Those Condemned to Freedom

[Captain Del]

On a second thought, I decided not to do the blog, to preserve the mysteriousness of my characters. Rest assured, all shall be explained - in time

At least with not doing the blog, I could make this chapter nice and chunky. So, my friends, enjoy!

Interrogation

The heavy mist lined the streets of Tortuga, swirling in with the torrential downpours that blanketed the port as a warm, humid landscape. Commoners rushed in between buildings, long, heavy coats and hats draped over their heads to protect themselves from the water. Out in the bay, the masses of ships were left still, as the droplets pounded against the easy surface of the harbor. The usually crowded, busy port was, in a rare occasion, silent on this morning, the bargainers, merchants, thieves, and pirates alike all crowded in their ships or in their homes. The rain brought with it a serene atmosphere, as though it cleansed the earth of its ordinary chaos.

The Faithful Bride was relatively empty, for a change. Coupled with the weather, the rumors of what transpired the night before turned the day overall in to a laid back one, using it as an excuse to maintain yourself at home. Carver pushed open the blue double-doors of the old Spanish-styled tavern, opening up to the blasting of rain in the small, grassy, stone corridor that the bar was located in. Although the rain was heavy, it still had that dim brightness that was enough to light the entire tavern in an easy grey light - a nice change, from the dim, yellow and brown lighting. The bartender waved to Doctor Grogan, who was closing his doors to prevent his patients from catching anything from the murkiness. He was surely about to advise Carver to close his doors, too, if he had not walked back in to the peaceful tavern to finally get back to business.

The only other person in the room was Delmaria, sitting on a chair with it's back leaned up against one of the wooden support beams in the room. He stared blankly as Carver went about his business, tidying the room from all the empty, fogged glass bottles that lined across the tables, wiping them down with a wet rag. He hummed a light sea shanty, pretending nobody was there, but ever so often he would look up to gaze at the patiently waiting Delmaria, his eyes baring down at him. His persistence began to bother Carver to the point where we steadily walked over to the bar, put down the glass bottles he had collected, and reached over the counter, picking up two green glass bottles. He walked towards Delmaria, swept up a chair, dragging it across the floor, and pulling it up in front of the pirate, plopping down. He handed a bottle to Darkskull, which he unemotionally accepted, and popped open his, taking a swig. "How long do you suppose it'll be before they're ready?" Carver asked after his drink.

"Not sure. Leanne is the squeamish type, that's for sure." Delmaria nodded, staring down at his bottle. He wasn't in the mood for a drink.

"I hope you realize the fire that you left behind some time ago in that office room up there cost me quite a lot." he commented pestering. "It's gonna be a while before I can find anybody to clean that mess up."

"Wasn't my fault we were being followed up there. For all I know, you could've set us up for that little escapade, had you intentionally not obstructed them at the door." Delmaria eyed the bartender devilishly, finally taking a small sip from the rum. It poured down his dry throat like an acid, but it was the righteous kind of burn alcohol gives you.

Finally, they heard a flurry of footsteps coming down from the attic. They looked to the walkway that was above the bar, down in the far corner, where a small, dark staircase came down from the attic. Anne bounced down them quickly, stopping at the last step, and looking down at the two chatters. "She's ready when you are, Delmaria." The female pirate then proceeded to walk down the walkway, turning in to a hallway, and opening and shutting the door of a bedroom. It was like her to go to sleep in somebody else’s home without asking.

Delmaria glanced back at Carver, before sliding his bottle on to a nearby table and heading for the stairs that led to the second story.

1

Delmaria walked up in to the dark attic, slamming the trap door that opened to the staircase below shut. It was a cramped, small room, just at the top of the Faithful Bride. The roof slanted upward from the far side of the room, reaching its tallest point where it met the wall behind Delmaria. The two ends of the room had two small, open windows, which looked out over Tortuga - one facing out in the direction of the bay, and the other peaking through the continuing streets and buildings of the port, the rising jungle landscape with its massive hills far in the background. The outer edge of the room was lined with boxes and crates, and in the middle, sat a table. At the end of the table that pointed out to the window that looked back over the rest of Tortuga, was Leanne, bound by the hands and feet to a wooden chair. A lock of hair fell in front of her ragged, angry face, which showed signs that she fought from getting tied down. No wonder Anne was so tired.

Delmaria sat down in to the chair opposite from her. The two pirates stared at each other, not wanting to say anything. Leanne looked stern, unwilling to cooperate, while Delmaria was blank, unmoving. Finally, he took a deep breath, and proceeded. "Alright, Ms. O'Malley, we'll start from the beginning. Why are you back in these waters?"

Leanne just sat there, stoic as a rock. The intensity in her eyes told Darkskull she would not move no matter what question he asked. He sighed again, and got up from the table. He walked over to the trap door that led back to the tavern, and kicked it with his heel three times. He then stepped off, and waited about three minutes, before it opened. Carver peaked his head up, and, smiling, slid a full bucket of water on to the floor, then closing the door behind him. Delmaria picked up the heavy wooden bucket, and reached in to his pocket, as he began to talk to Leanne. "Ms. O'Malley, I'm sure you are familiar with the Spanish Inquisition, correct?" When she did not respond, he pulled out a long, dirty piece of cloth from his pocket, and continued. "A very well organized group of men, indeed. Willing to go by any means to gather vital information. Of course, what they are most famous for is their forms of torture."

As Leanne's eyes widened in realization, Darkskull walked behind her, throwing the rag over her face from behind. He tied it in a knot at the back of her head, so her face was completely covered, and forcibly tilted it back. As she tried to kick her legs and throw her head, Delmaria reached for the bucket, saying, "A personal favorite of mine is known as the tortura del agua. Allow me to enlighten you on this." He tilted her head back once more and tilted the bucket towards her, letting the water pour slowly down on to the cloth of her face. He could hear her begin to kick and scream as the cloth became heavier and wetter. He was drowning her.

Finally, he stopped the flow of water and tore the cloth off her face, leaving the woman gasping for air, her hair and face drenched. He slammed the bucket down at the foot of his chair, and sat back down, looking at her. "So, I'll ask you again: Why are you here?"

Instead of answering, she spit out a mouthful of water at him, hitting him at the top of the torso, wetting his vest. He rolled his eyes, and reached for the bucket, pulling it up and thrusting it towards her, sending a tidal wave of water in to her face. The force of the water rocked her body and her chair back, slamming down to the floor in a pool of water. Delmaria got up, gripped the back of the chair, and pulled it back up to its original position, Leanne trying to shake the water from her face. Delmaria once again returned to his seat. "Again, why are you here?"

Finally, in between gasps of air, she answered him. "I'm a treasure hunter, Delmaria. I came here solely for what Bloodskull left behind, and not to partake in any trivia."

"Don't play games with me. You know I know too well that you wouldn't come back here for something as foolish as a piece of treasure. Why don't you continue to talk before I go get Carver to fill up that bucket again?"

Leanne sighed, and turned her head away, looking around the room. "Do you remember the note I left you, when we left that market in Rio Hacha?"

"Of course. Why?"

"The kidnappings, Delmaria. Jolly Roger has been coming more and more vicious as the weeks go by. First it was that school boy in Port Royal. They went looking everywhere for him. And do you know where they found him? In the caves, dead. He was reduced to a skeleton. Oh, but it didn't stop there.

"While you were off gallivanting around the seas, more and more people and ships were going missing. But they weren't just ordinary people - they were the relatives of people that had wronged Roger in the past. The boy was the nephew of a Navy Officer who had sunk two of Roger's War Ships out in the Hinterseas. A woman kidnapped on Padres was supposed to be the sister of a pirate that went off on a deal with Roger. He wasn't doing this just by random, Delmaria - just like you and I, Roger has a hit list. And a long one, too."

"So what does this have to do with you?" Delmaria leaned in.

"I knew as soon as I heard about the events in throughout the islands, I had to go protect.." she choked a little bit, and then looked up at him. "My son, Delmaria. I knew that Jolly was going to try to kill my son, off in England. I tried to stop him, but when I got there, he was..." she lowered her head, trying to fight back tears.

"At least there are no relatives of mine left. My father is God knows where, my mother, wife, and son are all dead. The only person I can think of is.." he gasped, coming to a realization. "Marina..."

Leanne lifted up her head, nodding. "I saw her, a few days ago, here. She looked fine."

Delmaria ran to the trap door, and shouted down. "CARVER! Wake Anne up and have her find my daughter, NOW!", slamming the door, now stressed out. He paced back and forth across the floor, his hands gripping his hair. Finally, he walked back to Leanne, and leaned down to her. "What does this have to do with you selling out to the Navy, hmm?"

She rolled her eyes. "I needed protection, Delmaria. I came back to these waters for my son, and nothing else."

Delmaria slapped her across the face. "So you condemn your fellow pirates to prosecution, just so you can protect your own hide?" he got up, walking around the room. "Pirate Queen... HA!" he turned back towards her. "And the treasure? What would that have to do with your son?"

She tilted her head, to look down at Delmaria's side. "The cutlass is... well, different, than others."

Delmaria rubbed the handle of his blade curiously, still looking at Leanne, but with intrigue on his face. "How so? Does it have some sort of power, to kill Roger?"

"Oh, of course not." She rolled her head. "Any blade or weapon can kill him, hypothetically. The only power in that blade is... fear. I can't explain, because I've never held it myself," she edged at him, "but you should understand soon enough."

Suddenly Delmaria could feel the blood rushing through his body. Thoughts of Leanne's son made him think of his own - painful, flashing memories. There were few, but the burning in his soul hissed at a raging speed. He felt that same anger that he did before; his hands were shaking, his face became hot. He slammed his hands on the opposite side of the table from O'Malley and shouted at her, "What did you do with our son!?"

She responded in a snap, like she was expecting it. "I never did ANYTHING to Delpa-"

"You're LYING, Maria! You're always LYIN-"

"HE'S NOT MY SON!" she spat at him. It brought a tense, sharp silence to the room, as she took a breath, and continued. "I don't know what the hell you've had on your mind for the past few years, but you're WRONG Delmaria. We never had a son, and I am n-"

"So what, now you claim you're not my WIFE, eithe-"

"YOUR WIFE IS DEAD!" she shrieked at him, now frustrated at his stubbornness. "Delmaria, Maria was killed years ago, when you weren't there for her, AND YOUR SON, and there is nothing you can do to convince me, or anybody else that you can change that!" she paused, as Darkskull started to calm. "It's happening already, isn't it.." she whispered to herself.

At that moment, Carver popped his head up through the wooden door. "Anne is waiting for you, Captain." He caught sight of the soaking wet Leanne, and chuckled to himself as he left the door open, slinking down the stairs.

