Glory of the Forsaken

[Captain Del]

Ahoy mates!

I would like to welcome you all once again to my work! Having decided to abandon Blood of the Liberated, and work more towards developing Delmaria's present, I will once again be reintroducing the Delmaria we all know and love back in to the story forum.

This story is meant to take place during the current time in the game - as such, you will often find that current events that go in the game may end up being a part of my story. Rest assured, however, this will not be a POTCO dependent story, as it will still continue to introduce places never explored in the world of Pirates of the Caribbean, much like my last story. Also, I will not be putting people in to my story regardless of how many times you ask. The only exception to this rule is if I ask you if I can allow your character to make a cameo in my story, which may happen once in a blue moon. Also, do not so much see this as a story for myself, as it is a salute to all the pirates of the Caribbean

This story is also supposed to take place after the events of my previous present-day story, Those Condemned to Freedom. While this story may not require much of prior knowledge to get involved, it is still suggested you look through the old story just a little bit (mainly the later chapters.)

And I must remind you all once again that my story is perhaps one of the "darker" stories here on POF, so you may or may not want to read a few parts depending on the chapter.

Now, shall we continue? I present to you all, the first chapter of "Glory of the Forsaken,"

The Rising Tide

August 29th, 1725
Tortuga, Hispaniola
9:30 PM

To John Christopher Balnette, loyalty was something that he owed to his father, to his mother, and to the men that had given him his life. Loyalty in his eyes was defined as staying faithful to his fellow countrymen, especially the soldiers who he used to admire as he ran about the docks in his home town. The red uniform to him meant a symbol of singularity, and to him, patriotism was undeniably one of the strongest and most noble characteristics a man could hold. His inferiority to the crown was but his gift to the men that he served and would serve in society, for giving him a place in this world, under proper nature. But to Delmaria Darkskull, loyalty was something he owed solely to himself - for when the world turns their back on you, you should find it not a damning experience, but an experience of freedom. The chains that held you down no longer existed, and for the first time you had been liberated. Loyalties, in his eyes, were not deserved - they were earned by those he were loyal to, for loyalty is the highest form of flattery.

Delmaria often had plenty of time to think to himself. He wondered why for so long he had pitied himself, when now he knew very well that the only way to free your mind was to free yourself of doubt. Perhaps it was the third weight that gave him that sense of self-pity - for we, as the living, will always be bound to loyalties whether out of our control or not. Perhaps it was not that we so much pitied ourselves, as we pitied the living as a whole, for the dead are the only ones who will be able to know true happiness. When he died, Delmaria wanted his funeral to be a celebration, for his remaining friends and family would know that he had passed to a place where he could finally be free, heaven or hell did it not matter.

An increasingly rough storm had hit the Caribbean like a pile driver just a few hours before nightfall, but by then the legions of ships that were out on the seas had already made it to port, flaunting about their riches as they recollected over a few pints their adventures in the past days and weeks. Now, the ships once packed to the brim with eager pirates were now being wiped clean as Neptune brushed his hand over the vacant decks of each ship, sending the warm salt water down in loads on to the vessels. He beat against them from below, where the waves mixed violently in the bay, and from above, as rain droplets the size of bullets pelted the decks in sheets against the rough, howling winds. It built a wall of mist that covered every inch in front of you, and they called it a wall in two respects; the other being even attempting to step outside would knock a man down and take him along for a ride, just like the chairs, benches, barrels, and crates that were now swept up in the turbulence and being thrown against the facades of the buildings.

At some point the waves began to splash up on to the beaches of the island in the form of ten foot tall waves that forced themselves through the roads. A small flood gathered out in the streets, picking up smaller objects such as thrown down leaves, bottles, and pieces of torn flags and washing them up and down the muddy paths. The mires overflowed with rancid swamp water that carried with it a putrid smell of decaying life as it washed in to the soup that washed Tortuga clean. Inside the old dingy stone buildings men and women carried out their normal lives ignoring the gale force winds that blasted against the windows and doors of their homes and shops, though particularly straying away from the boarded-up windows that rattled off their nails each time a stronger gust of wind came barreling down the narrow straights. Even through a storm as mighty as this could a tavern on Tortuga be filled, and much so was the case with the Faithful Bride, which was as packed as usual with it's usual revelers and drunkards. Today, however, was a day for celebration unlike before.

All while the inside life of the city was abruptly going about it's business, the outside world was dead quiet, left for Mother Nature alone to make her work. Only one soul joined her out in the open, and against the harsh winds and cold rain he stood in the center of the town square. He was surrounded by buildings covered in poorly constructed scaffolding meant to serve for repairs, though after the storm it would need repairs themselves. Even months after Jolly Roger's invasion of the city it was still left in devastation, many buildings still missing large pieces. The entire Caribbean was licking its wounds at this time, friend and foe alike, as each tried to outdo the other in a continuous war for the Caribbean. Each time the pirates would gain the upper hand, the other side would turn the tables, and vice versa.

Between the waves that splashed in the fountain, whose center spiral was still not completely rebuilt, he looked down at a small bronze plaque that sat on the bottom of it, quietly beneath the waves. Engraved on it was a name and a date - Anne Bonny, 1702 - 1725, with a small quote etched in just below it - "I stand firm in stature and belief that even a woman such as myself would be able to run a group of men as rowdy as you, and if, by God, not, die trying."

Delmaria's black cloak was pelted relentlessly by the rain, taking the bounce out of the feather in his hat and leaving a stream of water to pour down to his boots, but he still stood there against the gale force winds, locked on the small metal plate. Even though she had always tried to contradict him, Anne was always like Delmaria's little sister, as she filled the void that stood where his family should have been. All Delmaria ever wanted to be again was a child, for now he knew that childhood was something one should hold on to and cherish for as long as possible - once you lose your childhood, you lose what makes everything in the world to you special.

Delmaria remembered looking down to his hands, still dusty and rusted from time as they always had been. Among the six rings that sat across his two hands, two had still stood out to him; though not the prettiest of the bunch, the terribly scratched gold band that on the ring finger of his left hand was the one Teague had given to him when he been crowned as pirate king, if only for a moment. He would have considered it his most prized possession, if not for the ring that sat directly across from it, on the index finger of the same hand, an equally simple silver band, with the initials ""JCB" and "MT" etched on the inside - it had served as his wedding band to his wife. They both seemed as though they balanced each other out, between what he considered important; one side, freedom, the other, love. And though they sat in harmony, he wanted them to be interconnected, as a man cannot be complete if the parts of himself are not together. So, he had the two rings bonded together in to an earring that sat from his left ear - and as he played with it in between the fingers of his left hand, he smiled to himself. Anne was a symbol of both of those parts of his life, and in them she lived on.

Delmaria turned to his right and followed the blurred light that hid behind the wall of rain, kicking his boots in the dingy water. He nearly toppled over every few steps from the fierceness of the storm, but by now he had learned to weigh himself down enough that even the wind could not move him much more than an inch. As he could begin to make out the wooden surface of the double doors underneath the small balcony, drenched to a darker color, he could hear the buzz of the tavern speak to him from inside. He reached out two long arms and pushed the two doors open wide, stepping inside to the King's Arm.

The open room of the King's Arm sent a warm breath that encased Delmaria as the two doors slammed shut behind him. Every single one of the tables in the room was packed, sitting in the aura of the bright yellow light given off by the candle's that sat on the wall. At the back of the room, through the open archway, the courtyard normally filled with the excess of pirates was desolant, left to the black roar of the storm. Johnny McVane stood behind the bar along the left wall of the room, wiping a dirty washcloth over the mugs left on the counter, doing a little jig to himself as Bran Winds played a light sea shanty over in his corner of the tavern, the corner just before the bar on the near side, sitting right before the staircase that led up to the balcony overhead.

It took him a minute to notice him, but once he did Johnny's face lit up with a smile. He put the rag down on the counter and walked down and out of the bar, coming over to meet the pirate. "Delmaria Darkskull you son of a gun, how are ya!?" McVane shouted as he came up and reached out a hand. The two shook hands as Johnny looked up and down Delmaria, noticing his drenched outfit. "God, why the hell were you outside!? It's a damn hurricane out there! Gimme your coat!"

Delmaria took off his black, heavy leather coat and his gold-feathered hat and placed it in to Johnny's arms, who ferried in to a small clothing rack that he kept at the side of the bar. Delmaria's clothes were still moist from the rain, but it was still relieving to get off the unbearable weight of his drenched trench coat. He followed Johnny to the bar and took a seat down at one of the empty stools in the middle, where the bartender had left his dirty rag on the counter. "Ah, nothing much. I just wanted to walk around a little, is all. Haven't been in port for a while."

Johnny automatically went back to rubbing his rag on the counter, though he did it without any thought or attention, so it just went on in the same spot. "Yah, well, tonight isn't exactly the night to do it. Besides, you should'a been here, spending your time with us!" Johnny waved a little hand out over the bar. "As they say-"

“‘If every port were like Tortuga, no man would ever feel unwanted.'" Delmaria repeated in a swaying voice. "I know, I know. Just odd to see the port at this time, so why not experience it while you can?"

"HA!" Johnny laughed loudly - the man often forgot how to control his voice, accustomed to yelling over the roar of the bar. "Suppose you're right. You've been makin' quite a stir lately, ya know."

"Ah, so I guess the word of our exploits is spreading?" Delmaria smiled under the black bandanna that hung down in front of his face.

"Yah, but not to the best of places." McVane turned around and pulled a piece of parchment that was nailed to the backboard of his tavern. He flipped it over and handed it to Delmaria, who took it and read it as Darkskull stared down at him with a glaring look:

"BY ORDER OF THE BRITISH ROYAL NAVY, WHOSE JURISDICTION LIES WITHIN THE TOWNSHIP OF THE ISLAND OF TORTUGA,

I. STREETS, ROADS, AND OTHER MEANS OF TRANSPORTATION within the port of Tortuga are now subject to patrol, and those who access said mediums will be subject to inspection.

II. THE PORT OF TORTUGA IS TO REMAIN FREE OF ANY NOTABLE signs of the presence of free captains who have committed acts against the crown, or "pirates."

III. ANY MAN WHO IS IN POSSESSION OF A PIECE OF PIRATE propaganda, or a notice which suggests potential acts against the Crown, are subject to immediate jailing and/or execution.

IV. ANY MAN WHO IS FOUND OF DISTRIBUTING OR AIDING IN THE distribution of pirate propaganda, or a notice which suggests potential acts against the Crown, shall be subject to immediate jailing and/or execution."

Delmaria laughed at the end of the notice, before crumpling it up in his hand and throwing it off to the side of the bar. McVane gasped and jogged to get it, barking at the pirate over his shoulder. "What the 'ell is wrong with you!?"

"Oh, relax, will you? If the Navy couldn't stop a rag-tag group of pirates from nearly throwing them off this God forsaken island, how do they expect the remainder of them to fight us off?"

"Delmaria, they were able to capture you, weren't they?"

Delmaria's face dropped from a smile to a sharp frown, and he gripped the paper fiercely as he stared down McVane in the eyes.

"Easy, easy. Look, they've been out and about recently. 'Couple of days ago I saw some fresh flood making their way down the street as if they owned the place." McVane made a little walking man with his two fingers that strutted up and down the bar.

"Fresh blood?" Delmaria repeated, a little shocked. "How could have a Navy ship made it in to port undetected."

"That's the thing." Johnny shrugged as he rubbed his two hands together beneath the old washcloth. "Nobody's really been seein' any of their ships around lately. Eh, maybe I'm just seein' things." McVane brushed it off, walking down to the far end of the bar to deal with a few rowdy customers.

Delmaria uncrumpled the piece of paper and scanned over it again, rubbing his fingers over the still slightly moist ink. Even holding the notice made the brand that sat on his forearm burn all-over again with the same intense pain that he felt the first time it was burnt in to his flesh. Darkskull always wore long clothing for a reason, as it helped keep his mind off of the bruises that he had acquired from his enemies over the years; if he didn't see them, then he supposed they were not there.

Just as Delmaria neatly placed the notice back on the bar, Johnny returned, sliding a small, frothing mug across the counter with him. He slid the drink out of his hand and right in front of Delmaria, who stared down at it questionably. Johnny directed his attention up, and pointed out to the far right corner of the bar. "Courtesy of the gentlema- well, should I say, gentlewoman in the black cap."

Delmaria turned slightly to look through the corner of his eye to the area where Johnny pointed, and in the corner of the bar he spotted the figure he was looking for. Two thick black boots were propped up on a small, vacant table, and behind them sat a very shady, dark-skinned woman. She wore a dark crimson long coat closed over a dull brown vest, one side tucked neatly in to her loose dingy green crew pants. A small, black gaucho hat tipped over her face, but it was obvious she could still see by the sincere wave of the hand that she sent towards Delmaria.

"Don't get yourself in to a fuss now." Johnny mumbled as Delmaria stood up from his seat, holding the mug in his hand as he walked towards the woman. He passed in between the dozens of pirates that crammed the tables, with a few pirates attempting to signal Darkskull's attention. Their efforts were meager, however, as Darkskull had his sights locked solely on the mischievous soul at the far table, who tilted her head up slowly to reveal a small , swirling piece of ink directly under he left eye. She shot him a smile as he approached the table, nearly slamming the mug down on it.

"Ahoy, Mr. Darkskull. Please, take a seat." She smiled deviously as she motioned to the chair directly across from her.

Delmaria shimmied in to the chair, angling it so he could look at her behind her boots. Delmaria, too, had a smile on his face. "Did you honestly expect me to drink this?" he pointed to the mug, now overflowing with foam.

"What do you mean?" she tipped her head sideways, as if she was trying to playfully put something off.

"I haven't seen a drink foam as much as this one than when I saw this same exact drink on the desk of Sir Victor Mayhew, who nearly died from poisoning just days after. Tell me I don't look that gullible by now, do I?" he mimicked her, tipping his head and smiling in the same fashion.

She chuckled, taking her feet off the table and sitting upward. "Very good. I must say, you aren't the prettiest pirate in the bunch, but you do know your way."

Delmaria nodded, not necessarily agreeing with her as he was taking in what she said. "So, is Rott really so much of a coward that he couldn't come and try to kill me himself?"

She laughed again, this time leaning over the table to lower her voice. As she leaned over, it revealed a small skull-and-cross-swords identical to Ezekiel's just behind the right side of her vest. "My Captain is a very busy man, Captain Darkskull. He doesn't have much time for stopping at every single island in the blasted Caribbean to kill off every pirate that has given him problems."

Delmaria leaned forward as well, getting within a foot of her face. "Obviously if I wasn't a problem to him he wouldn't have sent you, Ramona."

She licked her lips and leaned back a little more. She smiled again. "I suppose that is the case."

"So tell me, what interests does Rott have in the Navy? I suppose the ghouls on the other side of the seas didn't provide enough for him?"

"Well, Delmaria, when you unite your friends, you also unite your enemies. Unfortunately he isn't much of the submissive type."

"If he was, he would have been long gone by now." Darkskull slumped back in to his hard, wooden chair. He sighed and looked up and down the woman. "Miss Guerra, I still fail to see why such a fine woman as yourself would join such a ruthless group of men as the Casa de Muertos. Have you no sense of shame?"

Ramona took her gaucho off and placed it down on the table, revealing her short, black hair that came down just below her ears. "When my husband died, I lost respect for the world I knew, Delmaria. When it came down to the line, my benefactor promised me something that would allow me to reinvent myself, anew."

Delmaria shook his head. "Your benefactor is dead, Ramona."

She shook her head back, tilting it to the side and giving another sharp smile. "That's what you think."

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

A slow start, but with big things to come.

Well, how do you like it so far, mates? Be sure to comment and review below!