gun up stream, after the Ligahoo.


The crew had finally gotten on to the soft, grassy earth, that ran along the now narrowing King's River. They were in a full sprint, hysterically trying after the demon. They could faintly here the sound of fireworks launching off in the distance, meaning they had little time to work with. Firesteel had managed to salvage the stick from the swamp before they had gotten out of it, running next to Delmaria at the head of the pack. The wind smacked against their moist clothing, as the river began to roar next to them.

Grace finally caught eye, and shouted, turning the crew's attention to a consistent, large wave that was running along the river up head. It was ten high off the surface, and gaining, nearing the waterfall that led in to the King's Run. The land began to rise, shifting from glass to hard rock, running up alongside the river. Before long they were twenty meters above the river, with the wave thirty meters high next to them - and the waterfall only fifty meters from them.

Finally, Delmaria made an abrupt, rash decision. In the blink of an eye, he tore off his long, heavy leather coat, along with his linen, pocketed night vest, and pulled the stick out of Jack's hands. He slanted off from the path, and kicked off the rock incline, hurtling towards the river.

Time almost slowed down in this moment. He felt himself lunging through the air, the sprays of water from the massive wave flying at him. He gripped the stick tight, preparing to make his mark. It was necessary for him to make his mark, as he roared a loud battle cry. He opened his eyes wide, and tensed, as he neared the Ligahoo, which prepared to make its assault over the edge of the waterfall, which would kill dozens, maybe hundreds of innocent lives of celebrators.

He came down on the wave, and chopped with the stick, cutting right in to its back. As he splashed in to the wave and went forward, through it, the stick followed him, ripping the wave in half. Although engulfed by water, he could hear the monster scream it's swan song, as it finally began to disappear. As the pirate saw the massive wave break over the waterfall, he shut his eyes, praying for the best. Instead of being carried forward, he felt himself falling - out of water, down towards the Earth. He looked down, and found himself smacking in to the small pond that sat below the tall waterfall.

As he floated to the surface, Delmaria swam over to the small rock walkway that blocked the little pond from the small waterfall below, and got up on it. He looked up, and watched as the rockets blazed through the air, cutting through the mist that was once the demon of Port Royal.

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Happy New Year, mates! Comments, reviews? All are welcome!

Love it! :smiley4: :smiley4: :smiley4: :smiley4: :aV132AQi: :surprise:

Nice. Although I noticed a couple weird sentences and uses of words, but I'll save that for another time.

Definately, this is not only my favorite chapter, but my longest ever. I'm talking 35,000 characters, 6,367 words, and 20 pages long in Word.

Trust me mates, it'll be worth the read. So, I present to you:


As Delmaria dreamed, his thoughts were plagued by terrible, horrible scenes, one after another, in a cycle of torturous nightmares. They were quick, sharp, the images flashing as though he could not stare directly at them. The sounds whirled around his mind, heard but unclear - screaming, crying, wailing, and sobbing, all in particular voices that he could just faintly remember. Yet one was clear - it was that same, high pitched, terrible cry from a pain-stricken woman, which had always been just out of his reach, always knowing who she was but never catching her identity. This night, it became clear.

Delmaria walked along a cobblestone path, as houses of wood and hay like that of old-styled homes in England was fashioned. They crumbled and collapsed, in no correct pattern, with each footstep he took. It was not too long before he notice a heap in the middle of his path - it was a woman, dirtied and hunched over in a fetal position, crying and gasping for air as she screamed "NO, NO!" over and over through exasperated breaths. He was weary, but his feet carried him to her, the sky darkening in a dark red haze above them. He knelt down, and tried to get her to look at him, her head hunched over. In her hands was the pair of rosary beads that Delmaria always kept with him, ever since the invasion of Port Royal - her hands shook violently. He finally brushed his hand lightly to bring her head up, to face him. The soft, elegant facial curves, the polite, small nose, the sparkling, blue eyes. He imagined it as he had always remembered. Their eyes met, and through an old, tired voice, she spoke. "Where is my baby?” his mother said to him.

Delmaria woke up abruptly in his bed, looking around the room. He was back in his cabin, the room still completely dark in the night. He got up and ran over to the plush, silver chair that sat at the head of the disheveled desk, where his dark long coat hung over. He hurried, digging in to the left pocket, and pulled out the same set of rosaries. The sight of them calmed, them, as he wrapped them around his neck, and dragged his feet back to his bed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Delmaria woke up the next morning, New Year's Day, in the bed of his captain's quarters. His vision was blurred, unclear at first, but as he shook off the sleepy daze that filled his head, he sat up to look around the room. The sun was shining bright outside - how different his room looked with all the ratters open - giving him a view of crystal clear ocean waters of the Caribbean. He was lying there in only his linen shirt and his pants, now nice and dried. He had a few blacks-and-blues on his torso, mainly on his back, which whimpered in pain every time he moved his arms, but he ignored it as he walked to the center of his room. It took him a moment of fixating his senses before he realized the ship was in motion. He hurried over to the back wall of windows in his cabin, to watch Port Royal fade from view. He was disgruntled about not being able to say goodbye to Lawrence - but at least it saved him from tears.

Delmaria walked back to his desk, when a little shimmer caught his eye - on his desk, were a neatly folded pile of clothing - a gold, short jacket, goldish-brown pants buttoned at the sides, a black, gray, and brown pocketed vest, a black and yellow, shimmering linen shirt, and tall pair of black, gold-cuffed boots at the base of the base. He picked up a little note on top of them, which read:

Captain Darkskull,

By order of the Office of the Governorship of Port Royal, you have been presented with this attire, tailored by the Governor's Tailor himself at Governor Lawrence Prince's personal request. He also requested to tell you:

'A First Mate will always be loyal to his Captain, Delmaria. Goodbye - and please, don't sink my ship if you see it.'

Delmaria smiled as he put down the note. He quickly put on the soft, stylish outfit, remarked by its soft yet sturdy complexion and fit. He noticed that on the inside of the jacket, just directly on top of the heart, was a heavy, sewn in patch, the insignia of the Governor's office. He patted it lightly mindlessly as he patted down the outfit, fitted his hat, and walked down the room, out the door.

The crisp, cool morning winds met him in one of the beautiful early mornings the Windward Passage was famous for. The waters were very easy, hardly giving any sign of a splash, and the wind dipped right in to the sails - perfect sailing conditions. Paying no attention to Deadpool, who was more concentrated on laying down that patch of wood than anything, he walked along the right side of the second deck of the War Frigate, and made his way up the steps and over to the helm, where Andrew was carefully reading off of Delmaria's map on top of a barrel, conveniently to match his height. "Andrew, why in God's name did you dare leave port without my permission?!" Delmaria asked enraged as he approached Andrew, snatching up the map in a fist. "AND WHY did you take the map! Are we running an anarchic ship of-"

"Captain, relax." Andrew assured in the easiest voice possible, trying to focus on guiding the ship. "Firstly, you were much too intoxicated to even be remotely able to carry yourself back to the ship last night, much less give orders."

"When you deal with what I do every day, my friend, 'too intoxicated' isn't in your vocabulary."

"Still. Also, I guess the rum clogged your map reading abilities, as well. See for yourself." Andrew nodded at the general direction of the map.

Delmaria uncrumpled the map and gazed over it, beginning at Port Royal. Strangely enough, the image that represented Port Royal had changed - instead, it was replaced by a light, cherry forest, with glistening, brightly tanned trees, and a free, mystical wind blowing through. He shrugged off the eerie sight, and turned his attention to another development on the map - a new heading.

Off to the northwest of Port Royal was a small, half-circle of an island, with a little indented, leaving only a dull crescent. The drawings of waves in that section of the map seemed to have gone to a still - literally, flat-lining. Out of the sandbar, stuck out what appeared to be the handle of a sword, although it was too small to make out. Delmaria scratched his head, pondering, before he commented, "Ok, so how did you idle-minded pirates manage to figure this out?"

"You never heard the story?" A voice called from behind them. Darkskull turned to see John, wiping off the blotches of gunpowder from his brow as he made his way over. "I can retell it, if you like:

"It was in the summertime, many, many moons ago. Bloodskull was aboard his usual fleet of ships somewhere North of Jamaica, when a rag-tag group of rebel ships found and attacked his convoy. During combat, while Bloodskull and his crew went from ship to ship to repel - or, kill - the invaders, one of the rebel captain's snuck in to the captain's quarters of The Fortunato and swiped Bloodskull's cutlass, him and his crew making off with it.

"Unfortunately, as they made their escape, the rebel captain was fatally injured, leaving him on the brink of death. As soon as they lost the last of the ships that were chasing them, they stopped at a remote, unknown island, where they would try and bring their captain back to health.

"That night, however, the captain somehow got up from his resting place, and walked off, around the island. The next morning, when the crew went searching for him, they found his body lying on the ground, a small pool of blood coming from his mouth. They were unsure why he got up, and whatever happened that killed him.

"Regardless, they felt that they best pay tribute to their fallen captain. They took his body, and buried him in the exact same spot they found him - with Bloodskull's cutlass in his hands, of course. They set off to Tortuga, where their crew parted separate ways - only to be rounded up and tortured by Bloodskull and his mercenaries. Yet as much as he tortured them, he couldn't get them to give away the whereabouts of their captain's grave, and his cutlass. And up until now, nobody knew, either."

Delmaria paused, staring blankly at John for a minute. Not the kind of face that would show awe, or understanding, or intrigue. No, this face was more of disbelief, and flat out ignorance. "Where in God's name did you learn all that?"

"Avery's B- erm, Raven's Cove wasn't just a fishing port my friend. When you're isolated from the world, you tend to be able to thrive off of any information that comes your way. Books were our 'lost treasure.'"

Darkskull had a slew of questions to ask, particular directed towards John's slip of the tongue, but he was too minded on where exactly they were going to even bother to continue. He wiped his head in a frustrated manner for no reason, and shooed John back to what he was doing. He then turned back to Andrew, asking, "Well, Mr. Navigator, what exactly did you expect our heading to be?"

Instead of answering right then, Andrew got on his tippy-toes and squinted, looking further over the bow of the ship. When he became excited, a smile of surprise streaking across his face, he tied the rope that hung from the masts at his side to the top of the wheel, keeping it in position, and ran off to the side of the ship, Delmaria in tow. He leaned over with Andrew, looking out to where he pointed. "Rumrunner's!"



The little dinghy cut smoothly through the calm, bright blue waters of the Caribbean Sea. Delmaria and his crew pulled away from the massive War Frigate ported far out from the small island, and began the long, tedious push towards it. The incline of the sandy ocean floor leading up to Rumrunner's was very shallow, so one would have to park their ship a sizable distance if they wanted to prevent a crash.

As they paddled towards, the details of Rumrunner's became clearer and clearer - the thin, subtle line of trees, the soft, silky sand, mixed with the smooth glisten of the sun on the little crescent of land. They swayed lightly in to the bay, the ends of the island sticking out at their sides like guards. There was no wind - the island was nothing but a still peace and calm, as though nothing could possibly disturb the utter balance between tranquility and serene beauty. It was a paradise, with no strings attached - the first time Delmaria felt safe.

As the small dinghy finally hit ground, they got out and dragged the boat through the shin-high waters, then up their ankles, and finally the bottoms of their feet, on to the beach. The sand shined like the rays of the sun, yet it was still easy enough that it didn't harm your eyes, nor create any sort of uncomfortable scene. It was just an aura, which shined over the land. Darkskull located around the island, smiling blissfully, like a huge weight had been lifted off his shoulders. He usually at this point thought if his depression and sorrows were really over, but not now - the only thing that filled his mind was gratitude.

"Captain!" he heard over his shoulder. He turned to see Buck beckoning him to the small circle they had formed. Delmaria turned away from his content to join them, whipping out the map, and unfolding it before them. "Ok mates, we're looking for, according to Mr. Philosopher over here, a blood splatter on the ground. Let's just hope it hasn't been washed away by now, eye?" Delmaria half joked as he smirked at John, showing signs of doubt in his crew mate. John just crossed his arms and smirked back. He must have taken it as a challenge, as that's how his eyes began to glaze.

They chose their search parties and began to break up. John, Andrew, Corsaire, and Sierra would sweep along the East end of the island, while Dead, Buck, Grace, and Firesteel would go across the center, and the back ends. Delmaria wanted the West to himself, for obvious reasons. Sparrow wasn't just an old sparring mate of his, but also, a fellow "collector" of fine wines and other delicate drinks from across the known world. The two of them maintained a small keepsake, a little hidden rum room that sat hidden in the trees of the island, that only the two of them knew about, and had the key to. Darkskull felt that if he unintelligible last night to read the map, he would be able to read it like a Socrates if he went twice as hard.

He did a little dance as he walked along the beach, towards the vegetation waiting for him on the West branch of the island. He felt an insignificant pounding in the back of mind, through his enjoyment - something tells him to stop. The death of his son and the lost of a dear friend had occurred in only a short time span, but he felt the only way to continue his life normally was to learn how to cope. In the life of a pirate, there was no time to waste when even a slice of heaven came your way.

His feet met the plush, bouncy grass that supported the nicely spaced out trees, bushes, and other neat, slender greenery. He took a few steps, and stopped. He turned to his left, then to his right, and watched the world around him. The soft creaking of a few insects, the chirping of a few native birds off in the distance. He closed his eyes and rolled his head back, taking in the warm embrace of the day. Is home defined by an enclosure, or something much more special?

Finally, after a minute or two, Delmaria made the slow transition back in to walking. He wanted to find that cellar - if only he could. He looked around, but saw nothing. "Damn it Jack, probably put a bush over the door... knave..."

The captain began walking around the small treed area, lightly lifting up the bushes that he crossed as he went. He moved all, starting from the very tip of the West end, and cutting down. To no avail did he find anything of interest, until he finally made it to the center of the area, where it began to broaden and a small space was left. He spotted an untouched shrub, and slowly dragged his feet to it. He grabbed it at the bottom and yanked up.

Before him, where the bush had sat, was a stain. A deep red, dark stain. It was in huge contrast to the bright green grass, and was in perfect shape - as if it was almost confined to a single area. Delmaria stood there for a minute, staring at it. That is, before he began screaming wildly.

"Crew... Cre, CREW! CREW! GET OVER HERE!" Delmaria began yelling, running just to the edge of the line of trees. "HURRY PIRATES, MOVE!" He barked, as one by one he watched his crew come sprinting from across every little area of the rest of the island. They were frantic and startled, as though they were rushing in like a militia of minute men. When they began to get close, Delmaria ran back to where the blood stain was, drew his cutlass, and quickly chopped away the bush that covered it, to leave it open to vision. As he tossed the shrub aside, the crew arrived, forming a circle around what they looked at.

Delmaria was gasping for breath in excitement, proceeding to his crew, "Well mates? Start digging!" Dead, Corsaire, and Firesteel, who carried the three shovels they had, began piercing in to the soft grass and soil, throwing it away at a race-like pace.

As the rest of the crew watched and waited eagerly, John came up from behind his captain and whispered in his ear, "Sorry Captain, but doesn't this mean you lose?" He smiled a large, childish gleam, but Delmaria chided him off. He was too concentrated on watching his crewmen dig deeper and deeper in to the earth, the pile next to them growing larger and larger. The strange thing, was that the blood was not just at the surface - it was on every single piece of soil they hit that was below where the stain was, as though it had trickled down through the dirt. Was this an odd coincidence, or a majestic signal?

Nearly an hour had passed for a great, sizable hole in the earth had been formed, roughly the size of a freshly dug grave, if not a little larger. The rest of the crew was sitting around, waiting, talking, while Delmaria stood in that one position, stoic, waiting. It was then when he heard one of the shovels plunge an inch in to the dirt, but go no further. It thudded hard against something, then again with persistence. "Captain, we've hit something!" Dead called up to him.

Delmaria instantly snapped to attention, jumping down in to the pit, and getting on his knees. He began wildly scrapping away the last layer of dirt with his hands, until a patch of dirtied, browned wood began to poke through. He went from that and pushed away the sides of the small hole he dug, until his hands hit an engraving on the wood. He turned to face it, and cleaned it up a bit to see what it said. Despite being nearly blended in to the rest of the wood, he could read it clear:

Here Lies the Grave of Captain Kinos Libertant, Brave Captain of "The Libertist" and Her Crew. 1529 - 1550.

Delmaria, in a soft voice, closed his eyes, as they almost began to water. His speculation was true.

Before him was Captain Kinos Alexander Libertant, leader of the rebel movement against Baron "Drake Bloodskull" from 1543 to 1550. He was responsible for uncountable attacks against the warlord of the Caribbean and his ruthless army, from damaging supply lines to all out raids on some of the Baron's most vital institutions. He was famed among pirates and his fellow rebels for supreme skills of leadership, freedom, and idealism, and infamous amongst political leaders for his unwillingness to negotiate what he desired. A modern iconoclast for his time.

One of the main principles of Libertant's lifestyle was his strong belief in freedom, and liberty, as suggested by his convenient last name. Immediately after his death, his crew formed a secret organization known as The Libertists, which was dedicated to hiding the whereabouts of their captain's remains, and Bloodskull's cutlass, a secret. To them, having their captain forever hold the sword of a tyrant with him was a symbol that in the end, the spirit of freedom would drag tyranny to it's grave. And they reserved this secret well - no matter if they continued to be freebooters, or assimilated in to society, the original Libertists never told even their children of the captain's grave.

As one by one the original Libertists died, their children stepped up to the plate to assume their positions. Henceforth, why the bloodline of the Libertists runs in to everyone from government officials, to bakers and tailors. And as time moved on and the Caribbean became a more corrupted place, the secret organization assumed the role of essentially "tearing down" the platforms of tyranny in these waters - by assassinating the tyrants, and filling their place with a Libertist. Delmaria's own actions could exemplify this.

Yet it was also a main goal of the Libertists to locate and retrieve the remains of Captain Kinos before anybody - including grave robbers, and even cults that worshipped Bloodskull - could do so. And, indirectly, Delmaria had been chosen by fate to be the Libertist's representative in this fight.

"Raise it up!" Delmaria shouted to his crew, ordered the coffin be dug up from the ground and placed on the surface. He watched from above as all his crew pushed with all their might to lift the coffin out from the earth, above their heads, and then easily slide it on to the grass. It was a large coffin, seven feet long, in the traditional six-sided "elongated house" style. It was covered it dried soil and dirt from the earth, but other than that, it was in good condition. Strange, for a coffin nearly two hundred years old.

Delmaria stood near the coffin staring down at it. As he crew climbed out from the grave, his expression was blank, his motion still. Before him sat history, and he was not only shell-shocked, but afraid. Was he prepared to open the coffin of one of the Caribbean's oldest heroes? Was he ready to make history himself? Was history ready for him.

A click sounded off from behind him, opening his eyes. "Step away," the soft feminine voice ushered to him. His eyes widened, as he turned about, hands in the air, to stare at Leanne.

"I should have expected you would follow us here." Delmaria sighed, half-comical, half pitiful in himself.

"You should have indeed. So are we going to have to do this the hard way, or....?"

"Wait, Leanne." Delmaria put up his hand, causing the pirate to tighten her grip on the pistol. "What exactly could you have any gain from this? Are you going to shoot me just so my crew can shoot you in return?" In nearly an instant, the rest of the crew drew out their worst and most devastating fire arm, ranging from heavy multi-barreled pistols, to even a blunderbuss or two. The exception was Deadpool, who picked up a few blades of grass from the ground.

Leanne seemed flustered. She began to move her gun quickly, pointing it at each of the crew, before pointing it back at Delmaria. Then, she reached her free hand in to her pocket, and drew out a small firecracker from it. She held it above her head, to make it apparent she had it. "Lower your guns or I'll set the damn casket on fire! MOVE!" she yelled.

"I apologize, but I can't let you do that." A smooth, sly voice spoke from behind her. They all turned their vision to see yet another figure walking towards them, much less than familiar. He was tall, about the same size as Delmaria, with roughly the same slender, athletic build. He had a darkly tanned, handsome, sharp face, with a small mustache that sat right at the top of the lip, and a small, pointed beard on his chin. An eye patch covered over his right eye, which, judging by scarring that poked out from around it, was more than likely severely mutated. Atop his head was a large, brownish-black brimmed hat, with a thick yet disorientated feather sticking out. He wore a long coat that ran all the way to his knees, until the rest became just small sticking-outs that reached to his ankle, badly burnt and tattered. The rest of his dark, bleak attire was rather luxurious and frilled, although it looked as though he had just come out of the grave. He had an evil grin on his face, his hands behind his back, stepping forward.

"And may I ask who you are?" Leanne said, now pointing her pistol at him. He stopped.

"Ah, yes, forgiveness for not giving myself an introduction. My name is Captain Brone Crassus, the one and only.", doing a little bow. "And perhaps you've heard of my employer - a one Jolly Roger?"

The entire group became uneasy at the name, tightening their grip on their weapons. Crassus continued, "Now, how is about that you all step aside?", then drawing a broadsword at the completion of the sentence.

Delmaria took a deep breath, and slowly slid his hand down the side of his body. He reached his right foot silently back, until it touched the coffin, as a base weight. "Crew.... RUN!" He suddenly kicked off the coffin as the rest of the crew leaped at the coffin to carry it away, he grabbing his shining, glistening cutlass in the process.

Leanne spun around to try and catch him, but Delmaria caught her arm with his, throwing it away as she fired it off in to the distance, a plume of smoke bursting with the shot. He tugged her towards him, and whiplashed her backwards, sending her running against her will, and tripping down in to the grave. He then brandished his cutlass and met the broadsword that came down on him, as Crassus made his move. His blade clashed against Delmaria's, pushing Delmaria off balance backwards. He came forward with a hurricane slash, but Delmaria whirled off to the side to avoid him. As his assailant moved on him, he looked out of the corner of his eye, seeing his crew hurry the coffin through the trees, and out of sight along the back stretch of the island. However, Leanne had pulled herself out of the pit, and began charging after them in a full sprint. Delmaria turned away from Brone at the last second to run after her, buzzing by the slender trees, along the soft, wet grass.

He rounded the little plateau that acted as a dividing wall on the island to see O'Malley on about thirty meters ahead, but encroaching dangerously on the crew. Darkskull kept booking, his feet splash on the water as it creeped up on the sandy, narrow shore. His speed was quicker than hers, and he had caught up to her by the time an area of the forest had broken out a path on to the back, making a nice space. He tackled her from behind, shoving her face in the sand. She struggled, kicking up her legs and knocking the pirate off of her forward. The two then hurried to their feet, and locked blades, one pushing up and against the other. Leanne jumped to the side, sending Delmaria in his own momentum, he spun around and hit her blade with his. She spun her around in a circle and tried to thrust upward in to his ribs, but he swiped the blade at his feet, following up with it, and then commencing to spin it in a circle in between them. Went she lost control of how fast her blade spun, he pulled back, and then hit it the other way in a slash, sending her in a jolt towards the water. She caught herself, and kicked her leg back like a horse, throwing wet send up in his face. He ducked and turned away to prevent it from blinding him, when he was rammed through by yet another body that hit him.

Lying on his back, Delmaria looked up to see Brone, who had run right through him, get to Leanne and engage her in combat. Meanwhile, Darkskull steadied his vision, and reached for the throwing knives that he had scavenged from Mercer. He took out the bundle from his coat and unwrapped them while on his knees, taking a minute to run his finger along one of the magnificent sharp blades. As much as he wanted to observe the golden lining and carving in the silvery blade and the black hilt, he snapped to, throwing one towards the two with the flick of a wrist. One of the projectiles hit Leanne in the top of her arm, making her screech in pain. For a moment, he paused in horror - had he just done that? He felt so dirty, so putrid, so... evil, having hurt her. But he had no time to think of this, as she pulled the bloodied knife from her arm and threw it back at Delmaria, pushing Brone in to the water bluntly with her free hand.

He rolled out of the way, grabbed another knife, and blindly threw it in her general direction, to at least slow her down, as he ran through the other, larger clearing that was at the middle of the island. He tucked the rest of the knives away in his jacket, running up the inclining side of the little hill to get to the side of the small patch of trees that blocked his view of the bay. He was glad to see his crew at the shore, putting the coffin down for a brief moment to rest their tiring arms. He was about to go down to join them on their retreat from the island, but he then turned off to his right, to see his two enemies in a race towards him. He quickly sprung off in a run away from them, in to the forest that hugged the small dividing wall on that curve of the island.