Delmaria was still caught in disarray. He felt as though he was being torn in to two sides, two completely different people. He couldn't tell if what he knew was true, or just his imagination.

As he walked towards the trap door, O'Malley called from behind him. "This is a war now, Delmaria." He turned around in interest, to let her continue. "You think that this is still a rebellion? No, it's beyond that now. You are a part of a nation of pirates, fighting for its independence in this world. And you are one of its generals, my friend." She smiled at him.

He walked towards her, slowly. His heavy boots pattered on the pools of water that soaked the ground. "Yes, Leanne," he commented. "And you're the traitor."

2

The buckets of rain that hit him as the pirate trudged through the streets of Tortuga smacked against his hat like heavy, large bullets, patting it loudly. The water droplets that floated through the air fogged everything before him, although he could still make out all of the buildings, walls, and little accessories that made the quarters of Old Tortuga so friendly and noticeable. The air of the port was just right, warm, humid, yet not sticky and uncomfortable. Delmaria, for once, felt a little more comfortable in the usual heavy clothing that he cloaked himself in.

He broke out of the mixes of nooks and crannies of the Spanish-styled quarters of Tortuga, where most of it's most remarked buildings were, outside of the walls, and banking down a narrow path that led just at the edge of the swamp. This area of the town was a very strange, weird place, known by its inhabitants, and the townspeople of the rest of the town, as the "Trimestres Mystic."

This length of shacks and huts ran in the farthest West area of the port, running down from the West of the middle of the town, running down in a single path down the side, and then eventually merging with the swamp, to lead out in to the main beach of the port. The swamp lingered just next to it, small juts through the dark, dank plants and trees leading out in to the murky waters that waited after the short decline. The winding hills and curves on the path were accompanied by eccentric, run down shacks, huts, and carts, where gypsies, mystics, doctors, and those just looking to gather a few voodoo trinkets emerged themselves in each other's presence.

The Quarters were much quieter than usual, today. Only a few raggedy-looking people were outside, silently enjoying the rain that doused them. Small coins, shrunken heads, and bones that were left out on tables, and hanging from the roofs of the houses on strings jingled lightly under the rain. He looked in every crevice and section of the small path, but as he went, he didn't notice his daughter anywhere. He prayed that if he couldn't find her here, she was off where Anne was searching.

Finally, he caught eye of her. Banking around a turn, he watched a pretty figure drunkenly swirl and dance her way in a little area of ground not to far from him. Her long, black hair was soaked against her shoulders, her body lined with loose, dirty-looking clothing, with a brown, sewn shawl over her shoulders, her hands freely touching the ends of it. She was lost in a giggling, happy ballet, as she tapped around in the rain. Her limbs were loose, like she was a blind and bubbly child.

Delmaria ran up to his daughter and gripped her by the shoulders, stopping her. Her eyes were closed, but she knew something was there. Still, she laughed and twisted lightly under his hold, unaware that her father was standing right in front of him. She was still the elegantly beautiful woman her knew her to be, but right now she was far from that. Judging by how she felt in his hands, he saw how much weight she had lost. That and the pungent smell of alcohol and smoke that emanated from her body.

"Marina, Marina!" he tried to wake her up, shaking her.

"Haha, 'ELLO love!" she squealed in a heavy, fake British accent. Even though she had a light British accent like her father, it was apparent being intoxicated magnified that affect. Now Delmaria knew what he was like after a good night in the tavern.

"Damn it... alright poppet, let's help you over there." Delmaria pleased her, walking her over to a pile of crates in between two nearby shacks, and sitting her down. She nearly tipped over as she sat down, but Delmaria steadied her, and studied her over. To most, it would be hilarious, watching a poor young girl spin and twist out of her right mind. But not Delmaria; he expected much more than this from his daughter.

Before she picked up her studies in the voodoo arts on Tortuga, Marina found her home on Port Royal, just not like most. She used her ultimate beauty to exploit Navy and government officials to get close to their ties, and then slowly work her own way in to the process. It wasn't long before her slithering influence had given her a force of Navy soldiers that had become more loyal to her than their own Officers, and to that she really began to work her magic. She propagandized herself as an all-powerful leader, and although most were skeptical because of her gender, they soon saw what she was capable of. Marina was a vicious tyrant, which was quick with having somebody killed for going against her word.

It was through her absolute control of the Navy forces housed in Fort Charles that she was named "Madame Marina," to suggest her undeniable beauty, yet brute force. She shaped up the Navy from a group of poorly-trained grunts to top-of-the-line soldiers, and her reign led to an all-time low in crime, and an all-time high in executions.

Yet her largest concern was the matter of her bloodline. She knew that the public would not respond well if they knew her family was full of pirates, so she made a deal. One evening, while Delmaria's crew was in port, she was able to seduce her own brother, Delpadros (both of whom were unaware they were related at the time,) in to leaving the crew to join her. He quickly became her personal assistant, carrying out an "orders" which had to be done. She even went as far as jailing her own father.

However, she became remorseful of her actions. She longed to see what it was like to be free, so much so, she demanded that she was "kidnapped" by Delmaria's crew, and set free in Tortuga. And this they did, allowing her to fulfill her dreams, of becoming a pirate. But if Delmaria had known she would go through this sort of spiral, he would have never helped her.

As Delmaria turned around, he was thrusted downward by sturdy, painful push, splashing him on to the saturated ground. The droplets of rain pummeled his face, making him unable to look up and see what had pushed him, but his flailing hands were quick enough to swat away an oncoming foot to his head. Yet it wasn't a regular foot; he felt no shoes, leather, or skin. Only bone.

He tried to roll out of the way, but he knew he had to stay close to Marina. He kicked his foot blindly, hoping to clear anything near him, and drove it right up between two bony legs. The jolt from the kick sent the bag of bones toppling on to Delmaria who smacked it away with a quick hand. He struggled to get to his feet, the pushing force of the rain and the slippery ground beneath him making it hard to stabilize. When he finally managed to stand up, he rubbed his hands over his eyes, enough to give him a watery sense of what was going on. He turned back to look where he thought the skeleton was, but was met with a stern punch to the face. The bluntness of being punch by all bone made it more painful than a usual blow, but it wasn't enough to demount the battled pirate. He popped back up with a powerful haymaker to the face of the rotting zombie, knocking it downward in a crunch. As the pirate tumbled down the small, wet hill, Delmaria ran to Marina, and gripped her by the hand, tugging her in the opposite direction of where the skeleton was going, back up in to the town.

3

The windows of the cramped, spotless room flashed as the lightning rocked the environment outside. The darkness of the night hours had brought with it only worse weather conditions, which would hopefully blow over in the morning. Delmaria shifted in his seat, now dressed in a dry, simple, loose linen outfit, nothing more than just a shirt and pants. He looked around the room, illuminated by a few candles scattered around the room, cabinets and shelves that ran against the pale tan walls lined with bottles of all shapes, sizes, and colors. Anne stood by the double doors of the house, locked shut to keep away the moisture from outside. They were blank with emotion, but with different thoughts - Anne, worried of her office in Tortuga, and the future advancements while Leanne was still in port. Delmaria, however, was more concerned on a far more important matter - his daughter.

After a tense ten minutes of waiting, Doctor Grogan walked out from the backroom of his office, wiping his brow a little, but not in too much discontent. "She's quite in a state of delirium, and quite sickly, I must say, but none the less, she'll get better soon enough. I'm sure she'll be over her symptoms in the morning."

Delmaria slinked back in his chair, sighing in relief. He was still worried, though - his daughter was just on the verge of being captured, had he not gotten to her before. Delmaria turned his head to the Doctor. "Doctor, what exactly was she.. on?"

Doctor Grogan let out a breath, and plumped down in a small chair behind a plain wooden table in the center of the room. "It seems... it seems your daughter was not under the impression of simple alcohol, or gypsy scents or smokes, Captain Darkskull. She was... poisoned."

Delmaria stormed to his feet, furious. "WHAT?!" he yelled, almost like it was the doctor's fault.

The doctor put up his hands in surrender, and continued. "It wasn't lethal, my fine sir, no. It was from some venom from a type of snake that slithers around on some of the islands near Tortuga. It was just enough to leave her delirious, and a little upset, but nothing more."

Delmaria rubbed his hand against his forehead, the frustration inside him boiling. "Anything else you want to tell me about?"

"Yes, Captain." the stout man leaned his elbows on to the table. "Normally, when somebody spiritual like your daughter is put under this state, they reach a realm of... what they call, "enlightment." This is where their mind sharpens to them. They have better memory, least to say. Now, this leads to usual rambling, about family members, childhood events, and so forth. But your daughter.. well... her case is different.

"I couldn't make it out completely, but your daughter mentioned something about a "prison" over and over again. Some... I don't know, voodoo encampment. Whatever she's talking about, I'm not sure."

Delmaria thought for a moment. The sounding of a voodoo encampment near Tortuga rang a bell in a mind - he could slowly recollect a group of mystics discussing this place as he passed through the Quarters earlier the day before. "Doctor Grogan," Delmaria snapped to attention, "you wouldn't happen to know what island that snake venom came from, hm?"

Doctor Grogan immediately became flustered. He got up from the table and rushed to the back, Delmaria in quick pursuit. Just as the surgeon was about to return behind the curtain to check on Marina, Darkskull grabbed him by the arm, stopping him. The doctor looked at his feet, then at the pirate, and shook his head furiously. But as he saw Delmaria's hand move for his cutlass, he gasped, and slacked his shoulders. "Alright, alright!" the doctor rushed back to the front room, where Anne stood, waiting.

The doctor walked up to the doors and put his back to it, so the two could face him. With one final sigh, he said. "After.. I was brought to Tortuga; I spent a few months in the Quarters, studying up on their various forms of diverse medicine. One of my studies brought me to this... this small island, just off from Tortuga. There was a small village of mystics living there, like their headquarters, or something.

"However... well, I was much younger when it happened. It was, erg, at least seven years ago. I had news in the Quarters one of the witchdoctors there had gone mad; and by mad, I mean insane, corrupted - possessed, even. The island had been isolated ever since, and nobody knows what the hell is going on over there. All we know about him was that he was obsessed with... torture." the doctor shivered, walking over to a small map of Tortuga, and the waters around it. In the Southeastern corner of the map, he pointed to a small island. "There. It has no name, but I'm sure you can find it easily."

Delmaria turned to Anne almost immediately. "I want you to stay here, guarding Marina, while I'm gone. I can't risk bringing more people than necessary."

"NO!" and shout came from behind him. He turned to a gust of wind, the doors wide open. Standing just before the down pouring rain, was Leanne, shivering as she gripped herself. "I want to go with you, Delm- Captain. Those things have my son, and I'll be damned if I stand by and watch."

