Those Condemned to Freedom

[Captain Del]

And here we are, mates! Another chapter, just for you! Hopefully the title of this one sounds familiar...

And so, I present:

Those Condemned To Freedom

The Victory Shark rocked quietly back and forth against the light waves that corressed it, the calm breezes of the night shifting the masts between their forward position, and being craddled backwards. The stars were shrouded by a topping of clouds that stretched from every point on the horizon, sending from the heavans a measly rain that pattered against the solid wooden decks. A faint glimpse of the moon vibrated behind the layer, but it was not enough to match the thick shroud of darkness that consumed the abyss. It was as though the ship was the only existence on these waters, a lone planet in the blank coldness of space. The latterns that usually sat along the edge of the ship to keep the night alit were now submerged out, either drenched of their fires, or thrown over in to the deep seas that rocked below. The only form of light eminating was that of a group of well-lit latterns and candles, that shined through the light within the Captain's Quarters.

The crew was allowed in this part of a ship only because of the unfamiliar cold weather that plagued the crew's quarters, and because it was a common superstition amongst the crew that the night after a crew mate lives, their ghost wanders by their belongings, until they appropiately sent off on a piece of driftwood. They sat on rare, tattered cushions scattered on the floor, chairs, and even on Delmaria's hammock, eating their dinner - Delmaria didn't mind, as he was more concerned over what he was reading.

The Captain's eye's glazed hurriedly over the journal, his feet propped up against a few less-than-important-more-than-dire papers that were now crumpled on his desk, leaning back in nearly and fourty-five degree angle. He was reading over the research book that Wisdom was almost constantly writing in, tucking it away when anybody ever tried to see what he was writing. The arcane images and texts that he had been writing down were disturbing and confusing, but Delmaria got the general idea down.

Wisdom was studying the nature of the Caribbean, how "it's waters were more majestical, it's skies more wide, it's depth more undefined" than any other place on Earth. He somehow connected the features and wavelengths of each and every near organism and event in the the sea to a constantly shifting yet relatable pattern, each moving in a direct and indirect direction to another aspect. When a tree was planted, five ships would enter port in Tortuga. When a pirate was hung, two alligators died, and other nonconsistent mumbo-jumbo like that. Yet Wisdom somehow broke it all down to a unique yet recognizable science, which was connected to everything, but nothing in particular.

Cracking this code, in Wisdom's mind, would give one sole understanding and control over the Caribbean, and in return, ultimate power. Unfortunately, he would never live to see his goal of supreme dictatorship reached, and Darkskull could care less about how fascinating the "logorithms of crabs" were. But he saw this as more of look in to a being than an experiment.

In reality, Wisdom seemed to be consumed by wisdom, ironicly. He would allow himself to be consumed by facts and theorums, preventing his mind from wandering anywhere beyond the realm of the known. Was his mind so hungry of knowledge that it could only be satisfied by a lust for power?

After reaching in to about a third of the massive book, Delmaria swung the book upward, and let it fall on to his desk with a loud thud. The entire group reached up their heads in response, as Darkskull folded is hands in his lap. He tilted his head back and stared up to the wooden ceiling, like he was expecting it to say something. He took a deep sigh, and asked out to the crew "Do you know why I do this?"

Andrew, who was sitting with legs crossed on a little cushion in the corner of the room, huddled over a small bowl sitting in his lap, cautiously answered "Do... what?"

Delmaria stood up, picking the journal up off the desk, and walked around, craddled behind his back. "Why I'm one of you, of course."

They looked around, questioning each other with glances. Darkskull rounded to the front of his desk, and sat on it's front. He shook his head with a light smile, and continued.

"Freedom is sometimes never a choice, my friends. I wasn't brought here by dream, by rebellion, by philosophy - I was brought here by force. I run my life constantly moving, not able to plant roots or enjoy the simpler things of life. A family, a home, a..son....." his voice trailed off, but he refocused and forged on. "I'm here because I was jailed in to this lifestyle, and I was locked in with no key to help me out. Life has simply turned me in to the mouse, and society is the cat. I wander, I fight, I plunder - but for what? I always asked myself. But now I have realized, I do it for a purpose.

