Those Condemned to Freedom

[Captain Del]

Thank you, mates!

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

So, without further adue, I give you:

Havana

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

1

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

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

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

"Apparently you do."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hopefully."

2

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

3

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

4

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thanks mates!

[Captain Sharktooth]

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

[SEAKING23]

Love it!

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

[Captain Del]

Originally Posted by SEAKING23

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

Del still has the map

[Tiberius Fireskull]

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

[Captain Del]

Thank you mates!

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

Breaking the Chains

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

1

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

2

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

3

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

[Captain Del]

Aha, glad to see my invisible audience has returned

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

The Demon of Port Royal

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Pretty much."

1

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

2

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

3

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[SEAKING23]

Love it!

[CaptainMonkeys]

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

[Captain Del]

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

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

The Liberator

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

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

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

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

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

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

Captain Darkskull,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

1

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

2

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

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

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

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

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

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

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I loved this chapter.

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

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

[Captain Del]

Betrayal

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

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

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

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

The War Frigate was suddenly rocked by a massive force, as though a thunderous wave had pounded the right side of the boat. Some of the crew lost their footing and slid to the hard, wooden floor, while others managed to grab a hold of a support to keep themselves steady. Delmaria wrapped his left arm around the wooden structure and grasped for dear life, until the ship finally began to level off at a regular plain. As the crew slowly, unsurely scurried to their feet, weary of another quake, Delmaria threw on his golden jacket and jogged across the room, towards the steps, pounding up them eagerly.

As soon as Darkskull popped out of the deck, he turned off to his right, where he was instantly met by a stern kick to the face. His body jerked in to the opposite direction, hitting the side of the opening with a thud, and leaving him dazed and confused. When he realized he had just been hit, he felt a large hand grab at the back of his collar, and a sword unsheathe behind his body. He thought that he was doomed - his body was numb and he was much too in shock to react. His body tensed and tightened, expecting an impact. He heard the blade go up, and begin a swift descent downward. It would be a swift, unintelligible end.

Yet instead of a quick beheading, he felt a great tug at his ankle, thrusting him back down the steps below the deck. His chest hit the stairs, as he was instantly pulled by his feet away from them, his body bouncing down the steps and then across the wood floor. In a final push, he felt his body being thrown across the floor, and his line of vision ended its crazy spiral looking down right at the staircase. He saw as his crew ran to the steps to face the invaders, pulling their blades, but were shot down with powerful and deadly pistol shots to the chest and face. As his crew dropped like a line of cattle walking to the meat grinder, a shadowy figure silhouetted in black jumped down the steps and nearly ran up to Delmaria. His presence was fierce, evil, and maniacal. His body, although unseen, vibrated anger and deviancy, as though he was prepared to kill you in a quick blow if you said one more word.

After a moment of staring at the blank, terrified captain, the figure grabbed at his fencing saber and quickly brought it down, directly in to Delmaria's chest, blood splatting in the air. As his body eased and the final gasps of breath left his lungs, his ears were slowly filled by the shouts, moans, screams, cries and woes of the death and the gone, filling him with a sense of chaos and hopelessness. The figure slowly bended over, as the sounds grew louder and louder, faster and sharper, his eyes losing focus. The face of the figure became light and clear - it was smiling. Delpadros looked down at his dying father and said "I'm not.", plunging his saber back out of the pirate's body and slicing the throat.

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

Delmaria instantly awoke from his day dream. He looked around at his surroundings - the crew was about, chattering and playing card games in the beds and hammocks that danced around the long hall, as Grace at his side sewed up his arm. He jerked away from her, nearly tossing her off the bed, his wound still half-unsown, and the needle and threading swinging side to side down from it. He shouted at the top of his lungs "BROADSIDE STARBORD!"

The crew shut up quickly, all turning their heads in unison to the captain as though he were telling a really bad joke. He just stood there, furious and deadly. "Well!? MOVE!" he commanded again. His booming, threatening voice made them jump, sending them in a run to the cannons at the right side of the ship. They knelt down and did the usual dance with astonishing speed; although they were still unsure whether this was a game, a test, or a fight for survival. The poured in the gunpowder in to the cannon and pushed the lead in with their eccentric rams as fast as they could. As soon as the cannons were aligned and prepared, they all fired with precise precision and ferocity. To their surprise, they heard the splitting of wood.

Delmaria was already across the cabins and jumped up the steps of the ship, not stopping to even look at where he was going. He revealed himself to the daylight, turning off the stairs and drawing the sparkling, gold cutlass with his heavily aching right arm. Yet his adrenaline was spiking too high to even listen to the pain, like he had just seen the future before his eyes. He felt God was giving him a second chance, even though he didn't deserve it.

He watched as the crew of the other ship mistimed the swing over from their ropes of their meager Galleon, which was rocked by the broadside as they swung in mid air. They all hit the deck with a bodily phasing thud, and Darkskull took no hesitation to punish the trespassers. He walked up to the first red-clad buccaneer he could reach and cut the cutlass across his chest, sending him flailing to the wood. While he bleed out, he turned to the next two, kicking one in his pride and sticking the other through the stomach. When he heard pleads of mercy from behind, with the pounding of steps, he spun in a roundhouse and chopped the weeping crew mates over the side of his head, nearly slicing his head in half. Delmaria had gathered so much momentum he nearly sprinted back to the center of the deck as the rest of the crew poured out from their quarters, to watch the bloodshed. Darkskull spun around and saw that in his 30 seconds of rage, he had killed half of the enemy crew, and left one with a very, very unpleasing pain. The other two crew mates, flooded by their comrade's blood, were clinging to the side of the ship, on their knees, shaking. The pirate was readying himself to run at them, but Andrew latched out a quick hand, taking Delmaria out of his bloodlust. When he relaxed his captain, Andrew steadily walked over to the two laughable creatures and asked them, "What is your business here."

One of the pirates was too choked up by his friend's death to answer, so the other, who was only half way through his weeping, slowly stood up. "W-w-we're sor--ry! Please, just don't, just don't, JUST DON'T!" he cried out.