[Captain Del]

Beneath

The small dinghy rocked lightly in the dark, pale waters off of their destination. The sky overhead was grey, lightened from the sun, yet blocking it off behind its silent shroud. It reflected down on to the usual bright blue waters, creating a dark, heavy surface, as though it were night out. The waves were settled, as the crew had their eyes locked on the island up ahead. It was a small, yet heavily forested island, like a large hill of trees and plants punching out of the seas. Anything that might be hidden within it's jungles was secluded, the shadows working with the overpowering plant life. They neared the beach slowly, the dinghy not even running aground until just before the sand, meaning a steep drop off in to the waters below.

Delmaria jumped down from his seat before the bow of the small ship, and slashed his boots in the water as he took a few steps. The crew ferried out behind him, keeping a cautious eye on Leanne, who had been completely without sound since when they pulled just out of Tortuga Harbor shortly before. The ground rose up slightly to be dotted with tremendous boulders, that eventually accumulated to create a small hill of rocks, behind it the light beginnings of the jungle rising.

Delmaria was the first to go forward, slowly maneuvering around the large rocks until he stepped up on to the first flat layer of rock. When he hit the wall, he dug in with his hands, and carefully ascended up, careful not to slip by putting pressure on his wet boots. As he climbed, he could hear the crew wearily following him, trying to find their own way to get up and over. Delmaria reached the top first, looking down as the pile of rocks declined to meet the forest. He wondered exactly why the rocks were formatted like that. Were they trying to keep people out, or keep something locked within?

As Darkskull descended down, he peered along the dirt path that cut in to the trees. He could make out something not too far in the distance; gray, maybe burnt wood, waiting and standing there. He could only catch a glimpse, but he was confident what he saw was what he saw. He stopped as his feet hit the ground, waiting for the rest of the crew to get to him. As he waited, he ran his fingers up and down the handle of the blade sitting at his side. The powerful tingling sensation, to urge to wield it, flowed through his arm, causing a shiver in his spine that rocked his body. The almost felt it in his grasp, cutting down the enemies before him; the blood, the tears - the suffering.

"Captain," called from behind him. He turned to Firesteel, the first of the crew waiting before him. "Are you ok? You seem.. off?"

"I'm fine, mate." the pirate reassured, nodding his head. He turned back to face the trail, and trudged to it. "C'mon lads, pick it up!"

He felt the change in atmosphere as he moved in between the greenery. Gigantic leaves, tree roots, and vines all stuck out as him, brushing his way past, as in the distance, he saw his vision becoming clearer and clear. He noticed something strange about this island as he continued - it was perfectly silent. There was no chirping of birds, or creaking of bugs. It felt like an aura of passiveness as around him, like that feeling after attending a funeral.

He stepped out of the jungle, and in to a little space, his sight now before him. It was not an area of charred trees, or a presence of divineness - it was a ghost town. A large, grassy opening in the shape of a circle was populated by a few large, grey wooded buildings, burnt and half-destroyed. Large, gaping holes sat in their sides and roofs, as debris laid skewn all across the ground. There were only five buildings, each of them drab and lifeless. The town looked and had the feel of more of an abandoned internment camp than an old town for mystics and gypsies, or was that just the voodoo in the air? Either way, it was creepy.

The crew spanned out easily, going in different directions to investigate. Delmaria crept along, taking in the surroundings a patch of dirt was in the center of everything. Large crates and barrels in front and at the sides of the buildings around him. The most eerie feature was the fact that the entire island seemed to rise up around this place, and then drop off in steep hills, the tree tops covering the edges of the place. It made the place feel very secretive, intimidating, and scary.

As Delmaria past by the smallest of the buildings directly to his right, a medium-sized, run down shack, with a tile roof still mainly intact, he began to hear what sounded like a muffled whimper. It stopped him, like he was judging against what he had sensed. But as he sharpened his ears to listen in closely, he could hear it better and better; a few sobs, almost like they were being pushed down in to silence. Delmaria made his way to the steps leading on to the uncovered porch; try to stop them from creaking as he went up. He readied himself as he stepped before the door, and with his left hand, slowly pushed it open.

He peered in to a dark, muddled room, papers, chairs, and tables thrown in every direction. It was long, like a small boarding house for field workers, with a deep, murky scent, having it been sitting out in the moist, warm air of the Caribbean, undisturbed for so long. He turned his attention to the source of the noise, off in the corner closest to him. Nestled behind a table, curled in a ball, was a boy.

He was a handsome child, roughly twelve, maybe thirteen years of age. His blond hair fell in front of his face quietly, his face dirtied by a few bloody, uncared cuts, and muck. He wore cut, outfit shorts and a t-shirt, which quaked as he shivered. The boy looked up at him, his face becoming exasperated and fearful. After a moment of tension, Delmaria asked quietly, "James O'Malley?"

The boy was unsure at first. He scurried back a little, until he slowly nodded his head, yes. Delmaria's body was overrun with calm and happiness, knowing that somebody he had never met was safe. He saw in those eyes the face of innocence and childhood - it reminded him of himself.

Delmaria gripped the door frame and turned around, to look in to the clearing. He yelled, "LEANNE, OVER HERE!" beckoning her over as her head popped up. As the rest of the crew rushed towards him, he went in, towards the boy, and knelt before him. "It'll be okay, lad."

As Leanne rushed in behind him, her face instantly became dramatic and overwhelmed with emotion. He nearly dove past Delmaria, and clinged to her son, cradling him in to her arms, and beginning to cry wildly. "Oh my God, oh my God, James, oh my baby boy!" she cried as she rocked him back and forth, her son moving with her. It was the first time in a while Delmaria had seen anything like this. He felt as though he were warming a little layer of ice away from his heart.

After a few minutes of Leanne crying over her son, Delmaria reached out his hand, stopping them. As the bundle turned towards him, Darkskull placed his hand softly on the boy's shoulder and asked, "James, how did you get here?"

The boy's voice was heavily shaken, but he petered out, "They dragged me here.. like the others... I escaped.... they've been hunting me..."

"They who? Others? And where?" Delmaria questioned him.

"Th-he things. They brought all these people in to the dungeon with me... the sewers.. oh God..." he looked like he was going to start sobbing again.

"Do you know what they did with them?"

James wiggled out of his mother's grasp easily, to face Darkskull fully. "They had us in these.. cells. Everyday they'd come and take more people "down below." Deeper, down farther. Nobody that ever went down came back up."

Delmaria nodded. "And, where, is the dungeon?"

Slowly, O'Malley got on his feet. His legs were still meaty, but a little weak. For spending weeks upon weeks in a jail, he was surely fit with plenty of meat on his bones. Delmaria wondered how this was so, as the young boy walked to the door way, then motioning Delmaria to him.

Delmaria got up and walked to James, who was pointing outward. He was pointing to the center of the patch of dirt, where there sat a small trap door. Darkskull sighed, and nodded. He tore off his coat, throwing it back to Buck behind him. "All of you, escort Leanne and her son back to the ship. I want to go down alone."

1

Delmaria jumped down in to the dank corridor as he slammed the door shut above him. He was in a long, stone chasm, a thin layer of water beneath his boots. The tunnel ran around a turn, out of his vision, a few scattered torches lighting the way. He placed his hand just far from the cutlass's handle, and began to shift through the water. His other hand was outstretched just to keep his hand off the grim-infested stone blocks that made up the cramped, curved tunnel. An overpowering rotting stench filled his nose as he passed through the still, lifeless air, as though he were walking right through the hanging clothes of the dead souls that shivered here. He could not hear, see, or feel anything, but he knew that this unknown place was but a chamber of death, an outer branch of the underworld.

As Delmaria walked along, he picked an ancient wooden torch off the wall with his empty hand, using it to light his path. He could feel the soft, wet wood sink under his grasp, like it were completely hollow inside. He brought the torch lower to the ground to see what he was stepping in, only to leap back, terrified.

Ungodly large creatures infested the sides of the small path, leeching and curling as the fire cackled near them. Thick, black millipedes, perhaps the length of a man’s arm, huge, plump maggots that sucked on the dirt on the floor, and massive earth worms were only a few among the creepers that sat little away from him. He gathered a brave breath, and continued his travel deeper, trying to resist the urge to gain his speed even a little. Causing unnecessary noise might just lead him to his demise, he thought.

Finally, after a few minutes of winding through the sewer-like surroundings, he was left staring in to a room of jail cells. Three rusted, brutally miscared iron-barred cells sat on the left side of the room, the other end leading off down a steepening, narrow path. Chains hung down from the bare right wall, where deformed skeletons swung, equipped with huge gashes and bumps on their bones, and covered in a deep layer of mold than covered every inch. The sockets of the eyes, hips, and other smaller ones looked like they were nearly filled from the putrid fungi, giving the effect that it was a line of lifeless monsters kept on the wall. But while this was quite a spectacle, Delmaria was more focused on the left side of the room, behind the bars.

Behind them were groups of human beings, but less of humans than anything else. They had been starved and beaten to a point that they looked like nothing more than ghosts with a thin layer of flesh, sagging and uncaring. It was filled with a wide array of people - men, elderly peoples, women, and even young children, the sight so disgusting that he didn't even want to look; but he couldn't help himself. One of them, a figure whose gender was undecidable, who was slunk up right before the bars of the first cell, reached up with all his might to bring his arm off the ground, and curl and finger to gesture the pirate towards him.

Concerned, Darkskull jumped down in to the hard tile floor and ran over to the thing, kneeling next to it. His voice was nearly unintelligible, mumbled by its eerie dryness, coldness, and dullness. "Arv... arne... are... here.... sah... save..." he panted. Even the slightest amount of work took all of his effort.

Delmaria was unsure how to answer. He knew he couldn't save this man now, in the state he was in, much less the rest of them. He felt so helpless and sad, but the figure could pick up on that. There was no emotion in it's face, but Delmaria could feel that it was disheartened. It's eyes closed, as it asked, "M.. mn... bu... boy... uh... uh-ok.. kaee.. Jam.. es.."

Delmaria's voice was soft and easy. "Yes, James is safe." he assured the person.

The skeleton rubbed it's head on the floor, like a nod, and Delmaria could make out, just slightly, what looked like a smile. It let out a heave of air, before the room going silent. It was the last of them to die.

Delmaria sighed, and turned his head to his right, where he could tell the fortress continued. If he had come this far, he told himself, he wanted to know what the hell had done this. He got up, and strode towards the darkness, when realized there was no floor in front of him. He stopped drastically just before the ledge, looking down in the swirling darkness below. He gathered himself, and took one final breath, jumping down confidently in to the abyss.