"I do it because what we were taught is wrong. That we must not lead ourselves to follow, that we are precious in our own hearts and minds alike! We are not born to be the pawns in a game of chess! We are here to live, to thrive, and to be different! We are those condemned to freedom, but this is the prison we are proud to serve in!"

The pirates sat in silence, awed by the presence and voice their captain beheld to himself. They were unsure whether to cheer uproariously, or nod in agreement.

But the eerie silence was ended when Lawrence hurried himself in, and slammed the door behind him, the wind outside now at full blast. His clothes were dripping wet as he splashed to the center of the room as quietly as possible. "Destination set, captain."

"Destination?" Delmaria questioned. "I never said to set out anywhere.."

"Well, you said we needed some new mates, aye?"

"Aye."

Lawrence grinned. "Then I know just the place!"

1

"Bloodied privateers!" Delmaria cried out angriedly as he fell to his knees on the sun-frenched dock, staring at the numerous battle-scars across his ship. "Why in God's creation were those light sloops made to carry such artilery! Unnatural, I say!" He stood up and started kicking the wood below him, throwing his hat in each direction - running after it, throwing it, repeat.

The rest of the crew hopped on to the small dock, the sun blazing at it's highest peak in the clear blue sky, pappable to the crystal waters that sat with no motion. It glistened quietly, as the long, narrow dock led as though it were a connection the bustle of the strange strip of land off at their side. It was a long, horizontal beach that slowly inclined up to a break of vegetation at the left end, where the hill began stepper, and then led off to a group of trees that extended over a cliff parallel to the beach, which ended it at it's way inward. Huge rocks sat at the base of the massive cliff, which bore small, ragged tents that took shade from the light above. Among the tents where small shops - a small, wooden, black hut that had long drapes of exotic, silken cloth over it's front, a rogue gypsy cart that sat amongst the waves of people that flooded the sand - even a gunsmith, his shop craftfully shaped in the form of the bow of a large war ship that had "rammed" itself to the lower end of the wall of stone, where the continuation of the hill connected itself to the overpass. The land curved up with the hill at the right, creating a small wall that was washed by the licking of the waters. A small mountain rose out from the sea to meet that small end, and with it, in it's front, sat a tavern, resembling well to the others of the Caribbean, just barely touching the edge.

Delmaria motioned Lawrence over to the shipwright, a bag of clanking gold coins jumping from the captain's hand to his mate's, as they stepped from the meager dock to the wet sand below. They could finally see the full length of the island - and a sight to behold, it was. Hundreds, perhaps thousands of people, cloaked in soot and rich fabric alike, scattered amongst the massive crowd that moved from tent to tent. Tongues of languages of new and old flooded the air, making but a usual buzzing sound, with a slight accent of flavor. When the cliff made it's final curve with the wrap of the island far at the left, a large, stable tower rose out of the ground, the triumphant monument of the glorious scene. It was tall yet fat, a few stories high, opening at the top to a small area, then topped with a thick roof grazed with enormous mounds of boxes and barrels, sacks and bags. At it's face, a long, swaying flag of blue, white and red shined like the crown jewel of the port.

"This is where we're supposed to get our new blood?" Grace's jaw dropped as she sighed, waving her brimmed hat in her face to cool herself off.

"What did you expect? We need a cannoneer, and what not a better place?" Darkskull pranced as he headed up the littlr incline, emersing himself in the crowd. As the people passed about him, he twirled himself slightly, breathing in the embrace of the familiar area around him. He felt as though he had shifted back in time, remembering the old times he spent along this same patch of gravel, and the seas around it. He brushed his upper right arm lightly, where, under heavy layers of leather and cloth, sat the smeared ink of a fleur-de-lis.

A loud shout, smothered by the overpowering roar of the day, rang out not to far from Delmaria - at the top of the hill, at the side of the tavern. A group of highly decorated privateers, drapped in light, sleeveless, tight blue clothes from head to toe pushed over a small, young looking fellow as he tumbled over down the hill. A girl, screaming, ran down after him, as the men threw down small objects at him, ranging from rocks to fragments of led, most likely from cannonballs. He rolled until he was nearly hidden by the crowd, his outline glistening by the feet of other people walking by, not giving a care to the dramas about them. As long as they were not involved, they would not get involved, they talked to themselves, staring as they passed the flowly forming pool of blood that ringed around the boy's face.