He ran for about twenty meters before he caught himself running in between two bushes and trees paired together, tripping over a hidden rock in the mix, and hurtling forward. He landed face forward on the ground, and flipped over just in time to catch Brone running up to him. Delmaria put his legs up, caught Crassus's chest, and threw him over the pirate, as Leanne jumped through the vegetation. Darkskull leaped up, and taking his cutlass struck hers, ensuing a back and forth between the two. They moved their blades coming from opposite directions, each time hitting and sliding off the other. Back and forth, back and forth, until Brone got up and added himself in the mix. Delmaria found himself sandwiched between the two, so he used a mixture of quick return slashes and agility to keep from taking too many cuts. Delmaria finally leaped back to break the pattern, now forming a triangle. The three began wildly bouncing their swords in between their two enemies, like a show of fancy moves and techniques. They fought hard, and with everything they could muster, sweat beating on their necks under the hot sun poking through the trees.

The battle soon began to drift through the rest of the forest, to where the island ended. They dodged in between trees, rocks, and bushes as they reached the final end of the eastern end of the island - a small, open space of sand that sat about five meters off the water, the highest point on the island aside from the tree tops. Although it was a small height, it was daunting when looking in comparison to the rest of the low island.

They got in to the center of the spot and began fighting in a circle, moving side alongside as the blades connected in the middle. Brone delivered a heavy spin cut that knocked Leanne and Delmaria back just a little, and there they all stood. Still, distanced only a few meters apart. They waited silently for their enemy to make the first move, but nothing happened.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, Delmaria watched as Crassus slowly reached in to his jacket by his waist, trying to not cause attention. Delmaria made his motion quick; he plunged in to his coat and pulled out one of the knives just as Crassus prepared to fire his pistol at Leanne. He aimed, and threw the knife, sending it spinning in the air. Time seemed to slow down as Crassus outreached his arm, preparing to shoot O'Malley squarely in the forehead. The blade rolled through the air, and then found lodged itself right in to Brone's outreached inner elbow, sending a shockwave of pain through his arm. Crassus stared as he dropped the pistol, the point of the knife jutting out just at the side of the bone on the other side of the arm, blood trickling down in a stream. Darkskull took the advantage, ran up, and hit Crassus in the chest with a stern, quick, powerful kick, knocking him rolling back, down the steep decline of the shore, and splashing in to the waters.

As Delmaria tried to calm from the excitement, he felt a streak of pain run across his right arm. He cringed, grabbing at the deep, bloody cut that ran across his upper arm, hitting his knees on the sand. He watched as Leanne walked around, to stand in front of him, his blood on her cutlass. She looked down at him, victorious, as he looked up at her. "Well?" He asked her.

"I just wanted one last look at you alive, before I run you through." She said, lifting her blade at her side to have the end of the blade just under his chin. "You know, I really did think you were special. You seemed like you could get somewhere."

He tilted his head back slightly, so when he spoke his throat would not press on the sword. "I've done enough, wouldn't you say?"

"Nothing compared to what I've done, my darling." She began to chuckle evilly. She stepped back a little, lowering her cutlass. "Before you go, bow before your Queen." She laughed, raising her head regally to the sky.

Delmaria slowly bent over on his knees, putting his arms before him and his head on the ground. He closed his eyes, braced his body, and whispered, "Sorry."

He rolled forward, sending his spinning legs in a powerful swing right square in to her jaw. She shrieked in pain and surprise as she dropped her sword to grab her bleeding mouth, as Delmaria rushed to a standing up position, and punched her square in the neck. The force knocked all the wind out of her, and as she spat out a tooth, she fell to the ground, gasping for breath through the blood.

Delmaria ran in a sprint back down the hill, along the shore, back to the bay. As he reached the top of the crescent, he looked back where he was to see a soaking wet Captain Crassus dragged himself to the top of the hill, before beginning in a run down after Delmaria.

Darkskull looked back at his resources, but saw no dinghy - only the coffin. He swore under his breath, and in the flash of a moment, jumped to action. He got to the base of the coffin, and with all his might, pushed it out, off the beach, in to the water, where it began to float. He then jumped on top of it, and used the flat of his cutlass to begin paddling like a mad man to his War Frigate out in the bay.


Delmaria panted as the crew cheered at his arrival, collapsing on to the deck for air. As they lowered down the ropes to pull the coffin up, he choked at them "Da-damn it, didn't.... I tell you to... not leave it... there?! We came here for... it.."

Buck commented as he tugged at one of the ropes. "Couldn't pop the lock in time, captain. You know those scorpions." He smirked.

Delmaria rolled his eyes as he sat up, watching them pull the wet wooden coffin over the side of the ship. Easily, he stood up, and walked over to it, helping pulling it on to the dock. When his crew was completely assembled, he drew his cutlass, and drove it in to the top of the side of the casket, cutting it open like a piece of meat. When the cut was sizable, he rolled his linen sleeve on to his hand and used that to cautiously yank off the top. The rancid smell of death poured through the air, as they all looked within.

In there, was a skeleton, perfectly and neatly in the correct burial position - legs straight, head tilted back, arms on the chest. The skeleton seemed unlike others - it was at peace, undisturbed, yet still there, as if a spirit resided within. Yet Delmaria paid no attention to the face. What he cared about was the blade. He carefully lifted the hands off the hilt, and pulled it out.

The hilt was a piece of art in itself. At the base, a small crown of gold that spiraled collectively and sharply in to a point. The hilt itself was black, with gold spiraling easily up it to where the rest of it curved in. From the base, a single strand of gold curved out to broaden out in to an array of chaotic gold that acted as a knuckle guard. It branched separately from a ruby that sat in the center of the guard, in a magnificent effect, like rays of golden light reaching around the hilt. The knuckle guard then lead to the guard between the hilt and the blade, like a flow of sharp, estatic gold. The blade itself ran out evenly, until the bottom curved up like Delmaria's cutlass to an astoundingly sharp point. The blade looked as though it was made of platinum, sharp, slender, yet rugged and extremely shark along the blade. The top of the blade had a strand of gold that, instead of part of the blade, ran along it, like a long, slender, shining flame. It was just a little longer than Delmaria's current, yet lighter and swifter.

Delmaria chopped it through the air a few times, feeling the mystifying power that went with the cutlass. For its weight it was stronger than any other. Delmaria stared at it, before commenting, "Bloodskull had taste, hm?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I loved this chapter.

I would really like comments on this one, seeing as how it was... HUGE!

Like it? Hate it? Please be sure to comment and review! Thanks, mates!

Delmaria whined as Grace brought the needle through the large red gash in his right arm. He sat on the back of her heels in the little hammock between two of the support beams of the ship, as the crew went about their business around them. She was rough in how she treated the wound, but at least she would get the job done. Delmaria swatted at her with his left hand when she nearly dug the sewing thread in to his arm. "Gah, watch it! Do you want to try and make it worse!"

"I'm sure you'd want to deal with this over a lethal infection, captain." She persisted as she made the last, draw out pull of the thread. She neatly tied it and snipped off the small loose end left behind, patting her patchwork lightly in a chipper mood as she jumped off the bed. Delmaria clenched a fist in his right hand - it hurt quite badly, be he would have to manage until they made it to their next destination.

Firesteel came pounding down the steps that led from the deck to the crew's quarters and approached Delmaria. "Tortuga will be in our sights by tomorrow morning, Captain."

Darkskull nodded, reaching back over to the hammock and pulling the clean linen shirt over his torso. "Good. I assume the cutlass is still in t-"

The War Frigate was suddenly rocked by a massive force, as though a thunderous wave had pounded the right side of the boat. Some of the crew lost their footing and slid to the hard, wooden floor, while others managed to grab a hold of a support to keep themselves steady. Delmaria wrapped his left arm around the wooden structure and grasped for dear life, until the ship finally began to level off at a regular plain. As the crew slowly, unsurely scurried to their feet, weary of another quake, Delmaria threw on his golden jacket and jogged across the room, towards the steps, pounding up them eagerly.

As soon as Darkskull popped out of the deck, he turned off to his right, where he was instantly met by a stern kick to the face. His body jerked in to the opposite direction, hitting the side of the opening with a thud, and leaving him dazed and confused. When he realized he had just been hit, he felt a large hand grab at the back of his collar, and a sword unsheathe behind his body. He thought that he was doomed - his body was numb and he was much too in shock to react. His body tensed and tightened, expecting an impact. He heard the blade go up, and begin a swift descent downward. It would be a swift, unintelligible end.

Yet instead of a quick beheading, he felt a great tug at his ankle, thrusting him back down the steps below the deck. His chest hit the stairs, as he was instantly pulled by his feet away from them, his body bouncing down the steps and then across the wood floor. In a final push, he felt his body being thrown across the floor, and his line of vision ended its crazy spiral looking down right at the staircase. He saw as his crew ran to the steps to face the invaders, pulling their blades, but were shot down with powerful and deadly pistol shots to the chest and face. As his crew dropped like a line of cattle walking to the meat grinder, a shadowy figure silhouetted in black jumped down the steps and nearly ran up to Delmaria. His presence was fierce, evil, and maniacal. His body, although unseen, vibrated anger and deviancy, as though he was prepared to kill you in a quick blow if you said one more word.

After a moment of staring at the blank, terrified captain, the figure grabbed at his fencing saber and quickly brought it down, directly in to Delmaria's chest, blood splatting in the air. As his body eased and the final gasps of breath left his lungs, his ears were slowly filled by the shouts, moans, screams, cries and woes of the death and the gone, filling him with a sense of chaos and hopelessness. The figure slowly bended over, as the sounds grew louder and louder, faster and sharper, his eyes losing focus. The face of the figure became light and clear - it was smiling. Delpadros looked down at his dying father and said "I'm not.", plunging his saber back out of the pirate's body and slicing the throat.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Delmaria instantly awoke from his day dream. He looked around at his surroundings - the crew was about, chattering and playing card games in the beds and hammocks that danced around the long hall, as Grace at his side sewed up his arm. He jerked away from her, nearly tossing her off the bed, his wound still half-unsown, and the needle and threading swinging side to side down from it. He shouted at the top of his lungs "BROADSIDE STARBORD!"

The crew shut up quickly, all turning their heads in unison to the captain as though he were telling a really bad joke. He just stood there, furious and deadly. "Well!? MOVE!" he commanded again. His booming, threatening voice made them jump, sending them in a run to the cannons at the right side of the ship. They knelt down and did the usual dance with astonishing speed; although they were still unsure whether this was a game, a test, or a fight for survival. The poured in the gunpowder in to the cannon and pushed the lead in with their eccentric rams as fast as they could. As soon as the cannons were aligned and prepared, they all fired with precise precision and ferocity. To their surprise, they heard the splitting of wood.

Delmaria was already across the cabins and jumped up the steps of the ship, not stopping to even look at where he was going. He revealed himself to the daylight, turning off the stairs and drawing the sparkling, gold cutlass with his heavily aching right arm. Yet his adrenaline was spiking too high to even listen to the pain, like he had just seen the future before his eyes. He felt God was giving him a second chance, even though he didn't deserve it.

He watched as the crew of the other ship mistimed the swing over from their ropes of their meager Galleon, which was rocked by the broadside as they swung in mid air. They all hit the deck with a bodily phasing thud, and Darkskull took no hesitation to punish the trespassers. He walked up to the first red-clad buccaneer he could reach and cut the cutlass across his chest, sending him flailing to the wood. While he bleed out, he turned to the next two, kicking one in his pride and sticking the other through the stomach. When he heard pleads of mercy from behind, with the pounding of steps, he spun in a roundhouse and chopped the weeping crew mates over the side of his head, nearly slicing his head in half. Delmaria had gathered so much momentum he nearly sprinted back to the center of the deck as the rest of the crew poured out from their quarters, to watch the bloodshed. Darkskull spun around and saw that in his 30 seconds of rage, he had killed half of the enemy crew, and left one with a very, very unpleasing pain. The other two crew mates, flooded by their comrade's blood, were clinging to the side of the ship, on their knees, shaking. The pirate was readying himself to run at them, but Andrew latched out a quick hand, taking Delmaria out of his bloodlust. When he relaxed his captain, Andrew steadily walked over to the two laughable creatures and asked them, "What is your business here."

One of the pirates was too choked up by his friend's death to answer, so the other, who was only half way through his weeping, slowly stood up. "W-w-we're sor--ry! Please, just don't, just don't, JUST DON'T!" he cried out.

"Easy sea biscuit." Andrew tried to calm him. "We won't be doing any more killing until you tell us why you came here."

The standing man walked forward slightly, like a badly hurt dog. He, like the rest of his crew, was dressed in red and white, shaggy attire, like most of the common freebooters that sailed the seas. His hands were together in a clutch, as he looked down at his feet. "We were sent by the... to... kill..." he tilted his head up, pointing to the battle-ready Delmaria. "To kill him."

Darkskull took a jump forward, and would have continued to go if not his entire crew jump in front of him. The buccaneer was too startled by the simple motion, however, and fell back on to his back. "PLEASE, PLEASE DON'T!"

Sierra turned to him, as she used one of her hands to hold Delmaria back. "My god, either talk like a reasonable person or I'll shoot you just so I don't have to deal with such a miserable sight."

"Please, just don't." He repeated for the third time. "I don't know what the Boss wanted, but all he said was that he wanted you dead as soon as you entered the waters around here.

Delmaria was confused. He had never done anything directly to harm Tortuga as a whole, aside from a few minor misadventures. "Really? Well then, I should have fun dealing with him, won't I?" Delmaria got too close to the shivering man for comfort, nearly breathing on him. He stood there, staring at the little, feeble man for nearly a minute. It was of no purpose, sentimentality, or gain - all he wanted to do was see how long he could make the pirate feel scared beyond belief before he would break down. And just as it seemed certain, the captain turned away, to face his crew. "Mates, help our friends here back on their ship."

And they did just that. The crew took out the dinghies and escorted the buccaneers back to their poorly constructed, nearly destroyed ship. When his crew returned, he leaned over to John and said "Before they can get away, shoot down their masts."


Delmaria stepped out on to the sun-drenched fishing dock of Tortuga at high noon, when activity in the port was at it's highest. The sun was just at the top of his view, above the great, tremendous hills that rose in the background on the island. Below them, in to the foreground, the little extension of the dock led to a much broader one, lined with all assortments of crates, barrels, and sailors, unloading their cargo. The dock gave way to the always bustling beach of Tortuga, where pirates and free traders from across the Caribbean came to mingle, bargain, and barter away from the watchful eye of the trading companies that loomed over nearly all other ports. That was one of the many benefits of being a part of the Tortugan society - it wasn't a matter of how wealthy you were, it was a matter of how you were planning to get there. Nothing in this city was run by how much you were to inherit and who your parents were - you had to make a name for yourself the hard way, and those that could do it correctly were rewarded for it.

Delmaria walked down the long dock towards the port, the calm wind giving away to the easy, very comfortable warm temperature of the day. He brushed shoulders with people as they scurried their way to and from their ships, uneager to take a minute out of their all-important lives for manners. Delmaria kept moving, however, and mixed in with the vast amounts of people that partook in all sorts of activities. A fight that had broken out between two scraggly-looking women, dressed up in high wigs and dirty dresses pushed its way over to the pirate captain, who stuck out his arm to prevent the two wenches from coming any closer. He had learned by now that when in Tortuga, be precise, quick, and uninterrupted.

Delmaria made his way out of the bay, and down the main cobblestone street of Tortuga. The French-style quarters let for all sorts of people to look down from the second-story, thin wooden balconies, to eye everything that went below them as they chatted. Small pedestrian stands were scattered at the sides of the street, selling anything from fruit to crudely-shaped weaponry. Every minute some badly-higenined man would come up and try to shove something in the pirate's face, so when he saw somebody who evenly remotely looked like a wayside merchant, he flipped a small silver coin his way and kept on moving.

He finally reached the all familiar center of Tortuga, where he and Jack had carried out their little fight. The large, stone fountain at the center of the large courtyard was the centerpiece of all the commerce and chaos that thrived in the mecca, all sorts of people from all walks of life enjoying themselves in the surrounding taverns, shops, and dance halls. It was quite populated, and brought back to Delmaria many pleasant and unpleasant memories alike, yet he persisted to get done what had to be done. He walked around the dribbling, splashing fountain, past the end buildings of the square, and down the rest of the main street, which only continued the increasing interest of the city. In the distance, his target became clearer and clearer - a large, three story building that ended the main street of the city, with a very grand and enterprising presence. It had very little windows, but a large, open doorway, as if it was beckoning you to come inside. He looked out on to the tall balcony overhanging the entrance, where two figures stood, gazing over the crowd like watchdogs.

Delmaria felt his heart begin to race as he stepped up in to the doorway, walking slowly in. Before him was a large, wood hall, like it was meant to be a dance hall of sorts. All the tables that were meant to fill the room where crowded in to three corners, the one in the far right occupied by a bar. Two tall staircases were parallel at the side of the room, which led up to the walkway directly over his head that led on to the balcony. Across from him was a wide pair of double doors, closed shut. The room was empty, and still - but not the kind that made you feel like you truly were alone. He crept in to the center of the room, when he heard a loud slam from behind.

He turned to see that two red-clad buccaneers, like those that were aboard the ship, were staring him down, their arm now over the closed pair of doors. Over their heads, the two guards that were on the balcony walked forward, to the edge of the walkway, drawing their swords. Delmaria backed up, the pirates looming over them. The two at the doors slowly walked forward, while the others above began making their way to the staircase. Delmaria finally felt his backside hitting against the front of the bar, stopping him. When he found there was no use in trying to run, he began to walk forward. "Gentlemen, must we re-"

"Shut up!" The right man of the pair closest to him barked, quickly drawing his sword, and pointing it at Delmaria.

As they drew ever closer, now only seven meters away, Delmaria sighed. "If you insist. I would have liked to play a game of poker after so long." The pirate whipped out a large, glass wine bottle from behind his back, chucking it at the pirate who had shouted at him, nailing him right in the fact. The glass shattered loudly, leaving small shards and cuts on his face that sent him bleeding to the ground in an unconscious slump. "Oi, bugger doesn't know how to shave." He commented, the other three freebooters in shock.

As they began to charge, Darkskull turned about and jumped over the counter of the bar, scooping up another rum bottle that sat underneath the counter. He popped off the bottle, took a quick swig, and chucked it at the closest pirate, making him jump out of the way in the dodge. That gave him enough time to raise his pistol out from the side of his belt, pulling the trigger as a plume of smoke pushed out, followed by the smothered sound of the led bullet lodging in to the poor lad's right shoulder.

By now the other two had reached the bar, swinging and chopping their swords at Darkskull. The captain jumped to the group behind the bar and began to crawl to the far side, away from the duo. Glass bottles left on the countertop clashed and splattered as their cutlasses menacingly cut through, sending bits and pieces of glass and droplets of liquor in every direction. Delmaria was crawling sporadically as the little fragments hit him, until he finally toppled on to his back and tried to look up to see his assailants.

The crashing and swinging seemed to stop, and eerie moment of silence filling the room. Delmaria was wondering what to do - should he jump up and fight, or try to run? He knew he couldn't overpower the two guards alone, and trying to continue this fight would get him killed. He turned his vision to the ceiling, where, just a little off from the bar above, sat a metal chandelier of candles. A stroke of genius hit him in that moment.

Darkskull swiftly grabbed a full bottle of alcohol next to him, throwing it directly upward with all his might. Just when it looked like it would fall short, hurtling to the ground, it crashed in to the lighting, bouncing it upward. The candles on it toppled over, and any drips of alcohol that hit the flames busted in to fire, falling to the ground like a firestorm. Delmaria got up in a dash and sprinted to the other side of the room as the fire and candles fell, which began to set fire to the two pirates, and the bar. They began shouting and screaming in pain, dropping their swords and running down the room, blasting through the double doors, in to the town, fading off in the distance as their sirens blared.

Darkskull ran over to the door and pulled up one of the large wooden bar tables, setting it up in the handles in such a way that the door refused to open. After jamming it a little to make sure no walkers by could peep in to see what was going on. He turned about, back through the gigantic hall as the flames grew steady in the corner. He walked up to the doors, and slowly grasped the door knob, twisting it and pushing it forward.

He slipped through the small opening in to a lush, red-carpeted room, surrounded in a golden-gilded, white wallpaper. A fixture of fancy couches, chairs and tables formed in a neat living area in the middle of the room, portrayed in white and gold, clashing with a large staircase that rose at the back of the room, and as then nearing the tall wall of glass windows, cut in to two diverging, small flights, which led to walkways that lined the top of the side of the room. His heavy black boots almost sunk in to the easy floor, going forward in a suspicious, defensive stance, his cutlass still waiting in his right hand at his side. And then, the sound of the slamming of feet.

He turned to the right corner at the foot of the room, up where the walkway receded back from behind the wall that hid the rest of it. Two buccaneers ran in, completely unaware that Delmaria was standing in the room, running down the path, bouncing down the plush stairs, and then beginning in a run towards the door behind the pirate, still not noticing him. They were in a speed walk all the way up to the little sitting area, when they saw there was somebody in front of them. They froze, a streak of horror over their face. The two men were lanky, likely more related to pricks of wood than actual human beings. Delmaria locked his vision on them, gripping his sword tighter by the handle as they gazed, unsure of what to do.

Finally, Darkskull watched as one of them slowly wrapped his hand to his side, where his pistol was, as if he thought he could do it in a hidden manner. Instead, Delmaria kicked the large, white couch that had it's back to him forward with a quick lash, and then diving behind it as the guard shakingly drew his gun and shot it, missing by who knows how much. He was afraid as much as his fellow man was, but they both drew their daggers like it was a defense mechanism. They ran up to the couch and dived their blades over it to try and hit something, anything, but it nothing was there. They puzzled at each other before daring to lean over the tossed piece of furniture, only to look down at a blank spot. They backed up, but they hit against something. They turned slowly, as one of them was a dealt a terrible haymaker to the face, knocking him back and on to the floor, without sparing himself from an overdramatic stumble, like his nose bleed was equivalent to losing an eye.

The other looked at Delmaria, who just stood there, dumbfounded. "I'm old, not slow.", he lectured to the guard, before grabbing him by the back of his short brown hair, and throwing his head on to Delmaria's upcoming knee. The pirate jolted back in a crunching smash, twisting to the ground in a quake of pain, agony, and fear of losing his ability to control his bowls.

Delmaria turned away from the two disgraces and flew up the first flight of steps, turning up the one of the right, and then pounding down the wooden hallway, past the doors that lined the walls. The grand living room slinking out of sight behind him, he made his way hurriedly through the maze of sparsely decorated yet elegant walls, pearl shaded walls giving away to black wood framing. The lighting was lacking, and his shadow mixed in well with the darkness - and more than likely, so did the shadows of his attackers.

As Delmaria approached another corner in the corridors, turning left, another of the pirates, now a short, oriental man, jumped out from around the corner in a battle cry, wielding, of all things, a katana. He landed with a direct prowess, cutting the blade across and nailing it in to the corner of the wall. Delmaria jumped back and continued walking backwards as the screaming pirate moved his blade in every which direction, cutting little pieces of the wall and ceiling as he spun, cut, and whirled like a drunken serpent. He slithered and snaked through the hall towards Delmaria, finally cutting the pirate captain with a small paper cut across the forearm. Delmaria dabbed at it with his free hand, while he became increasingly annoying with his assailant.

When he passed a door, Delmaria grabbed the door knob and flung it out before him, causing for the blade to cut right through the middle of the door, Delmaria ducking from its path. Darkskull then slammed the door shut, the sword still lodged in it, and a stunned aggressor felt his lungs deflate as Delmaria delivered an uppercut to his rib cage. In pain, the guard stumbled back, but jumped forward as he grabbed footing, Delmaria blocking his attempted punch with a flexed arm before his temple. As the Chinese pirate's feet hit the ground, Delmaria pulled back his leg and kicked his enemy's leg with such a rocking force that he was swept face first to the ground.

As he grunted in drunken pain, Delmaria picked the pirate up by the collar, and dragged him back to the door with the katana in it. He opened it, stuffed the pirate inside, and slammed it shut, pulling out the katana and then jutting it back in to the door at such an angle that the door would not open. Satisfied, he gathered himself, checked the cut on his arm, which was still bleeding slightly, and slowly continued back down the halls.