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

And, I'll leave it off there. Rest assured, though, I'll probably so anxious to write the next part, it'll be out in the next few days.

Like it? Hate it? Review it!

[SEAKING23]

You are becoming a suspense master just like the others -_- great though!

[Captain Jason]

Love the story so far! Sorry, got behind, I haven't even started reading any from this thread yet. The others were awesome though!

[Captain Del]

Thanks you two!

Time to put that little cliff-hanger I gave you all to a rest - told you it'd be out quick! So, without further adue...

Devil

The warm, murky water hit Delmaria like a brick to the face, freezing his nerves in pain. His muscles loosened as he absorbed the shock, his limbs flurrying to try and prevent him from drowning. He mustered to open his eyes, but was surrounded by a dark, cloudy brown water, swirling in it debris and chunks of unknown things. Delmaria reached up towards the surface without looking upwards, his body slowly rising towards the top. He pushed his arms and legs down to sending him upward, until he finally peaked over the water.

Delmaria's soaked head peaked out of the water, his heard and beard dripping wet. As he gasped for breath, he looked at his surroundings - a dim, large, dome shaped room, the rotunda of black stone reaching overhead. Above him was the hole where he fell down from, the black abyss staring back at him. The water line against the walls of the room had little sewers leading to it, some of the bars completely bent and broken open. In the center of the room was, of all things, a sand bar, which filled the entire center of the room. Delmaria scooped up his hat, which floated next to him, and cautiously eased his way towards dry land.

As his feet climbed him up on to the little island, he realized just how deep the waters in the room were. A normal structure like this in a sewer system would stretch maybe ten feet, but he could tell the floor of this place reached down, far down, a few stories, at least. As he was completely out of the water, he shivered, not by the fact he was soaked, but because of the eeriness of the room.

He sat turned around looking back to the spot where he had landed, and sighed. He still was unaware why he chose to come here, although an overpowering urge was ringing in the back of his head to do so. All of a sudden, he realized that just a few feet to the side of him was a skeleton, draped in a long, purple robe. He wandered over to it, and knelt down, to inspect it.

Delmaria could feel something strange as his fingers ran over the corpse. It was that same feeling he got every time he just so happened to rub shoulders with Grace while she walked through the hull of the ship. It was a tingling sensation, but this time, it was greater. He could feel a pulsating his hands, like something were flowing from the bones, through him. He rolled the body over, but jumped up in a gasp. That same thick, putrid, yellow, green, and purple puss that covered the bodies of the skeletons covered the face of this one, freezing his face as though he were screaming in terror. Delmaria looked at the badge over where his heart should have been, where its name was written in a lost language. Yet he knew that this was the man he had come down here to kill. So if he wasn't running this all, then who was?

Delmaria suddenly felt a shake down his spin. He stood up slowly, as a voice called from behind him. "Hello Delmaria."

1

Delmaria turned to a tall, old, handsome man, with short white hair that hugged the top of his head, and a small white beard. His skin was almost red, a black robe that hung from his shoulders, down his body. His eyes bore in to the pirate in a dark, empty manner, their red, evil tint staring in to him. His face was aged and cracked, but it still had the vitality of a wise, able man. He took a few steps towards Delmaria, before extending out a hand. "Welcome to my domain." he smiled.

Delmaria was firm, yet terrified. He sucked up, and stared down the figure. "Are you who I think you are?"

The man tilted his head at the pirate. "Well, it depends on how you think of me, doesn't it?" The figure then turned his head away from the pirate, and snapped his fingers. Slowly, Delmaria could see the sand in front of him begin to part, and rise. A flat, brown surface came out of it, spilling the sand to it's sides as it rose. It was a table, lifting out of the ground, accompanied by two chairs, one on each side. The man slowly took his seat, and gestured to Delmaria. "Sit, please."

Delmaria walked over to chair and eased his way in, never taking sight off the man. He wiggled in to his chair, before slinking his body forward and leaning back. He crossed his arms and questioned, "Why have you brought me here?"

The man chuckled. "Same reason I bring all people here. It is for a purpose."

"And I suppose that purpose is service?" Darkskull asked.

"Who says you don't serve me already?"

Delmaria fell silent. He knew that he wouldn't win this battle if he started one, but if he was dead, he wanted the answers he had been waiting for his entire life. "If we're playing question and answer, then, answer this; why have you played your games with my life?"

The man giggled again, in his rough, dark voice. "I play games with the lives of all people. Like on Earth, some toys are more enjoyable than others to play with, and you, sir, are definitely up there."

Delmaria stormed up, but the man reached out his arm and thrusted his hand downward, forcing Delmaria telepathically to sit. Darkskull was shocked, mystified, but he struggled not to show it. "There's no need for that, hm? I'd hate to break my favorite toy."

Delmaria leaned back again, in a frustrated, angry huff. "Why haven't you taken my soul yet?" he asked him.

"Because you are not ready, nor ripe for the picking." The man said. "All lives have a certain destiny they are to fulfill - of course, how you get there is completely up to you. If one can reach that destiny before their time is up, they may live, or die, depending on how I see fit. If one fails to - well" he snickered, "that's when I have my real fun."

"So where am I?"

The man leaned over the table. "You, fine sir, are...." the man instantly looked as though he were very serious, and angry. "You're not going as planned."

Darkskull's heart skipped a beat. Looking in to the soul-stealing eyes of this man, stern as stone, he couldn't tell whether it was proper to celebrate, or be afraid on a further scale. Instead of taking the opportunity to make a smart remark, he sat still, not choosing to do anything that could be interpreted as an insult. It was one of the rare times in his life where he would be submissive to another. Yet upon realizing sitting there would only bring about a closer death, he asked another question. "So, if I was clearly not meant to kill that voodoo priest you have on the floor behind me, then why am I here?"

"Numerous reasons. Self-vengeance, anger, retribution- oh, I assume you mean why I brought you here?" the man smiled again, but his attempt to make Delmaria lose his strictness was at a loss. "I had no such hand in the matter, my friend. I let my victims come to me, so then I can really watch them suffer. It's much more fun that way."

"Then answer me this - what is Jolly Roger doing?"

The man chuckled, once more. "Ah, Roger. That's a fine soldier, indeed. He's guaranteed himself that he serves no man, but in the end, all villains are but disciples in my army. Each of them has played such a vital role in history, and will play a role in history in the future. A man set out to conquer the world... a man set out to kill all in his path... a man to brainwash the masses... ah, yes. But, I get ahead myself, don't I?

"Each and every villain in this world works under his own mystique, not mine directly - oh, you get that by now, hmm? Well, Roger is a complex one. Most men are revived by jealousy, greed, or any of that. But Roger, he is driven purely by hatred, and hatred embedded in his soul. He wants something out of everyone, but nothing in particular, the true symbol of a tyrant. The world will be his, or at least, the world of pirates. And he's devoted to that, surely."

"So what does kidnapping civilians have to do anything with this?"

The man wandered his eyes around the room, before returning them to the captain. "Each one of them is in blood with people that have wronged him in the past, yes?"

"Aye."

"Well, I'll put it simply. Each person is like a structure; they are at the top, and supporting them are their closest friends and relatives. Take away them, and the structure becomes weaker and weaker, until it finally chooses to collapse in on itself. Funny how weak your souls really are. It's already shown - one official in New Orleans, whose wife's corpse sits right about our heads, has already claimed his own life. I'm sure he'll be glad to know they aren't in the same place." He then cackled a sinister, diabolical laugh, humored as though what he said was a self-pleasing joke.

Delmaria's body shaked with rage, as thoughts of his own family coursed through his veins. He saw his son, his mother - and his wife. Delmaria slammed his hand on the table, shutting up the figure, and leaned over. "Where is my wife."

"Haha, oh, I'm afraid I can't tell you that. But at least you have a fifty-fifty chance, my friend!"

Delmaria had enough. He whipped out his pistol with a quick bolt, and closed his eyes, shooting a bullet in to the heart of the man himself. He could hear the ring pierce and echo through the room, and waited for it to be overpowered by the sound of the fury of the eternal man coming to damn his soul. But he heard nothing, and felt nothing. And when he opened his eyes, he saw nothing.

As Delmaria opened his eyes, he looked around. He was on his knees, in the middle of the sandbar. He held no gun in his hand, and there was no table, or man in sight. He turned around, hoping to confirm his sanity with the moss-covered corpse of the mystic, but it was not there either. It was only him, the sand, the sewage, and the darkness. He was alone, and so was his mind - was it really all in his head?

"CAPTAIN!" an echo ran through the room. He watched as the hole from which he came through dropped down a rope, which hit the water. He slowly came to his feet, and headed towards it. His body shivered and ached, in pain, and in uncertainty.

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

The shortest chapter of this entire thread, but I'm still confident it was one of the most indepth. Rest assured, the 20-pagers will be returning real soon

Hate it? Love it? Please review!

Thanks mates!

[SEAKING23]

Wow i hope the devil thing died... lol

[The Stealthy Pirate]

Maybe you can add a character who is a certain STEALTHY cannoneer...


No, im just joking, go where ever yer story takes ya!

[Captain Del]

Seeing as how the game right now is in disarray, and I being sick, I took it as a great opportunity to finish the next chapter for you all, my loyal readers.

Enjoy, mates!

The Risen

Delmaria spent the next few days housed in his quarters, lying in bed as he nursed his wounds. He had managed to catch a cold as well, leaving him coughing and sneezing in despair the first few days after their escapade on the island. His body ached every time he moved it, and so he was confided to lie in bed as Grace shoved tonic after disgusting tonic down his throat. They never had any effect on him, but he would rather have her happy and delusional than sulking in the hull of the ship, like she does when she's upset. That or she would become more determined to come up with any even worse-tasting concoction. He spent his days looking across the room, through the wall of windows on the other side, where he could look out in to the bay of Tortuga.

Doctor Grogan had passed by the first day they arrived in the port, to make sure for himself that the pirate's illness was not too serious. He preformed the usual physical, and assured Delmaria that he would get over it in a day or two if he left nature take its course. At the same time, he updated him on Marina's condition, uplifting the captain by informing him his daughter had become better. The doctor, however, would still be keeping her in his office until Delmaria got better, and she showed full signs of recovery. "She's still in aftershock, and I know you don't want her romping around those gypsies anymore, out in the open. I'll keep her in until she is back to full health, but you're welcome to visit," he affirmed him.

As the days dragged on, Delmaria became more and more unrested, wanting to go walk about to clear his mind. Letting his thoughts manifest would be a bad idea, and he needed the fresh sea air in his face once more. He often tried sneaking out of his cabin in the middle of the day, when most of the crew was around the port, or in the middle of night, when he couldn't sleep. Yet his screaming body pushed him back to his little coven, and there he remained, hoping that he would be better by the next day.