Darkskull, compelled, ran to the boy as the frenchies at the top of the hill continued to call names. He knelt by the side of the blood, who was lying face first, his arms propped in a praying, bridge like position under his head, gasping heavily. "You ok, mate?"

The boy just turned to him, his face streak red, dazed and confused. He rambled out a twisted and tough work of slips and slurks, speaking in French, no doubt. Delmaria shook his head no, as the girl ran furiously to his side, kneeling opposite Delmaria. She called in a light french accent, barely noticable - mixed with English, it sounded. She swatted little bands of hair out of her face as she gasped "Oh, my poor brother! Are you ok?"

"He's just winded, is all. He'll be fine." Delmaria assured as he tugged off his heavy, black leather coat.

"Oh, I hope so.." She flipped the boy on to his back, whipping blood away from his mouth with a small, pure white hankerchief.

"His name?" Delmaria questioned as he tucked his coat in a ball under the boy's head, to act as support. The girl was too flustered to pay attention - she turned to face the men at the top of the hill, and began screaming at them as she pounded her feet up the hill, swearing in all unmentionable terms and slangs. She took of her small, black feathered hat and threw it on the ground, almost in a challenging manner, as the boys just taunted her. Delmaria turned back to the boy, and pointed to the boy's chest, shaping his face in a questioning manner.

The boy turned up, and, between a gasp, said "Je... je suis... je suis Le... Le Corsaire!"

Delmaria was to respond, when a shriek came out from the direction where the girl was. The pirate turned to see one of the privateer's gripping his massive hand around her arm, tugging her in sporadic directions to shake her up. She was not scared nor intimadated, but only kicked at him, trying to make him let her go. Slowly, the other men came down the hill, preparing to encircle her.

In a fatherly instinctive motion, Delmaria stood up and ran up to the one gripping the girl by the arm. Before he could turn to face him, a large, stern, tanned first crunched against his cheek, knocking him off of the girl, and away from him. Darkskull continued forward, sending another punch to the ribcage, bending the man over in a gasp of lost wind. He gripped on to the back of his head, pulled it up, and slammed the privateer's face directly in to his knee, tossing him away like garbage. When another tried to approach him in rebuttle, he simply slapped him in a mocking way across the face, then kicking him in to chest, away from him. As the others became interested, Delmaria whipped out his golden, shining cutlass, immediately turning them away.

"How dare you!" Delmaria shouted, almost disappointed. The others saw it as a challenge, but the captain elaborated. "To take advantage of a brother and sister of your native blood, and for what? Have you no shame! We are all equal, and you above known should know that! A disgrace to freedom is as free as you'll ever be!"

The privateers looked disgusted, and Delmaria jumped forward tauntingly, startling them backward. "You make my spine shiver, to think that I have to share these seas with the arrogant, otherly-loathing likes of you! If it weren't for my honor...." Darkskull was caught offguard by John, who clamped his hand on the pirate's shoulder from behind. He directed the captain's attention to the boy and girl, who were being helped up by the rest of the crew; that, and the circle of attention that had formed around him. Eeriely, it was quiet.

2

"I must thank you again.. you, have no idea..." the girl thanked over again and again, her hands rubbing against the wooden bar table. They sat in the middle of the French tavern, darkly and medievally lit and decored, although the setup was similar to that of the usual complex - circle of tables, unorganized, unassigned chairs, stools, and benches, random bottles and jars laying in every inch of movement, and a heavily packed bar at the back, with a long overhang of various cargoes of liquiors, meats, and grains tied and bound orderly. People flooded through the bar, much like outside, only cramped to a small quarter area.

"It's fine.. the buggers deserved it." Delmaria sipped an extraordinarily strong bottle of wine, more than likely spiked by the bartender, who Delmaria believed to be scoping him out "because of his devil-like looks."