He grazed through the rest of the mansion's path with relative ease, except for two patrolling guards that he was able to discharge by tossing them down a recently reached flight of stairs, bringing him up to the third floor. The surroundings became darker and more cramped with each step, until finally, he reached the end of the crusade. A dead end was fixated with a hand-carved, brown wooden door. Two lanterns at the side of it pointed out a crooked sign on the face of it, which read "Boss's Room - Do Not Enter." He ignored the sign, and barged right in.

The room was a rectangle, not as wide as it was long, but not that large at all. It was crammed with decorated, hand carved wooden furniture, draped in maps, globes, and other things common of pirates. Behind a desk that sat at the back of the room were piles upon piles of gold, reaching up five, perhaps six feet in some areas across the back wall. Yet Delmaria had to pay no attention to detail, as he was being attacked upon entry.

A large, burly man, dressed in linen and puffy clothing was coming at him, wearing a large, red admiral's hat with poorly draw markings all over it. His face was covered in no hair, but exotic jewelry, clinging with his exhilarated expression. He carried a massive long sword, which he swung over his head and chopped in to the ground, as Delmaria dodged out of the way. Darkskull kicked his foot up, hitting the captain in the face, as he drew his cutlass. Yet he was not fazed by the kick, and drew his sword back up again for another attack. As he took the blade and swung it powerfully from behind his back, Delmaria dove and tried to stop the sword with his cutlass, but all he got was a push backward, to the floor. He hit the wood panels with a bone-crushing smack, wincing in pain as he looked up to watch the pirate drag himself forward and bring his blade above his head with both hands, preparing to swing down. As it streaked through the air, Delmaria rolled to the side and hit against the wall, just as the sword crunched in to the wood. As the pirate captain struggled to pull his sword out, Delmaria threw his cutlass in a spiral across the room, still laying on the floor, and just cutting the pirate captain right above the knee.

As the man yelled to a kneeling position, Delmaria crawled behind him to where his cutlass was, and stood up, preparing to behead the man. Yet something stopped him - telling him not to do this, that enough blood was on his hands this day. He nodded with it, although it said nothing, and instead, picked up a large book on a bookcase next to him, and sent it crashing down on the defeated pirate, knocking him out in a thud.

Delmaria looked around the room in a sigh. The person he was looking for was not here. He thought that something was not like it seemed - there was something he had overlooked about this whole situation. He rubbed at his forehead, trying to understand, trying to convince the rest of himself that everything was over and done, and that he could go back to his ship for a sound sleep. And just as he verged on that, he noticed something, behind the tall bookcase next to him. A sliver of black lined the side of it, with little cracks coming from it. He went over, and pulled it, toppling it and all the books on it over.

The result, aside from a group of books on the floor, was a large entrance way, dark and dank, only little by a torch that led down a never-ending flight of stone stairs. Cobwebs hung down from the ceiling of the hidden stone passage, showing just how untouched it was - or was it?

Cautiously, Delmaria descended himself in to the darkness, the smell of death and despair filling his nose. The steps were flat and long, leading down far, far from the office he came from. He felt as though he was going deep within the underbelly of Hell, the cramped and stuffy feeling engulfing him. Finally, he saw light at the end of the tunnel - a faint torch fire burning off in the distance. He hurried towards it, banking around the corner at it in to the room.

The room he entered as a small jail, lined on the walls by a few cells. The air was still, and there was barely any light, as rats scampered across the cobbles etched in dirt and grime. He stepped in to the disgusting surroundings, when he heard shouting from the back cell, which was the size of two put together. He jogged lightly past the cells filled with chained skeletons and remains to see what was going on.

The sight was astounding. In the cell, a beautiful woman with long red hair, dressed in loose sailing attire, pushed her captain's hat off her brow as she twisted her hand, which held in it the broken end of a glass bottle. She defended herself against three old, raggedy men, who looked as though they were trying to overpower her. "C'mon you filthy rats, c'm at me!" she taunted at them, her voice doused by a light Irish accent.

Delmaria ran up the cell and took his cutlass to chop off the lock to the cell. The women, startled, jumped a bit, but at the sight of Delmaria, began to grin as she rushed out of it to greet him. "Oh God, at last, salvation! Thank you mate!" she graced to him.

"Pleasure to see you too, Miss..."

She cut him off, raising a hand with a slight smile, kicking the jail cell door behind her closed. "Ah, please. Call me Anne; Anne Bonny, if you want the full glory of it."


The two of them walked in to the quiet bar, the dim light hiding their identities. A few of the people in the bar, which wasn't that many, turned their visions about the tips of their hats, but were too careless to see who was walking in, and turned back to their quiet sleeping, drinking, and card playing.

The duo sat down at one of the vacant tables lined with used and empty rum bottles, adjacent from each other. After checking to make sure there wasn't any rum left, Anne leaned over the table to whisper with Delmaria. "I must thank you for helping me back there, truly wasn't too good fer me in my own dungeon." she whispered in a smile.

"Anything for you, Captain." he nodded at her. "Now you need to get to explaining - what was the purpose of all that?"

Bonny leaned back in her chair, recollecting her thoughts, before leaning back over to him. She began to explain:

"It was a few weeks ago, maybe two months, when it started. Some Navy fellas, don't know how, sailed their ship in to port without being picked up, landed, and caused quite a stir down on the beach. They came in peace at first, only using those weapons to protect themselves on the encroaching masses, but they started to call out the names of people - pirates - that they wanted arrested. They fled before they were forced out, or I got heard, but it 'twas enough to get everybody real uncomfortable.

"A few days after, I got word from some 'o me men that someone spotted a few Navy out in the jungle, settin' up some sort of camp. They didn't see much, so I got a few mates to head out and see what was up; sure enough, they were right. We didn't do anything - not yet, 'least.

"They started coming in to town and bossin' everybody around, just outta the blue. Most of the people didn't take too kindly, but what were we gonna do? Anybody they could find with a warrant on their heads was dragged away, and there was nothing we could do about it.

"A month went by an' I finally thought this was gonna simmer - at least, I did. I woke up one morning to find these Navy fellas had made it all the way to the brunt of the mansion, demanding fer me arrest! We scared them away, but they just came back every few days.

"I finally got enough of it. Me mates and I headed out in the jungles ourselves to take matters in to our own hands, but when we got to their camp site, it was empty. Completely abandoned. They must have moved farther West, and we were right. We went farther, and what we found, was, well, shockin'!

"The rats were building a fort, right beneath our noses! I don't know how long they were there, but lemme tell ya, it was nearly complete by the time we got there. I wasn't prepared to attack it, but I did something - I got people on the inside, people who could look in fer me. They did some snoopin' around, and I got what I needed. Records.

"They detailed everything. Leanne O'Malley, the devil, had sold us out! In exchange fer some sort of gift, she gave the Navy enough crewmen to help them start their little project on Tortuga. They infiltrated my town, pirate crew's, even my office, as you can see! I should have known the coward had a hand in this."

Delmaria nodded. He would have expected by now Leanne would do something like that. "Well, don't worry, mate. I have something Leanne can't have, but wants."

"Which is?" Anne puzzled.

Before he spoke, Delmaria saw a stir at the bar. A few of the pirates sitting there slowly got up, and began to walk around the bar suspiciously. He quickly leaned to Anne and said, "Meet me at my ship. RUN!"

The pistols blared through the tavern as the two pirates hit the floor, drawing their weapons to fight back.

Muy bueno. It surely is eptastic.

Muchas gracias, CC!

Not much to say about this chapter, but.. eh, you'll see. Read on :)




The large crew of pirates amassed on the edge of the port as the night fell heavy upon them, the stars hidden behind long, thin clouds. The moon shined off in the distant skies, it's aura of bliss emanating just over the roof of the forest that waited by them. They were collected behind the town walls, off to the side of a small archway that broke off from a large dirt square in the town, lined by stores and taverns, still lit well in to the darkness. They were cloaked in dark blues, greens, browns, and blacks, like a militia of natives, cloaked in war paint, waiting to go out on the hunt. Their breathing was collected and easy, the tension palpable in the air.

In the large circle of 30 pirates that huddled against the wall, Delmaria and Anne walked in to the middle looking around at their crew. Delmaria had traded the embroided, beautiful outfit for a getup of loose, dingy linen garments, as had Anne. At his side, the usually bright, golden cutlass was replaced, in fear that it would give him away even in the slightest ray of light. In its stead, was the decorated Naval cutlass of Captain Kinos Libertant, it's sharp blade hanging down from the gilded handle at the waist. The crew had nicknamed it "The Liberator," and it was soon to be freed from the confines of the grave, back to where it belonged - protecting freedom.

Anne took the large map that she had in her hand and laid it on to the ground, kneeling to it to point at it. "When the candles on the ships burn out, they'll start to make their move. We don't have too much time, so we need to get to the line here as quick as possible. We'll follow the small dirt road behind us to where that woodcutter lives in the clearing, and then we'll cut in to the forest. Everybody got the idea?"

They nodded in unison, gathering their things as they turned on to the dirt road that led from the archway, in to the dark jungle. As they went, Delmaria turned and watched them walk off, preparing to follow behind them. As the final crew mates walked by him, Anne came up next to him and stopped. She turned to him slightly, and said, "Do you have faith, Delmaria?"

Delmaria turned to her, staring at her. "With what I'm going to do, it's the Navy that should be praying tonight." He spun and followed vigorously behind the pirates.



The crew spanned out across the length of the end of the island, ground elevating slightly as, through the trees, the walls of the stone fort hid from them. The tip of Tortuga that they waited on was wide, but not wide enough so that they could not feel the waves crash below them. They were high above waters, a few dozen meters off the ground, and the ends of the wall of pirates were still a dozen meters from the cliff. They all crouched there, the easy night winds blowing a few sprays of mist at them. The stars and the moon shined easily overhead, as off to their right, far across their vision, was the other end of the crescent-shaped island.

Darkskull, who sat in the center of the pirates with Anne, pulled out a telescope that he kept in his back pocket, long, dark, and rusted when stretched out. He peered through the magnifier, past the few trees that blocked his vision, sideways from the direction the rest of them where looking, towards the fort. Way out in the bay, under darkness, 11 pirate ships lowered their lights, and began to make a silent assault towards the fortress. "They're on the move!" Delmaria whispered to the rest of them. "Alright mates, creep forward!"

Slowly, as though they were Mayan hunters, the buccaneers slinked forward still in their crouched, quietly unraveling their swords, daggers, and pistols. The grass and tree branches cracked lightly under their feet as they moved forward, shushing each other at every angle. They moved in unison with the small fleet of Brethren ships that slowly came in on a slant to get at the fort, it's stone top slowly peaking over the tops of the trees. Anne was right - the fort looked complete, aside from a few construction stands at it's face. He could make out the silhouettes of a few Navy sentinels patrolling at the grounds before the fort, just as the trees met it, as well as the shadows of a few guards walking on the stone walkway at the top. He hushed the crowd of pirates to a half. "Easy, easy - we'll wait for our friends in the bay."

As the rest of the group settled down, Delmaria quietly walked his way over, past the small group, closer to the cliff on the right. As he hit the end of the tree line, a few meters before he would be exposed on the edge, he knelt down, watching at the Brethren ships grew closer and closer. He hoped that they would be able to reach the fort before they were seen by the armada of Navy ships near the fort. At the waters beneath the fort inward to the bay were 9 small British ships, all of which were frigates that were roughly the size of a regular sloop. Their sails rocked undisturbed, up in rolls on the masts, the light creaking of their hulls in the waves the only noise. With each moment the pirate ships headed closer to them, just at an angle so that a soldier facing directly off the side of the ship would see only a dark Caribbean night. An impending doom approached either side, depending on who struck first. Should the pirates fail to strike first, Delmaria and his crew would be left outmanned and overpowered within the fort - not something they particularly hope. He prayed to the stars that they would hurry up and get to the action, and it did. Just not the way he planned.

As the pirate ships got within firing range of the sleeping ships, beginning to turn to their broadsides, a row of quick explosions rocked the side of the fort. Delmaria snapped his head to attention, turning up to the top of the fort. The tips of the barrels of five large, iron cannons stuck out over the side of the fort, unloading a round of cannonballs down at the pirate ships. They all hit the foremost one with rocking power and accuracy, splitting a mast and plunging a hole in to the hull. The Navy ships soon began to unwind their sails, hurrying to attention, as the Brethren threw their rudders to aim a broadside. Yet the explosions didn't stop.

Delmaria turned around to the scene of two firey explosions ripping in to the forest, throwing the pirates in to trees, and across the area they sat at. Judging by where they had landed, Darkskull could already tell the lead had killed at least three pirates, and more than likely injured double that. There were two cannons that they had not seen that were sitting at the top of the fort, all the while the eight Navy sergeants that had previously patrolled the base of the fort were rushing towards the disheveled group. The British had known of the plans the whole time.

As two huge pockets of fire blared previously where the lines of pirates were, Delmaria rushed in at a slant to intercept the attackers. He brandished his cutlass as he crossed paths with a brutal looking Navy grunt, rushing inward with a grueling bayonet in his grasp. The intimidating, roaring face was crushed as Delmaria jumped in front of him and cut him in the leg with the Liberator. Yet instead of feeling the sword jolt as the man jumped in pain, the sword continued to cut through the muscle and tissue, and digging a cut in to the femur. Darkskull pulled the sword out intensively as the man screamed in pain, not because he was battle ready, but because was scared. He wondered to himself how a blade could be so powerful.

As he dazzled at the blade, he could feel a sense of a rush behind him. He whirled around just in time to see one of the pirates dive forward and run through a soldier in the stomach, who was running up behind Delmaria. He spurted out a gasp of blood from his mouth, before slinking in a sad cry to the ground. Delmaria nodded to the rugged pirate who stood before him, but there was something out this pirate this intrigued him. He hadn't noticed him before - not during the meeting, not when he met up with Anne on the dock, not from anywhere. He was old, with a long, grey beard. But before he could make out any other details of this mysterious figure, he listened to the loud sound of hissing. He watched upward, as more artillery fell from an arch in the sky towards him.

Delmaria sprinted forward, his hands shielding the top of his head, as the large shell crashed in to the ground behind with a significant rumble. He could hear behind him the clanking of swords and bayonets, shouts and battle cries, the two forces meeting in to the shadows of the dark forest, as the firefight out in the waters began to erupt with a flurry of cannon fire. Delmaria took a dramatic dive towards the wall of the fort, hitting before it and pushing his back against it, in a sitting position. The wall was of the usual grey, hard brick, and ran up about twenty meters high. He gasped for breath as he took a moment to relax himself.

He faced back out in to the jungle, where, by the side of the flames, he could make out the dance that went on between the pirates and the soldiers. The original eight British patrollers had been backed up by a group of others that filed out of the fort, making the battle even between the opposing sides. He pushed his back up on the stone wall further, and tilted his hat back to clear his vision. He was able to catch a glimpse just in time, as Anne slid next to him.

She laid on the ground to his left, panting heavily, but grinning with an exhilarated smile. She had a small gasp on her forearm, but she didn't seem to notice it. "'Ello Delmaria, glad to see you made it through!"

"Gah, just barely." he exasperated. "Everything is going completely wrong, and we can't do a damn thing about it!"

Bonny pulled herself up and sat next to Delmaria along the front of the wall, watching with him the battle in the forest. "Well, any ideas on our next move? Retreat or go forward is your own choice, mate."

Delmaria put his head back on the fort, looking up to the stars just past the covering of the tree tops. He got lost in them, blankly gazing as each of them tinkled in an intangible, but relevant code and sequence. Maybe they were talking to each other, Delmaria thought. If Earth could speak, what would it say? Would it talk about the war, the fighting, the tyranny, and injustice? Would it talk about the daily death and destruction? What was it's tone of voice, it's mood? How would it feel?

Darkskull looked away from the sky, to Anne. But instead of making contact with the female pirate, his attention was caught beyond her, past the tree line, over the cliff. One of the tops of the masts of a British ship nearly scraped the land as the vessel was jammed in to the rocks by a blockade of pirate ships. Around it where a cluster of other ships, like a tumor off the land. A ship city, and the masts were the skyscrapers, each trying to tower over the other. Darkskull couldn't tell whether his idea was a flash of brilliance, or incredibly stupid.

The pirate staggered to his feet and began an all-out ran parallel to the fort, passed Anne, past the trees. He could hear her shouts as he ran from her, but he blocked them out. He focused all on building his momentum, widening his stride, and counting his steps. A simple step out of balance would throw him off his target, spiraling in to the rocky, lethal waters below. Now was the time when he wished he had chosen to exercise on the deck of the ship, instead of reading ancient odysseys and Iliad’s. His heart began to race, and all of his senses, one by one, sharpened until they were cut off. He had become a whole being, and it would take one leap to decide if it would live or die.

As his right boot hit the wet grass that began to steeply curve in to the cliff, Delmaria pushed off, sending him hurtling through the air as he left the ground behind. He whipped his arms and his legs forward, giving him an extra push. Yet as he flew, the ship he aimed for began to spin about quickly, the once sticking-out mast turning away from him. He reached his arms out in unison, and they slammed hard against the wood mast, slipping to his hands so he was left hanging a deadly height above the deck. The sails of the ship blew away from him with the wind, bringing the ship forward, heading alongside the fort. His arms throbbed in pain as the blood rushed through, cringing as he fought against the will to let go. He kicked his legs back and forth, rocking him with enough energy to give him a strong grip on the horizontal beam. Slowly, he wrapped his forearm, then his elbow, and then finally his entire arm around it, managing to sit himself on top, and then, finally, stand. He was up.

He extended out his two arms like a bird to balance himself, as he wobbled with the sporadic rocking and crashing of the ship below. He side-stepped himself over to the little top of the mast right below the crow’s nest, and kept his right arm tight around it, as he looked out in the direction of the bow of the frigate. The mass of Pirate and Royal ships were nearly side-by-side, leaving every broadside and cannon shot to a complete chance of hitting. The battle only remained now to who was quickest, so he prayed the buccaneers didn't stock up on the fine delicacies of Tortuga before they went out. He turned his attention to a much taller Galleon next to them, the first beam on the main mast being nearly as tall as the one he stood on. Above that one was another, which brushed roughly against a ship of equal height, directly next to the fort. He had planned his escape route.

He spun around the pole, leaving a brief moment in the air, and then landing him on the opposite side. Before the ship had a chance to turn away, or he had a chance to let his suppressed fear of heights return, Delmaria ran out on to the beam, like a ninja at the top of a stone wall, and bounded off the end, flipping through the air and hitting against the beam of the other ship flat on his chest, wrapping his limbs around it to lock his position. The wind was knocked right out of him on impact, and his black bandana slipped off the top of his head, fluttering down to the deck like a handkerchief. The fabric touched the head of a Navy soldier, who looked surprised as he picked the thing off his head. He puzzled at it, and looked up, to where Delmaria was. He pointed and yelled, drawing the attention of the sailors around him. They screamed to grab the bayonets, meaning that it's was Delmaria's time to move.

Delmaria scurried to his feet on the beam and ran to the mast, nearly being thrown off halfway as the ship rammed in to a Brethren schooner in front of them. He gathered himself, and continued, grabbing on to the pole and grabbing on to the ladder on its front, swinging to it, and beginning a hurried ascent up the mast, towards the crow’s nest. As he ran up it, he heard the commands of the Officers below him, followed by the ringing of the bullets through the air. Nearly all of them blazed through the sails at his side, except for one, which nicked his heavy leather boot. He felt the shot, but the boot was took thick for it to even come close to the skin. He continued forward, paying no mind as the men below him reloaded their guns.

As he reached the crow’s nest, he grabbed the collar of a British sailor who was leaning over the side and tossed him back over his shoulder, sending him startled to the deck below. Darkskull scurried in to the crow’s nest and hit the floor, just as another flurry of bullets shot through the side of it. He scampered back, and peeked his vision just over the back of the basket-like seat, to where the helm was. A gruff, grizzly looking man manned the wheel, barking orders of spit and blood at his poor, poor crew mates. Delmaria slowly reached for his pistol, and creaked it over the siding, tilting it downward. He shot the old, decrepit thing, sending a lead bullet down at the captain. Instead of making a deadly shot, the wind pushed it in to his side. He toppled on to his side, catching his arm in the wheel and spinning it wildly. The ship turned with a dull yet decisive motion, turning it away from the ship near the fort, and leaving facing the side. This caused for the crew below to shoot a broadside that both pointed the side of the Navy ship upward, and the towering Pirate ship downward, leaving open another opportunity.

By the time the ship had hit the arch of its tilt upward, Delmaria was running up the slanted top beam, aiming for a record setting jump. Yet as he neared the end, lifting off his foremost foot for the jump, the worst of all possibilities happened. He wasn't shot by a cannonball, or sprained his leg, or even got a Charlie-horse, no. He slipped.

His body flipped and twisted through the air as he bounded off the side of the ship, in the general direction of the black-sailed pirate ship. He found himself winding face down, staring at the churning and whirling waves below, in the small gaps in between the ships. He saw smoke, blood, wood, and tarnish all twirl below him, as one of his boots slipped off, falling and knocking a man in the head, unconscious. His body left him turning away from the battle, and towards pirate ship, watching the sails rocket towards him at astonishing speed. His body slammed in to the crescent of the top sail, in between the second and third beams, bouncing him off slightly, and then riding it downward like it was a slide. Delmaria was flustered, unsure of what to do or how to do it, as he looked down to where he was heading - the end of the sail neared, which would send him like a missile over the ship, and slamming him in to helm. He wasn't left to instinct or skill anymore; he was in God's hands now. Luckily, God was a good catcher.

Delmaria felt himself stop short, his body tugging forward as the rest of it stopped. He opened his eyes, to see him hanging down over the beam, his arms and head dangling down. He looked up, and saw what hat saved him. His legs were draped over the beam, like as if he were a monkey. He tied his feet together and tensed his muscle, pulling himself up to sit on the beam. He grabbed the sails with his hands to pull himself up and held on to them as he guided his way towards the mast. He looked up, to study the situation. The top beam was brushing against the top of the fort, where a few Navy soldiers began to scurry on to it to get in the fight. Delmaria run to the mast quickly, grasping the ladder and beginning to bind upward. One of the Navy soldiers was waiting there for Delmaria, and as he brought down his foot to kick the pirate in the head, Darkskull drove up a large, shining throwing knife, stabbing the soldier right through the foot, and sending him tipping over the mast. Delmaria pulled himself upward, as another of them flipped his pistol over his shoulder in a commanding swing. Delmaria leaned back dangerously to dodge a blow, and in the only defense mechanism he could think of, stood up and back-hand slapped the man, his jeweled ring leaving an imprint on his face. The soldier cursed, before losing his balance, splitting his legs over the banister, landing in the worst possible position, and painfully sliding off.

Delmaria rushed along the beam, outreaching his arm and pushing away the finally person that stood between him and the fort. He bounded off of it enthusiastically, over the edge of the fort, and landed on the stone with a thud. On his knees, shaking, he bended over as though he were praying and kissed the floor in relief.



Delmaria hit the first aggressor with a kick to the chest, knocking him back on to one of the iron cannons. He winched in pain as Delmaria ran up to grab him by his shaggy, greasy hair, and whiplash him from the cannon, over the edge of the fort, down in to the center of the fort.

Delmaria spun around and punched one of the soldiers that were kneeling at the cannon next to him, trying to load in a shot before Delmaria noticed him. The man that was holding the ram to the cannon, on the other side, popped up and brought the heavy iron ram over his head. Delmaria jumped back as he slammed it down on to the cannon, and picked it back up, resting it on his shoulder, preparing for another swing. Before he could lift the heavy weight off of him to attack, Darkskull delivered a massive uppercut to the man's stomach, bending him forward and dropping the ram out of his grasp, on to his foot.

As he fell and screamed in pain, Delmaria picked up the ram with his right hand, and began slamming it in to the cannon at the right of where he landed, shifting back and forth along the shaft. Little by little, he caused dents in them barrel, making it unable for anything to pass through it. As he did this, the cannoneers from the three cannons beyond the one he was beating rushed over to stop him, but each time he smacked at them with the ram, sending them away. As he slammed the last guard in the head, Delmaria threw the ram out over the ledge of the fort, and ran over to the edge of the walkway, looking down in to the fort. Below him, next to the staircase to his left, was a large pile of crates and barrels, dark in color and placed carefully in position - gunpowder, undoubtedly.