He was on his last day of bed rest, as the sun set behind the horizon, signifying the end to another day. Delmaria was eager to receive his supper so he may return to sleep and end the day, but an unexpected guest took him off that mindset. In to the room stepped Leanne O'Malley, and her feeble son standing in front of her. Delmaria was caught off-guard by the sight, and sat up straight as the two proceeded before him. His heart raced in wonder, unsure whether to be happy, or sad.

Leanne and her son approached the bed, the boy standing in front of his mother as her arms hung over his chest, and wrapped held at his chest. She spoke, "Delm- Captain, I'd like to thank you for everything you've done for us. We.. we can't thank you enough."

Delmaria took a calm sigh, and nodded. "It was my pleasure, Leanne. I guess you could say the experience helped me a little, too."

"Yes, it worked out a lot better than I expected." She drifted a little, petting her son's dirty-blond hair. "Either way - my son and I, we are going to be starting up a new life in Boston."

Delmaria jumped in shock. "You're.. WHAT?!"

"The pirating life has become too dangerous for me, Delmaria. I only continued with it because I wanted to save my son. I want to live a better life, in a new, better world than back in England. I want him... to have everything I didn't, hm? Maybe someday, I'l- we'll join you back on the waters. But for now, I need to take care of a much more precious treasure." She stepped her son over a little, and walked over to Delmaria, leaning over and kissing him on the check. "Goodbye." she whispered in his ear. She stepped back, and turned to slowly walked out of the room. "James, say what you have to, and come on." Her red hair fluttered as she turned around the corner, stopping to take a good look at Delmaria out of the corner of her eye.

Their eyes met, and here they were again. A single goodbye between them, and they were parting their separate ways. One, returning to a life of peace, and the other, returning to his own, free life. He couldn't tell whether he was looking at the enemy, or a dear friend. She had caused so much love and chaos in his life, but Delmaria knew that was the purpose of a beautiful woman like her in the world. She taught him lessons timeless and priceless, so in the end, his debt was to her. She winked at him, and walked down the hall, out of vision. He could hear the door open, and close.

Delmaria turned his attention to the boy in front of him. "Thank you Mr. Darkskull." James said in a weak, intimidated voice.

"You’re welcome, kid. Be good for your mother, aye?" Delmaria instructed him, trying to hold back tears.

"Yes sir." James then instinctively reached in to his pocket, and pulled out a small bundle, a piece of fabric with a string wrapped around it. "Mommy said to give this to you." With that, he placed it in the hand of the captain, and walked out of the room. As he heard the door shut, Delmaria undid the bundle, slowly, and carefully. As he pulled away the cloth, he gasped in shock.

Before him was a necklace - a small, solid silver chain with a simple and small, yet stunningly beautiful crucifix on it. Delmaria's trembling hands scooped it up, bringing it to his face as he shook in awe and suspense. A piece of jewelry such as this would be a nice addition to a pirate's trove, but for Delmaria, it was much more special. He had always seen Leanne wear this from when he had met her nearly ten years ago, inheriting it from her father. He recognized this so well, because he was holding Leanne's Piece of Eight.

Delmaria slowly and carefully took the necklace in hand, unhinging it, and then lifting it around his neck, securing it in the back. It hugged his neck all the way around, except for the front, where the cross was, where it hung down a little. It had no real powers, but all the significance in the world to him. He sucked in a breath, and with it, the moment. He had become the first outsider in this royal line of pirates, and he had taken Leanne's seat on the Brethren Court.

Delmaria spent the remainder of the night locked in the cabin; the door locked, the rutters shut tight, with only a single candle that sat on his desk in the room to keep it somewhat lit. He didn't leave it once, even when one of the crew kept banging on his door to hand him his dinner. He sat cross-legged in his hammock, fiddling with the small cross in between the fingers of his right hand, as he let the thoughts swirl around him. He thought not only of Leanne and how she came to make this choice, but of his father. He wondered if he had finally come to where his father once was, but the thought of his father's face made him cringe, for reasons both good and bad. It had nearly been twenty years seen they had last met - was he still alive or not?

Delmaria poked his eyes through a slit in one of the rutters to see what the condition was outside, but was left looking in to the dark harbor of the port, the vague outline of ships revealed in the moonlight. His eyes were heavy, and his muscles yearned to untense and slink back to the sheets covering his bed. He sighed, and pushed his legs forward, then laying back and letting his head rest on the soft pillow. He crossed his hands over the cross, and closed his eyes, waning off to sleep.

1

He couldn't see or feel anything, his body still caught in the disbelief of sleep. All he could tell was that the soft surface that was once underneath him was taken from him, the air whipping past him as he twirled and tumbled. He felt the side of his body slam on to the floor, toppling him once more before leaving him face down on the floor.

His entire body and head throbbed in a sharp pain as his eyes slowly pushed themselves open, like large rusted iron gates. His blurred vision mixed the shades and tints of the messy quarters, but as his eyes slowly fixed themselves, he could make out the distinct features of the back of the room. His arm reached out to brush the right front leg of his desk, gripping it with his hand tight as his wobbly body pushed itself upward. He balanced himself on his knees, before standing up, keeping his hands planted on the papers atop the desk, as his legs became accustomed to withstanding the weight of the pirate captain's body.

He could hear behind him, past the doors of the captain's quarters, the chaos as the crew poured out on to the ship to see what had gone on. Delmaria reached down the sleeve of his soft linen shirt, and wiped it over his face a few times, to wake himself up. He looked down at the white, black, and green bundle of heavy clothes, and rolled his eyes at the thought of having to put them on so abruptly in the morning. He quickly threw them on, the shirt and vest still wrinkled as he tossed on to him the heavy black long coat, and picking up his brimmed, feathered hat with his left hand. He reached for his cutlass across the desk, but stopped. Before him were two swords, the Libertist, and Thorhammer's Cutlass. Instead of instinctively picking up the Libertist, he convinced himself to scoop up the golden cutlass instead, scooping it up and hurrying out of the room.

Delmaria stepped out in to the bright morning, a light, brisk wind hitting as his face. The armada of pirate ships that floated around him at ease made it as though it were a ship city, a marvelous sight to behold. Past the ships on the right side of the Shark was the bay of Tortuga, the long wooden dock leading in to the harbor, where a large group of pirates passed and moved about. As one of the crew pushed past him, Darkskull looked to the left side of the main deck, where all the commotion was.

The left side of the main deck bore itself a gaping hole, that was just high enough to prevent the harbor waters from seeping inside the hull. The crew studied the large planks shattered at their ends, sticking up and out like daggers, the driftwood scattered across the deck and in the surrounding waters, and the overall destruction. Delmaria gasped, running along the second deck, and then pounding down the staircase near the hole as he shouted to the crew, "In the name of God, what the hell happened here!?"

Instead of speaking, Firesteel pointed outward, over the bow of the ship. Delmaria saw the back of a small light galleon, which had docked itself right at an open space at the end of the dock. The pirate then moved his arm the other way, to point out to the rest of the bay, and there Delmaria looked as well. He could see at least two other ships in the harbor that had also been damaged their crews shouting and bickering as they tried to figure out what happened as well. "I saw it all, cap't. 'Tis one of the few advantages of getting up early. That light galleon came barrelin' through like who knows what, and bounced off the side of the ship. Either he was in a hurry, or it has a mighty inexperienced crew."

"Your right it does. Somebody go wake up Dead and Buck, and Corsaire - rats can sleep through anything - and have them clean this all up. The rest of you, load up the dinghies and get us to port. I might as well chat with this fellow." Delmaria instructed to his crew. He walked over to the little staircase that led down in to the crew's quarters, and stomped the floor a few times. "IRONBONES, BANKOK, CORSAIRE, GET UP HERE!"

The crew got themselves dressed and ferried in to the dinghies, paddling out to the docks as Dead and Buck cursed under their breath at the captain. Delmaria sat at the head of his boat, fiddling once again with the necklace as he stared out blankly in to the bay. Sierra, who was rowing right behind the captain, put her hand on his shoulder, startling him. "Captain, you okay?"

"Ah, erm, yes, Ms. Bringly. Keep rowing." Delmaria nodded spastically over his shoulder. His mind had been wandering since last night, and his sleep hadn't been very good, either. His mind was numb with questions to which he may never answer.

As the dinghy approached before the dock, Delmaria watched in concern was pirates poured off their ships to run down the dock, towards the beach. Delmaria stood up, planted his hands on the dock, and pushed himself upward, gathering himself and jogging with the array of pirates, leaving his crew behind, calling his name. He watched as buccaneers in rags and riches alike converged on the main dock, and throughout the beach, looking in at the random shouting coming from the center of attention. Darkskull easily helped himself on top of a crate, where he could peer over the heads of the practically hundreds of pirates clumped in to a single mass. Yet that wasn't even enough to give him a clear understanding of what was going on, so he got down from the box and began to roughly push his way through the crowd, swatting pirates left and right as he immersed farther and farther in to the chaos.

Darkskull finally reached the eye of the storm, where two small crews of pirates were face to face, staring each other down. On one side of the circle was Anne, backed by her large, lethal body guards, and the other, and motley crew of pirates, drapped in lightly tanned clothes, each with the insignia of a skull and crossbones over their hearts - messengers, no doubt.

The one at the front of the small crew, and skinny, tanned faced man yelled at Anne "I told you, I need to speak to the Brethren NO-"

"And I told YOU, I'm in charge around here! Now tell me what you need or get the hell outta my port!" Anne yelled back.

"Your port? Sweetheart, you're only here because of your NO-GOOD, DEAD husband!" he taunted back at her. Anne jumped at him, but two of the pirates standing behind her grabbed her arms, preventing her from moving forward. The crowd cheered and roared at the thought of a fight, as the other pirates tried to rouse Anne up for a fight. When the two sides calmed down, the man continued, "Either way, I want to speak to a member of the Court, "Your Majesty.""

"And for what reason?" Delmaria stepped out of the crowd, in to the center of the circle. He could feel the entire crowd staring at him in wonder, as Anne sighed in relief at the sight of him. He turned to the pirate messenger, staring at him in a questioning face.

"Who the hell are you?" The man gawked.

"Captain Delmaria Darkskull, you dog," he stepped forward a little, reaching his hand at the necklace, and pulling it up off his chest to show the pirate, "Pirate Lord of the Atlantic."

The entire crowd starting stammering, shrieking, and out crying in confusion and shock. Delmaria's crew, in shock, ran up behind him. "Captain, surely, yo-you can't be serious, aye?"

