Those Condemned to Freedom

[Captain Del]

Ahoy mates!

Welcome to the humble abode of my story! For those who are veterans of my story, I welcome you back, and sincerely thank you for keeping this story alive and well. For those who are new to reading my works... you don't know what you've been missing

If you are new, you may want to read up on my previous 20+ installments, located in the links below.

Installments 1-19
Installments 20-27

Of course, if you don't feel like it, that's fine as well. The goal of my story is to allow for anybody to jump in to the adventure, and allow them to connect with the characters, possibly even provoking thought in your minds. Every writer’s goal is to have their story change a person's perception of the world itself. Let's let old Del try his work at it, aye?

And now, I present to you, the first chapter of "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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The New Order
1

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.

2

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!

[Dog Firestack]

*applauds*

Can't wait for your next one!

[James Bladefury]

Epic Story Del! Impressive! o.o

[angel 4ever]

*whistels*

totally awesome Del!

[Dog Firestack]

And now, I present to you, the first chapter of "The Condemned to Freedom."

Those Condemned or The Condemned?

[Captain Del]

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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Of Two Nations
1

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."

2

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.

3

"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!

[Captain Del]

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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Among the Dead and Gone

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.

1

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.

2

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!

[Dog Firestack]

Aww, that's a sad story.

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

Nice story Del! Great job!

[Captain Del]

Thanks Dog!

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

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Pirate Games

1

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.

2

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.

3

"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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[Crestshot]

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.

[pieisbetter2]

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!

[Captain Del]

Thanks guys! That means alot to me

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.

Paradise of Afflictive Euthanasia

1

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.

2

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.

3

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.

4

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!

[Crestshot]

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.

[Slouyx]

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

[Captain Del]

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 Ghastly

1

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.

2

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.

3

"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

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