Delmaria ran over to the cannon and gripped it at its back, pulling out his cutlass and skimming the blade over the cannon, towards him. The sparks from the scraping bounced towards the small piece of rope that poked out of it, to ignite the cannon. As soon as the sound of hissing became clear, Delmaria put away his sword and walked to the end of the barrel. With all his might, he grabbed the narrow end of the barrel and rocked the cannon backward, the heavy steel wheels at its base slowly rolling with him. As it gained momentum, he gave it a final push, and began running wildly down the walkway. He could hear the rusty metal hinges cradle back, slamming the cannon over the ledge, downward.

Delmaria could feel the ripping, the blast, and the heat as his body stumbled at the corner of the fort, the sheer force of the explosion crumbling its body under the shock. The cannon's blocked shot caused for an inner boom within the cannon, blowing off its back. Coupled with the significant stack of gunpowder containers that it rammed in to head first, the result was a fiery shockwave that mushroomed up and across the fort, blazes and spits of flames jumping across the entire building. Delmaria crawled to the ledge, where he watched the soldiers that were near the blast lay, unconscious or dead, as their bodies burned. The smoke that rose was not as black, as it illusion to be red, whisping and cackling as it flew away from its devilish work. The fire was born of a devil, but he carried the flag of freedom.

As Delmaria crawled up to his feet, looking over what he had done, he made out a bright, shining red object from across the square fort, over by the large archway leading out in to the forest. In between the gaps of smoke in the air, he could make out what shimmered was a skimpy, light vest, over a loose yellow ruffled shirt. It was a clump of a body, but even with its back to him, Delmaria knew exactly who it was, from all the joyous and painful experiences. He drew his sword.

Delmaria sprinted down the walkway perpendicular to where the cannons was, knocking away a dazed Navy soldier as he stumbled towards him. Where the path he was on came to the next at the corner, a staircase ran along the next one, downward, leading right near the entrance. Delmaria turned at the dime down the stairs, hurriedly, his body tensing in anger with each step he took. He bounded off the last step, and began towards the body, just off from the gateway outside. It slowly slinked back, looking up to face him, its hair falling down to her face.

Delmaria stormed up to her, widening his stance, raising his blade above his head like he were about to sweep a broadsword. "You damn wench, stop moving!" he barked at her. His eyes were glaring, his face not clenched, but over washed in anger.

Leanne began screaming, crying, and crab walking backward to try and escape. Delmaria walked forward and lifted his knee, slamming his foot down on to O'Malley's, stopping her in place, and causing a loud snap in her ankle. Her face gasped in pain, as she let out spaced out, grunts of agony. Delmaria watched her, tilting his head. Something inside of him whispered, Let her scream, let her suffer, let her scream, let her suffer. Delmaria's face started to grin in enjoyment, the happiness inside him growing as the old, crackled voice began louder and louder, beating like a drum.

Delmaria pushed up the blade over his head higher, preparing to strike down. Leanne let out a scream of fear, throwing her hands over her head and starting to tear. Delmaria knew there was no turning back now.

Darkskull swooped down the blade, making a clean, bloody cut across the neck, cutting the Pirate Queen's head off clean. Her body untensed as it rolled back, away. The earth became quiet, as he stood there, gripping his handle tighter and tighter. He began to laugh uproariously, deeper, louder, and heavier than he ever had before. He felt the trickles of blood run down his hands, dripping to the ground. He knew what he had become.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Delmaria, STOP!" the voice yelled behind him, awaking him from his dream. He felt the womanly hand grip the arm that held the blade over his head. His eyes looked around - he was in the fort, still. The fire raged at the other side, the soldiers still gripped in disarray, as the pirates sweeped in to cover ground, tearing the fort apart stone by stone. And at his feet, still laid Leanne - her hands over her head, her body shaking, her eyes watering. The sight of her made him angry again, but as he tugged his arm to attack, Anne held him back. He started to grunt, struggling against her.

When he knew he could go nowhere, he dropped the blade at his side. He bent over, and yelled at Leanne, "YOU DESERVE TO DIE! YOU KILLED MY SON!"

Leanne froze, her head, twitching in fear, looking up to him. Beneath all her fear was confusion. "N-no, I didn't.. It was y-"

"YES YOU DID! DON'T LIE!" he screamed, his body starting to break down on him. His muscles untensed, as his face tightened, crunching. He could feel all of his organs quiet, as he hunched over, on to his knees on the ground. "Yes, you did.. murderer, LIAR! Yes... no....me... Delpadros..." he whimpered, his body and breathing calming, as the three pirates began to relax. The pirate captain gripped his hands at his hair, as he started to cry.

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We can consider that the climax (or, one of them) to the current conflict in the story ;)

The next few chapters might be a little slow, definately not as big as this one. But, trust me, they'll be just as good in their own way. Thanks mates! Be sure to review!

I just started reading your series and let me just say, I love it. I still have to read the last one that was made in the blog.

Thank you Jason! Glad to see I got another reader onboard :)

Also, for those of you that are interested, I'll be posting a blog later tonight that goes more in to detail on some of the less-than-clear characters in my story. It'll be worth the read if you want to get a little background information on everything that goes on in the story currently.

On a second thought, I decided not to do the blog, to preserve the mysteriousness of my characters. Rest assured, all shall be explained - in time ;)

At least with not doing the blog, I could make this chapter nice and chunky. So, my friends, enjoy!



The heavy mist lined the streets of Tortuga, swirling in with the torrential downpours that blanketed the port as a warm, humid landscape. Commoners rushed in between buildings, long, heavy coats and hats draped over their heads to protect themselves from the water. Out in the bay, the masses of ships were left still, as the droplets pounded against the easy surface of the harbor. The usually crowded, busy port was, in a rare occasion, silent on this morning, the bargainers, merchants, thieves, and pirates alike all crowded in their ships or in their homes. The rain brought with it a serene atmosphere, as though it cleansed the earth of its ordinary chaos.

The Faithful Bride was relatively empty, for a change. Coupled with the weather, the rumors of what transpired the night before turned the day overall in to a laid back one, using it as an excuse to maintain yourself at home. Carver pushed open the blue double-doors of the old Spanish-styled tavern, opening up to the blasting of rain in the small, grassy, stone corridor that the bar was located in. Although the rain was heavy, it still had that dim brightness that was enough to light the entire tavern in an easy grey light - a nice change, from the dim, yellow and brown lighting. The bartender waved to Doctor Grogan, who was closing his doors to prevent his patients from catching anything from the murkiness. He was surely about to advise Carver to close his doors, too, if he had not walked back in to the peaceful tavern to finally get back to business.

The only other person in the room was Delmaria, sitting on a chair with it's back leaned up against one of the wooden support beams in the room. He stared blankly as Carver went about his business, tidying the room from all the empty, fogged glass bottles that lined across the tables, wiping them down with a wet rag. He hummed a light sea shanty, pretending nobody was there, but ever so often he would look up to gaze at the patiently waiting Delmaria, his eyes baring down at him. His persistence began to bother Carver to the point where we steadily walked over to the bar, put down the glass bottles he had collected, and reached over the counter, picking up two green glass bottles. He walked towards Delmaria, swept up a chair, dragging it across the floor, and pulling it up in front of the pirate, plopping down. He handed a bottle to Darkskull, which he unemotionally accepted, and popped open his, taking a swig. "How long do you suppose it'll be before they're ready?" Carver asked after his drink.

"Not sure. Leanne is the squeamish type, that's for sure." Delmaria nodded, staring down at his bottle. He wasn't in the mood for a drink.

"I hope you realize the fire that you left behind some time ago in that office room up there cost me quite a lot." he commented pestering. "It's gonna be a while before I can find anybody to clean that mess up."

"Wasn't my fault we were being followed up there. For all I know, you could've set us up for that little escapade, had you intentionally not obstructed them at the door." Delmaria eyed the bartender devilishly, finally taking a small sip from the rum. It poured down his dry throat like an acid, but it was the righteous kind of burn alcohol gives you.

Finally, they heard a flurry of footsteps coming down from the attic. They looked to the walkway that was above the bar, down in the far corner, where a small, dark staircase came down from the attic. Anne bounced down them quickly, stopping at the last step, and looking down at the two chatters. "She's ready when you are, Delmaria." The female pirate then proceeded to walk down the walkway, turning in to a hallway, and opening and shutting the door of a bedroom. It was like her to go to sleep in somebody else’s home without asking.

Delmaria glanced back at Carver, before sliding his bottle on to a nearby table and heading for the stairs that led to the second story.


Delmaria walked up in to the dark attic, slamming the trap door that opened to the staircase below shut. It was a cramped, small room, just at the top of the Faithful Bride. The roof slanted upward from the far side of the room, reaching its tallest point where it met the wall behind Delmaria. The two ends of the room had two small, open windows, which looked out over Tortuga - one facing out in the direction of the bay, and the other peaking through the continuing streets and buildings of the port, the rising jungle landscape with its massive hills far in the background. The outer edge of the room was lined with boxes and crates, and in the middle, sat a table. At the end of the table that pointed out to the window that looked back over the rest of Tortuga, was Leanne, bound by the hands and feet to a wooden chair. A lock of hair fell in front of her ragged, angry face, which showed signs that she fought from getting tied down. No wonder Anne was so tired.

Delmaria sat down in to the chair opposite from her. The two pirates stared at each other, not wanting to say anything. Leanne looked stern, unwilling to cooperate, while Delmaria was blank, unmoving. Finally, he took a deep breath, and proceeded. "Alright, Ms. O'Malley, we'll start from the beginning. Why are you back in these waters?"

Leanne just sat there, stoic as a rock. The intensity in her eyes told Darkskull she would not move no matter what question he asked. He sighed again, and got up from the table. He walked over to the trap door that led back to the tavern, and kicked it with his heel three times. He then stepped off, and waited about three minutes, before it opened. Carver peaked his head up, and, smiling, slid a full bucket of water on to the floor, then closing the door behind him. Delmaria picked up the heavy wooden bucket, and reached in to his pocket, as he began to talk to Leanne. "Ms. O'Malley, I'm sure you are familiar with the Spanish Inquisition, correct?" When she did not respond, he pulled out a long, dirty piece of cloth from his pocket, and continued. "A very well organized group of men, indeed. Willing to go by any means to gather vital information. Of course, what they are most famous for is their forms of torture."

As Leanne's eyes widened in realization, Darkskull walked behind her, throwing the rag over her face from behind. He tied it in a knot at the back of her head, so her face was completely covered, and forcibly tilted it back. As she tried to kick her legs and throw her head, Delmaria reached for the bucket, saying, "A personal favorite of mine is known as the tortura del agua. Allow me to enlighten you on this." He tilted her head back once more and tilted the bucket towards her, letting the water pour slowly down on to the cloth of her face. He could hear her begin to kick and scream as the cloth became heavier and wetter. He was drowning her.

Finally, he stopped the flow of water and tore the cloth off her face, leaving the woman gasping for air, her hair and face drenched. He slammed the bucket down at the foot of his chair, and sat back down, looking at her. "So, I'll ask you again: Why are you here?"

Instead of answering, she spit out a mouthful of water at him, hitting him at the top of the torso, wetting his vest. He rolled his eyes, and reached for the bucket, pulling it up and thrusting it towards her, sending a tidal wave of water in to her face. The force of the water rocked her body and her chair back, slamming down to the floor in a pool of water. Delmaria got up, gripped the back of the chair, and pulled it back up to its original position, Leanne trying to shake the water from her face. Delmaria once again returned to his seat. "Again, why are you here?"

Finally, in between gasps of air, she answered him. "I'm a treasure hunter, Delmaria. I came here solely for what Bloodskull left behind, and not to partake in any trivia."

"Don't play games with me. You know I know too well that you wouldn't come back here for something as foolish as a piece of treasure. Why don't you continue to talk before I go get Carver to fill up that bucket again?"

Leanne sighed, and turned her head away, looking around the room. "Do you remember the note I left you, when we left that market in Rio Hacha?"

"Of course. Why?"

"The kidnappings, Delmaria. Jolly Roger has been coming more and more vicious as the weeks go by. First it was that school boy in Port Royal. They went looking everywhere for him. And do you know where they found him? In the caves, dead. He was reduced to a skeleton. Oh, but it didn't stop there.

"While you were off gallivanting around the seas, more and more people and ships were going missing. But they weren't just ordinary people - they were the relatives of people that had wronged Roger in the past. The boy was the nephew of a Navy Officer who had sunk two of Roger's War Ships out in the Hinterseas. A woman kidnapped on Padres was supposed to be the sister of a pirate that went off on a deal with Roger. He wasn't doing this just by random, Delmaria - just like you and I, Roger has a hit list. And a long one, too."

"So what does this have to do with you?" Delmaria leaned in.

"I knew as soon as I heard about the events in throughout the islands, I had to go protect.." she choked a little bit, and then looked up at him. "My son, Delmaria. I knew that Jolly was going to try to kill my son, off in England. I tried to stop him, but when I got there, he was..." she lowered her head, trying to fight back tears.

"At least there are no relatives of mine left. My father is God knows where, my mother, wife, and son are all dead. The only person I can think of is.." he gasped, coming to a realization. "Marina..."

Leanne lifted up her head, nodding. "I saw her, a few days ago, here. She looked fine."

Delmaria ran to the trap door, and shouted down. "CARVER! Wake Anne up and have her find my daughter, NOW!", slamming the door, now stressed out. He paced back and forth across the floor, his hands gripping his hair. Finally, he walked back to Leanne, and leaned down to her. "What does this have to do with you selling out to the Navy, hmm?"

She rolled her eyes. "I needed protection, Delmaria. I came back to these waters for my son, and nothing else."

Delmaria slapped her across the face. "So you condemn your fellow pirates to prosecution, just so you can protect your own hide?" he got up, walking around the room. "Pirate Queen... HA!" he turned back towards her. "And the treasure? What would that have to do with your son?"

She tilted her head, to look down at Delmaria's side. "The cutlass is... well, different, than others."

Delmaria rubbed the handle of his blade curiously, still looking at Leanne, but with intrigue on his face. "How so? Does it have some sort of power, to kill Roger?"

"Oh, of course not." She rolled her head. "Any blade or weapon can kill him, hypothetically. The only power in that blade is... fear. I can't explain, because I've never held it myself," she edged at him, "but you should understand soon enough."

Suddenly Delmaria could feel the blood rushing through his body. Thoughts of Leanne's son made him think of his own - painful, flashing memories. There were few, but the burning in his soul hissed at a raging speed. He felt that same anger that he did before; his hands were shaking, his face became hot. He slammed his hands on the opposite side of the table from O'Malley and shouted at her, "What did you do with our son!?"

She responded in a snap, like she was expecting it. "I never did ANYTHING to Delpa-"

"You're LYING, Maria! You're always LYIN-"

"HE'S NOT MY SON!" she spat at him. It brought a tense, sharp silence to the room, as she took a breath, and continued. "I don't know what the hell you've had on your mind for the past few years, but you're WRONG Delmaria. We never had a son, and I am n-"

"So what, now you claim you're not my WIFE, eithe-"

"YOUR WIFE IS DEAD!" she shrieked at him, now frustrated at his stubbornness. "Delmaria, Maria was killed years ago, when you weren't there for her, AND YOUR SON, and there is nothing you can do to convince me, or anybody else that you can change that!" she paused, as Darkskull started to calm. "It's happening already, isn't it.." she whispered to herself.

At that moment, Carver popped his head up through the wooden door. "Anne is waiting for you, Captain." He caught sight of the soaking wet Leanne, and chuckled to himself as he left the door open, slinking down the stairs.

Delmaria was still caught in disarray. He felt as though he was being torn in to two sides, two completely different people. He couldn't tell if what he knew was true, or just his imagination.

As he walked towards the trap door, O'Malley called from behind him. "This is a war now, Delmaria." He turned around in interest, to let her continue. "You think that this is still a rebellion? No, it's beyond that now. You are a part of a nation of pirates, fighting for its independence in this world. And you are one of its generals, my friend." She smiled at him.

He walked towards her, slowly. His heavy boots pattered on the pools of water that soaked the ground. "Yes, Leanne," he commented. "And you're the traitor."


The buckets of rain that hit him as the pirate trudged through the streets of Tortuga smacked against his hat like heavy, large bullets, patting it loudly. The water droplets that floated through the air fogged everything before him, although he could still make out all of the buildings, walls, and little accessories that made the quarters of Old Tortuga so friendly and noticeable. The air of the port was just right, warm, humid, yet not sticky and uncomfortable. Delmaria, for once, felt a little more comfortable in the usual heavy clothing that he cloaked himself in.

He broke out of the mixes of nooks and crannies of the Spanish-styled quarters of Tortuga, where most of it's most remarked buildings were, outside of the walls, and banking down a narrow path that led just at the edge of the swamp. This area of the town was a very strange, weird place, known by its inhabitants, and the townspeople of the rest of the town, as the "Trimestres Mystic."

This length of shacks and huts ran in the farthest West area of the port, running down from the West of the middle of the town, running down in a single path down the side, and then eventually merging with the swamp, to lead out in to the main beach of the port. The swamp lingered just next to it, small juts through the dark, dank plants and trees leading out in to the murky waters that waited after the short decline. The winding hills and curves on the path were accompanied by eccentric, run down shacks, huts, and carts, where gypsies, mystics, doctors, and those just looking to gather a few voodoo trinkets emerged themselves in each other's presence.

The Quarters were much quieter than usual, today. Only a few raggedy-looking people were outside, silently enjoying the rain that doused them. Small coins, shrunken heads, and bones that were left out on tables, and hanging from the roofs of the houses on strings jingled lightly under the rain. He looked in every crevice and section of the small path, but as he went, he didn't notice his daughter anywhere. He prayed that if he couldn't find her here, she was off where Anne was searching.

Finally, he caught eye of her. Banking around a turn, he watched a pretty figure drunkenly swirl and dance her way in a little area of ground not to far from him. Her long, black hair was soaked against her shoulders, her body lined with loose, dirty-looking clothing, with a brown, sewn shawl over her shoulders, her hands freely touching the ends of it. She was lost in a giggling, happy ballet, as she tapped around in the rain. Her limbs were loose, like she was a blind and bubbly child.

Delmaria ran up to his daughter and gripped her by the shoulders, stopping her. Her eyes were closed, but she knew something was there. Still, she laughed and twisted lightly under his hold, unaware that her father was standing right in front of him. She was still the elegantly beautiful woman her knew her to be, but right now she was far from that. Judging by how she felt in his hands, he saw how much weight she had lost. That and the pungent smell of alcohol and smoke that emanated from her body.

"Marina, Marina!" he tried to wake her up, shaking her.

"Haha, 'ELLO love!" she squealed in a heavy, fake British accent. Even though she had a light British accent like her father, it was apparent being intoxicated magnified that affect. Now Delmaria knew what he was like after a good night in the tavern.

"Damn it... alright poppet, let's help you over there." Delmaria pleased her, walking her over to a pile of crates in between two nearby shacks, and sitting her down. She nearly tipped over as she sat down, but Delmaria steadied her, and studied her over. To most, it would be hilarious, watching a poor young girl spin and twist out of her right mind. But not Delmaria; he expected much more than this from his daughter.

Before she picked up her studies in the voodoo arts on Tortuga, Marina found her home on Port Royal, just not like most. She used her ultimate beauty to exploit Navy and government officials to get close to their ties, and then slowly work her own way in to the process. It wasn't long before her slithering influence had given her a force of Navy soldiers that had become more loyal to her than their own Officers, and to that she really began to work her magic. She propagandized herself as an all-powerful leader, and although most were skeptical because of her gender, they soon saw what she was capable of. Marina was a vicious tyrant, which was quick with having somebody killed for going against her word.

It was through her absolute control of the Navy forces housed in Fort Charles that she was named "Madame Marina," to suggest her undeniable beauty, yet brute force. She shaped up the Navy from a group of poorly-trained grunts to top-of-the-line soldiers, and her reign led to an all-time low in crime, and an all-time high in executions.

Yet her largest concern was the matter of her bloodline. She knew that the public would not respond well if they knew her family was full of pirates, so she made a deal. One evening, while Delmaria's crew was in port, she was able to seduce her own brother, Delpadros (both of whom were unaware they were related at the time,) in to leaving the crew to join her. He quickly became her personal assistant, carrying out an "orders" which had to be done. She even went as far as jailing her own father.

However, she became remorseful of her actions. She longed to see what it was like to be free, so much so, she demanded that she was "kidnapped" by Delmaria's crew, and set free in Tortuga. And this they did, allowing her to fulfill her dreams, of becoming a pirate. But if Delmaria had known she would go through this sort of spiral, he would have never helped her.

As Delmaria turned around, he was thrusted downward by sturdy, painful push, splashing him on to the saturated ground. The droplets of rain pummeled his face, making him unable to look up and see what had pushed him, but his flailing hands were quick enough to swat away an oncoming foot to his head. Yet it wasn't a regular foot; he felt no shoes, leather, or skin. Only bone.

He tried to roll out of the way, but he knew he had to stay close to Marina. He kicked his foot blindly, hoping to clear anything near him, and drove it right up between two bony legs. The jolt from the kick sent the bag of bones toppling on to Delmaria who smacked it away with a quick hand. He struggled to get to his feet, the pushing force of the rain and the slippery ground beneath him making it hard to stabilize. When he finally managed to stand up, he rubbed his hands over his eyes, enough to give him a watery sense of what was going on. He turned back to look where he thought the skeleton was, but was met with a stern punch to the face. The bluntness of being punch by all bone made it more painful than a usual blow, but it wasn't enough to demount the battled pirate. He popped back up with a powerful haymaker to the face of the rotting zombie, knocking it downward in a crunch. As the pirate tumbled down the small, wet hill, Delmaria ran to Marina, and gripped her by the hand, tugging her in the opposite direction of where the skeleton was going, back up in to the town.


The windows of the cramped, spotless room flashed as the lightning rocked the environment outside. The darkness of the night hours had brought with it only worse weather conditions, which would hopefully blow over in the morning. Delmaria shifted in his seat, now dressed in a dry, simple, loose linen outfit, nothing more than just a shirt and pants. He looked around the room, illuminated by a few candles scattered around the room, cabinets and shelves that ran against the pale tan walls lined with bottles of all shapes, sizes, and colors. Anne stood by the double doors of the house, locked shut to keep away the moisture from outside. They were blank with emotion, but with different thoughts - Anne, worried of her office in Tortuga, and the future advancements while Leanne was still in port. Delmaria, however, was more concerned on a far more important matter - his daughter.

After a tense ten minutes of waiting, Doctor Grogan walked out from the backroom of his office, wiping his brow a little, but not in too much discontent. "She's quite in a state of delirium, and quite sickly, I must say, but none the less, she'll get better soon enough. I'm sure she'll be over her symptoms in the morning."

Delmaria slinked back in his chair, sighing in relief. He was still worried, though - his daughter was just on the verge of being captured, had he not gotten to her before. Delmaria turned his head to the Doctor. "Doctor, what exactly was she.. on?"

Doctor Grogan let out a breath, and plumped down in a small chair behind a plain wooden table in the center of the room. "It seems... it seems your daughter was not under the impression of simple alcohol, or gypsy scents or smokes, Captain Darkskull. She was... poisoned."

Delmaria stormed to his feet, furious. "WHAT?!" he yelled, almost like it was the doctor's fault.

The doctor put up his hands in surrender, and continued. "It wasn't lethal, my fine sir, no. It was from some venom from a type of snake that slithers around on some of the islands near Tortuga. It was just enough to leave her delirious, and a little upset, but nothing more."

Delmaria rubbed his hand against his forehead, the frustration inside him boiling. "Anything else you want to tell me about?"

"Yes, Captain." the stout man leaned his elbows on to the table. "Normally, when somebody spiritual like your daughter is put under this state, they reach a realm of... what they call, "enlightment." This is where their mind sharpens to them. They have better memory, least to say. Now, this leads to usual rambling, about family members, childhood events, and so forth. But your daughter.. well... her case is different.

"I couldn't make it out completely, but your daughter mentioned something about a "prison" over and over again. Some... I don't know, voodoo encampment. Whatever she's talking about, I'm not sure."

Delmaria thought for a moment. The sounding of a voodoo encampment near Tortuga rang a bell in a mind - he could slowly recollect a group of mystics discussing this place as he passed through the Quarters earlier the day before. "Doctor Grogan," Delmaria snapped to attention, "you wouldn't happen to know what island that snake venom came from, hm?"