The girl smirked, a little laugh, and said "I apologize," she reached out a hand. "Sierra, is my name. And my brother," she motioned to the man, heavily leaning over a bottle, his head tilted down to ignore contact, "his name is Adrien - but, he prefers Le Corsaire Francias."

"The kind of a blind patriot, I see. Not much of a talker?"

"Nah, he's much of one - he just needs to be opened up, get to know you. Plus, he understands little English."

"I assure you, I understand little English as well under certain conditions of intoxication."

She huffed. "Funny. What brings a pirate like you to the Rough Waters?"

"We've recently undergone a recent... change. We're missing two crew mates, due to them.. dropping out. And it seems, we'll be needing two more..."

She picked up the hint easily. "Well, I'm not sure... you see... I come here to raise my money, aye? My brother and I, we have no place to go - as do many of here, sharing the same situation. Many think that living the life of a privateer is glamorous, adventurous.... but all we know is fear. Constant fear, death, and sorrows. Not a day goes by we do not give our grace, pray that we were not left out on the waters which we sail every, single, day."

Delmaria hushed her, an understanding nod. "Which is why I'm here. I can be your messiah, my friemd."

"Blasphemy!" A booming, heavy accent screamed from behind. Delmaria turned to face the murky, overpowering stench of cologne, that smelled more like perfum than anything else. A stingy, heavily maked-up face stared down at him, the face pale white, with roses of red and blue showing out lightly in the cheeks and around the eyes. His long, pointed nose looked as though it was accusing you, but his red, curly hair contradicted that, more like a clowns wig than actual hair. "Ah.. so it was true!"

Delmaria stood up, giving a humorous bow as the rest of the tavern went quiet, hanging their heads in solemn, nearly forced respect. "Good evening Senorita Porc. And you are?"

The lord glared, but shrugged off the comment. "You know well not to come here anymore! Not after.."

"Your treason? Yes, I know of your tyranical, traitorious ways."

"SILENCE!" He snapped at him. "If you come here, you have come to repay your debt, NOT to take more of my followers."

"You mean slaves?"

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

Well, that's it for now. I'll cut it off nice and abrupt - let your imagination take over for now

[swordshot]

i was scanning through your work and i did see the word rum. but no james drinking rum xD great stories, del

[Crestshot]

Okay Del. I just have to say, all that stuff on the French island was HILARIOUS. And the fatherly character you give... well, Del, is really great. You can't leave it to my imagination right there mate. It's rude, I need more! Haha. Brilliant, per usual mate.

[Captain Del]

The Blood of Their Brothers

The light broke up slowly over the windowsill, as the early morning humidity seeped in through the small window that faced out towards the ocean, nearly touching the height of the two story room. It was relatively dark, only lit by three small windows high off the ground, far out of arm's length. The room was long, not wide, a stone, bricked floor lying across, the walls made of heavy, thick, wood planks that ran up vertically in a single stride. A lone door sat on the right wall, up at the front, locked from the outside. Only a little, terribly creaky bed and a French flag decorated the room, both sitting on the left wall, where the side shined in, with a mirror sitting on the short, front wall. The waves crashed violently outside by the sporadic crashing sounds from the nearby cliff, so much so that some managed to hop over the railing, to the side of the building where the room was.

Delmaria stood staring in to the window, as he buttoned the royal blue sack vest, button by golden button. The outfit he wore was lavish - at his head, a blue feathered hat, rimmed around the side by a thin golden outlining. A linen, ocean blue long-sleeved shirt sat underneath the beautiful vest, cutting down in to a deep-V, and then parting off at the bottom, just at the mid-thigh. Gold buttons ran down it up until below the groin, with a rich yellowish-gold sash tying around the waste, and then hanging down at the side. His pants were a dark blue, tight and linen, with a thin gold streak running down the side. The feet were covered by a blackish-blue pair of boots, with little silver cotton balls at the side and front to add a little effect. Delmaria smirked at himself as he fixed the last button, and then walked back over to the bed, where the final piece laid. It was a long, heavy, leather, blue coat, with silver buttons running down the side. Picking it up reminded Delmaria of lost memories, as he rubbed his right arm, where a fleur-de-lis sat.