"Damn right I be serious." he whispered over his shoulder. He caught a glimpse at Anne, who was watching at him in completely surprise, her jaw practically on the ground. Delmaria turned back to the pirate messenger, waiting impatiently for an answer. "Well? Might as well tell me here and now."

Shaken, the messenger stepped forward, intimidated by the pirate lord. "It's.. erm..." he sighed. "It's Jolly Roger. We've gotten Brethren scouts that say they saw his fleet making a pass through the seas.. towards here."

Again, the crowd erupted in shrieks and fear. The townsfolk turned to one another, worry and concern in their voices and eyes as they gripped their families. Darkskull turned to the masses of people, trying to silence them. When he saw that his orders were failing, he grabbed his pistol, pointed it up in to the sky, and shot, a heavy plume of smoke rocketing out of it. The people that made up in the outer rim of the little circle crouched down in surprise, grabbing their ears with their hands. As the crowd quieted, Darkskull turned back to the pirate. "How long do we have?"

"3 days, sir." he affirmed. "3 days."

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

Comments? Reviews? Keep them coming, mates!

[The Stealthy Pirate]

Sigh... yet more suspense... But it is good, even if i skipped two pages and i didnt really know whats going on... Good Chapter mate!!

Any news on the certain stealthy cannoneer? just joking...

[Captain Del]

As I promised! Have a good time reading this, you readers of the world - I hope you enjoy it as much as I did! So, my mateys, I present to you:

The Shield

1

The scramble began only minutes after the news broke like a plague across the port. Pirates who lingered on the outer edges of the crowd were at the best advantage, sprinting up through the streets of the city, and flooding their homes, the stores, and the taverns, filling up on anything they ever might need. Any store that sold goods, whether it was sailing supplies or clothing, in the middle of the town square or on the remote outskirts was pillaged, plundered, and nearly massacred, leaving no stone unturned and no box unopened. Fights broke out in the streets as men and women scurried for anything they could scavenge from the litter than lined the dirt, French-styled quarters. It was although the invasion had already begun.

The cram out in the bay was much more of a scene. The Code was abandoned right on the spot - those who could get out to the bay first, could take any ship as they pleased. They crashed, squeezed, and rammed out of the end of the harbor, pouring out in to the open sea like a cloud of ash busting from a volcano. Those that were too slow watched as their glimmer of hope faded over the horizon, sobbing on the cold, wooden deck.

To some, escape was not found out on sea, but in the forests of Tortuga. Caravans off people, primarily gypsies who claimed they were “bound” to the island, packed their tings and trudged off in to the hilly jungles, off the beaten roads that cut through the vegetation. Delmaria talked with one man as he drifted his family towards the trees. “When Jolly Roger comes, there will be no way to hide from him,” he assured. “At least by hiding in the caves, it prolongs the affect for my children.”

It was the evening of the first day, the city finally beginning to slow down, as Delmaria walked through the streets to assess the pre-handed damage. His heavy black boots kicked up a little dirt, which was carried by the wind over the debris that lined the streets. Anything from large splinters of wood, bound in mounds, to shards of glass, to even fabrics and food was slowly decomposed by the townspeople who stayed behind, cleaning up the rubble. The stores and buildings that lined the main streets of the town suffered broken windows, torn-down structural posts of the balconies that sat over the mangled double doors, and even patches of burnt wood that littered the internal floors, walls, and furniture. Those store keepers that remained with the island mopped as they dragged their feet through what was once their store, struggling to keep from tears as they salvaged anything they could.

Delmaria saw the sights of Tortuga well in to the night. He continued his walk through the backstreets as the candles and lanterns around him were unlit for the night. For once, the town was quiet and calm, unlike the usual nights where brawls and near riots ran around the clock. The ringing of yells and gunshots was replaced by the chirping of crickets, whispering in the darkness. Delmaria recalled the last time the skies of Tortuga not being filled with fire and whimsy since a date only 10 years in the past, when the news a certain pirate captain had not only learned how to cheat death, but use it. Funny, the pirate thought, how only Jolly Roger had the power to quiet the masses.

Darkskull had finally slugged his way in a full circle through the streets and alley-ways, making it back to the main beach of the port through a little alleyway that poked between two buildings. He watched the sky as it traded its dark-blue hue for a reddish-purple, the day slowly beginning to warm. He took a huff, turning around and heading back down the alleyway, intending to march his way back to the Governor's Office.

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

"Keep them in the entrance; I'm not one to deal with any more at the moment!" Anne barked at her crew mate, who busted at the door to her Office. The small, shaken man nodded hurriedly and slammed the door, his footsteps pounding down the hall. Anne slammed her mug down on the paper-ridden desk as she paced back and forth behind it, her hand wiping back and forth on her forehead. She whipped around to face Delmaria, who stood before the table, planting her hands hard down upon it as to lean over. "And you honestly think I'll let your orders take precedent ov-"

"I have much more qualifications in such an encounter than you!" Delmaria stammered out in a quick tempo.

Anne matched his speed. "And what in God's name would that be!?"

"I have spent five years in the service of the British Royal Navy, four under the service of the French and two under the Spanish, as well as separate workings under various militias and crews across the Caribbean. I know the maneuvers, tactics, and skills of nearly every armada under the skies, and every trick the enemy might have up their sleeve I can weasel out before you can get your boots on. I'm beyond sure that those dates and time frames aren't right, but if you even know how to do simple addition and comprehension of the English language under that glazed uneducated top of yours you might just fathom I'm better in this position than you!"

"Oh, oh EXCUSE me Your Majesty, Your Eminence, Your GREATNESS! You think just because Miss O'Malley left you behind a shiny little trinket that all of a sudden you have a right to walk around high and mighty? As long as you walk around on my island, than you will serve under MY orders!"

Delmaria stood up straight, crossing his arms behind his back and walking a few steps back. "Perhaps that messenger was correct. Maybe you don't deserve your husband's Office."

The door to the room suddenly swung open, Delmaria turning around to see who it was. It was that same guard again, calling to Leanne "Enrique Heralds is here, he wants his damages reimbursed under claims th-"

"Tell him to suck it up like the rest of the people sitting in that room and LEAVE!" she pointed at the man commandingly, scaring him to close the door. She then turned her attention back to Delmaria, puffing angrily at him. "If you so much as mention him again I'll lay you out on the floor."

"Like it would be any better than this scrap of a rug I'm standing on. Either take my offer or my crew and I will be out of these waters as he watch Roger burn your pretty little mansion to the ground, amid the other buildings."

As Anne built herself up to respond, the door to her Officer swung open once again. "Damn it Perkins, open that door again and you'll be on the front lines, so help me!" Her shout made Perkins gasp in fear, slamming the door shut. "Do you see what I have to deal with? Tortuga is already tearing itself apart, and here you are trying to take control of any other resources we have left." She sighed as she walked to the back of the room, planting her back on it. The piles of gold that once sat there were now diminished to a small coating on the ground. "Yes, you’re looking at our remaining treasury right now." She commented.

Delmaria leaned over the desk. "Then let me handle the set up. If we leave all of this on you, then there’s no doubt in my mind we'll be serving Roger real soon."

Anne leaned her head back against the wall. "We have around three thousand left in the town, about a thousand of which are able-bodied men."

"Guns? Ammunition?"

"Twenty-seven muskets, a dozen bayonets, and thirty pistols, all nice and rusty. Close-combat is limited to a few dozen sabres and cutlasses, and maybe a few long swords and epees, if we're lucky. Maybe two rounds of ammunition for each gunner, and only a few powder crates and kegs left."

"We'll make due." Delmaria nodded, his eyes wandering as he rubbed his hands together. "Aye, we'll make due..."

2

As the second day rolled on, the sky became darker and darker, a bleak grey that coated the once marvelous skies of Tortuga. The streets that were once littered in aftershock of the riots, now clean, were draped in the mindset of desperation and hopelessness brought by the early warning signs of the battle to come. Still, none within the port dragged their feet, as they knew doing so would only lead to an eminent demise, either at the hands of Roger, or at the hands of Delmaria.

Throughout the night, the men and boys of the city had been organized in to a militia of minute-men, each with his own little piece of weaponry. Beyond the limited amounts of guns and swords they had, the women of the port rallied to find anything they could that could be used as a weapon. Some found themselves equipped with their father's rusted sword from days of long ago, while all others had to boast were household items; knives, woodcutter axes, logs of firewood, brooms, splintered pieces of furniture, shovels, and anything that could do even the slightest amount of damage were put to use.

Delmaria stood with his back against the stone wall that separated the main street of Tortuga, flat and clean, for the first time, from the main beach of the port, to which he looked out upon. As the shacks and stores that lined the edges of the mecca were torn apart for pieces of wood, a large group of men dug their shovels in to the ground just feet from where the waters ran up on the sand, creating massive holes in the earth. They all were unsure of how this would turn out as a finished product, but they did it nevertheless, and obediently. They eyed the pirates that Delmaria had stationed around the work sites - men of Anne's private army, who's weaponry were far superior than most of the people in the port. Darkskull had instructed them that any person who tried to go against his orders were shot once in the knee, once in the elbow, and then left on the dock for the crows to pick at. So far, the crows were hungry.

As he glared around at all the workers hurrying under the darkening sky, Delmaria felt a tap at his shoulder. He turned to his right, where Grace stood, hanging around the corner of the wall. "Captain, you best follow me. There's somebody that wants to talk to you."

Delmaria bit his lip as he took a glance back out to the beach, and then back to Grace. He seeped in a large breath of air, pushed his leaning body off the wall and rounded around Grace, down the street, as he commented, "This better be worth my time, Ms. Goldgull."

Grace picked up her pace to match Delmaria side-by-side, as they hurried down the bustling street. People of all sorts flooded in and out of every one of the French-Quarter buildings around them, throwing tables, chairs, barrels, and any sort of large objects out in to the street, where other pirates carried them to large piles along the street and throughout the smaller streets, to be used as blockades. They frequently bumped in to people as they swirled through the parted crowds, Grace trying to take the lead in front of Delmaria so she could direct him properly.

When the large fountain in the center of the town began to appear, Grace rushed forward in a bound, grabbing Delmaria's arm and then jerking him through a small stone archway that sat on the right side of the street, which wound up a long, grassy hill. They trugged up it, passing by a few small shacks, before winding around two quick, sharp turns, left, then right. They were met with a short span of ground, where another blockade was already in progress. To the left of them, a long, dimly-lit cobblestone path led through a small alleyway, and then attaching the two areas on either side of the main street via a wooden bridge that ran over the street, from a balcony of one building to another, and a wall of vegetation sitting at their right. Grace gripped Delmaria's arm tighter, running him straight around the blockade-in-progress, and through the alleyway, zooming past the shady brick buildings at their sides, and pounding across the bridge. As they walked over the path, Delmaria looked down to take a glance at the work that was being done below them, until he was finally draw across to the other side, and through another stone archway, leading in to "Old Tortuga."