Doctor Grogan immediately became flustered. He got up from the table and rushed to the back, Delmaria in quick pursuit. Just as the surgeon was about to return behind the curtain to check on Marina, Darkskull grabbed him by the arm, stopping him. The doctor looked at his feet, then at the pirate, and shook his head furiously. But as he saw Delmaria's hand move for his cutlass, he gasped, and slacked his shoulders. "Alright, alright!" the doctor rushed back to the front room, where Anne stood, waiting.

The doctor walked up to the doors and put his back to it, so the two could face him. With one final sigh, he said. "After.. I was brought to Tortuga; I spent a few months in the Quarters, studying up on their various forms of diverse medicine. One of my studies brought me to this... this small island, just off from Tortuga. There was a small village of mystics living there, like their headquarters, or something.

"However... well, I was much younger when it happened. It was, erg, at least seven years ago. I had news in the Quarters one of the witchdoctors there had gone mad; and by mad, I mean insane, corrupted - possessed, even. The island had been isolated ever since, and nobody knows what the hell is going on over there. All we know about him was that he was obsessed with... torture." the doctor shivered, walking over to a small map of Tortuga, and the waters around it. In the Southeastern corner of the map, he pointed to a small island. "There. It has no name, but I'm sure you can find it easily."

Delmaria turned to Anne almost immediately. "I want you to stay here, guarding Marina, while I'm gone. I can't risk bringing more people than necessary."

"NO!" and shout came from behind him. He turned to a gust of wind, the doors wide open. Standing just before the down pouring rain, was Leanne, shivering as she gripped herself. "I want to go with you, Delm- Captain. Those things have my son, and I'll be damned if I stand by and watch."

The small dinghy rocked lightly in the dark, pale waters off of their destination. The sky overhead was grey, lightened from the sun, yet blocking it off behind its silent shroud. It reflected down on to the usual bright blue waters, creating a dark, heavy surface, as though it were night out. The waves were settled, as the crew had their eyes locked on the island up ahead. It was a small, yet heavily forested island, like a large hill of trees and plants punching out of the seas. Anything that might be hidden within it's jungles was secluded, the shadows working with the overpowering plant life. They neared the beach slowly, the dinghy not even running aground until just before the sand, meaning a steep drop off in to the waters below.

Delmaria jumped down from his seat before the bow of the small ship, and slashed his boots in the water as he took a few steps. The crew ferried out behind him, keeping a cautious eye on Leanne, who had been completely without sound since when they pulled just out of Tortuga Harbor shortly before. The ground rose up slightly to be dotted with tremendous boulders, that eventually accumulated to create a small hill of rocks, behind it the light beginnings of the jungle rising.

Delmaria was the first to go forward, slowly maneuvering around the large rocks until he stepped up on to the first flat layer of rock. When he hit the wall, he dug in with his hands, and carefully ascended up, careful not to slip by putting pressure on his wet boots. As he climbed, he could hear the crew wearily following him, trying to find their own way to get up and over. Delmaria reached the top first, looking down as the pile of rocks declined to meet the forest. He wondered exactly why the rocks were formatted like that. Were they trying to keep people out, or keep something locked within?

As Darkskull descended down, he peered along the dirt path that cut in to the trees. He could make out something not too far in the distance; gray, maybe burnt wood, waiting and standing there. He could only catch a glimpse, but he was confident what he saw was what he saw. He stopped as his feet hit the ground, waiting for the rest of the crew to get to him. As he waited, he ran his fingers up and down the handle of the blade sitting at his side. The powerful tingling sensation, to urge to wield it, flowed through his arm, causing a shiver in his spine that rocked his body. The almost felt it in his grasp, cutting down the enemies before him; the blood, the tears - the suffering.

"Captain," called from behind him. He turned to Firesteel, the first of the crew waiting before him. "Are you ok? You seem.. off?"

"I'm fine, mate." the pirate reassured, nodding his head. He turned back to face the trail, and trudged to it. "C'mon lads, pick it up!"

He felt the change in atmosphere as he moved in between the greenery. Gigantic leaves, tree roots, and vines all stuck out as him, brushing his way past, as in the distance, he saw his vision becoming clearer and clear. He noticed something strange about this island as he continued - it was perfectly silent. There was no chirping of birds, or creaking of bugs. It felt like an aura of passiveness as around him, like that feeling after attending a funeral.

He stepped out of the jungle, and in to a little space, his sight now before him. It was not an area of charred trees, or a presence of divineness - it was a ghost town. A large, grassy opening in the shape of a circle was populated by a few large, grey wooded buildings, burnt and half-destroyed. Large, gaping holes sat in their sides and roofs, as debris laid skewn all across the ground. There were only five buildings, each of them drab and lifeless. The town looked and had the feel of more of an abandoned internment camp than an old town for mystics and gypsies, or was that just the voodoo in the air? Either way, it was creepy.

The crew spanned out easily, going in different directions to investigate. Delmaria crept along, taking in the surroundings a patch of dirt was in the center of everything. Large crates and barrels in front and at the sides of the buildings around him. The most eerie feature was the fact that the entire island seemed to rise up around this place, and then drop off in steep hills, the tree tops covering the edges of the place. It made the place feel very secretive, intimidating, and scary.

As Delmaria past by the smallest of the buildings directly to his right, a medium-sized, run down shack, with a tile roof still mainly intact, he began to hear what sounded like a muffled whimper. It stopped him, like he was judging against what he had sensed. But as he sharpened his ears to listen in closely, he could hear it better and better; a few sobs, almost like they were being pushed down in to silence. Delmaria made his way to the steps leading on to the uncovered porch; try to stop them from creaking as he went up. He readied himself as he stepped before the door, and with his left hand, slowly pushed it open.

He peered in to a dark, muddled room, papers, chairs, and tables thrown in every direction. It was long, like a small boarding house for field workers, with a deep, murky scent, having it been sitting out in the moist, warm air of the Caribbean, undisturbed for so long. He turned his attention to the source of the noise, off in the corner closest to him. Nestled behind a table, curled in a ball, was a boy.

He was a handsome child, roughly twelve, maybe thirteen years of age. His blond hair fell in front of his face quietly, his face dirtied by a few bloody, uncared cuts, and muck. He wore cut, outfit shorts and a t-shirt, which quaked as he shivered. The boy looked up at him, his face becoming exasperated and fearful. After a moment of tension, Delmaria asked quietly, "James O'Malley?"

The boy was unsure at first. He scurried back a little, until he slowly nodded his head, yes. Delmaria's body was overrun with calm and happiness, knowing that somebody he had never met was safe. He saw in those eyes the face of innocence and childhood - it reminded him of himself.

Delmaria gripped the door frame and turned around, to look in to the clearing. He yelled, "LEANNE, OVER HERE!" beckoning her over as her head popped up. As the rest of the crew rushed towards him, he went in, towards the boy, and knelt before him. "It'll be okay, lad."

As Leanne rushed in behind him, her face instantly became dramatic and overwhelmed with emotion. He nearly dove past Delmaria, and clinged to her son, cradling him in to her arms, and beginning to cry wildly. "Oh my God, oh my God, James, oh my baby boy!" she cried as she rocked him back and forth, her son moving with her. It was the first time in a while Delmaria had seen anything like this. He felt as though he were warming a little layer of ice away from his heart.

After a few minutes of Leanne crying over her son, Delmaria reached out his hand, stopping them. As the bundle turned towards him, Darkskull placed his hand softly on the boy's shoulder and asked, "James, how did you get here?"

The boy's voice was heavily shaken, but he petered out, "They dragged me here.. like the others... I escaped.... they've been hunting me..."

"They who? Others? And where?" Delmaria questioned him.

"Th-he things. They brought all these people in to the dungeon with me... the sewers.. oh God..." he looked like he was going to start sobbing again.

"Do you know what they did with them?"

James wiggled out of his mother's grasp easily, to face Darkskull fully. "They had us in these.. cells. Everyday they'd come and take more people "down below." Deeper, down farther. Nobody that ever went down came back up."

Delmaria nodded. "And, where, is the dungeon?"

Slowly, O'Malley got on his feet. His legs were still meaty, but a little weak. For spending weeks upon weeks in a jail, he was surely fit with plenty of meat on his bones. Delmaria wondered how this was so, as the young boy walked to the door way, then motioning Delmaria to him.

Delmaria got up and walked to James, who was pointing outward. He was pointing to the center of the patch of dirt, where there sat a small trap door. Darkskull sighed, and nodded. He tore off his coat, throwing it back to Buck behind him. "All of you, escort Leanne and her son back to the ship. I want to go down alone."


Delmaria jumped down in to the dank corridor as he slammed the door shut above him. He was in a long, stone chasm, a thin layer of water beneath his boots. The tunnel ran around a turn, out of his vision, a few scattered torches lighting the way. He placed his hand just far from the cutlass's handle, and began to shift through the water. His other hand was outstretched just to keep his hand off the grim-infested stone blocks that made up the cramped, curved tunnel. An overpowering rotting stench filled his nose as he passed through the still, lifeless air, as though he were walking right through the hanging clothes of the dead souls that shivered here. He could not hear, see, or feel anything, but he knew that this unknown place was but a chamber of death, an outer branch of the underworld.

As Delmaria walked along, he picked an ancient wooden torch off the wall with his empty hand, using it to light his path. He could feel the soft, wet wood sink under his grasp, like it were completely hollow inside. He brought the torch lower to the ground to see what he was stepping in, only to leap back, terrified.

Ungodly large creatures infested the sides of the small path, leeching and curling as the fire cackled near them. Thick, black millipedes, perhaps the length of a man’s arm, huge, plump maggots that sucked on the dirt on the floor, and massive earth worms were only a few among the creepers that sat little away from him. He gathered a brave breath, and continued his travel deeper, trying to resist the urge to gain his speed even a little. Causing unnecessary noise might just lead him to his demise, he thought.

Finally, after a few minutes of winding through the sewer-like surroundings, he was left staring in to a room of jail cells. Three rusted, brutally miscared iron-barred cells sat on the left side of the room, the other end leading off down a steepening, narrow path. Chains hung down from the bare right wall, where deformed skeletons swung, equipped with huge gashes and bumps on their bones, and covered in a deep layer of mold than covered every inch. The sockets of the eyes, hips, and other smaller ones looked like they were nearly filled from the putrid fungi, giving the effect that it was a line of lifeless monsters kept on the wall. But while this was quite a spectacle, Delmaria was more focused on the left side of the room, behind the bars.

Behind them were groups of human beings, but less of humans than anything else. They had been starved and beaten to a point that they looked like nothing more than ghosts with a thin layer of flesh, sagging and uncaring. It was filled with a wide array of people - men, elderly peoples, women, and even young children, the sight so disgusting that he didn't even want to look; but he couldn't help himself. One of them, a figure whose gender was undecidable, who was slunk up right before the bars of the first cell, reached up with all his might to bring his arm off the ground, and curl and finger to gesture the pirate towards him.

Concerned, Darkskull jumped down in to the hard tile floor and ran over to the thing, kneeling next to it. His voice was nearly unintelligible, mumbled by its eerie dryness, coldness, and dullness. "Arv... arne... are... here.... sah... save..." he panted. Even the slightest amount of work took all of his effort.

Delmaria was unsure how to answer. He knew he couldn't save this man now, in the state he was in, much less the rest of them. He felt so helpless and sad, but the figure could pick up on that. There was no emotion in it's face, but Delmaria could feel that it was disheartened. It's eyes closed, as it asked, "M.. mn... bu... boy... uh... uh-ok.. kaee.. Jam.. es.."

Delmaria's voice was soft and easy. "Yes, James is safe." he assured the person.

The skeleton rubbed it's head on the floor, like a nod, and Delmaria could make out, just slightly, what looked like a smile. It let out a heave of air, before the room going silent. It was the last of them to die.

Delmaria sighed, and turned his head to his right, where he could tell the fortress continued. If he had come this far, he told himself, he wanted to know what the hell had done this. He got up, and strode towards the darkness, when realized there was no floor in front of him. He stopped drastically just before the ledge, looking down in the swirling darkness below. He gathered himself, and took one final breath, jumping down confidently in to the abyss.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And, I'll leave it off there. Rest assured, though, I'll probably so anxious to write the next part, it'll be out in the next few days.

Like it? Hate it? Review it!

You are becoming a suspense master just like the others -_- great though!

Love the story so far! Sorry, got behind, I haven't even started reading any from this thread yet. The others were awesome though!

Thanks you two!

Time to put that little cliff-hanger I gave you all to a rest - told you it'd be out quick! So, without further adue...


The warm, murky water hit Delmaria like a brick to the face, freezing his nerves in pain. His muscles loosened as he absorbed the shock, his limbs flurrying to try and prevent him from drowning. He mustered to open his eyes, but was surrounded by a dark, cloudy brown water, swirling in it debris and chunks of unknown things. Delmaria reached up towards the surface without looking upwards, his body slowly rising towards the top. He pushed his arms and legs down to sending him upward, until he finally peaked over the water.

Delmaria's soaked head peaked out of the water, his heard and beard dripping wet. As he gasped for breath, he looked at his surroundings - a dim, large, dome shaped room, the rotunda of black stone reaching overhead. Above him was the hole where he fell down from, the black abyss staring back at him. The water line against the walls of the room had little sewers leading to it, some of the bars completely bent and broken open. In the center of the room was, of all things, a sand bar, which filled the entire center of the room. Delmaria scooped up his hat, which floated next to him, and cautiously eased his way towards dry land.

As his feet climbed him up on to the little island, he realized just how deep the waters in the room were. A normal structure like this in a sewer system would stretch maybe ten feet, but he could tell the floor of this place reached down, far down, a few stories, at least. As he was completely out of the water, he shivered, not by the fact he was soaked, but because of the eeriness of the room.

He sat turned around looking back to the spot where he had landed, and sighed. He still was unaware why he chose to come here, although an overpowering urge was ringing in the back of his head to do so. All of a sudden, he realized that just a few feet to the side of him was a skeleton, draped in a long, purple robe. He wandered over to it, and knelt down, to inspect it.

Delmaria could feel something strange as his fingers ran over the corpse. It was that same feeling he got every time he just so happened to rub shoulders with Grace while she walked through the hull of the ship. It was a tingling sensation, but this time, it was greater. He could feel a pulsating his hands, like something were flowing from the bones, through him. He rolled the body over, but jumped up in a gasp. That same thick, putrid, yellow, green, and purple puss that covered the bodies of the skeletons covered the face of this one, freezing his face as though he were screaming in terror. Delmaria looked at the badge over where his heart should have been, where its name was written in a lost language. Yet he knew that this was the man he had come down here to kill. So if he wasn't running this all, then who was?

Delmaria suddenly felt a shake down his spin. He stood up slowly, as a voice called from behind him. "Hello Delmaria."


Delmaria turned to a tall, old, handsome man, with short white hair that hugged the top of his head, and a small white beard. His skin was almost red, a black robe that hung from his shoulders, down his body. His eyes bore in to the pirate in a dark, empty manner, their red, evil tint staring in to him. His face was aged and cracked, but it still had the vitality of a wise, able man. He took a few steps towards Delmaria, before extending out a hand. "Welcome to my domain." he smiled.

Delmaria was firm, yet terrified. He sucked up, and stared down the figure. "Are you who I think you are?"

The man tilted his head at the pirate. "Well, it depends on how you think of me, doesn't it?" The figure then turned his head away from the pirate, and snapped his fingers. Slowly, Delmaria could see the sand in front of him begin to part, and rise. A flat, brown surface came out of it, spilling the sand to it's sides as it rose. It was a table, lifting out of the ground, accompanied by two chairs, one on each side. The man slowly took his seat, and gestured to Delmaria. "Sit, please."

Delmaria walked over to chair and eased his way in, never taking sight off the man. He wiggled in to his chair, before slinking his body forward and leaning back. He crossed his arms and questioned, "Why have you brought me here?"

The man chuckled. "Same reason I bring all people here. It is for a purpose."

"And I suppose that purpose is service?" Darkskull asked.

"Who says you don't serve me already?"

Delmaria fell silent. He knew that he wouldn't win this battle if he started one, but if he was dead, he wanted the answers he had been waiting for his entire life. "If we're playing question and answer, then, answer this; why have you played your games with my life?"

The man giggled again, in his rough, dark voice. "I play games with the lives of all people. Like on Earth, some toys are more enjoyable than others to play with, and you, sir, are definitely up there."

Delmaria stormed up, but the man reached out his arm and thrusted his hand downward, forcing Delmaria telepathically to sit. Darkskull was shocked, mystified, but he struggled not to show it. "There's no need for that, hm? I'd hate to break my favorite toy."

Delmaria leaned back again, in a frustrated, angry huff. "Why haven't you taken my soul yet?" he asked him.

"Because you are not ready, nor ripe for the picking." The man said. "All lives have a certain destiny they are to fulfill - of course, how you get there is completely up to you. If one can reach that destiny before their time is up, they may live, or die, depending on how I see fit. If one fails to - well" he snickered, "that's when I have my real fun."

"So where am I?"

The man leaned over the table. "You, fine sir, are...." the man instantly looked as though he were very serious, and angry. "You're not going as planned."

Darkskull's heart skipped a beat. Looking in to the soul-stealing eyes of this man, stern as stone, he couldn't tell whether it was proper to celebrate, or be afraid on a further scale. Instead of taking the opportunity to make a smart remark, he sat still, not choosing to do anything that could be interpreted as an insult. It was one of the rare times in his life where he would be submissive to another. Yet upon realizing sitting there would only bring about a closer death, he asked another question. "So, if I was clearly not meant to kill that voodoo priest you have on the floor behind me, then why am I here?"

"Numerous reasons. Self-vengeance, anger, retribution- oh, I assume you mean why I brought you here?" the man smiled again, but his attempt to make Delmaria lose his strictness was at a loss. "I had no such hand in the matter, my friend. I let my victims come to me, so then I can really watch them suffer. It's much more fun that way."

"Then answer me this - what is Jolly Roger doing?"

The man chuckled, once more. "Ah, Roger. That's a fine soldier, indeed. He's guaranteed himself that he serves no man, but in the end, all villains are but disciples in my army. Each of them has played such a vital role in history, and will play a role in history in the future. A man set out to conquer the world... a man set out to kill all in his path... a man to brainwash the masses... ah, yes. But, I get ahead myself, don't I?

"Each and every villain in this world works under his own mystique, not mine directly - oh, you get that by now, hmm? Well, Roger is a complex one. Most men are revived by jealousy, greed, or any of that. But Roger, he is driven purely by hatred, and hatred embedded in his soul. He wants something out of everyone, but nothing in particular, the true symbol of a tyrant. The world will be his, or at least, the world of pirates. And he's devoted to that, surely."

"So what does kidnapping civilians have to do anything with this?"

The man wandered his eyes around the room, before returning them to the captain. "Each one of them is in blood with people that have wronged him in the past, yes?"

"Aye."

"Well, I'll put it simply. Each person is like a structure; they are at the top, and supporting them are their closest friends and relatives. Take away them, and the structure becomes weaker and weaker, until it finally chooses to collapse in on itself. Funny how weak your souls really are. It's already shown - one official in New Orleans, whose wife's corpse sits right about our heads, has already claimed his own life. I'm sure he'll be glad to know they aren't in the same place." He then cackled a sinister, diabolical laugh, humored as though what he said was a self-pleasing joke.

Delmaria's body shaked with rage, as thoughts of his own family coursed through his veins. He saw his son, his mother - and his wife. Delmaria slammed his hand on the table, shutting up the figure, and leaned over. "Where is my wife."

"Haha, oh, I'm afraid I can't tell you that. But at least you have a fifty-fifty chance, my friend!"

Delmaria had enough. He whipped out his pistol with a quick bolt, and closed his eyes, shooting a bullet in to the heart of the man himself. He could hear the ring pierce and echo through the room, and waited for it to be overpowered by the sound of the fury of the eternal man coming to damn his soul. But he heard nothing, and felt nothing. And when he opened his eyes, he saw nothing.

As Delmaria opened his eyes, he looked around. He was on his knees, in the middle of the sandbar. He held no gun in his hand, and there was no table, or man in sight. He turned around, hoping to confirm his sanity with the moss-covered corpse of the mystic, but it was not there either. It was only him, the sand, the sewage, and the darkness. He was alone, and so was his mind - was it really all in his head?

"CAPTAIN!" an echo ran through the room. He watched as the hole from which he came through dropped down a rope, which hit the water. He slowly came to his feet, and headed towards it. His body shivered and ached, in pain, and in uncertainty.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The shortest chapter of this entire thread, but I'm still confident it was one of the most indepth. Rest assured, the 20-pagers will be returning real soon ;)

Hate it? Love it? Please review!

Thanks mates!

Wow i hope the devil thing died... lol

Maybe you can add a character who is a certain STEALTHY cannoneer...


No, im just joking, go where ever yer story takes ya!

Seeing as how the game right now is in disarray, and I being sick, I took it as a great opportunity to finish the next chapter for you all, my loyal readers.

Enjoy, mates!


Delmaria spent the next few days housed in his quarters, lying in bed as he nursed his wounds. He had managed to catch a cold as well, leaving him coughing and sneezing in despair the first few days after their escapade on the island. His body ached every time he moved it, and so he was confided to lie in bed as Grace shoved tonic after disgusting tonic down his throat. They never had any effect on him, but he would rather have her happy and delusional than sulking in the hull of the ship, like she does when she's upset. That or she would become more determined to come up with any even worse-tasting concoction. He spent his days looking across the room, through the wall of windows on the other side, where he could look out in to the bay of Tortuga.

Doctor Grogan had passed by the first day they arrived in the port, to make sure for himself that the pirate's illness was not too serious. He preformed the usual physical, and assured Delmaria that he would get over it in a day or two if he left nature take its course. At the same time, he updated him on Marina's condition, uplifting the captain by informing him his daughter had become better. The doctor, however, would still be keeping her in his office until Delmaria got better, and she showed full signs of recovery. "She's still in aftershock, and I know you don't want her romping around those gypsies anymore, out in the open. I'll keep her in until she is back to full health, but you're welcome to visit," he affirmed him.

As the days dragged on, Delmaria became more and more unrested, wanting to go walk about to clear his mind. Letting his thoughts manifest would be a bad idea, and he needed the fresh sea air in his face once more. He often tried sneaking out of his cabin in the middle of the day, when most of the crew was around the port, or in the middle of night, when he couldn't sleep. Yet his screaming body pushed him back to his little coven, and there he remained, hoping that he would be better by the next day.

He was on his last day of bed rest, as the sun set behind the horizon, signifying the end to another day. Delmaria was eager to receive his supper so he may return to sleep and end the day, but an unexpected guest took him off that mindset. In to the room stepped Leanne O'Malley, and her feeble son standing in front of her. Delmaria was caught off-guard by the sight, and sat up straight as the two proceeded before him. His heart raced in wonder, unsure whether to be happy, or sad.

Leanne and her son approached the bed, the boy standing in front of his mother as her arms hung over his chest, and wrapped held at his chest. She spoke, "Delm- Captain, I'd like to thank you for everything you've done for us. We.. we can't thank you enough."

Delmaria took a calm sigh, and nodded. "It was my pleasure, Leanne. I guess you could say the experience helped me a little, too."

"Yes, it worked out a lot better than I expected." She drifted a little, petting her son's dirty-blond hair. "Either way - my son and I, we are going to be starting up a new life in Boston."

Delmaria jumped in shock. "You're.. WHAT?!"

"The pirating life has become too dangerous for me, Delmaria. I only continued with it because I wanted to save my son. I want to live a better life, in a new, better world than back in England. I want him... to have everything I didn't, hm? Maybe someday, I'l- we'll join you back on the waters. But for now, I need to take care of a much more precious treasure." She stepped her son over a little, and walked over to Delmaria, leaning over and kissing him on the check. "Goodbye." she whispered in his ear. She stepped back, and turned to slowly walked out of the room. "James, say what you have to, and come on." Her red hair fluttered as she turned around the corner, stopping to take a good look at Delmaria out of the corner of her eye.