"Easy sea biscuit." Andrew tried to calm him. "We won't be doing any more killing until you tell us why you came here."

The standing man walked forward slightly, like a badly hurt dog. He, like the rest of his crew, was dressed in red and white, shaggy attire, like most of the common freebooters that sailed the seas. His hands were together in a clutch, as he looked down at his feet. "We were sent by the... to... kill..." he tilted his head up, pointing to the battle-ready Delmaria. "To kill him."

Darkskull took a jump forward, and would have continued to go if not his entire crew jump in front of him. The buccaneer was too startled by the simple motion, however, and fell back on to his back. "PLEASE, PLEASE DON'T!"

Sierra turned to him, as she used one of her hands to hold Delmaria back. "My god, either talk like a reasonable person or I'll shoot you just so I don't have to deal with such a miserable sight."

"Please, just don't." He repeated for the third time. "I don't know what the Boss wanted, but all he said was that he wanted you dead as soon as you entered the waters around here.

Delmaria was confused. He had never done anything directly to harm Tortuga as a whole, aside from a few minor misadventures. "Really? Well then, I should have fun dealing with him, won't I?" Delmaria got too close to the shivering man for comfort, nearly breathing on him. He stood there, staring at the little, feeble man for nearly a minute. It was of no purpose, sentimentality, or gain - all he wanted to do was see how long he could make the pirate feel scared beyond belief before he would break down. And just as it seemed certain, the captain turned away, to face his crew. "Mates, help our friends here back on their ship."

And they did just that. The crew took out the dinghies and escorted the buccaneers back to their poorly constructed, nearly destroyed ship. When his crew returned, he leaned over to John and said "Before they can get away, shoot down their masts."

1

Delmaria stepped out on to the sun-drenched fishing dock of Tortuga at high noon, when activity in the port was at it's highest. The sun was just at the top of his view, above the great, tremendous hills that rose in the background on the island. Below them, in to the foreground, the little extension of the dock led to a much broader one, lined with all assortments of crates, barrels, and sailors, unloading their cargo. The dock gave way to the always bustling beach of Tortuga, where pirates and free traders from across the Caribbean came to mingle, bargain, and barter away from the watchful eye of the trading companies that loomed over nearly all other ports. That was one of the many benefits of being a part of the Tortugan society - it wasn't a matter of how wealthy you were, it was a matter of how you were planning to get there. Nothing in this city was run by how much you were to inherit and who your parents were - you had to make a name for yourself the hard way, and those that could do it correctly were rewarded for it.

Delmaria walked down the long dock towards the port, the calm wind giving away to the easy, very comfortable warm temperature of the day. He brushed shoulders with people as they scurried their way to and from their ships, uneager to take a minute out of their all-important lives for manners. Delmaria kept moving, however, and mixed in with the vast amounts of people that partook in all sorts of activities. A fight that had broken out between two scraggly-looking women, dressed up in high wigs and dirty dresses pushed its way over to the pirate captain, who stuck out his arm to prevent the two wenches from coming any closer. He had learned by now that when in Tortuga, be precise, quick, and uninterrupted.

Delmaria made his way out of the bay, and down the main cobblestone street of Tortuga. The French-style quarters let for all sorts of people to look down from the second-story, thin wooden balconies, to eye everything that went below them as they chatted. Small pedestrian stands were scattered at the sides of the street, selling anything from fruit to crudely-shaped weaponry. Every minute some badly-higenined man would come up and try to shove something in the pirate's face, so when he saw somebody who evenly remotely looked like a wayside merchant, he flipped a small silver coin his way and kept on moving.

He finally reached the all familiar center of Tortuga, where he and Jack had carried out their little fight. The large, stone fountain at the center of the large courtyard was the centerpiece of all the commerce and chaos that thrived in the mecca, all sorts of people from all walks of life enjoying themselves in the surrounding taverns, shops, and dance halls. It was quite populated, and brought back to Delmaria many pleasant and unpleasant memories alike, yet he persisted to get done what had to be done. He walked around the dribbling, splashing fountain, past the end buildings of the square, and down the rest of the main street, which only continued the increasing interest of the city. In the distance, his target became clearer and clearer - a large, three story building that ended the main street of the city, with a very grand and enterprising presence. It had very little windows, but a large, open doorway, as if it was beckoning you to come inside. He looked out on to the tall balcony overhanging the entrance, where two figures stood, gazing over the crowd like watchdogs.

Delmaria felt his heart begin to race as he stepped up in to the doorway, walking slowly in. Before him was a large, wood hall, like it was meant to be a dance hall of sorts. All the tables that were meant to fill the room where crowded in to three corners, the one in the far right occupied by a bar. Two tall staircases were parallel at the side of the room, which led up to the walkway directly over his head that led on to the balcony. Across from him was a wide pair of double doors, closed shut. The room was empty, and still - but not the kind that made you feel like you truly were alone. He crept in to the center of the room, when he heard a loud slam from behind.

He turned to see that two red-clad buccaneers, like those that were aboard the ship, were staring him down, their arm now over the closed pair of doors. Over their heads, the two guards that were on the balcony walked forward, to the edge of the walkway, drawing their swords. Delmaria backed up, the pirates looming over them. The two at the doors slowly walked forward, while the others above began making their way to the staircase. Delmaria finally felt his backside hitting against the front of the bar, stopping him. When he found there was no use in trying to run, he began to walk forward. "Gentlemen, must we re-"

"Shut up!" The right man of the pair closest to him barked, quickly drawing his sword, and pointing it at Delmaria.

As they drew ever closer, now only seven meters away, Delmaria sighed. "If you insist. I would have liked to play a game of poker after so long." The pirate whipped out a large, glass wine bottle from behind his back, chucking it at the pirate who had shouted at him, nailing him right in the fact. The glass shattered loudly, leaving small shards and cuts on his face that sent him bleeding to the ground in an unconscious slump. "Oi, bugger doesn't know how to shave." He commented, the other three freebooters in shock.