Old Tortuga was, naturally, one of the older parts of the port. It was essentially a maze of small, walled-off corridors connecting to one another, where most of the "organized" exchange in the port took place. The first place they entered was simply a small patch of dirt with a few buildings on the outer rim, with chickens and a few pigs roaming around. They took to the right path of the corridor, leading them winding in and out of two more before they reached the one where the Faithful Bride was housed. Yet as Delmaria was hoping that was their destination, it was not, and he was looped right in front of it, to the exit that led down in to the Mystic's Quarters.

As they walked through the scented, damp surroundings yet again, Delmaria's mind quaked with the memories of when he found his daughter, disheveled and shaken. It made him not only concerned evermore, but angry and frustrated at all the mindless gypsies that danced around him, who let it happen to her. He was about ready to snap out at one of them, twisting his hands around their necks and silencing their voodoo hymns, when he was shoved forward. He looked in front of him, and there, before a small cart, was his daughter.

Without a word, Delmaria and Marina climbed in to the cart, as Grace hurried back to her post. The cloak closed behind him, as Delmaria took a seat on narrow cushioned couch that hugged the side of the cramped room. Delmaria looked around, the place littered with books, bottles, trinkets, and jars of all sorts of things, messed in the kind of way as though it were intentionally. Marina sat behind a small metal pot that was cooking over a small fire in the center of the structure, where, strangely, no smoke rose.

"I'm glad to see you're feeling better." Delmaria said softly and quietly.

"Well, Doctor Grogan sure can work wonders." she tried to say in a small, to lighten the mood. But she saw the lost, unanswered look on Delmaria's face, so she just went on. "You can feel it, can't you?"

"Feel what?" Delmaria asked, titling his head.

"That dark, strange presence, father. Every time Roger begins to show his face, such a rare occurrence as it is, this feeling comes over all of us. Gypsies, that is. And you., having encountered him more than most of us, must feel it to, by now, aye?"

"Aye...?"

"But this time is different. That feeling almost feels more... pungent, and raw? Yes?"

"Well.. I suppose.."

"Because Roger has become different, father." Delmaria froze with that comment for a moment. He turned his slinking head up to her, in a questioning face. She continued, "My studies here have given me a keen opportunity to learn everything I can about voodoo, father. There is a lot more depth to it that most portray it as - real voodoo, at least. Casting a simple wish takes well beyond ten minutes, to over a few hours, taking in to account the balances of nature, the strength of the.. oh, I won't go in to it."

"So what are you saying? The voodoo I have been around is untrue?"

"In most cases, yes. Tia D- Calypso, is a rare exception to the rule."

"Oh please, and you believe the rumor that became a goddess, too?"

"We're beyond my point. Voodoo used in combat, with pathetic mediums like dolls and staves, only realizes a small bit of its potential. We in the Quarters call it Pig Voodoo. Real voodoo, creating connections with the Lwa themselves, is a much better method. It does not allow you to control nature, as it does let you become one."

"And what does Roger have to do with this....?"

Marina stopped to collect her thoughts for a moment. "The afterlife is fed by the collecting of souls. With each being that dies, not only does the undead army become larger and stronger, but so does Jolly himself, in a sense. Some souls are worth more than others, as you may know. And enough souls, when collected, gives one the ability to.. well..." Marina looked back up to her father. "You'll understand when the time comes. Please, just be careful."

3

The chilling waters of the harbor clashed up in mighty waves as the fierce wind pushed against it. The wind flowed throughout the port from the bay, where it swayed trees, knocked over empty crates and hats, and froze the bones of the people who stood in there, waiting. The sky above was filled with dark storm clouds, but not the usual type of dark grey; these clouds were black, and a deep and dark one at that, as though the night sky had lost its stars. A shadow loomed over the port, as the eager soldiers rubbed their weapons, and their bodies.

At the beach, Delmaria stood at the highest point, at the very bow of the shipwreck where the shipwright was. It stuck out over the jagged rocks to which the waters blasted themselves to, splashing droplets all the way to, and over the pirate. He looked out over the looming, quiet bay, as the breaths of the people through the city stiffened. The dark of the night, a hopeless void that smothered all presences of peace, swallowed the port whole. Yet he stood tall, a bastion of light in this evil, not because he wanted to, but because he knew he had to - he was the light that embraced the weak, the arm that held the banner of victory, and the sword that would cut down the binds of tyranny. He, himself, was the shield, which no matter a force, swing, or blow, could ever be dented.

At his side, the young Libertist recruit Silfly sat, an old, rusted musket in hand. The boy had grown since Delmaria had last seen him, many moons ago, but he was still feeble and sharp in the senses. Even when Delmaria shifted his weight from one leg to another, you could feel the boy's eyes wander to make sure that everything was alright. "Are you sure you can handle the shot, Silfly?" Delmaria asked him, still looking out intently to the bay.

"Yes, Cap'n." Silfly assured, although it looked like he had doubted himself by the way he said it.

"Alright. You best not miss that shot, or else all our plans might as well be shot with that gun of yours."

Just as Silfly was trying to make the decision as whether to respond or not, another heavy gust of wind rocked the entire city. A few cries of woman and children rang out, but they were faint to the might gust. Delmaria gripped the ledge of the shipwright, trying to poke his view through the wind. He could not see it, but he could imagine the scene perfectly - the fleet of black, hidden ships cutting through the bay waters with ghostly precision, as they stalled a distance out from the port so that they could not be hit by musket fire. "Ready your aim, third pocket inward!" Delmaria shouted over the gusts, as Silfly eased the barrel over the edge. By the time the boy was ready, Delmaria could feel the animate skeletons plunging in to the deep, as their front lines trudged along the rocky, cool sea bed, approaching the beach. "You know when to shoot... not too early, not too late."

It was a tense moment of waiting, before Delmaria saw it. He saw the skin-peeled scalps of the walking-dead poke out of the quaking waters, their lifeless limbs slinking with them. Their bones were outlined with skin and mold, like half-decomposed, naked bodies rising out of their watery graves. The moans and groans of the army gained prevalence as more and more of them tranced above the surface. The one at their head carried itself on to the sand, it's empty eye sockets feeling the fear that emanated from the pirates before them. Darkskull prayed that they would not go in to early, despite what their fears told them, and sure enough, they did not. As the skeletons began to ferry out on to the sand in the dozens, Delmaria whispered, "Alright Silfly, do it." Darkskull braced himself, as he waited for the shot. He could see it unfold in his head - the fiery explosion ripping across the beach, decimating Jolly's earliest arrivals, and then the pirates storming in, and holding their lines. But, in place of the bullet shot, he heard nothing. "Silfly, do it!..... Silfly?"

Delmaria turned to expect to see the wary boy, but the sight was much worse. Delmaria faced the barrel of a gun shoved at his forehead, the gun holder shaking arrogantly behind it. "G-get UP!" Silfly shouted.

Delmaria rose to a standing position as did Silfly, his hands up to show an intendance of peace. "Why mate?... We had... The Brothers were hopeful for you."

"A-a-all the Libertists are are a bunch of reb-rebel dogs, that don't appreciate any work I did." Silfly looked as though he were on the verge of tears.

"Oh mate, is this about you no-"

"NO, IT'S NOT! SHUT UP!" Silfly barked. "Roger promised me so much more than they could ever... immortality, he promised me..." Silfly's head wandered, but he snapped back when he realized Delmaria might try to make a move. His face was overcome in a laugh, withering smile. "All I h-have to do is kill you, and I-I'll live, forever!"

"Well, mate, I guess I just-" Delmaria instantly took one of his hands and smacked the barrel of the musket upward, knocking it out of Silfly's hands, and then sliding down to the ground. It hit the tilted surface, and slipped downward, off the ledge, and then easing down the right side of the shipwright. As Silfly tried to understand what happened, Delmaria punched Silfly in the face, knocking him on to the ledge of the shipwright, leaving his head dangling. Darkskull gripped Silfly by the collar, and hissed at him "I'll show you, disrespectful.. Immortal my-!," and before he could finish the sentence, the lifted Silfly off the ground, and flipped him over the side of the shipwright, yelling as he plunged towards the rocks, where he hit a spike it a bone-crunching crunch.

Delmaria turned away from the sight before Silfly's body was swept away by the waves, and jumped down from the bow of the shipwright, juggling down as he crawled to the side of the shipwright, and sweeping the musket up. His legs, shaken by the pound of his feet hitting the wood, led him to the front of the shipwright, at the exit ramp closer to the waters. He watched in horror as the skeletons reaped upon the pirates, pushing up against the desperate soldiers as they attempted to devour them whole. Delmaria snapped the pistol in the direction of the mounds on the beach, and rocked the shot towards it.

Delmaria was shock waved backward at least a meter, landing on his back with a slam. He could see at the bottom of his vision the fireball of chaos rock upward, in to the sky, and outward, in to the bay, and out on to the beach. Delmaria knew sitting on a wood structure would burn him to a crisp, so he crawled off the ramp, and then sprinted straight up to an empty part of the stone wall, throwing himself against it, and putting his sleeved arms in front of his face. He could feel the overpowering heat push with force against his face, and his leather coat, giving it a light, stinging burn as it reeled back. As Delmaria could be certain the flames were not at his face, he turned around to assess the damage, but was met with an even worse sting.

Delmaria's body hit the grizzled sand, as he ran his hand on his cheek to feel the sting on his face. He looked up to an awful, terrifying sight. It was not a skeleton, but completely the opposite. Nevertheless, a terrifying sight.

Over him, stood a towering man, at least seven feet tall. His face was heavily tanned, drapped in a huge, frizzled mustache, which ran around the corners of his mouth, down to his chin. There, it dropped off in to a long, thick, frizzled beard, which reached down to the middle of his chest. His body was cloaked in a heavy leather coat, which was decorated in all sorts of military finery. His clothing was messy and tangled in all sorts of trinkets, shirts, and heavy metal belts, which might have weighted him down; if not for the fact he was burley. He had one heavy black boot, and where the other foot should have been, was a peg led. Atop his head, where his dread locks hung, was a large, brown admiral hat, with two playing cards hiding over the brim. But the most unmistakable of all features was his right hand, where instead of a hand, was a heavy assortment of weaponry, in a tremendous, horrific bundle. He smiled, revealing a mouth full of dirty teeth, and a single shining gold one, as he said in an intimidating, scratchy voice, "'Ello, Delmaria."