Their eyes met, and here they were again. A single goodbye between them, and they were parting their separate ways. One, returning to a life of peace, and the other, returning to his own, free life. He couldn't tell whether he was looking at the enemy, or a dear friend. She had caused so much love and chaos in his life, but Delmaria knew that was the purpose of a beautiful woman like her in the world. She taught him lessons timeless and priceless, so in the end, his debt was to her. She winked at him, and walked down the hall, out of vision. He could hear the door open, and close.

Delmaria turned his attention to the boy in front of him. "Thank you Mr. Darkskull." James said in a weak, intimidated voice.

"You’re welcome, kid. Be good for your mother, aye?" Delmaria instructed him, trying to hold back tears.

"Yes sir." James then instinctively reached in to his pocket, and pulled out a small bundle, a piece of fabric with a string wrapped around it. "Mommy said to give this to you." With that, he placed it in the hand of the captain, and walked out of the room. As he heard the door shut, Delmaria undid the bundle, slowly, and carefully. As he pulled away the cloth, he gasped in shock.

Before him was a necklace - a small, solid silver chain with a simple and small, yet stunningly beautiful crucifix on it. Delmaria's trembling hands scooped it up, bringing it to his face as he shook in awe and suspense. A piece of jewelry such as this would be a nice addition to a pirate's trove, but for Delmaria, it was much more special. He had always seen Leanne wear this from when he had met her nearly ten years ago, inheriting it from her father. He recognized this so well, because he was holding Leanne's Piece of Eight.

Delmaria slowly and carefully took the necklace in hand, unhinging it, and then lifting it around his neck, securing it in the back. It hugged his neck all the way around, except for the front, where the cross was, where it hung down a little. It had no real powers, but all the significance in the world to him. He sucked in a breath, and with it, the moment. He had become the first outsider in this royal line of pirates, and he had taken Leanne's seat on the Brethren Court.

Delmaria spent the remainder of the night locked in the cabin; the door locked, the rutters shut tight, with only a single candle that sat on his desk in the room to keep it somewhat lit. He didn't leave it once, even when one of the crew kept banging on his door to hand him his dinner. He sat cross-legged in his hammock, fiddling with the small cross in between the fingers of his right hand, as he let the thoughts swirl around him. He thought not only of Leanne and how she came to make this choice, but of his father. He wondered if he had finally come to where his father once was, but the thought of his father's face made him cringe, for reasons both good and bad. It had nearly been twenty years seen they had last met - was he still alive or not?

Delmaria poked his eyes through a slit in one of the rutters to see what the condition was outside, but was left looking in to the dark harbor of the port, the vague outline of ships revealed in the moonlight. His eyes were heavy, and his muscles yearned to untense and slink back to the sheets covering his bed. He sighed, and pushed his legs forward, then laying back and letting his head rest on the soft pillow. He crossed his hands over the cross, and closed his eyes, waning off to sleep.


He couldn't see or feel anything, his body still caught in the disbelief of sleep. All he could tell was that the soft surface that was once underneath him was taken from him, the air whipping past him as he twirled and tumbled. He felt the side of his body slam on to the floor, toppling him once more before leaving him face down on the floor.

His entire body and head throbbed in a sharp pain as his eyes slowly pushed themselves open, like large rusted iron gates. His blurred vision mixed the shades and tints of the messy quarters, but as his eyes slowly fixed themselves, he could make out the distinct features of the back of the room. His arm reached out to brush the right front leg of his desk, gripping it with his hand tight as his wobbly body pushed itself upward. He balanced himself on his knees, before standing up, keeping his hands planted on the papers atop the desk, as his legs became accustomed to withstanding the weight of the pirate captain's body.

He could hear behind him, past the doors of the captain's quarters, the chaos as the crew poured out on to the ship to see what had gone on. Delmaria reached down the sleeve of his soft linen shirt, and wiped it over his face a few times, to wake himself up. He looked down at the white, black, and green bundle of heavy clothes, and rolled his eyes at the thought of having to put them on so abruptly in the morning. He quickly threw them on, the shirt and vest still wrinkled as he tossed on to him the heavy black long coat, and picking up his brimmed, feathered hat with his left hand. He reached for his cutlass across the desk, but stopped. Before him were two swords, the Libertist, and Thorhammer's Cutlass. Instead of instinctively picking up the Libertist, he convinced himself to scoop up the golden cutlass instead, scooping it up and hurrying out of the room.

Delmaria stepped out in to the bright morning, a light, brisk wind hitting as his face. The armada of pirate ships that floated around him at ease made it as though it were a ship city, a marvelous sight to behold. Past the ships on the right side of the Shark was the bay of Tortuga, the long wooden dock leading in to the harbor, where a large group of pirates passed and moved about. As one of the crew pushed past him, Darkskull looked to the left side of the main deck, where all the commotion was.

The left side of the main deck bore itself a gaping hole, that was just high enough to prevent the harbor waters from seeping inside the hull. The crew studied the large planks shattered at their ends, sticking up and out like daggers, the driftwood scattered across the deck and in the surrounding waters, and the overall destruction. Delmaria gasped, running along the second deck, and then pounding down the staircase near the hole as he shouted to the crew, "In the name of God, what the hell happened here!?"

Instead of speaking, Firesteel pointed outward, over the bow of the ship. Delmaria saw the back of a small light galleon, which had docked itself right at an open space at the end of the dock. The pirate then moved his arm the other way, to point out to the rest of the bay, and there Delmaria looked as well. He could see at least two other ships in the harbor that had also been damaged their crews shouting and bickering as they tried to figure out what happened as well. "I saw it all, cap't. 'Tis one of the few advantages of getting up early. That light galleon came barrelin' through like who knows what, and bounced off the side of the ship. Either he was in a hurry, or it has a mighty inexperienced crew."

"Your right it does. Somebody go wake up Dead and Buck, and Corsaire - rats can sleep through anything - and have them clean this all up. The rest of you, load up the dinghies and get us to port. I might as well chat with this fellow." Delmaria instructed to his crew. He walked over to the little staircase that led down in to the crew's quarters, and stomped the floor a few times. "IRONBONES, BANKOK, CORSAIRE, GET UP HERE!"

The crew got themselves dressed and ferried in to the dinghies, paddling out to the docks as Dead and Buck cursed under their breath at the captain. Delmaria sat at the head of his boat, fiddling once again with the necklace as he stared out blankly in to the bay. Sierra, who was rowing right behind the captain, put her hand on his shoulder, startling him. "Captain, you okay?"

"Ah, erm, yes, Ms. Bringly. Keep rowing." Delmaria nodded spastically over his shoulder. His mind had been wandering since last night, and his sleep hadn't been very good, either. His mind was numb with questions to which he may never answer.

As the dinghy approached before the dock, Delmaria watched in concern was pirates poured off their ships to run down the dock, towards the beach. Delmaria stood up, planted his hands on the dock, and pushed himself upward, gathering himself and jogging with the array of pirates, leaving his crew behind, calling his name. He watched as buccaneers in rags and riches alike converged on the main dock, and throughout the beach, looking in at the random shouting coming from the center of attention. Darkskull easily helped himself on top of a crate, where he could peer over the heads of the practically hundreds of pirates clumped in to a single mass. Yet that wasn't even enough to give him a clear understanding of what was going on, so he got down from the box and began to roughly push his way through the crowd, swatting pirates left and right as he immersed farther and farther in to the chaos.

Darkskull finally reached the eye of the storm, where two small crews of pirates were face to face, staring each other down. On one side of the circle was Anne, backed by her large, lethal body guards, and the other, and motley crew of pirates, drapped in lightly tanned clothes, each with the insignia of a skull and crossbones over their hearts - messengers, no doubt.

The one at the front of the small crew, and skinny, tanned faced man yelled at Anne "I told you, I need to speak to the Brethren NO-"

"And I told YOU, I'm in charge around here! Now tell me what you need or get the hell outta my port!" Anne yelled back.

"Your port? Sweetheart, you're only here because of your NO-GOOD, DEAD husband!" he taunted back at her. Anne jumped at him, but two of the pirates standing behind her grabbed her arms, preventing her from moving forward. The crowd cheered and roared at the thought of a fight, as the other pirates tried to rouse Anne up for a fight. When the two sides calmed down, the man continued, "Either way, I want to speak to a member of the Court, "Your Majesty.""

"And for what reason?" Delmaria stepped out of the crowd, in to the center of the circle. He could feel the entire crowd staring at him in wonder, as Anne sighed in relief at the sight of him. He turned to the pirate messenger, staring at him in a questioning face.

"Who the hell are you?" The man gawked.

"Captain Delmaria Darkskull, you dog," he stepped forward a little, reaching his hand at the necklace, and pulling it up off his chest to show the pirate, "Pirate Lord of the Atlantic."

The entire crowd starting stammering, shrieking, and out crying in confusion and shock. Delmaria's crew, in shock, ran up behind him. "Captain, surely, yo-you can't be serious, aye?"

"Damn right I be serious." he whispered over his shoulder. He caught a glimpse at Anne, who was watching at him in completely surprise, her jaw practically on the ground. Delmaria turned back to the pirate messenger, waiting impatiently for an answer. "Well? Might as well tell me here and now."

Shaken, the messenger stepped forward, intimidated by the pirate lord. "It's.. erm..." he sighed. "It's Jolly Roger. We've gotten Brethren scouts that say they saw his fleet making a pass through the seas.. towards here."

Again, the crowd erupted in shrieks and fear. The townsfolk turned to one another, worry and concern in their voices and eyes as they gripped their families. Darkskull turned to the masses of people, trying to silence them. When he saw that his orders were failing, he grabbed his pistol, pointed it up in to the sky, and shot, a heavy plume of smoke rocketing out of it. The people that made up in the outer rim of the little circle crouched down in surprise, grabbing their ears with their hands. As the crowd quieted, Darkskull turned back to the pirate. "How long do we have?"

"3 days, sir." he affirmed. "3 days."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Comments? Reviews? Keep them coming, mates!

Sigh... yet more suspense... But it is good, even if i skipped two pages and i didnt really know whats going on... Good Chapter mate!!

Any news on the certain stealthy cannoneer? just joking...:pirate6:

As I promised! Have a good time reading this, you readers of the world - I hope you enjoy it as much as I did! So, my mateys, I present to you:



The scramble began only minutes after the news broke like a plague across the port. Pirates who lingered on the outer edges of the crowd were at the best advantage, sprinting up through the streets of the city, and flooding their homes, the stores, and the taverns, filling up on anything they ever might need. Any store that sold goods, whether it was sailing supplies or clothing, in the middle of the town square or on the remote outskirts was pillaged, plundered, and nearly massacred, leaving no stone unturned and no box unopened. Fights broke out in the streets as men and women scurried for anything they could scavenge from the litter than lined the dirt, French-styled quarters. It was although the invasion had already begun.

The cram out in the bay was much more of a scene. The Code was abandoned right on the spot - those who could get out to the bay first, could take any ship as they pleased. They crashed, squeezed, and rammed out of the end of the harbor, pouring out in to the open sea like a cloud of ash busting from a volcano. Those that were too slow watched as their glimmer of hope faded over the horizon, sobbing on the cold, wooden deck.

To some, escape was not found out on sea, but in the forests of Tortuga. Caravans off people, primarily gypsies who claimed they were “bound” to the island, packed their tings and trudged off in to the hilly jungles, off the beaten roads that cut through the vegetation. Delmaria talked with one man as he drifted his family towards the trees. “When Jolly Roger comes, there will be no way to hide from him,” he assured. “At least by hiding in the caves, it prolongs the affect for my children.”

It was the evening of the first day, the city finally beginning to slow down, as Delmaria walked through the streets to assess the pre-handed damage. His heavy black boots kicked up a little dirt, which was carried by the wind over the debris that lined the streets. Anything from large splinters of wood, bound in mounds, to shards of glass, to even fabrics and food was slowly decomposed by the townspeople who stayed behind, cleaning up the rubble. The stores and buildings that lined the main streets of the town suffered broken windows, torn-down structural posts of the balconies that sat over the mangled double doors, and even patches of burnt wood that littered the internal floors, walls, and furniture. Those store keepers that remained with the island mopped as they dragged their feet through what was once their store, struggling to keep from tears as they salvaged anything they could.

Delmaria saw the sights of Tortuga well in to the night. He continued his walk through the backstreets as the candles and lanterns around him were unlit for the night. For once, the town was quiet and calm, unlike the usual nights where brawls and near riots ran around the clock. The ringing of yells and gunshots was replaced by the chirping of crickets, whispering in the darkness. Delmaria recalled the last time the skies of Tortuga not being filled with fire and whimsy since a date only 10 years in the past, when the news a certain pirate captain had not only learned how to cheat death, but use it. Funny, the pirate thought, how only Jolly Roger had the power to quiet the masses.

Darkskull had finally slugged his way in a full circle through the streets and alley-ways, making it back to the main beach of the port through a little alleyway that poked between two buildings. He watched the sky as it traded its dark-blue hue for a reddish-purple, the day slowly beginning to warm. He took a huff, turning around and heading back down the alleyway, intending to march his way back to the Governor's Office.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Keep them in the entrance; I'm not one to deal with any more at the moment!" Anne barked at her crew mate, who busted at the door to her Office. The small, shaken man nodded hurriedly and slammed the door, his footsteps pounding down the hall. Anne slammed her mug down on the paper-ridden desk as she paced back and forth behind it, her hand wiping back and forth on her forehead. She whipped around to face Delmaria, who stood before the table, planting her hands hard down upon it as to lean over. "And you honestly think I'll let your orders take precedent ov-"

"I have much more qualifications in such an encounter than you!" Delmaria stammered out in a quick tempo.

Anne matched his speed. "And what in God's name would that be!?"

"I have spent five years in the service of the British Royal Navy, four under the service of the French and two under the Spanish, as well as separate workings under various militias and crews across the Caribbean. I know the maneuvers, tactics, and skills of nearly every armada under the skies, and every trick the enemy might have up their sleeve I can weasel out before you can get your boots on. I'm beyond sure that those dates and time frames aren't right, but if you even know how to do simple addition and comprehension of the English language under that glazed uneducated top of yours you might just fathom I'm better in this position than you!"

"Oh, oh EXCUSE me Your Majesty, Your Eminence, Your GREATNESS! You think just because Miss O'Malley left you behind a shiny little trinket that all of a sudden you have a right to walk around high and mighty? As long as you walk around on my island, than you will serve under MY orders!"

Delmaria stood up straight, crossing his arms behind his back and walking a few steps back. "Perhaps that messenger was correct. Maybe you don't deserve your husband's Office."

The door to the room suddenly swung open, Delmaria turning around to see who it was. It was that same guard again, calling to Leanne "Enrique Heralds is here, he wants his damages reimbursed under claims th-"

"Tell him to suck it up like the rest of the people sitting in that room and LEAVE!" she pointed at the man commandingly, scaring him to close the door. She then turned her attention back to Delmaria, puffing angrily at him. "If you so much as mention him again I'll lay you out on the floor."

"Like it would be any better than this scrap of a rug I'm standing on. Either take my offer or my crew and I will be out of these waters as he watch Roger burn your pretty little mansion to the ground, amid the other buildings."

As Anne built herself up to respond, the door to her Officer swung open once again. "Damn it Perkins, open that door again and you'll be on the front lines, so help me!" Her shout made Perkins gasp in fear, slamming the door shut. "Do you see what I have to deal with? Tortuga is already tearing itself apart, and here you are trying to take control of any other resources we have left." She sighed as she walked to the back of the room, planting her back on it. The piles of gold that once sat there were now diminished to a small coating on the ground. "Yes, you’re looking at our remaining treasury right now." She commented.

Delmaria leaned over the desk. "Then let me handle the set up. If we leave all of this on you, then there’s no doubt in my mind we'll be serving Roger real soon."

Anne leaned her head back against the wall. "We have around three thousand left in the town, about a thousand of which are able-bodied men."

"Guns? Ammunition?"

"Twenty-seven muskets, a dozen bayonets, and thirty pistols, all nice and rusty. Close-combat is limited to a few dozen sabres and cutlasses, and maybe a few long swords and epees, if we're lucky. Maybe two rounds of ammunition for each gunner, and only a few powder crates and kegs left."

"We'll make due." Delmaria nodded, his eyes wandering as he rubbed his hands together. "Aye, we'll make due..."



As the second day rolled on, the sky became darker and darker, a bleak grey that coated the once marvelous skies of Tortuga. The streets that were once littered in aftershock of the riots, now clean, were draped in the mindset of desperation and hopelessness brought by the early warning signs of the battle to come. Still, none within the port dragged their feet, as they knew doing so would only lead to an eminent demise, either at the hands of Roger, or at the hands of Delmaria.

Throughout the night, the men and boys of the city had been organized in to a militia of minute-men, each with his own little piece of weaponry. Beyond the limited amounts of guns and swords they had, the women of the port rallied to find anything they could that could be used as a weapon. Some found themselves equipped with their father's rusted sword from days of long ago, while all others had to boast were household items; knives, woodcutter axes, logs of firewood, brooms, splintered pieces of furniture, shovels, and anything that could do even the slightest amount of damage were put to use.

Delmaria stood with his back against the stone wall that separated the main street of Tortuga, flat and clean, for the first time, from the main beach of the port, to which he looked out upon. As the shacks and stores that lined the edges of the mecca were torn apart for pieces of wood, a large group of men dug their shovels in to the ground just feet from where the waters ran up on the sand, creating massive holes in the earth. They all were unsure of how this would turn out as a finished product, but they did it nevertheless, and obediently. They eyed the pirates that Delmaria had stationed around the work sites - men of Anne's private army, who's weaponry were far superior than most of the people in the port. Darkskull had instructed them that any person who tried to go against his orders were shot once in the knee, once in the elbow, and then left on the dock for the crows to pick at. So far, the crows were hungry.

As he glared around at all the workers hurrying under the darkening sky, Delmaria felt a tap at his shoulder. He turned to his right, where Grace stood, hanging around the corner of the wall. "Captain, you best follow me. There's somebody that wants to talk to you."

Delmaria bit his lip as he took a glance back out to the beach, and then back to Grace. He seeped in a large breath of air, pushed his leaning body off the wall and rounded around Grace, down the street, as he commented, "This better be worth my time, Ms. Goldgull."

Grace picked up her pace to match Delmaria side-by-side, as they hurried down the bustling street. People of all sorts flooded in and out of every one of the French-Quarter buildings around them, throwing tables, chairs, barrels, and any sort of large objects out in to the street, where other pirates carried them to large piles along the street and throughout the smaller streets, to be used as blockades. They frequently bumped in to people as they swirled through the parted crowds, Grace trying to take the lead in front of Delmaria so she could direct him properly.

When the large fountain in the center of the town began to appear, Grace rushed forward in a bound, grabbing Delmaria's arm and then jerking him through a small stone archway that sat on the right side of the street, which wound up a long, grassy hill. They trugged up it, passing by a few small shacks, before winding around two quick, sharp turns, left, then right. They were met with a short span of ground, where another blockade was already in progress. To the left of them, a long, dimly-lit cobblestone path led through a small alleyway, and then attaching the two areas on either side of the main street via a wooden bridge that ran over the street, from a balcony of one building to another, and a wall of vegetation sitting at their right. Grace gripped Delmaria's arm tighter, running him straight around the blockade-in-progress, and through the alleyway, zooming past the shady brick buildings at their sides, and pounding across the bridge. As they walked over the path, Delmaria looked down to take a glance at the work that was being done below them, until he was finally draw across to the other side, and through another stone archway, leading in to "Old Tortuga."

Old Tortuga was, naturally, one of the older parts of the port. It was essentially a maze of small, walled-off corridors connecting to one another, where most of the "organized" exchange in the port took place. The first place they entered was simply a small patch of dirt with a few buildings on the outer rim, with chickens and a few pigs roaming around. They took to the right path of the corridor, leading them winding in and out of two more before they reached the one where the Faithful Bride was housed. Yet as Delmaria was hoping that was their destination, it was not, and he was looped right in front of it, to the exit that led down in to the Mystic's Quarters.

As they walked through the scented, damp surroundings yet again, Delmaria's mind quaked with the memories of when he found his daughter, disheveled and shaken. It made him not only concerned evermore, but angry and frustrated at all the mindless gypsies that danced around him, who let it happen to her. He was about ready to snap out at one of them, twisting his hands around their necks and silencing their voodoo hymns, when he was shoved forward. He looked in front of him, and there, before a small cart, was his daughter.

Without a word, Delmaria and Marina climbed in to the cart, as Grace hurried back to her post. The cloak closed behind him, as Delmaria took a seat on narrow cushioned couch that hugged the side of the cramped room. Delmaria looked around, the place littered with books, bottles, trinkets, and jars of all sorts of things, messed in the kind of way as though it were intentionally. Marina sat behind a small metal pot that was cooking over a small fire in the center of the structure, where, strangely, no smoke rose.

"I'm glad to see you're feeling better." Delmaria said softly and quietly.

"Well, Doctor Grogan sure can work wonders." she tried to say in a small, to lighten the mood. But she saw the lost, unanswered look on Delmaria's face, so she just went on. "You can feel it, can't you?"

"Feel what?" Delmaria asked, titling his head.

"That dark, strange presence, father. Every time Roger begins to show his face, such a rare occurrence as it is, this feeling comes over all of us. Gypsies, that is. And you., having encountered him more than most of us, must feel it to, by now, aye?"

"Aye...?"

"But this time is different. That feeling almost feels more... pungent, and raw? Yes?"

"Well.. I suppose.."

"Because Roger has become different, father." Delmaria froze with that comment for a moment. He turned his slinking head up to her, in a questioning face. She continued, "My studies here have given me a keen opportunity to learn everything I can about voodoo, father. There is a lot more depth to it that most portray it as - real voodoo, at least. Casting a simple wish takes well beyond ten minutes, to over a few hours, taking in to account the balances of nature, the strength of the.. oh, I won't go in to it."

"So what are you saying? The voodoo I have been around is untrue?"

"In most cases, yes. Tia D- Calypso, is a rare exception to the rule."

"Oh please, and you believe the rumor that became a goddess, too?"

"We're beyond my point. Voodoo used in combat, with pathetic mediums like dolls and staves, only realizes a small bit of its potential. We in the Quarters call it Pig Voodoo. Real voodoo, creating connections with the Lwa themselves, is a much better method. It does not allow you to control nature, as it does let you become one."

"And what does Roger have to do with this....?"

Marina stopped to collect her thoughts for a moment. "The afterlife is fed by the collecting of souls. With each being that dies, not only does the undead army become larger and stronger, but so does Jolly himself, in a sense. Some souls are worth more than others, as you may know. And enough souls, when collected, gives one the ability to.. well..." Marina looked back up to her father. "You'll understand when the time comes. Please, just be careful."



The chilling waters of the harbor clashed up in mighty waves as the fierce wind pushed against it. The wind flowed throughout the port from the bay, where it swayed trees, knocked over empty crates and hats, and froze the bones of the people who stood in there, waiting. The sky above was filled with dark storm clouds, but not the usual type of dark grey; these clouds were black, and a deep and dark one at that, as though the night sky had lost its stars. A shadow loomed over the port, as the eager soldiers rubbed their weapons, and their bodies.

At the beach, Delmaria stood at the highest point, at the very bow of the shipwreck where the shipwright was. It stuck out over the jagged rocks to which the waters blasted themselves to, splashing droplets all the way to, and over the pirate. He looked out over the looming, quiet bay, as the breaths of the people through the city stiffened. The dark of the night, a hopeless void that smothered all presences of peace, swallowed the port whole. Yet he stood tall, a bastion of light in this evil, not because he wanted to, but because he knew he had to - he was the light that embraced the weak, the arm that held the banner of victory, and the sword that would cut down the binds of tyranny. He, himself, was the shield, which no matter a force, swing, or blow, could ever be dented.

At his side, the young Libertist recruit Silfly sat, an old, rusted musket in hand. The boy had grown since Delmaria had last seen him, many moons ago, but he was still feeble and sharp in the senses. Even when Delmaria shifted his weight from one leg to another, you could feel the boy's eyes wander to make sure that everything was alright. "Are you sure you can handle the shot, Silfly?" Delmaria asked him, still looking out intently to the bay.

"Yes, Cap'n." Silfly assured, although it looked like he had doubted himself by the way he said it.

"Alright. You best not miss that shot, or else all our plans might as well be shot with that gun of yours."

Just as Silfly was trying to make the decision as whether to respond or not, another heavy gust of wind rocked the entire city. A few cries of woman and children rang out, but they were faint to the might gust. Delmaria gripped the ledge of the shipwright, trying to poke his view through the wind. He could not see it, but he could imagine the scene perfectly - the fleet of black, hidden ships cutting through the bay waters with ghostly precision, as they stalled a distance out from the port so that they could not be hit by musket fire. "Ready your aim, third pocket inward!" Delmaria shouted over the gusts, as Silfly eased the barrel over the edge. By the time the boy was ready, Delmaria could feel the animate skeletons plunging in to the deep, as their front lines trudged along the rocky, cool sea bed, approaching the beach. "You know when to shoot... not too early, not too late."

It was a tense moment of waiting, before Delmaria saw it. He saw the skin-peeled scalps of the walking-dead poke out of the quaking waters, their lifeless limbs slinking with them. Their bones were outlined with skin and mold, like half-decomposed, naked bodies rising out of their watery graves. The moans and groans of the army gained prevalence as more and more of them tranced above the surface. The one at their head carried itself on to the sand, it's empty eye sockets feeling the fear that emanated from the pirates before them. Darkskull prayed that they would not go in to early, despite what their fears told them, and sure enough, they did not. As the skeletons began to ferry out on to the sand in the dozens, Delmaria whispered, "Alright Silfly, do it." Darkskull braced himself, as he waited for the shot. He could see it unfold in his head - the fiery explosion ripping across the beach, decimating Jolly's earliest arrivals, and then the pirates storming in, and holding their lines. But, in place of the bullet shot, he heard nothing. "Silfly, do it!..... Silfly?"

Delmaria turned to expect to see the wary boy, but the sight was much worse. Delmaria faced the barrel of a gun shoved at his forehead, the gun holder shaking arrogantly behind it. "G-get UP!" Silfly shouted.

Delmaria rose to a standing position as did Silfly, his hands up to show an intendance of peace. "Why mate?... We had... The Brothers were hopeful for you."

"A-a-all the Libertists are are a bunch of reb-rebel dogs, that don't appreciate any work I did." Silfly looked as though he were on the verge of tears.

"Oh mate, is this about you no-"

"NO, IT'S NOT! SHUT UP!" Silfly barked. "Roger promised me so much more than they could ever... immortality, he promised me..." Silfly's head wandered, but he snapped back when he realized Delmaria might try to make a move. His face was overcome in a laugh, withering smile. "All I h-have to do is kill you, and I-I'll live, forever!"

"Well, mate, I guess I just-" Delmaria instantly took one of his hands and smacked the barrel of the musket upward, knocking it out of Silfly's hands, and then sliding down to the ground. It hit the tilted surface, and slipped downward, off the ledge, and then easing down the right side of the shipwright. As Silfly tried to understand what happened, Delmaria punched Silfly in the face, knocking him on to the ledge of the shipwright, leaving his head dangling. Darkskull gripped Silfly by the collar, and hissed at him "I'll show you, disrespectful.. Immortal my-!," and before he could finish the sentence, the lifted Silfly off the ground, and flipped him over the side of the shipwright, yelling as he plunged towards the rocks, where he hit a spike it a bone-crunching crunch.

Delmaria turned away from the sight before Silfly's body was swept away by the waves, and jumped down from the bow of the shipwright, juggling down as he crawled to the side of the shipwright, and sweeping the musket up. His legs, shaken by the pound of his feet hitting the wood, led him to the front of the shipwright, at the exit ramp closer to the waters. He watched in horror as the skeletons reaped upon the pirates, pushing up against the desperate soldiers as they attempted to devour them whole. Delmaria snapped the pistol in the direction of the mounds on the beach, and rocked the shot towards it.

Delmaria was shock waved backward at least a meter, landing on his back with a slam. He could see at the bottom of his vision the fireball of chaos rock upward, in to the sky, and outward, in to the bay, and out on to the beach. Delmaria knew sitting on a wood structure would burn him to a crisp, so he crawled off the ramp, and then sprinted straight up to an empty part of the stone wall, throwing himself against it, and putting his sleeved arms in front of his face. He could feel the overpowering heat push with force against his face, and his leather coat, giving it a light, stinging burn as it reeled back. As Delmaria could be certain the flames were not at his face, he turned around to assess the damage, but was met with an even worse sting.

Delmaria's body hit the grizzled sand, as he ran his hand on his cheek to feel the sting on his face. He looked up to an awful, terrifying sight. It was not a skeleton, but completely the opposite. Nevertheless, a terrifying sight.

Over him, stood a towering man, at least seven feet tall. His face was heavily tanned, drapped in a huge, frizzled mustache, which ran around the corners of his mouth, down to his chin. There, it dropped off in to a long, thick, frizzled beard, which reached down to the middle of his chest. His body was cloaked in a heavy leather coat, which was decorated in all sorts of military finery. His clothing was messy and tangled in all sorts of trinkets, shirts, and heavy metal belts, which might have weighted him down; if not for the fact he was burley. He had one heavy black boot, and where the other foot should have been, was a peg led. Atop his head, where his dread locks hung, was a large, brown admiral hat, with two playing cards hiding over the brim. But the most unmistakable of all features was his right hand, where instead of a hand, was a heavy assortment of weaponry, in a tremendous, horrific bundle. He smiled, revealing a mouth full of dirty teeth, and a single shining gold one, as he said in an intimidating, scratchy voice, "'Ello, Delmaria."

Delmaria was lost for words. "M-my God, it can't be..."

"Captain Roger Renveil, back in his own skin. Or, well," Roger looked down at his mechanical, gunned hand, chuckling a little in amusement. "....most of it."

"H-How?!" Delmaria shrieked in horror.

"Well, you see, Amo Dorsi was a powerful soul... But not such a smart one. He forgot to address the fact that harvesting the living is quite the.. medicine." he snickered.

"Yo... You kidnapped those people..."

"YES, I did!" He boomed in a laugh. "The assassinations, the invasions, they were all part of my plan. After all, why kill thousands, when you can just sacrifice a few more... valuables, yes? But alas, I can only go so far with this.... so I must find a new way. I will not go in to details, but, shall we strike a deal? You aid me in acquiring Anne Bonny, and I'll strike your name from the top of my list."

"NEVER!" Delmaria shouted. Roger swung his peg leg in a kick, smacking Darkskull in the stomach.

"If you wish. I would kill you now, but I'm to tend to much more important matters." Roger leaned over his shoulder, and shouted, "Crassus! Get over here, and finish the job for me."

Slowly, the sharp, evil figure rose from behind Roger, through smoke. He slowly drew a shining, spiraled rapier, a strip of silver on the thick black smokes, as he said in the same smooth voice, "Of course, my liege."



Their blades clicked with a sharp steel crash, clanking through the smoke-thickened beach as the pirates and skeletons skewn about gathered themselves. Crassus pressed his blade downward against Delmaria's, which he was using to block the sword as he laid on the ground. The pirate gave an upward push that thrusted Brone upwards, giving Darkskull enough time to kick his legs backward furiously against the dark, overturned sand. Crassus gripped his sword as it peaked in the sky, and plunged it nose-first downward, splicing in to the sand in between Delmaria's parted legs. Delmaria took his left foot and kicked the guard of the rapier, slanting Brone's body awkward as he held on to the now-slanted sword.

Delmaria scurried backward, tumbling a little, before reaching his feet. As Crassus struggled to pull up his sword, Delmaria looked at his surroundings. The entire beach was black, engulfed in smoke as it tainted the wooden structures, and the sand. Through pockets of air, Delmaria could see the dock being swallowed in flames, barbequing alive any poor soul that was on it. The fronts of the shipwright and the remains of the buildings around the beach were missing planks, replaced with pockets of fire. These small fires also danced around the beach, either burning on scraps of wood, or bodies that were too close to the explosion. He could not examine it all in detail, however, as his pursuer gained ground on him.

Crassus ran up and pointed his blade at Delmaria's neck, poised like a fence. Delmaria held his blade battle ready, not willing to show any remote sign of surrender. "Well, Delmaria, are you ready to die?"

"Ready, but not willing." Darkskull grunted, as he twisted his body to the left. Crassus thrusted his blade inward on the point only a second too slow, as Delmaria grounded his feet in the sand and flipped his blade around his turning body. His sword clicked against the undead mercenary’s rapier as he desperately shoved it behind his back to block the swing, while he caught himself against a rock next to the shipwright. He spun around, flailing the blade over his head like a matador’s cape, and then cutting it down to cut Delmaria. Yet the pirate lord caught the blow with his cutlass yet again, and cut the blade off to his side to slide it off.

Yet as Delmaria thrusted the blades away, he let grip of his sword, as did Crassus. The two swords stuck in to the ground away from them, leaving the two aggressors to face each other, unarmed. Delmaria took the opportunity to deliver a terrible punch right to a leaning Crassus. He aimed for the rib cage, but hit the left shoulder instead. Crassus responded by swinging his left arm in a weak blow to Delmaria's face, that reminded him of the sting of the flames. Delmaria instinctively corrected his jaw, and then rebuttled by bending down, scooping up a hand of burnt sand, and throwing it in to his opponent's face, blinding him.

As Crassus patted at his face to clear his vision, Delmaria gripped at the black bandana that sat atop the man’s head. Yet instead of getting a firm grasp, it pulled right off, revealing the top of his head. There, sat not hair, but the bare top of a skull, with a small piece of brain poking out through a small hole. As Delmaria cringed in disgust, Crassus raised his head, a maniacal, laughing smile on his face. He then mustered up a tremendous uppercut, which knocked Delmaria's unprepared chin.

Delmaria tumbled backward in pain, but managed to stay on his feet. He looked through his blurred eyes to see Crassus limp his way over to the two blades, the silver, spiraled rapier, and shining, gold cutlass, the rag still pinned around the handle. Delmaria trudged a few dramatic steps forward, before diving through the air, in an act to beat-out Crassus to the blades.

The pirate did, as he hoped, reached the target before his opponent, but in a surprising way. His dive brought him farther than expected, nailing his bodies directly in to the sides of the blades, and sending them with him. Delmaria felt the light cut of the blades' edges against his coat, but they were more of an annoyance than a being painful. As he landed down on the two prone swords, he scurried his hand wildly, to try and grab hold of a sword.

Crassus reached Delmaria in a rage, gripped his arm, and flipped him over so that he would lay on his back. As Delmaria was exposed, his right hand grabbed hold of Crassus's rapier. He drove the blade upward blindly, hoping to drive the point in to some part of Brone. His eyes shut, as he heard the shriek of pain ring through his ears. For the first time, gratefully, it was not his own. Delmaria reopened his eyes, to see the damage done.

Delmaria had hit the blade right in to Crassus's left eye (the one not with the patch over it.) He patted his hands at it quickly as he screamed, blood pouring down his face. Delmaria pulled back on the sword, sticking it in to the ground to push himself up. He giggled as Crassus hit the ground, still yelping. "Don't be such a baby about it, mate! Looks like you’re going to need another patch!" Delmaria taunted him.


Darkskull turned around the town walls that led from the beach, around the immediate blockade, and then sprinted down the Main Street. Around him, fires burned, bullets, shrapnel, and pieces of wood flew through the air, and bodies of both sides crunched against the floor. The Undead had been plowing their way through the town mercilessly, while the humans fought with all their will to push them back. Darkskull could see their vitality fading, but he urged them to continue the fight. All the while the battle swirled around him, near the blockades, through the streets, in the houses, and atop the balconies, all Delmaria was concerned about, was Anne.

As Delmaria neared the main square, where the fountain was, he was emerged in the greatest of the battles on Tortuga. The fight had resorted to one-on-one combat in this area, taking place on every square inch of open space. But he paid no attention to the crowd around him - instead, he focused what took place inside the base of the fountain. Roger had Anne gripped by the hair, as he barked at her in her face. The two of them were fighting with words, shouting back and forth. He could tell Anne was fearful, as that menacing gun-hand pocked at her side, but she wouldn't let it show - not in front of her people. Delmaria was the shield, but she was still the captain.

Delmaria barreled his way through the masses, to the foot of the fountain, where he jumped up on the edge, blade in hand. "Let her go, Roger!" she shouted in a deep, gargled, intimidating voice.

"WHERE IS THE MAP?" Roger shouted at her, paying no attention to Delmaria.

"DELMARIA, SHOOT ME!" Anne turned her head, shouting at Darkskull. "KILL ME, NOW!"

Delmaria was stunned, unsure of what to do. He could feel his left hand obediently reach for his gun, but he knew he could never pull the trigger. "Just give him what he wants, Anne! Just give it to him!"

"Damn it Delmaria, I CAN'T HOLD OUT! DO IT, NOW!" she shrieked. Against his will, Delmaria grabbed his pistol, whipped it out, and shot out. He did not hit Roger, as he wanted - he saw the blood flow down, in to the waters. Anne's body shivered down, in to the waters, as Renveil let go. He turned to Delmaria, staring at him.

"You'll pay for this... YOU'LL PAY!" Roger shouted. His feet stormed towards Delmaria in a march, splashing in to the waters. Delmaria gripped his cutlass tighter and tighter, before raising it up and, in a battle cry, baring it down on to Jolly. Yet right before the blade made contact, the undead warlord disappeared in to a plum of dark green, murky fog, before whipping past Delmaria. Darkskull turned to see the cloud speed through the streets, killing off any skeleton that it passed. As the undead fell, the townspeople of Tortuga cried out in victory, watching their enemies drop like flies. But Delmaria turned to a more urgent plan.

His body plopped next to Anne in the shallow fountain waters, picking her up in to his arms. As she bled, dying, before him, flashes of his memories appeared before him. He saw his wife, crying and sobbing, calling for his name. He gripped her tighter and tighter, telling her how much he loved her. But she couldn't hear him, drifting off in to the darkness, to never awake, to never hear her husband's woes.

"Delm...." Anne groaned in a weak voice.

"Why Anne.." Delmaria sobbed, tears streaking down his face. "I'M SORRY! Why must you die! WHY GOD, WHY!" he cried up, thrusting his head back.

"Ssh...." she whispered to him, quieting him. "Pad.. g-go to P-Padres.. Va-lentina..."

"What about her!? What did Roger want!?"

"The... Headstone.." Anne's body gave a final gasp of air, before peacefully slinking down, out of Delmaria's arms, in to the waters.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~``

The Headstone?! What the heck is a Headstone!?

I don't expect many of you to know what it was, because it's rarely remembered amongst us older pirates. If you want to know what exactly it was in game, then you can go right here (SPOILER WARNING!): http://www.piratesonlineforums.com/f...ad.php?t=12991

Be sure to review, mates! Thanks for reading!

Great Chapter Del!!!

It was long, but great!
I do hope Crassus gets another eyepatch.:laughks2:

Big announcement, mates!

It is with a heavy heart that I must announce that the next two chapters of Those Condemned to Freedom, will be it's last. Our hero's current storyline coming to an end, and I want to make sure it ends as epically as ever. So, although it will be ending soon, count on the next and last chapter to be better than anything you've laid your eyes on on this thread!

Of course, don't worry! Once TCTF ends, I will begin work on a new piece of work! I won't go in to details, but I can say that, of course, Captain Delmaria Darkskull will be our hero once again!

Looking forward to the next few weeks - are you ready, mates?

Anxiously anticapating... It will be good to start a new one Del, I have to agree with you there, but how are you gonna cram all the epicness in two chapters?

Well, now you're asking a magician to reveal his secrets. Don't worry, I have plenty of tricks up my sleeve ;)

When I read the beginning of one of the sentences I was: :piratesing: I read the end::piratear:

You wouldn't believe the number of times I revised this chapter.

Well, here be the last chapter of build up in the story - and look, it's pretty short, too! Hope you enjoy it, mates! So, I present to you:


The large War Frigate cut in between the two large cliffs that acted as a natural barrier to the cove. They rose far above them, at least triple the height of the tallest mast, commandingly tall and strong in their stature. From over them peaked the dark night, fogged by the clouds that sat before it. The waters that the ship's hull cut through the calm waters below them, carefully washing over the wood and rocks that protruded out of the shallow waters. The air was hot, yet the spines of the crew shivered as, through the fog, their target pierced through in the darkness. The tall figure rose in to the air like the Tower of Babel, but this was not what it was - this place was a convergence of people from across the globe, who spoke but one language - the language of freedom.

"Easy now, mate." Delmaria whispered to John as he gripped to the wheel tighter and tighter. The bay around them only allowed passage to the most agile and worthy of pirates, but Delmaria assured himself his crew would be let through by the sea, for the sole purpose of preserving this city of injustice. He eyed every single fiber of the waters that they passed, locked solely on the moment. He reached his hand up his neck, and gripped it around the small silver cross that hung there. His thick, grizzled hands were shaking, but the thought of Leanne soothed his mind.

Their ship slowly reached the fragmented wooden dock, the full mass of the town now in its full glory. The twisted and mangled wooden homes, buildings, and remnants spiraled up magically in a stout yet strong fortress, cut in to the sky. It was a wonder that could not be appreciated solely in words, which such a stunning sight still resided on this Earth. Delmaria could feel the stirrings of this magic place vibrate down his spine, as though the spirits of the ancient pirates who resided here were greeting him to their home. He could not tell if this was a good thing.

Delmaria walked to the right side of the ship, where he looked down on the now parallel dock. It was a shambled, tilted dock that stuck out of the water, and then led down in to a small tunnel that dipped in to the water just a little, and then rose up like a hill, in to the rest of the city. Guards lined the entire area, wielding weaponry that was born by the hands of only the more refined masters of war. They stared sternly at the ship, and amazingly persistent, for the pirate type of person. Delmaria found himself in a trance of sorts, before snapping to, and shouting out to nobody in particular, "Lower down the boards!"

He pounded down the steps quickly as his crew hurriedly assembled on the main deck, bringing up the boards that connected the ship to the dock, and leaning them down the side. Just as they got in to position, still rocking slightly, Darkskull abruptly jumped on top of it, and walked down it quickly, his boots splashing on the water that covered the dock. He looked around him, waiting for somebody to greet him, as his crew followed behind him.

Finally, from his left, a man walked forward, swaying slightly in his own drunken dance. His loose linen clothes hung down from his body, as did his drouping mustache and beard, intertwined in beads, did from his dark brown face. Atop his head, sat a large, black tricorn, under which his head of decorated dreadlocks hung. He poked his vision under them, with a questioning look, before nodding in assurance and continuing forward with a smile. The smart-faced man reached out a hand and shook Delmaria's.

"Jack, pleasure to see you again - even under his circumstances." Darkskull huffed.

"Pleasure to see you, Mr. Darkskull... to say the least. Welcome to Shipwreck Cove, mate."

"So are we just going to stand here, or shall we be on our way?" Delmaria asked as he began to walk around Jack.

Sparrow turned about and walked along side him, running his hand on Delmaria's shoulder and saying "The meeting's already started, mate."



The two pirates pushed open a heavy set of eccentric double wooden doors, glazed by time and carved in a sort of maze, describing a story of sorts. It featured ships, people, monsters, and the ocean, all mixing an acting in reaction to each other, each both angered and fighting with the other, but showing no clear winner.

Beyond it, was a long hall, previously the hull of a ship, with curved spars rising up at the side in images of mermaids and skeletons to support the ceiling. From the ceiling, hung a large chandelier, which was draped over the top with a blanket of stark-white cob webs, thick and unmoving. And under the light, sat a large, long table, with nine chairs lining around the sides, each deriving of its own origin. The table was surrounded by a large crowd, which silently turned to the two as they and their crews entered.

Delmaria found himself the center of attention, the eyes of men and women of every race and ethnicity staring down at him. They were cloaked from rags to riches, and each little group huddled in their own area of the room. They stood anxiously, but controlled, waiting eagerly to see what the new Pirate Lord would do. Some smiled, some glared, and others stood stoic and unwavering. Delmaria could feel the attention upon him, as he was the man who had called for this meeting only days after his "choosing." He could feel the room torn.

Darkskull slowly stepped forward, his boots creaking on the wood floor. Right at his side, before the table, was a large globe, out of it sticking eight long swords. These swords represented the pirate's freedom to plunder from whatever the world he chose - and, that the captains wouldn't fight each other in the hall. They each gutted in to the area of the globe which it's owner came from - each ocean was filled with metal, except for the Atlantic. Delmaria walked up to the globe, placing a hand on it, and spinning it. As the area of England cut across his gaze, he felt a sharp pain of sadness inside, but he ignored it. As the world slowed down, he pulled The Liberator from its sheath, and cut it in to the globe, slicing right in to Atlantic, and stopping the globe. The rest of the room clapped in approval, as he walked around it and followed Jack to the right side of the table, where their chairs were.

Delmaria was guided to the middle chair on the right side of the table, in between Jack's, to his right, and the Spanish Pirate Lord, a tall, burly, and hairy man by the name of Eduardo Villanueva. The two took their place in front of the chair, while they stared at Delmaria, who looked down at his. It was a tall, throne-like chair, dark in color and carved in twists and turns to represent the swirling of the ocean. It's seat consisted of a tattered, stained cushion, drops of blood giving it it's character. And at the top, a Kraken sat, it's tentacles reaching slightly out over the chair, as to embrace the head of its member. Delmaria took note the chair was by far the tallest in the room, wondering whether it was just a coincidence, or something higher than that.

Darkskull slowly walked to the front of the chair, and took a huff of air. The rest of the room still stared at him, awaiting his next move. Cautiously, Delmaria slowly lowered himself in to the seat, his back resting slightly and upright against the wood work. He rubbed his hands on the arm of the chair as he settled himself, taking in to detail every cut and curve. When he was finally ready, he looked straight out on to the table, commencing the rest of the Pirate Lords to simultaneously take their seats.

As the room fell silent from the Pirate Lords' motion, they once again shifted their attention back to Delmaria. As he looked around, unsure of what to do, Sparrow stuck out an elbow and nudged Darkskull, bringing him to a realization. Slowly, Delmaria rose to his feet, the center point of everybody's focus. He tilted his head up confidently for a moment, cleared his throat, and began to speak.

"Good evening, my Brethren. Welcome to the Fifth Meeting of the Brethren Court of Pirates." Delmaria nodded. "You have been ushered here so hastily because we have fallen under a dark time, my friends. No longer are the free ports that we mingle in safe, no longer are the waters we sail free from persecution. We find ourselves facing a global threat, that is not focused on trade, or wealth, but ourselves."

The crowd buzzed in concern, Pirate Lords twisting back and forth in their seats. One of them, a funny-looking French man by the name of Chevalle on the far side of the table, asked "And what exactly do you mean by this?"

"It appears... that one of our foes, Captain Roger Renveil, has returned to us... from death." As the room started to cry and shout in outrage, Delmaria shouted out, "SILENCE!" As the room hushed, he smiled in victory, and continued. "Bickering and disputing between us will get us nowhere. Renveil may not have been such an enemy in the past, but he is now. He demonstrated that to all of us when he sacked and nearly destroyed Tortuga. And I'm sure that if he could damage Tortuga to such an extent, then God only knows what he could do to Shipwreck Cove in his fullest stature."

"Do we know what he is going after?" A Chinese sailor said directly across from Delmaria, the translator for Ching.

"Yes, he's going after something called, 'The Headstone.'"

As he said those words, the room’s ears perked up to a thundering sound of heavy boots clamping down on the floor, on the far end of the room. The pirates turned to the head of the table, where there approached a thin, scraggly looking figure, cloaked in a thick black beard and a long red coat. His face was angry after withstanding the test of time, grunted and wrinkled in a sharp manner, ready to snap at anybody who went against his word. The room instantly stood up at his presence, and removed their hats.

The man stepped forward, placing his hands down on the head of the table. "The Headstone, you say? My, he surely is reaching farther than any of us could hope."

"What do you mean, Mr. Te... Captain?" Delmaria quivered a little.

"The Headstone is more elusive than the Fountain of Youth itself.... it grants it's wielder the power to control death itself, and as such, it is always found somewhere in history... wars have been decided by that stone, crusades have been led. It is constantly switching hands, so much so by the time you catch it's trail, it's already gone."

"And do you know where it is, Captain?"

"Yes.... here."

In the distance, far behind the room, the crack of cannon balls raged and flared down. They could hear crashing, screaming, and a calling of arms. The guards in the room instantly ran to the doors and locked them tight, placing huge panels before them, to let nobody in, or out.

The war for the Caribbean had begun.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And so, we near the arrival of the final chapter. I kept this one as short as possible so I can really bulk up the last chapter.

Comments? Reviews? You better get them out while you can, mates - our story has neared it's end!

Woot! More epic battles :)

Great chapter!!

He is getting ready for the final chapter... Whatever characters are in the story at the moment are final, unless he decides to bring in new characters at the last minute.

AWESOME CHAPTER, Del! Can't wait for the finale! :D

Well mates, the time has come. I have both waited for and dreaded this moment for so long, so I might as well just go right to it.

So, my readers, for the last time in Those Condemned to Freedom, I present to you:



Chaos erupted in the room as soon as the doors had been fully locked. Pirates from across the room abandoned their captains, and poured towards the doors in a panic, ramming in to it like a wave of rolling thunder. They pushed against each other violently, screaming, shouting, and fighting one another, to try to get to the front. The Pirate Lords themselves began yelling at one another from across the table, slamming their fists and pointing fingers in outrage. Jack and Delmaria stood in front of their chairs, motionless, as the state of the hall slowly destroyed itself.

Finally, a ring peace echoed through the room, in the form of a loud slam against the table. The entire hall quieted, and slowly turned their attention to the head of the long meeting table, where Teague stood. He had his hands planted down a massive, water-logged book, bigger than some of the people that stood in the room. He was smiling crudely, almost amused by the scene that had unfolded before him. "Right then." he rasped, then gripping the side of the book, and flipping it open with a heave. He stood upright, and swaggered back and forth a bit; studying the page he had opened to. "Excellent, just the right page.

"My fellow brethren, it seems that a time of war has fallen upon us. And in such a time when a war is called upon our divided forces, we must unite as one in order to properly overpower our enemies. And, of course, in such a time, we must elect a common leader to fight under."

The room started to cry in outrage once again, pirates throwing their arms up and punching each other for almost no reason. It reminded Delmaria vaguely of Tortuga - and not the one in ruins, either. Teague grunted, and reached to his side, bringing up a pistol and shooting it up at the ceiling. A small shout echoed in the silence of the room, as a small drop of blood fell through the hole in the paneling. "Hehe, oops." Teague chuckled.

"Surely, my brothers, you cannot think that by ourselves we can conquer these foes. When a swordsman moves his cutlass, he does not simply swing wildly in to the wind - no, that's how you are killed. Instead, he attacks with a few organized, strong cuts, and that is how we must form. And quickly, as well, for it seems evil," almost on cue, a large explosion boomed just outside the door leading in to the hall. "...is knocking at our doorstep. So, present your Pieces of Eight!"

Unwaveringly, the Pirate Lords shambled around their persons, and one by one, threw their trinkets out on to the table. Delmaria ran his hand up his neck, and slowly eased the shimmering silver necklace over his head. He brought it down in his hand, and stared at it, one last time. He could feel within it Leanne's being, and parting with it, meant he parted with her. He brought the chain up to his lips, and sent a kiss to her, for the final time. He then threw the chain on top of the pile of junk, and returned to his political stance.

"Good. Now, shall we begin the voting!" Teague smiled, as if he expected a good outcome.

This time, the Pirate Lords began shouting, as their own separate crews flowed behind them. They all demanded that they themselves were pronounced Pirate King, not as a reason to fight, but as a reason to sit in the historic seat. "Sri Sumhajee votes for Sri Sumhajee!", and other chants along those lines filled the air. It seemed as though this meeting was going nowhere, until a bold motion occurred. Delmaria easily climbed on to the top of the table, and walked around in the center of it. The room hushed themselves, staring up, to both marvel at this sight, and figure out what the hell he was doing.

"Pirates, can we really spend our time bickering amongst ourselves? Have we not formed this nation of freebooters, for the sole purpose of being free? All along the lines of time, our ancestors have been suppressed by rulers who only seek self gain and greed. And now, when it comes time to choose our own paths, we follow the same road? We have come here to preserve the ideas that all men are created equal, that the pursuit of a common goal, freedom, can be acquired by all who stand for it. And as our greatest enemies converge on this night to stop us, we must turn our heads not away, but in the same direction, as the focus and gaze of all of us together will crack the wall of fury before us. So, my allies, I ask you - shall we condemned ourselves to tyranny, or condemn ourselves to freedom?"

The room had no voice. The planks of the room creaked, and the water dripped. Even the battle outside seemed to quiet, like even the soldiers knew what a moment was unraveling in the Pirate Hall. Delmaria looked around, at every face, looking to find a cause. And as he became distraught, and made his way towards his seat, the crowd slowly began to noise. Darkskull turned to the head of the table, where Teague stood there. He wasn't happy, nor angry. He was clapping.

One by one, the pirates in the room turned around to each other. Their fellow men began clapping, and they soon joined in. A whisper of victory became a roar, and the room consumed itself in cheers and shouts. Delmaria smiled feverously as he looked around the room, at the fact that he himself had stirred this. Through the praise, Teague himself scrambled on to the top of the table, and walked over to Delmaria. He stood before him, tall and proud, and slipped a small, golden ring off his finger. He grasped Darkskull's, and slid it on to his finger. And Delmaria studied it, Teague turned to the crowd and shouted, "BEHOLD, MY COMRADES, YOUR NEW PIRATE KING!"

Darkskull's body shook in goose bumps, as the noise of the room intensified. He thought of his father, long ago, giving him the speech about what it was like to have this seat. He could feel the smile of his father, where ever he was, shining down upon him - for the first time in his life, Delmaria felt loved.

"Alright, hand me my sword!" Delmaria roared, catching the hilt of his sword in mid air, as a few pirates near the globe tossed them to their respective captains. Delmaria held the sword straight, pointing the tip of it's blade towards the door. "On my command, charge the door! READY! ONE, TWO, THR-"

Before he could usher the final shout, the door erupted in a blast of shrapnel and wood fragments. Smoke clouded the entrance as the small pieces of wood flew throughout the room. Delmaria felt himself fall back, on to his backside, almost losing grip of his sword.



Skeletons began pouring in to the room, pouncing on to the downed bodies of pirates as they tried to get to their feet. Those that could not grab their blades in time, or escape the oncoming flood of enemy soldiers, met a slow, painful death as the skeletons began to devour their flesh. Delmaria looked up to see one burly boned skeleton, wielding a large, rusted broadsword, hop on to the table, and begin to rush at him.

Delmaria grabbed a firm hold of the Liberator and swung it over, pushing away the skeleton's sword as it came down on him. He then pulled the blade back and quickly thrusted it up, slicing right in between the joints of the neck and the head. The head of the beast slipped clean off, and dropped backward on the table, with the body.

Delmaria jumped to his feet, and ran down the table, jumping off as he hit the edge. His jumped soared him across the fray of bodies, and clean in to the ship hull that acted as the walkway to the room. He nearly slid as he landed, as it tilted downward to the right towards the water, where the dock waited. Masses of pirates ran up and down the place, fighting furiously with the undead that poured in constantly. "Darkskull!" Delmaria heard shouted from the far left of the hull. He looked up the ramp, and saw Sparrow standing there, motioning him towards him. Delmaria gathered a footing, and stormed up the hill, towards Sparrow.

As he met the Pirate Lord at the top of the ramp, they went down a small hop on to a flat walkway, which acted as the main road of the Cove. It ran up the mountain of shipwrecks like a winding path, slowly working its way up as it whirled around the city. They nodded, and ran to the right, where the road started to incline. "The top of the Cove is where my fa... Teague's, quarters are. The Headstone must be up there."

Delmaria snickered as they pounded up the road. "Jack, don't be ashamed that you have a father. You're never getting an- DUCK!" Delmaria screamed suddenly, grabbing the top of Jack's head and pushing it down, as he knelt. A heavy barrage of cannonballs rammed in to the buildings just at their side, only a few feet above their head. They took a moment to look out in to what exactly was going on in the closed harbor.

A fleet of about twelve skeleton ships had begun a dance in the bay, with pirate vessels of all makes, origins, and strengths. The waters churned heavily as ships toppled over in to the waves, and ammunition flurried in the air like the wind itself. In the very far end of the bay, the all familiar war ship, black in color and tattered and torn in quality, sat. The Harkaway rocked menacingly, but fired no shots.

Darkskull was awakened from his daze as Sparrow slapped his clean across the face, bringing his attention to what was behind them. A large horde of undead was stampeding out of the ship hull, engulfing any pirate that was there. In the midst of the crowd of skeletons, Delmaria saw one of them carrying a bloodied, white wig - another, a torn yet elegantly woven cloak - and a turban, burnt at the frays. Three of the Pirate Lords were already dead.

The two pirates scurried up the walkway, sprinting past the rubble that fell down from the skies. Planks of wood, shrapnel, and even the bodies of defeat pirates slammed down on to the wood in front of them, but they kept on the move. They pushed past small one on one duels as they passed, trying to not be caught in the mix of a battle. But should one group stray too close to their movement, the two battlers would be pushed by Delmaria and Jack, often toppling over the side of the city.

They reached the halfway point through the Cove, before Jack stopped abruptly in his tracks. Darkskull stopped a few meters ahead of him, turning around in drastic confusion. "C'mon Jack! We need to hurry!"

Jack smiled, drawing his cutlass. "No mate, you're the one that needs to hurry. I think my place in history has been fulfilled - savvy?" The pirate captain winked, before turning around, and running back down the path, around the corner, and out of view. Delmaria could hear shouts, screams, and the clanking of metal on metal. Darkskull was caught there, wondering if the Brethren Court had shrunk once more.

Delmaria turned around and prepared to continue his journey up the Cove, but found his path cut off. Around the bend, came in an eerily familiar sight. Brone Crassus walked down towards him, his hands crossed behind his back. He wore the usually dark, dreary attire, except for one minor change - his face. His face was a new, gone from any scars or burn marks that were previously there. He had both his eyes back, and they shined more devilishly than ever before. "Good to see you again, Mr. Darkskull!" he shouted over the roar of the battle around them, coming to a halt.

"H-...How!" Darkskull gasped.

"The wonders Roger can do, aye!? Surely if you choose to join us now, he'll be more than willing to help you as well." Crassus grabbed at his side, and pulled out that same shadowy broadsword, now in better condition than ever. "Unless, if you choose not to..."

By the time Brone neared the end of his sentence, Delmaria was already in full charge, raising his cutlass over his head and thundering a lion-like battle cry. He swooped down his blade in a disastrous swing, but the farthest it went was right above Crassus. His opponent caught the Liberator with his bare hand, and pushed it back with a staggering force. He chuckled. "Now it's your turn to see what I can do."

Crassus pulled back his broadsword, and thrusted it forward, initiating a flurry of twisting and turning strikes, each more powerful than the last. Delmaria back-tracked to avoid the swings, trying desperately not to fall back and topple down the Cove. Yet at his final step, he felt himself shoved forward by a bony hand. He turned around, to see the same wall of skeletons, laughing wildly with their bloodied teeth. And the blood that dripped from their teeth was fresh.

Delmaria spun around again, but it was far too late to do anything. As he turned, his blade stuck out slightly, and loosely. When Crassus met him with a huge swing of his sword, it sent the Liberator out of his hands, flying through the air, and over the edge of the walkway. Darkskull almost stepped to go after it, but his path was blocked by Brone's sword. He was trapped.




Crassus shoved Delmaria violently in to one of the middle cells of the jail, a long wall of cells filled with weeping and crying people of all sorts. He was lifted off his feet by the push, sweeping him through the air and slamming his body down on to the grimy cobblestone. He scrapped his hand on the floor, making it painful to try and push himself up to a sitting position. Crassus snickered at him, as he locked the cell door shut. "Get used to this place. When the Cove is ours, Roger is sure to save your execution for last." He walked away, laughing his mind off.

Delmaria slowly slinked himself up, and pushed him back against the stone wall. His entire body ached, after how the skeletons had ferried them here - pushing and punching him through the streets. The skeletons had commandeered the Shipwreck jail, which was hardly ever used, as a place to keep their very own prisoners of war. Through a small opening at the top of the wall he leaned on, Delmaria could still hear the battle raging behind him.

He put his head back against the wall, and slowly began to weep. He knew that in his one moment of glory, he had failed to do anything to stop Roger. He pictured all the death and destruction as a result of his poor leadership - it sickened his stomach.

"Do not cry, my child." A soft, warming voice came from before him. He tilted his head up, where, of all things, an old woman stood. And what was even stranger about this sight, was Delmaria recognized her.

"Who are you, exactly?"

"Oho, there's no need to know that, child. All you must know is that you did not come to this world for no purpose - and your purpose is not yet fulfilled!"

"...What, do you mean?"

"I have been watching you, my child. I have seen you grow and develop since you were young, because I was told to do so." she smiled at him.

Delmaria slowly started to remember her. Images of this same old woman came flowing from his past - from when he was a child, to the invasion on Port Royal, to seeing her in the crowds of Havana. He quickly scurried to his feet, and ran up to the jail cell bars. He got right up to them, and wrapped his hands around them. "T-t-then what am I supposed to do!?"

"Well, my child, you cannot fulfill your destiny on your own. You need help, of course!" she saw the lost look in his face, and continued. "Do you believe in fate, my son?"

Delmaria nodded very quickly. She smiled a senile, toothless smile. "Then, do you have my rosary beads?"

Delmaria's heart raced. He nearly dove down to a kneeling position, and gripped his left boot. He pulled it off as though there were gold inside of it, and pulled out the beautiful set of rosary beads. They shook in his hand wildly as he stood up, and handed them to her.

She took them in her hands, and smiled again, in approval. "You've done good, my child. You've done good."

In a quick maelstrom of wind, a white smoke consumed her body, swirling like a tornado. It completely covered her, concealing her away. Delmaria held his hands before his face, protecting himself from a bright light that shot out of it. He could feel the warmth of it flowing over his body, sizzling his skin and his wounds. He felt one final surge of it, before the light vanished.

He looked back out, after making sure it all was gone. He looked across his body - there were no marks, no bruises, no blood. The doors to all the cells had been swung open, as all the prisoners looked around to make sure it wasn't some kind of trick. And of all things, he looked down at his side. There, sat that same golden cutlass that Thorhammer had given him, and the rag was tied around the hilt, just like Delmaria liked.

The pirate drew his cutlass, and stepped out of the jail. "FORWARD, PIRATES!"




The wave of pirates ran like a monsoon across the outer walkway of Shipwreck cove, cutting down and slicing any skeleton that crossed their path. Some one hundred pirates ran behind Delmaria, like a well-organized militia set on taking its goal. Their shouts and cries as they chopped away at their foes gave Delmaria a high of adrenaline, making him run faster and farther with each step. He felt the blood of his enemies running on the ground, and it felt good.

The army of pirates had reached the summit of the Cove within minutes. It was a large, wooden square, with the bow of a ship sticking straight up on the far end of the courtyard. It was filled with skeletons cheering and roaring before the building, thinking they had one control of the city. But as they turned to see the armada of pirates charging at them, the dismay on their bones was truly something to see.

The pirates were a dagger right in to the skeletons, splitting their force in half, and then charging in to consume them. Off guard, the skeletons tried to flee, but the pirates were quick in reaching them. The entire square became engulfed in war, blood and bone spilling and falling across the floor.

In the middle of it all, Crassus shouted loudly, trying to organize the fray of undead soldiers. He was scared at the sight of his army being ripped to shreds, but his face only became more fearful when he heard a shout from behind him. "Ahoy, Captain Crassus!"

Brone turned around to the feeling of a long, sharp cutlass cutting deep in to his abdomen. His face was washed in a shocked, lost look, as his wide open mouth let out a deep, long sigh. Darkskull pulled back his blade, to watch Crassus fall to the ground before him, on his back. As he laid there, Delmaria knelt over. "Brone, I don't know what you've done in this life, but do something decent in your last hour - where is Roger?"

Crassus was still in aftershock, trying to control his shaking body. "He said... we would... live forever... he lied...." Crassus took his hand, and pointed back, to the building at the end of the courtyard. "There..."

Delmaria turned his attention away from Crassus, and began a jog towards the building. It came upon him faster than he had wanted, but he had no time to reenact the moment. He gripped the door knob of the door, and pushed it open.

Darkskull shut the door, leaving him alone in a quiet room. The place was nothing more than an empty hall - no furniture, no eccentric trinkets, nothing. But at the far end of the dark room, was a desk - and before that desk, stood Roger.

"Well, Mr. Darkskull," Roger said, unsheathing a long, curved cutlass with a gold hilt. "Shall we finish this?"




Their swords crashed in a loud, booming clash, echoing through the entire room. Their swords locked on one another, each pirate pushing on his own to try and overpower his opponent. They looked at each other, and then back at their blades, determined to win this deadlock. But as nearly a minute passed, and neither of them gained and advantage, Roger jumped back, and cut his sword down from over his head.

Delmaria side-stepped the attack, laying his blade down on top of Roger’s as it hit against the floor. Delmaria gave it a moment to let Roger build up enough strength to try and push his blade out, and then released the pressure he was applying to the sword by pulling his own back. Roger ended up swinging his blade upward with a tremendous force, but caught himself before he went flying back. Still, it was enough to give Delmaria an opportunity, and he seized the moment.

Delmaria took his blade and ran a small cut along Renveil’s right side. He shrieked in pain for a moment, before clamping a hand over his mouth. His eyes ran back and forth, wondering how he had been damaged. Yet he tried to block out this thought, and returned to the fight, bringing his cutlass up from his side and cutting it across. Delmaria swung the other way, slamming in to the blade, and then running over the blow. Delmaria then tried to take the blade and rebound it back in a diagonal cleave, but Renveil punched it away with a shot of his own. They went at this for a good few minutes – every swing Delmaria made, it was blocked, and the same for Renveil. They seemed to be getting frustrated, and even bored, until Darkskull made a bold move.

Delmaria snapped his sword over his shoulder, and then began a flurry in the form of a eviscerate, widening his stance and waddling forward as he repeated the move over and over. The grip he had on his sword slowly began to slip out of his hand, but he saw Roger was dealing with the same effect. He was backing Roger up, farther and farther, in hopes that he would be able to topple the gargantuan man. Then, right as his sword was about to slip out of his hand, he threw the sword across his body to the other hand, and cut it horizontally.

The cut was unexpected by Roger, and it ended up cutting straight across his stomach. Roger yelled it pain, throwing his free hand to the bloodied cut, and falling to his knees. Delmaria’s heart raced, knowing that his moment had come. He raised the cutlass above his head, and without hesitation, brought it down on Roger. The battle was over, but not as he planned.

Delmaria was stopped halfway through his cleave, in a crash of pain. Renveil had taken his cutlass, and cut it right up through Darkskull’s stomach. The blood trickled down in a stream, dripping down in a pool on the floor. As Renveil stood, Delmaria fell to his knees, dropping his cutlass to hold the one impaled in his body. He was speechless, unable to think or move. All he could do was pull the sword out of his body, and fall back, on to his back.

He laid there in the pool of blood, gasping in a thick, smoldered voice. His mind was consumed in thought. He looked back on his life, and everything he had done. Every event, no matter how joyful or painful, flashed before his eyes. Memories that even he could not recollect came back to him. His life was filled with so much pain and grief, that even the tiniest smile in his mind brought a tear of joy to him. And beyond all this, he wondered what waited for him on the other side – not in the afterlife, but beyond it. Would his memory live on as a hero, or as a villain? And would he be treated as such.

So many questions ran through his head, but he knew the answers would be clear soon. He shut his eyes, and let out a final breath. He was dead.


The soft, warm winds of the sea blew across his face, warming him up as the clear blue sky cooled him down. Below his bare feet, was the easy, shaven wood of a fresh ship, balancing perfectly in the crystal, and calm seas below him. He looked around slowly, taking in his surroundings, and smiled.

He felt her silky smooth arms wrap around him from behind, hugging him and embracing him in only the way she could. It was good to be in her arms again, to see her, and to know that she was okay. The love that came from her cleared his black heart of any sorrows he had ever felt, and washed his eyes of any of the black tears he may have cried. She rested her head on the back of his shoulder, and sighed.

“It’s alright, John. I’m here, and I always will be.” She whispered to him. She walked around him completely, to face him. He loved to study that pretty, sparkling face of hers, cradling her shining blue eyes like jewels. She was how he had always remembered her. “But you have another place to be, John. It isn’t your time yet. Don’t worry, I’ll always love you… and I’ll always be waiting…”

The echo of her voice slowly faded, as did the sight of her. His entire surroundings became blurred, and their brightness slowly, then quickly sharpened. He could feel the warm embrace of her one last time, before drifting off.




Delmaria’s eyes snapped open widely, as if he were a new born baby. He looked around at where he was – he was still on the floor, still in the puddle of blood, still in that same room. But what wasn’t the same, was he himself – his body was still warm, and his cut in to his body was gone. He blinked wildly, wondering if what he had seen was just a dream, or something farther than that. Delmaria knew, however, that it was a great day to die, but an even better day to live again.

Delmaria pushed himself to his feet, scooping up the cutlass at his side. Renveil had his back to him, looking over the desk. Delmaria smiled, and gave a small whistle. Renveil turned, and his face instantly streaked in fear. He was frozen, as Delmaria gripped the hilt of the golden cutlass. “Have fun in hell, Roger. I sure don’t expect to see you there.”

Delmaria gripped the cutlass, and swung it in a vicious cut, right across Renveil’s neck. His body quaked as the blood dripped down his neck and body, shivering in a dramatic way. He gripped at his neck with his hand, and as he fell to his knees for the final time, he blurred “Damn you, Delmaria Darksk-“ Delmaria never gave him the pleasure of finishing the sentence – he plunged the sword right in to Renveil’s forehead, silencing him for good.

Delmaria’s body untensed with ease. It felt as though a weight that had been on his shoulders for an eternity had been lifted. He dropped his cutlass on the floor, and raised both of his arms above his head. He tilted his head backward, and let out a victorious cry. Nobody was around to hear it, but he did it anyway.

Delmaria then turned his attention to what Renveil had been looking at. He walked over to the front of the desk, where there sat a small, wooden box. Darkskull was sure that beneath it, sat the Headstone; the treasure that men have wanted to claim for so long. He knew the right thing to do would be to hide it, but Delmaria was still a pirate, after all. He opened the lid of the small box, and was stunned by what he saw.

Out of the box, he plucked a small piece of parchment. Scribbled on it, read: “Did you honestly think it would be that easy?”

Delmaria chuckled, and crumpled the paper. “Teague, you clever little dog.




Delmaria looked back over the stern of his ship, examining Shipwreck Cove. The repairs to the city were going as planned - slowly, but as planned. It was only a few days after the battle, but it felt as though everything was already back to normal - or as normal as it was aboard the Victory Shark.

One of the newer crew mates, who they called "Stealthy" for his ability to make rum disappear, walked up behind Delmaria. "Captain, all of the crew is ready."

Darkskull, not looking over his shoulder, said "Are you sure about that?"

"Ask them yourself." he responded, tapping Delmaria on the shoulder. Delmaria turned to see his entire crew assembled there, smiling. They had lost teeth (or whatever teeth that remained,) were draped in bruises and cuts, and looked as tired as work horses, but they were there, nonetheless. Only one person was not there.

"Where is John?" Delmaria asked, looking through the small crowd.

The crew seemed confused. Grace spoke up, saying "Captain, there was never any John in the crew."

Delmaria froze. Was his crew pulling a joke on him, or was this crewmate of his just his imagination at work? He looked around one final time, before shrugging it off. He smiled, and patted his noggin, turning round to look back over the back of the ship. Yet instead of looking back at the city, his attention was drawn to the dock below, by a yell. "Oy, sea buscuit! Down below!"

Delmaria and the rest of the crew leaned over the back of the ship. All of them were either unsure of what was happening, or were just concerned about what everybody was looking at. But Darkskull just smiled and laughed, shaking his head at the sight. Jack looked up at them from the dock, two raggy-looking women under each arm. "You weren't going to leave with a goodbye, savvy?!" he shouted up.

Delmaria chuckled, and returned with this: "Jack, don't see it as a goodbye - see it as a, see you later!

"Now mates, fasten the sails, and set forth for where ever they take us!"

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And that is that :)

Thank you to everybody who ever followed my story, or even just gave it a glance. I never thought it would come this far, and I owe it all to you mates for bring me here.

Don't fret! My next story is already in the works. When can you expect it?... Well, as soon as I can write it down, of course! :stlaugh:

Thanks mates! Be sure to rate and review!

See ya soon!

The effort you put into this is worth it. and thats saying something!