As they began to charge, Darkskull turned about and jumped over the counter of the bar, scooping up another rum bottle that sat underneath the counter. He popped off the bottle, took a quick swig, and chucked it at the closest pirate, making him jump out of the way in the dodge. That gave him enough time to raise his pistol out from the side of his belt, pulling the trigger as a plume of smoke pushed out, followed by the smothered sound of the led bullet lodging in to the poor lad's right shoulder.

By now the other two had reached the bar, swinging and chopping their swords at Darkskull. The captain jumped to the group behind the bar and began to crawl to the far side, away from the duo. Glass bottles left on the countertop clashed and splattered as their cutlasses menacingly cut through, sending bits and pieces of glass and droplets of liquor in every direction. Delmaria was crawling sporadically as the little fragments hit him, until he finally toppled on to his back and tried to look up to see his assailants.

The crashing and swinging seemed to stop, and eerie moment of silence filling the room. Delmaria was wondering what to do - should he jump up and fight, or try to run? He knew he couldn't overpower the two guards alone, and trying to continue this fight would get him killed. He turned his vision to the ceiling, where, just a little off from the bar above, sat a metal chandelier of candles. A stroke of genius hit him in that moment.

Darkskull swiftly grabbed a full bottle of alcohol next to him, throwing it directly upward with all his might. Just when it looked like it would fall short, hurtling to the ground, it crashed in to the lighting, bouncing it upward. The candles on it toppled over, and any drips of alcohol that hit the flames busted in to fire, falling to the ground like a firestorm. Delmaria got up in a dash and sprinted to the other side of the room as the fire and candles fell, which began to set fire to the two pirates, and the bar. They began shouting and screaming in pain, dropping their swords and running down the room, blasting through the double doors, in to the town, fading off in the distance as their sirens blared.

Darkskull ran over to the door and pulled up one of the large wooden bar tables, setting it up in the handles in such a way that the door refused to open. After jamming it a little to make sure no walkers by could peep in to see what was going on. He turned about, back through the gigantic hall as the flames grew steady in the corner. He walked up to the doors, and slowly grasped the door knob, twisting it and pushing it forward.

He slipped through the small opening in to a lush, red-carpeted room, surrounded in a golden-gilded, white wallpaper. A fixture of fancy couches, chairs and tables formed in a neat living area in the middle of the room, portrayed in white and gold, clashing with a large staircase that rose at the back of the room, and as then nearing the tall wall of glass windows, cut in to two diverging, small flights, which led to walkways that lined the top of the side of the room. His heavy black boots almost sunk in to the easy floor, going forward in a suspicious, defensive stance, his cutlass still waiting in his right hand at his side. And then, the sound of the slamming of feet.

He turned to the right corner at the foot of the room, up where the walkway receded back from behind the wall that hid the rest of it. Two buccaneers ran in, completely unaware that Delmaria was standing in the room, running down the path, bouncing down the plush stairs, and then beginning in a run towards the door behind the pirate, still not noticing him. They were in a speed walk all the way up to the little sitting area, when they saw there was somebody in front of them. They froze, a streak of horror over their face. The two men were lanky, likely more related to pricks of wood than actual human beings. Delmaria locked his vision on them, gripping his sword tighter by the handle as they gazed, unsure of what to do.

Finally, Darkskull watched as one of them slowly wrapped his hand to his side, where his pistol was, as if he thought he could do it in a hidden manner. Instead, Delmaria kicked the large, white couch that had it's back to him forward with a quick lash, and then diving behind it as the guard shakingly drew his gun and shot it, missing by who knows how much. He was afraid as much as his fellow man was, but they both drew their daggers like it was a defense mechanism. They ran up to the couch and dived their blades over it to try and hit something, anything, but it nothing was there. They puzzled at each other before daring to lean over the tossed piece of furniture, only to look down at a blank spot. They backed up, but they hit against something. They turned slowly, as one of them was a dealt a terrible haymaker to the face, knocking him back and on to the floor, without sparing himself from an overdramatic stumble, like his nose bleed was equivalent to losing an eye.

The other looked at Delmaria, who just stood there, dumbfounded. "I'm old, not slow.", he lectured to the guard, before grabbing him by the back of his short brown hair, and throwing his head on to Delmaria's upcoming knee. The pirate jolted back in a crunching smash, twisting to the ground in a quake of pain, agony, and fear of losing his ability to control his bowls.

Delmaria turned away from the two disgraces and flew up the first flight of steps, turning up the one of the right, and then pounding down the wooden hallway, past the doors that lined the walls. The grand living room slinking out of sight behind him, he made his way hurriedly through the maze of sparsely decorated yet elegant walls, pearl shaded walls giving away to black wood framing. The lighting was lacking, and his shadow mixed in well with the darkness - and more than likely, so did the shadows of his attackers.

As Delmaria approached another corner in the corridors, turning left, another of the pirates, now a short, oriental man, jumped out from around the corner in a battle cry, wielding, of all things, a katana. He landed with a direct prowess, cutting the blade across and nailing it in to the corner of the wall. Delmaria jumped back and continued walking backwards as the screaming pirate moved his blade in every which direction, cutting little pieces of the wall and ceiling as he spun, cut, and whirled like a drunken serpent. He slithered and snaked through the hall towards Delmaria, finally cutting the pirate captain with a small paper cut across the forearm. Delmaria dabbed at it with his free hand, while he became increasingly annoying with his assailant.

When he passed a door, Delmaria grabbed the door knob and flung it out before him, causing for the blade to cut right through the middle of the door, Delmaria ducking from its path. Darkskull then slammed the door shut, the sword still lodged in it, and a stunned aggressor felt his lungs deflate as Delmaria delivered an uppercut to his rib cage. In pain, the guard stumbled back, but jumped forward as he grabbed footing, Delmaria blocking his attempted punch with a flexed arm before his temple. As the Chinese pirate's feet hit the ground, Delmaria pulled back his leg and kicked his enemy's leg with such a rocking force that he was swept face first to the ground.

As he grunted in drunken pain, Delmaria picked the pirate up by the collar, and dragged him back to the door with the katana in it. He opened it, stuffed the pirate inside, and slammed it shut, pulling out the katana and then jutting it back in to the door at such an angle that the door would not open. Satisfied, he gathered himself, checked the cut on his arm, which was still bleeding slightly, and slowly continued back down the halls.