Delmaria was lost for words. "M-my God, it can't be..."

"Captain Roger Renveil, back in his own skin. Or, well," Roger looked down at his mechanical, gunned hand, chuckling a little in amusement. "....most of it."

"H-How?!" Delmaria shrieked in horror.

"Well, you see, Amo Dorsi was a powerful soul... But not such a smart one. He forgot to address the fact that harvesting the living is quite the.. medicine." he snickered.

"Yo... You kidnapped those people..."

"YES, I did!" He boomed in a laugh. "The assassinations, the invasions, they were all part of my plan. After all, why kill thousands, when you can just sacrifice a few more... valuables, yes? But alas, I can only go so far with this.... so I must find a new way. I will not go in to details, but, shall we strike a deal? You aid me in acquiring Anne Bonny, and I'll strike your name from the top of my list."

"NEVER!" Delmaria shouted. Roger swung his peg leg in a kick, smacking Darkskull in the stomach.

"If you wish. I would kill you now, but I'm to tend to much more important matters." Roger leaned over his shoulder, and shouted, "Crassus! Get over here, and finish the job for me."

Slowly, the sharp, evil figure rose from behind Roger, through smoke. He slowly drew a shining, spiraled rapier, a strip of silver on the thick black smokes, as he said in the same smooth voice, "Of course, my liege."

4

Their blades clicked with a sharp steel crash, clanking through the smoke-thickened beach as the pirates and skeletons skewn about gathered themselves. Crassus pressed his blade downward against Delmaria's, which he was using to block the sword as he laid on the ground. The pirate gave an upward push that thrusted Brone upwards, giving Darkskull enough time to kick his legs backward furiously against the dark, overturned sand. Crassus gripped his sword as it peaked in the sky, and plunged it nose-first downward, splicing in to the sand in between Delmaria's parted legs. Delmaria took his left foot and kicked the guard of the rapier, slanting Brone's body awkward as he held on to the now-slanted sword.

Delmaria scurried backward, tumbling a little, before reaching his feet. As Crassus struggled to pull up his sword, Delmaria looked at his surroundings. The entire beach was black, engulfed in smoke as it tainted the wooden structures, and the sand. Through pockets of air, Delmaria could see the dock being swallowed in flames, barbequing alive any poor soul that was on it. The fronts of the shipwright and the remains of the buildings around the beach were missing planks, replaced with pockets of fire. These small fires also danced around the beach, either burning on scraps of wood, or bodies that were too close to the explosion. He could not examine it all in detail, however, as his pursuer gained ground on him.

Crassus ran up and pointed his blade at Delmaria's neck, poised like a fence. Delmaria held his blade battle ready, not willing to show any remote sign of surrender. "Well, Delmaria, are you ready to die?"

"Ready, but not willing." Darkskull grunted, as he twisted his body to the left. Crassus thrusted his blade inward on the point only a second too slow, as Delmaria grounded his feet in the sand and flipped his blade around his turning body. His sword clicked against the undead mercenary’s rapier as he desperately shoved it behind his back to block the swing, while he caught himself against a rock next to the shipwright. He spun around, flailing the blade over his head like a matador’s cape, and then cutting it down to cut Delmaria. Yet the pirate lord caught the blow with his cutlass yet again, and cut the blade off to his side to slide it off.

Yet as Delmaria thrusted the blades away, he let grip of his sword, as did Crassus. The two swords stuck in to the ground away from them, leaving the two aggressors to face each other, unarmed. Delmaria took the opportunity to deliver a terrible punch right to a leaning Crassus. He aimed for the rib cage, but hit the left shoulder instead. Crassus responded by swinging his left arm in a weak blow to Delmaria's face, that reminded him of the sting of the flames. Delmaria instinctively corrected his jaw, and then rebuttled by bending down, scooping up a hand of burnt sand, and throwing it in to his opponent's face, blinding him.

As Crassus patted at his face to clear his vision, Delmaria gripped at the black bandana that sat atop the man’s head. Yet instead of getting a firm grasp, it pulled right off, revealing the top of his head. There, sat not hair, but the bare top of a skull, with a small piece of brain poking out through a small hole. As Delmaria cringed in disgust, Crassus raised his head, a maniacal, laughing smile on his face. He then mustered up a tremendous uppercut, which knocked Delmaria's unprepared chin.

Delmaria tumbled backward in pain, but managed to stay on his feet. He looked through his blurred eyes to see Crassus limp his way over to the two blades, the silver, spiraled rapier, and shining, gold cutlass, the rag still pinned around the handle. Delmaria trudged a few dramatic steps forward, before diving through the air, in an act to beat-out Crassus to the blades.

The pirate did, as he hoped, reached the target before his opponent, but in a surprising way. His dive brought him farther than expected, nailing his bodies directly in to the sides of the blades, and sending them with him. Delmaria felt the light cut of the blades' edges against his coat, but they were more of an annoyance than a being painful. As he landed down on the two prone swords, he scurried his hand wildly, to try and grab hold of a sword.

Crassus reached Delmaria in a rage, gripped his arm, and flipped him over so that he would lay on his back. As Delmaria was exposed, his right hand grabbed hold of Crassus's rapier. He drove the blade upward blindly, hoping to drive the point in to some part of Brone. His eyes shut, as he heard the shriek of pain ring through his ears. For the first time, gratefully, it was not his own. Delmaria reopened his eyes, to see the damage done.

Delmaria had hit the blade right in to Crassus's left eye (the one not with the patch over it.) He patted his hands at it quickly as he screamed, blood pouring down his face. Delmaria pulled back on the sword, sticking it in to the ground to push himself up. He giggled as Crassus hit the ground, still yelping. "Don't be such a baby about it, mate! Looks like you’re going to need another patch!" Delmaria taunted him.

5

Darkskull turned around the town walls that led from the beach, around the immediate blockade, and then sprinted down the Main Street. Around him, fires burned, bullets, shrapnel, and pieces of wood flew through the air, and bodies of both sides crunched against the floor. The Undead had been plowing their way through the town mercilessly, while the humans fought with all their will to push them back. Darkskull could see their vitality fading, but he urged them to continue the fight. All the while the battle swirled around him, near the blockades, through the streets, in the houses, and atop the balconies, all Delmaria was concerned about, was Anne.

As Delmaria neared the main square, where the fountain was, he was emerged in the greatest of the battles on Tortuga. The fight had resorted to one-on-one combat in this area, taking place on every square inch of open space. But he paid no attention to the crowd around him - instead, he focused what took place inside the base of the fountain. Roger had Anne gripped by the hair, as he barked at her in her face. The two of them were fighting with words, shouting back and forth. He could tell Anne was fearful, as that menacing gun-hand pocked at her side, but she wouldn't let it show - not in front of her people. Delmaria was the shield, but she was still the captain.

Delmaria barreled his way through the masses, to the foot of the fountain, where he jumped up on the edge, blade in hand. "Let her go, Roger!" she shouted in a deep, gargled, intimidating voice.

"WHERE IS THE MAP?" Roger shouted at her, paying no attention to Delmaria.

"DELMARIA, SHOOT ME!" Anne turned her head, shouting at Darkskull. "KILL ME, NOW!"

Delmaria was stunned, unsure of what to do. He could feel his left hand obediently reach for his gun, but he knew he could never pull the trigger. "Just give him what he wants, Anne! Just give it to him!"

"Damn it Delmaria, I CAN'T HOLD OUT! DO IT, NOW!" she shrieked. Against his will, Delmaria grabbed his pistol, whipped it out, and shot out. He did not hit Roger, as he wanted - he saw the blood flow down, in to the waters. Anne's body shivered down, in to the waters, as Renveil let go. He turned to Delmaria, staring at him.

"You'll pay for this... YOU'LL PAY!" Roger shouted. His feet stormed towards Delmaria in a march, splashing in to the waters. Delmaria gripped his cutlass tighter and tighter, before raising it up and, in a battle cry, baring it down on to Jolly. Yet right before the blade made contact, the undead warlord disappeared in to a plum of dark green, murky fog, before whipping past Delmaria. Darkskull turned to see the cloud speed through the streets, killing off any skeleton that it passed. As the undead fell, the townspeople of Tortuga cried out in victory, watching their enemies drop like flies. But Delmaria turned to a more urgent plan.

His body plopped next to Anne in the shallow fountain waters, picking her up in to his arms. As she bled, dying, before him, flashes of his memories appeared before him. He saw his wife, crying and sobbing, calling for his name. He gripped her tighter and tighter, telling her how much he loved her. But she couldn't hear him, drifting off in to the darkness, to never awake, to never hear her husband's woes.

"Delm...." Anne groaned in a weak voice.

"Why Anne.." Delmaria sobbed, tears streaking down his face. "I'M SORRY! Why must you die! WHY GOD, WHY!" he cried up, thrusting his head back.

"Ssh...." she whispered to him, quieting him. "Pad.. g-go to P-Padres.. Va-lentina..."

"What about her!? What did Roger want!?"

"The... Headstone.." Anne's body gave a final gasp of air, before peacefully slinking down, out of Delmaria's arms, in to the waters.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~``

The Headstone?! What the heck is a Headstone!?

I don't expect many of you to know what it was, because it's rarely remembered amongst us older pirates. If you want to know what exactly it was in game, then you can go right here (SPOILER WARNING!): http://www.piratesonlineforums.com/f...ad.php?t=12991

Be sure to review, mates! Thanks for reading!

[The Stealthy Pirate]

Great Chapter Del!!!

It was long, but great!
I do hope Crassus gets another eyepatch.

[Captain Del]

Big announcement, mates!

It is with a heavy heart that I must announce that the next two chapters of Those Condemned to Freedom, will be it's last. Our hero's current storyline coming to an end, and I want to make sure it ends as epically as ever. So, although it will be ending soon, count on the next and last chapter to be better than anything you've laid your eyes on on this thread!

Of course, don't worry! Once TCTF ends, I will begin work on a new piece of work! I won't go in to details, but I can say that, of course, Captain Delmaria Darkskull will be our hero once again!

Looking forward to the next few weeks - are you ready, mates?

[The Stealthy Pirate]

Anxiously anticapating... It will be good to start a new one Del, I have to agree with you there, but how are you gonna cram all the epicness in two chapters?

[Captain Del]

Originally Posted by Stealthy Cannoneer

Anxiously anticapating... It will be good to start a new one Del, I have to agree with you there, but how are you gonna cram all the epicness in two chapters?

Well, now you're asking a magician to reveal his secrets. Don't worry, I have plenty of tricks up my sleeve

[The Stealthy Pirate]

When I read the beginning of one of the sentences I was: I read the end: