Those Condemned to Freedom

[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!