He grazed through the rest of the mansion's path with relative ease, except for two patrolling guards that he was able to discharge by tossing them down a recently reached flight of stairs, bringing him up to the third floor. The surroundings became darker and more cramped with each step, until finally, he reached the end of the crusade. A dead end was fixated with a hand-carved, brown wooden door. Two lanterns at the side of it pointed out a crooked sign on the face of it, which read "Boss's Room - Do Not Enter." He ignored the sign, and barged right in.

The room was a rectangle, not as wide as it was long, but not that large at all. It was crammed with decorated, hand carved wooden furniture, draped in maps, globes, and other things common of pirates. Behind a desk that sat at the back of the room were piles upon piles of gold, reaching up five, perhaps six feet in some areas across the back wall. Yet Delmaria had to pay no attention to detail, as he was being attacked upon entry.

A large, burly man, dressed in linen and puffy clothing was coming at him, wearing a large, red admiral's hat with poorly draw markings all over it. His face was covered in no hair, but exotic jewelry, clinging with his exhilarated expression. He carried a massive long sword, which he swung over his head and chopped in to the ground, as Delmaria dodged out of the way. Darkskull kicked his foot up, hitting the captain in the face, as he drew his cutlass. Yet he was not fazed by the kick, and drew his sword back up again for another attack. As he took the blade and swung it powerfully from behind his back, Delmaria dove and tried to stop the sword with his cutlass, but all he got was a push backward, to the floor. He hit the wood panels with a bone-crushing smack, wincing in pain as he looked up to watch the pirate drag himself forward and bring his blade above his head with both hands, preparing to swing down. As it streaked through the air, Delmaria rolled to the side and hit against the wall, just as the sword crunched in to the wood. As the pirate captain struggled to pull his sword out, Delmaria threw his cutlass in a spiral across the room, still laying on the floor, and just cutting the pirate captain right above the knee.

As the man yelled to a kneeling position, Delmaria crawled behind him to where his cutlass was, and stood up, preparing to behead the man. Yet something stopped him - telling him not to do this, that enough blood was on his hands this day. He nodded with it, although it said nothing, and instead, picked up a large book on a bookcase next to him, and sent it crashing down on the defeated pirate, knocking him out in a thud.

Delmaria looked around the room in a sigh. The person he was looking for was not here. He thought that something was not like it seemed - there was something he had overlooked about this whole situation. He rubbed at his forehead, trying to understand, trying to convince the rest of himself that everything was over and done, and that he could go back to his ship for a sound sleep. And just as he verged on that, he noticed something, behind the tall bookcase next to him. A sliver of black lined the side of it, with little cracks coming from it. He went over, and pulled it, toppling it and all the books on it over.

The result, aside from a group of books on the floor, was a large entrance way, dark and dank, only little by a torch that led down a never-ending flight of stone stairs. Cobwebs hung down from the ceiling of the hidden stone passage, showing just how untouched it was - or was it?

Cautiously, Delmaria descended himself in to the darkness, the smell of death and despair filling his nose. The steps were flat and long, leading down far, far from the office he came from. He felt as though he was going deep within the underbelly of Hell, the cramped and stuffy feeling engulfing him. Finally, he saw light at the end of the tunnel - a faint torch fire burning off in the distance. He hurried towards it, banking around the corner at it in to the room.

The room he entered as a small jail, lined on the walls by a few cells. The air was still, and there was barely any light, as rats scampered across the cobbles etched in dirt and grime. He stepped in to the disgusting surroundings, when he heard shouting from the back cell, which was the size of two put together. He jogged lightly past the cells filled with chained skeletons and remains to see what was going on.

The sight was astounding. In the cell, a beautiful woman with long red hair, dressed in loose sailing attire, pushed her captain's hat off her brow as she twisted her hand, which held in it the broken end of a glass bottle. She defended herself against three old, raggedy men, who looked as though they were trying to overpower her. "C'mon you filthy rats, c'm at me!" she taunted at them, her voice doused by a light Irish accent.

Delmaria ran up the cell and took his cutlass to chop off the lock to the cell. The women, startled, jumped a bit, but at the sight of Delmaria, began to grin as she rushed out of it to greet him. "Oh God, at last, salvation! Thank you mate!" she graced to him.

"Pleasure to see you too, Miss..."

She cut him off, raising a hand with a slight smile, kicking the jail cell door behind her closed. "Ah, please. Call me Anne; Anne Bonny, if you want the full glory of it."

2

The two of them walked in to the quiet bar, the dim light hiding their identities. A few of the people in the bar, which wasn't that many, turned their visions about the tips of their hats, but were too careless to see who was walking in, and turned back to their quiet sleeping, drinking, and card playing.

The duo sat down at one of the vacant tables lined with used and empty rum bottles, adjacent from each other. After checking to make sure there wasn't any rum left, Anne leaned over the table to whisper with Delmaria. "I must thank you for helping me back there, truly wasn't too good fer me in my own dungeon." she whispered in a smile.

"Anything for you, Captain." he nodded at her. "Now you need to get to explaining - what was the purpose of all that?"

Bonny leaned back in her chair, recollecting her thoughts, before leaning back over to him. She began to explain:

"It was a few weeks ago, maybe two months, when it started. Some Navy fellas, don't know how, sailed their ship in to port without being picked up, landed, and caused quite a stir down on the beach. They came in peace at first, only using those weapons to protect themselves on the encroaching masses, but they started to call out the names of people - pirates - that they wanted arrested. They fled before they were forced out, or I got heard, but it 'twas enough to get everybody real uncomfortable.

"A few days after, I got word from some 'o me men that someone spotted a few Navy out in the jungle, settin' up some sort of camp. They didn't see much, so I got a few mates to head out and see what was up; sure enough, they were right. We didn't do anything - not yet, 'least.

"They started coming in to town and bossin' everybody around, just outta the blue. Most of the people didn't take too kindly, but what were we gonna do? Anybody they could find with a warrant on their heads was dragged away, and there was nothing we could do about it.

"A month went by an' I finally thought this was gonna simmer - at least, I did. I woke up one morning to find these Navy fellas had made it all the way to the brunt of the mansion, demanding fer me arrest! We scared them away, but they just came back every few days.

"I finally got enough of it. Me mates and I headed out in the jungles ourselves to take matters in to our own hands, but when we got to their camp site, it was empty. Completely abandoned. They must have moved farther West, and we were right. We went farther, and what we found, was, well, shockin'!

"The rats were building a fort, right beneath our noses! I don't know how long they were there, but lemme tell ya, it was nearly complete by the time we got there. I wasn't prepared to attack it, but I did something - I got people on the inside, people who could look in fer me. They did some snoopin' around, and I got what I needed. Records.

"They detailed everything. Leanne O'Malley, the devil, had sold us out! In exchange fer some sort of gift, she gave the Navy enough crewmen to help them start their little project on Tortuga. They infiltrated my town, pirate crew's, even my office, as you can see! I should have known the coward had a hand in this."

Delmaria nodded. He would have expected by now Leanne would do something like that. "Well, don't worry, mate. I have something Leanne can't have, but wants."

"Which is?" Anne puzzled.

Before he spoke, Delmaria saw a stir at the bar. A few of the pirates sitting there slowly got up, and began to walk around the bar suspiciously. He quickly leaned to Anne and said, "Meet me at my ship. RUN!"

The pistols blared through the tavern as the two pirates hit the floor, drawing their weapons to fight back.

[Captain Celtics]

Muy bueno. It surely is eptastic.

[Captain Del]

Muchas gracias, CC!

Not much to say about this chapter, but.. eh, you'll see. Read on

Red Smoke

The large crew of pirates amassed on the edge of the port as the night fell heavy upon them, the stars hidden behind long, thin clouds. The moon shined off in the distant skies, it's aura of bliss emanating just over the roof of the forest that waited by them. They were collected behind the town walls, off to the side of a small archway that broke off from a large dirt square in the town, lined by stores and taverns, still lit well in to the darkness. They were cloaked in dark blues, greens, browns, and blacks, like a militia of natives, cloaked in war paint, waiting to go out on the hunt. Their breathing was collected and easy, the tension palpable in the air.

In the large circle of 30 pirates that huddled against the wall, Delmaria and Anne walked in to the middle looking around at their crew. Delmaria had traded the embroided, beautiful outfit for a getup of loose, dingy linen garments, as had Anne. At his side, the usually bright, golden cutlass was replaced, in fear that it would give him away even in the slightest ray of light. In its stead, was the decorated Naval cutlass of Captain Kinos Libertant, it's sharp blade hanging down from the gilded handle at the waist. The crew had nicknamed it "The Liberator," and it was soon to be freed from the confines of the grave, back to where it belonged - protecting freedom.

Anne took the large map that she had in her hand and laid it on to the ground, kneeling to it to point at it. "When the candles on the ships burn out, they'll start to make their move. We don't have too much time, so we need to get to the line here as quick as possible. We'll follow the small dirt road behind us to where that woodcutter lives in the clearing, and then we'll cut in to the forest. Everybody got the idea?"

They nodded in unison, gathering their things as they turned on to the dirt road that led from the archway, in to the dark jungle. As they went, Delmaria turned and watched them walk off, preparing to follow behind them. As the final crew mates walked by him, Anne came up next to him and stopped. She turned to him slightly, and said, "Do you have faith, Delmaria?"

Delmaria turned to her, staring at her. "With what I'm going to do, it's the Navy that should be praying tonight." He spun and followed vigorously behind the pirates.

1

The crew spanned out across the length of the end of the island, ground elevating slightly as, through the trees, the walls of the stone fort hid from them. The tip of Tortuga that they waited on was wide, but not wide enough so that they could not feel the waves crash below them. They were high above waters, a few dozen meters off the ground, and the ends of the wall of pirates were still a dozen meters from the cliff. They all crouched there, the easy night winds blowing a few sprays of mist at them. The stars and the moon shined easily overhead, as off to their right, far across their vision, was the other end of the crescent-shaped island.

Darkskull, who sat in the center of the pirates with Anne, pulled out a telescope that he kept in his back pocket, long, dark, and rusted when stretched out. He peered through the magnifier, past the few trees that blocked his vision, sideways from the direction the rest of them where looking, towards the fort. Way out in the bay, under darkness, 11 pirate ships lowered their lights, and began to make a silent assault towards the fortress. "They're on the move!" Delmaria whispered to the rest of them. "Alright mates, creep forward!"

Slowly, as though they were Mayan hunters, the buccaneers slinked forward still in their crouched, quietly unraveling their swords, daggers, and pistols. The grass and tree branches cracked lightly under their feet as they moved forward, shushing each other at every angle. They moved in unison with the small fleet of Brethren ships that slowly came in on a slant to get at the fort, it's stone top slowly peaking over the tops of the trees. Anne was right - the fort looked complete, aside from a few construction stands at it's face. He could make out the silhouettes of a few Navy sentinels patrolling at the grounds before the fort, just as the trees met it, as well as the shadows of a few guards walking on the stone walkway at the top. He hushed the crowd of pirates to a half. "Easy, easy - we'll wait for our friends in the bay."

As the rest of the group settled down, Delmaria quietly walked his way over, past the small group, closer to the cliff on the right. As he hit the end of the tree line, a few meters before he would be exposed on the edge, he knelt down, watching at the Brethren ships grew closer and closer. He hoped that they would be able to reach the fort before they were seen by the armada of Navy ships near the fort. At the waters beneath the fort inward to the bay were 9 small British ships, all of which were frigates that were roughly the size of a regular sloop. Their sails rocked undisturbed, up in rolls on the masts, the light creaking of their hulls in the waves the only noise. With each moment the pirate ships headed closer to them, just at an angle so that a soldier facing directly off the side of the ship would see only a dark Caribbean night. An impending doom approached either side, depending on who struck first. Should the pirates fail to strike first, Delmaria and his crew would be left outmanned and overpowered within the fort - not something they particularly hope. He prayed to the stars that they would hurry up and get to the action, and it did. Just not the way he planned.

As the pirate ships got within firing range of the sleeping ships, beginning to turn to their broadsides, a row of quick explosions rocked the side of the fort. Delmaria snapped his head to attention, turning up to the top of the fort. The tips of the barrels of five large, iron cannons stuck out over the side of the fort, unloading a round of cannonballs down at the pirate ships. They all hit the foremost one with rocking power and accuracy, splitting a mast and plunging a hole in to the hull. The Navy ships soon began to unwind their sails, hurrying to attention, as the Brethren threw their rudders to aim a broadside. Yet the explosions didn't stop.

Delmaria turned around to the scene of two firey explosions ripping in to the forest, throwing the pirates in to trees, and across the area they sat at. Judging by where they had landed, Darkskull could already tell the lead had killed at least three pirates, and more than likely injured double that. There were two cannons that they had not seen that were sitting at the top of the fort, all the while the eight Navy sergeants that had previously patrolled the base of the fort were rushing towards the disheveled group. The British had known of the plans the whole time.

As two huge pockets of fire blared previously where the lines of pirates were, Delmaria rushed in at a slant to intercept the attackers. He brandished his cutlass as he crossed paths with a brutal looking Navy grunt, rushing inward with a grueling bayonet in his grasp. The intimidating, roaring face was crushed as Delmaria jumped in front of him and cut him in the leg with the Liberator. Yet instead of feeling the sword jolt as the man jumped in pain, the sword continued to cut through the muscle and tissue, and digging a cut in to the femur. Darkskull pulled the sword out intensively as the man screamed in pain, not because he was battle ready, but because was scared. He wondered to himself how a blade could be so powerful.

As he dazzled at the blade, he could feel a sense of a rush behind him. He whirled around just in time to see one of the pirates dive forward and run through a soldier in the stomach, who was running up behind Delmaria. He spurted out a gasp of blood from his mouth, before slinking in a sad cry to the ground. Delmaria nodded to the rugged pirate who stood before him, but there was something out this pirate this intrigued him. He hadn't noticed him before - not during the meeting, not when he met up with Anne on the dock, not from anywhere. He was old, with a long, grey beard. But before he could make out any other details of this mysterious figure, he listened to the loud sound of hissing. He watched upward, as more artillery fell from an arch in the sky towards him.

Delmaria sprinted forward, his hands shielding the top of his head, as the large shell crashed in to the ground behind with a significant rumble. He could hear behind him the clanking of swords and bayonets, shouts and battle cries, the two forces meeting in to the shadows of the dark forest, as the firefight out in the waters began to erupt with a flurry of cannon fire. Delmaria took a dramatic dive towards the wall of the fort, hitting before it and pushing his back against it, in a sitting position. The wall was of the usual grey, hard brick, and ran up about twenty meters high. He gasped for breath as he took a moment to relax himself.

He faced back out in to the jungle, where, by the side of the flames, he could make out the dance that went on between the pirates and the soldiers. The original eight British patrollers had been backed up by a group of others that filed out of the fort, making the battle even between the opposing sides. He pushed his back up on the stone wall further, and tilted his hat back to clear his vision. He was able to catch a glimpse just in time, as Anne slid next to him.

She laid on the ground to his left, panting heavily, but grinning with an exhilarated smile. She had a small gasp on her forearm, but she didn't seem to notice it. "'Ello Delmaria, glad to see you made it through!"

"Gah, just barely." he exasperated. "Everything is going completely wrong, and we can't do a damn thing about it!"

Bonny pulled herself up and sat next to Delmaria along the front of the wall, watching with him the battle in the forest. "Well, any ideas on our next move? Retreat or go forward is your own choice, mate."

Delmaria put his head back on the fort, looking up to the stars just past the covering of the tree tops. He got lost in them, blankly gazing as each of them tinkled in an intangible, but relevant code and sequence. Maybe they were talking to each other, Delmaria thought. If Earth could speak, what would it say? Would it talk about the war, the fighting, the tyranny, and injustice? Would it talk about the daily death and destruction? What was it's tone of voice, it's mood? How would it feel?

Darkskull looked away from the sky, to Anne. But instead of making contact with the female pirate, his attention was caught beyond her, past the tree line, over the cliff. One of the tops of the masts of a British ship nearly scraped the land as the vessel was jammed in to the rocks by a blockade of pirate ships. Around it where a cluster of other ships, like a tumor off the land. A ship city, and the masts were the skyscrapers, each trying to tower over the other. Darkskull couldn't tell whether his idea was a flash of brilliance, or incredibly stupid.

The pirate staggered to his feet and began an all-out ran parallel to the fort, passed Anne, past the trees. He could hear her shouts as he ran from her, but he blocked them out. He focused all on building his momentum, widening his stride, and counting his steps. A simple step out of balance would throw him off his target, spiraling in to the rocky, lethal waters below. Now was the time when he wished he had chosen to exercise on the deck of the ship, instead of reading ancient odysseys and Iliad’s. His heart began to race, and all of his senses, one by one, sharpened until they were cut off. He had become a whole being, and it would take one leap to decide if it would live or die.

As his right boot hit the wet grass that began to steeply curve in to the cliff, Delmaria pushed off, sending him hurtling through the air as he left the ground behind. He whipped his arms and his legs forward, giving him an extra push. Yet as he flew, the ship he aimed for began to spin about quickly, the once sticking-out mast turning away from him. He reached his arms out in unison, and they slammed hard against the wood mast, slipping to his hands so he was left hanging a deadly height above the deck. The sails of the ship blew away from him with the wind, bringing the ship forward, heading alongside the fort. His arms throbbed in pain as the blood rushed through, cringing as he fought against the will to let go. He kicked his legs back and forth, rocking him with enough energy to give him a strong grip on the horizontal beam. Slowly, he wrapped his forearm, then his elbow, and then finally his entire arm around it, managing to sit himself on top, and then, finally, stand. He was up.

He extended out his two arms like a bird to balance himself, as he wobbled with the sporadic rocking and crashing of the ship below. He side-stepped himself over to the little top of the mast right below the crow’s nest, and kept his right arm tight around it, as he looked out in the direction of the bow of the frigate. The mass of Pirate and Royal ships were nearly side-by-side, leaving every broadside and cannon shot to a complete chance of hitting. The battle only remained now to who was quickest, so he prayed the buccaneers didn't stock up on the fine delicacies of Tortuga before they went out. He turned his attention to a much taller Galleon next to them, the first beam on the main mast being nearly as tall as the one he stood on. Above that one was another, which brushed roughly against a ship of equal height, directly next to the fort. He had planned his escape route.

He spun around the pole, leaving a brief moment in the air, and then landing him on the opposite side. Before the ship had a chance to turn away, or he had a chance to let his suppressed fear of heights return, Delmaria ran out on to the beam, like a ninja at the top of a stone wall, and bounded off the end, flipping through the air and hitting against the beam of the other ship flat on his chest, wrapping his limbs around it to lock his position. The wind was knocked right out of him on impact, and his black bandana slipped off the top of his head, fluttering down to the deck like a handkerchief. The fabric touched the head of a Navy soldier, who looked surprised as he picked the thing off his head. He puzzled at it, and looked up, to where Delmaria was. He pointed and yelled, drawing the attention of the sailors around him. They screamed to grab the bayonets, meaning that it's was Delmaria's time to move.

Delmaria scurried to his feet on the beam and ran to the mast, nearly being thrown off halfway as the ship rammed in to a Brethren schooner in front of them. He gathered himself, and continued, grabbing on to the pole and grabbing on to the ladder on its front, swinging to it, and beginning a hurried ascent up the mast, towards the crow’s nest. As he ran up it, he heard the commands of the Officers below him, followed by the ringing of the bullets through the air. Nearly all of them blazed through the sails at his side, except for one, which nicked his heavy leather boot. He felt the shot, but the boot was took thick for it to even come close to the skin. He continued forward, paying no mind as the men below him reloaded their guns.

As he reached the crow’s nest, he grabbed the collar of a British sailor who was leaning over the side and tossed him back over his shoulder, sending him startled to the deck below. Darkskull scurried in to the crow’s nest and hit the floor, just as another flurry of bullets shot through the side of it. He scampered back, and peeked his vision just over the back of the basket-like seat, to where the helm was. A gruff, grizzly looking man manned the wheel, barking orders of spit and blood at his poor, poor crew mates. Delmaria slowly reached for his pistol, and creaked it over the siding, tilting it downward. He shot the old, decrepit thing, sending a lead bullet down at the captain. Instead of making a deadly shot, the wind pushed it in to his side. He toppled on to his side, catching his arm in the wheel and spinning it wildly. The ship turned with a dull yet decisive motion, turning it away from the ship near the fort, and leaving facing the side. This caused for the crew below to shoot a broadside that both pointed the side of the Navy ship upward, and the towering Pirate ship downward, leaving open another opportunity.

By the time the ship had hit the arch of its tilt upward, Delmaria was running up the slanted top beam, aiming for a record setting jump. Yet as he neared the end, lifting off his foremost foot for the jump, the worst of all possibilities happened. He wasn't shot by a cannonball, or sprained his leg, or even got a Charlie-horse, no. He slipped.

His body flipped and twisted through the air as he bounded off the side of the ship, in the general direction of the black-sailed pirate ship. He found himself winding face down, staring at the churning and whirling waves below, in the small gaps in between the ships. He saw smoke, blood, wood, and tarnish all twirl below him, as one of his boots slipped off, falling and knocking a man in the head, unconscious. His body left him turning away from the battle, and towards pirate ship, watching the sails rocket towards him at astonishing speed. His body slammed in to the crescent of the top sail, in between the second and third beams, bouncing him off slightly, and then riding it downward like it was a slide. Delmaria was flustered, unsure of what to do or how to do it, as he looked down to where he was heading - the end of the sail neared, which would send him like a missile over the ship, and slamming him in to helm. He wasn't left to instinct or skill anymore; he was in God's hands now. Luckily, God was a good catcher.

Delmaria felt himself stop short, his body tugging forward as the rest of it stopped. He opened his eyes, to see him hanging down over the beam, his arms and head dangling down. He looked up, and saw what hat saved him. His legs were draped over the beam, like as if he were a monkey. He tied his feet together and tensed his muscle, pulling himself up to sit on the beam. He grabbed the sails with his hands to pull himself up and held on to them as he guided his way towards the mast. He looked up, to study the situation. The top beam was brushing against the top of the fort, where a few Navy soldiers began to scurry on to it to get in the fight. Delmaria run to the mast quickly, grasping the ladder and beginning to bind upward. One of the Navy soldiers was waiting there for Delmaria, and as he brought down his foot to kick the pirate in the head, Darkskull drove up a large, shining throwing knife, stabbing the soldier right through the foot, and sending him tipping over the mast. Delmaria pulled himself upward, as another of them flipped his pistol over his shoulder in a commanding swing. Delmaria leaned back dangerously to dodge a blow, and in the only defense mechanism he could think of, stood up and back-hand slapped the man, his jeweled ring leaving an imprint on his face. The soldier cursed, before losing his balance, splitting his legs over the banister, landing in the worst possible position, and painfully sliding off.

Delmaria rushed along the beam, outreaching his arm and pushing away the finally person that stood between him and the fort. He bounded off of it enthusiastically, over the edge of the fort, and landed on the stone with a thud. On his knees, shaking, he bended over as though he were praying and kissed the floor in relief.

2

Delmaria hit the first aggressor with a kick to the chest, knocking him back on to one of the iron cannons. He winched in pain as Delmaria ran up to grab him by his shaggy, greasy hair, and whiplash him from the cannon, over the edge of the fort, down in to the center of the fort.

Delmaria spun around and punched one of the soldiers that were kneeling at the cannon next to him, trying to load in a shot before Delmaria noticed him. The man that was holding the ram to the cannon, on the other side, popped up and brought the heavy iron ram over his head. Delmaria jumped back as he slammed it down on to the cannon, and picked it back up, resting it on his shoulder, preparing for another swing. Before he could lift the heavy weight off of him to attack, Darkskull delivered a massive uppercut to the man's stomach, bending him forward and dropping the ram out of his grasp, on to his foot.

As he fell and screamed in pain, Delmaria picked up the ram with his right hand, and began slamming it in to the cannon at the right of where he landed, shifting back and forth along the shaft. Little by little, he caused dents in them barrel, making it unable for anything to pass through it. As he did this, the cannoneers from the three cannons beyond the one he was beating rushed over to stop him, but each time he smacked at them with the ram, sending them away. As he slammed the last guard in the head, Delmaria threw the ram out over the ledge of the fort, and ran over to the edge of the walkway, looking down in to the fort. Below him, next to the staircase to his left, was a large pile of crates and barrels, dark in color and placed carefully in position - gunpowder, undoubtedly.

Delmaria ran over to the cannon and gripped it at its back, pulling out his cutlass and skimming the blade over the cannon, towards him. The sparks from the scraping bounced towards the small piece of rope that poked out of it, to ignite the cannon. As soon as the sound of hissing became clear, Delmaria put away his sword and walked to the end of the barrel. With all his might, he grabbed the narrow end of the barrel and rocked the cannon backward, the heavy steel wheels at its base slowly rolling with him. As it gained momentum, he gave it a final push, and began running wildly down the walkway. He could hear the rusty metal hinges cradle back, slamming the cannon over the ledge, downward.

Delmaria could feel the ripping, the blast, and the heat as his body stumbled at the corner of the fort, the sheer force of the explosion crumbling its body under the shock. The cannon's blocked shot caused for an inner boom within the cannon, blowing off its back. Coupled with the significant stack of gunpowder containers that it rammed in to head first, the result was a fiery shockwave that mushroomed up and across the fort, blazes and spits of flames jumping across the entire building. Delmaria crawled to the ledge, where he watched the soldiers that were near the blast lay, unconscious or dead, as their bodies burned. The smoke that rose was not as black, as it illusion to be red, whisping and cackling as it flew away from its devilish work. The fire was born of a devil, but he carried the flag of freedom.

As Delmaria crawled up to his feet, looking over what he had done, he made out a bright, shining red object from across the square fort, over by the large archway leading out in to the forest. In between the gaps of smoke in the air, he could make out what shimmered was a skimpy, light vest, over a loose yellow ruffled shirt. It was a clump of a body, but even with its back to him, Delmaria knew exactly who it was, from all the joyous and painful experiences. He drew his sword.

Delmaria sprinted down the walkway perpendicular to where the cannons was, knocking away a dazed Navy soldier as he stumbled towards him. Where the path he was on came to the next at the corner, a staircase ran along the next one, downward, leading right near the entrance. Delmaria turned at the dime down the stairs, hurriedly, his body tensing in anger with each step he took. He bounded off the last step, and began towards the body, just off from the gateway outside. It slowly slinked back, looking up to face him, its hair falling down to her face.

Delmaria stormed up to her, widening his stance, raising his blade above his head like he were about to sweep a broadsword. "You damn wench, stop moving!" he barked at her. His eyes were glaring, his face not clenched, but over washed in anger.

Leanne began screaming, crying, and crab walking backward to try and escape. Delmaria walked forward and lifted his knee, slamming his foot down on to O'Malley's, stopping her in place, and causing a loud snap in her ankle. Her face gasped in pain, as she let out spaced out, grunts of agony. Delmaria watched her, tilting his head. Something inside of him whispered, Let her scream, let her suffer, let her scream, let her suffer. Delmaria's face started to grin in enjoyment, the happiness inside him growing as the old, crackled voice began louder and louder, beating like a drum.

Delmaria pushed up the blade over his head higher, preparing to strike down. Leanne let out a scream of fear, throwing her hands over her head and starting to tear. Delmaria knew there was no turning back now.

Darkskull swooped down the blade, making a clean, bloody cut across the neck, cutting the Pirate Queen's head off clean. Her body untensed as it rolled back, away. The earth became quiet, as he stood there, gripping his handle tighter and tighter. He began to laugh uproariously, deeper, louder, and heavier than he ever had before. He felt the trickles of blood run down his hands, dripping to the ground. He knew what he had become.

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

"Delmaria, STOP!" the voice yelled behind him, awaking him from his dream. He felt the womanly hand grip the arm that held the blade over his head. His eyes looked around - he was in the fort, still. The fire raged at the other side, the soldiers still gripped in disarray, as the pirates sweeped in to cover ground, tearing the fort apart stone by stone. And at his feet, still laid Leanne - her hands over her head, her body shaking, her eyes watering. The sight of her made him angry again, but as he tugged his arm to attack, Anne held him back. He started to grunt, struggling against her.

When he knew he could go nowhere, he dropped the blade at his side. He bent over, and yelled at Leanne, "YOU DESERVE TO DIE! YOU KILLED MY SON!"

Leanne froze, her head, twitching in fear, looking up to him. Beneath all her fear was confusion. "N-no, I didn't.. It was y-"

"YES YOU DID! DON'T LIE!" he screamed, his body starting to break down on him. His muscles untensed, as his face tightened, crunching. He could feel all of his organs quiet, as he hunched over, on to his knees on the ground. "Yes, you did.. murderer, LIAR! Yes... no....me... Delpadros..." he whimpered, his body and breathing calming, as the three pirates began to relax. The pirate captain gripped his hands at his hair, as he started to cry.

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We can consider that the climax (or, one of them) to the current conflict in the story

The next few chapters might be a little slow, definately not as big as this one. But, trust me, they'll be just as good in their own way. Thanks mates! Be sure to review!

[Captain Jason]

I just started reading your series and let me just say, I love it. I still have to read the last one that was made in the blog.

[Captain Del]

Thank you Jason! Glad to see I got another reader onboard

Also, for those of you that are interested, I'll be posting a blog later tonight that goes more in to detail on some of the less-than-clear characters in my story. It'll be worth the read if you want to get a little background information on everything that goes on in the story currently.