Delmaria was a privateer in his young adulthood, after recently travelling to the Caribbean. After voyaging from Padres as a stowaway aboard a grain ship heading to Port Royal, Delmaria found himself with barely any food, gold, or other necessities. Meeting up with Nelson in the Rowdy Rooster, who would develop to become a long time friend of his, he was redirected the the newly founded French station of Ile D'Etable de Porc.

Upon arriving, Delmaria was instantly welcomed to by the little-known Pirate Lord known as Pierre le Porc. Delmaria was trained like the best, to become the best - everything he learned about the seas, he learned from Porc himself, alongside a few of his finest captains.

With their help, Darkskull rose quickly through the abstract ranks of sailing notoriety, until he became one of the most revered privateers to sail under the French flag. He grew to claim so many ships and crew men in his own personal fleet; he began to challenge the presence of Porc himself. And that, did not please the Pirate Lord.

Porc began to try and smother Darkskull, knowing that allowing his command to grow further would cause for a possible break-away from the French, leaving Porc subject to a final, lethal blow from the Spaniards. Slowly but surely, Delmaria was being disabled by his own benefactor, first being cut off from vital ammunition supplies, then crew, and even ships themselves. Seeing as to what was going on, Delmaria forged up his crew right before a deciding battle that might have just wiped out Avaricia, and instead, led a surprise attack against the French island, ironically ramming the bow of his ship in to the middle of a crowded area on the island (which is still jammed there today.) Within a matter of hours, Darkskull's crew had managed to break down an entire mecca of stores and buildings that had built themselves on the island, thriving under the prosperity of the island at the time. However, as Delmaria led his final assault on Porc himself, he and his crew were fired on by the remaining amount of loyal privateers, despite the definition in the Pirate's Code.

Porc received criticism from his fellow Pirate Lords for going against the Pirate Code, and was even stabbed in the hand by Captain Teague with a dining knife during a meeting at Shipwreck Cove. However, he simply denied his wrong-doing, on the grounds that "Privateers did not have to follow a code outlined for Pirates." By the end of the battle, a majority of the privateers, and the island's population, had been slaughtered, causing unreversable damage to the island, and thusly resulting in the state it is today. Only recently had merchants begun to return to the island, with specific orders by Porc to not remove the bow of the War Frigate, to keep it "as a beacon of victory over the wicked!"

However, it didn't stop there. Delmaria was condemned to death by Porc for treason, but was freed by an underground radicalist group known as the Libertists, for his actions against "one of the many tyrants of the Caribbean" (Delmaria would later become one of the higher members within the Libertists, now slowly attempting to get his crew involved in the secret organization.) Porc slowly began to shape his privateer force in to less of a mercenary group, and more in to a dictator-run militaristic city-state, with him as the sole "King." Delmaria has made few visits to the island since his outlawing, but when he did, they were mainly on undercover work within the complex systems of the island.

As Delmaria tugged the coat on, one of the guards busted through the locked door. "Porc is waiting."

1

The wind blew strongly as the fierce waves below crashed more and more. The skies were still clear from the day before, with the addition of a few minor clouds here and there. Armadas of ships raised their blue, red, and white flags, embellished with their own unique crest to symbolize their unity, yet individuality. Thousands of privateers moved through the maze of tents that lined the long beach below, the sun peaking over the horizon out across the bay. They all seemed to be a single body, dressed in the same strong, heavy blue color, moving all which ways like the swaying waves of the ocean. They efforted to mobilize quickly, crowding ammunition stores to ferry boxes over to the readying War Ships.

Delmaria was escorted up a ramp-like rope bridge to a covered, wooden platform, the deck area of the building he was previously in. A desk sat across him, with a man in a long, blue coat leaning over the far railing, long out over the bustling port. His red hair swifted a little as he turned to face the pirate, and he smiled, triumphantly, seeing his oldest enemy bound in chains, wearing his army's uniform. He shifted back and forth as he slowly walked over, motioning his guards to leave them in peace. His make-up was more prominent this morning; Darkskull struggled to hold back his laughter, as the pirate lord said, "Ah, if it is not Delmaria Darkskull. Good to be back in the place you belong, is it not?"

"I assure you, it's not as thrilling as you intended." Delmaria commented as he walked forward with his enemy to the far railing.

"Look at this," Porc motioned his hand outward. "You could not have chosen a better time to drop in, no? We are once again on the verge of victory over the Spanish, the day I have long waited for! And how appropriate you will get me there, hah! I swear, my comrade, history only chooses to repeat itself.. but today, I will be history's author!"

"You keep telling yourself that. You fuel your little imagination on the suffer of other people. Within time, they'll figure your little game out. And by that time, you'll be back where you belong - beneath my feet."

"Well, Mr. Darkskull, that's where our paths end to intersect,. You see, today, I have planned many things... but it would be so unfortunate if your ship was just chosen to head out against the Spanish... along the front lines? And if it just so happened a rogue bullet, of friendly fire, mind you, poked through your neck, right..." he pointed a bony finger at the jugular of the pirate's neck. "..there. Yes, so unfortunate, it would be."

"Don't get your hopes up. I've cheated death plenty of times, and I highly doubt Death has worse aim than one of your little cronies."

Suddenly, a massive migraine shot through Delmaria's head. He collapsed to the ground, his chained hands gripping around his head. As he writhed in pain, flopping back and forth on the floor, his vision flashed wildly before him, in quick, bright lights. He heard shouts, screams... fire. He looked in to the cold stare of Death, and was pushed back before they touched.

His eyesight cleared up, the Pirate Lord standing over the pirate, taunting him and calling him names. Delmaria was overcome by a sudden urgency, as a great gust of wind blew out across the island. In act of desperation, he rocketed his leg upward, slamming it in to the groin of Porc. As the man fell to the ground, Darkskull struggled to his feet, and sprinted across the platform, down the ramp, and on to the soft grass before it.

Instantly, a roar ripped across from behind, so extensively loud and crushing it deafened any sense of sound Delmaria had. He spun around, still lying on the ground, to see a flurry of cannonballs rip through the tower he just stood on, splitting the wood banisters and walls that supported the structure. In seconds, the majority of it was reduced to splinters, toppling over in the opposite direction from Delmaria in a heavy swoop. He sat there in his own world for a moment, quietly staring at the pile. At last, he was dead.

He turned his attention out to the bay, where the lead came from. A group of the awfully familiar black, tattered, skeleton-like ships lined the waters, pumping round after merciless round in to the island. Darkskull crawled over towards the cliff were the waves carried by the wind sprayed in his face, lying down still giving him a vantage point past the rubble of the tower, to the beach.

The crowds ran amuck as the cannon fire poured down, bringing death and destruction against the tent cities that had been set up. Pockets of fire tore through every fragment of cloth, metal, and anything flammable as people tried to break through the crowds, to some form of protection up in the hills, or in the bay. Men, women, and children alike fell over, either crushed by the cannonballs, or trampled by the stampede of people. Smoke flew across the island, blurring his vision far off.

A deep hand wrapped around his arm from behind, dragging him away from his spot, towards a little area off at the side of the island, between the end of the hills, which dropped off in a rounded cliff, and the edge of the island, creating a narrow way to the back of the island. He bumped and rocked over the dirt and grass of the island as the sounds of terror in the port faded, finally rounding the rock, to a small crevice between the edge and a boulder. He laid his back against the wall, and looked up to meet Lawrence, who was working at cutting the chains with his dagger. "What in God's name is going on!?"

"Ssshh...." he whispered as he finally cut through the chains, pulling Delmaria up to a standing position. He continued as Delmaria tugged the ridiculously heavy coat off. "Roger... he's attacking the island. By the looks of it, it's not just a usual attack... he's getting closer, meaning he's going to attempt to invade."

Delmaria sighed heavily, putting his hands in his face, and rubbing. "Are all the survivors on higher ground?"

"Aye."

"How much time do you think we have before they decide to land?"

"An hour at most."

"We'll work with it." Delmaria commanded as he rounded back around the cliff, heading up through the front.

2

The survivors all sat down huddled in to little balls across the extent of the elevated, grassed area, covered with a luscious rooftop of trees, providing shade. They cried and screamed, thousands of people huddled in to such a limited length. They leaned of each other, rocking back and forth, crying, sobbing, coughing, screaming in outright grief and despair. Soot covered their faces, their clothes drenched in water, sweat, and blood. The blood of their brothers.

Delmaria, Lawrence, and John carried a large crate to the center of the plateau, in a little opening between a few of the people. As they laid down the box, Delmaria caught the eye of a small child. He huddled alone, with a small sailor doll clutched to his chest, soot across his face. He looked up at the fearsome pirate, and talked in French to the man. Delmaria couldn't decipher it, but he made out one word - mother.

Darkskull stepped up on to the soapbox and shouted, trying to get their attention. When they didn't respond, he sighed, and whipped out his pistol, shooting it up in the air. They immediately snapped to attention, fear residing in the sound of another gunshot. He cleared his throat as the masses turned to him. "That's better. Who were can speak English?" Delmaria questioned. The majority of the people raised their hands, wearily. "Good enough.

"My friends. We sit here today, concerned, scared. In fear. And for what? Are we simply going to sit here, and allow them to come to us without resisting? Shall we just condemn ourselves to death now, and save them the trouble? Shall we let them come and take our children, our women, our valuables, and our lives? Our shall we take a stand?

"I, for one, refuse to die without a fight. I have lived too long to go down in vein! I will not sit here, and let you all perish at the hands of them!" He motioned outward towards the sea. Slowly, they began to nod, murmur agreements, and wipe their eyes dry. "We will leave this day today, not in a box, but on our feet! And we will walk across through the shadow of the valley of death, we will look the Devil himself in the eye, and we, will, LAUGH!" Delmaria shouted in a crescendo. A few men in the crowd stood up, yelling excitedly, willing to fight.

"We will slay those that wish to destroy our way of life, for they underestimate what it truly means to be free! We will no longer have to live in fear, unsure that we can not take a punch and deliver one back! We will make our stand today, and we will leave precedent our children, our children's children, and generations to come, showing them what it means to be unbound!"

The crowd instantly began to erupt, in a scream of challenging and triumphant roars and cries. They stood, jumped, and raised their arms as one, willing to take the fight to the aggressors. They rallied behind Delmaria, sending waves, nods, and other good gestures in his direction. "Good," he whispered to himself. "Now we're getting somewhere."

3

Within minutes, the elevated forest area of the island had been transformed in to a bustling hub, groups of ready-and-rough pirates and privateers running back and forth with anything that could be useful. A small tent had been furbished at the center, where the box Delmaria stood on had originally stood, now acting as the center of the revolution. A desk salvaged from the wreckage of the tower laid out an old map of the entire island, showing each and every feature, bend, curve, and structure. The table was surrounded by Delmaria, Lawrence, Andrew, John, and a few of Porc's former captains.

Delmaria pointed down to an area on the map, near the rising of the hill. "Set up a barricade that runs out from the brink of the hill, across to the tavern. Be sure to reinforce the area closest to the hill, so they can't climb up. Run a couple of gunpowder barrels embedded inside the length of the barricade, and take any of the alcohol you can salvage from the tavern, and stock it up next to the fireplace in a nice, big pile. We'll need somebody to stand at a distance from the tavern, with a musket. When I give the signal, that person will shoot in to the tavern, and in to the bottom barrel of the pile. If it goes as planned, the explosion caused by the bullet, mixed with the pile collapsing in to the fire, will cause a big enough explosion that ignites the rest of the barricade, causing a string of parallel explosions that will easily knock out the first dozen lines, and probably more, if he brings along his Keg runners."

"I'll be the shooter." Lawrence steps up, without a flinch. The crew looks at him, unsure if he is bluffing.

Delmaria turns to him. "Lawrence.. are you..."

"Captain. I was raised on this island. I'm prepared to die on it."

Delmaria nodded, motioning a nearby man to throw Lawrence over a musket. As he captures the glistening gun in his hands, he runs off, giving a nod to his captain.

"Alright. I want a row of sharpshooters here, here, and here. We'll line up our combatants behind the barricade, and they'll play cat and mouse until the undead can create a thick enough of a line that we can do some serious damage. Also, keep some gunpowder storage along the edge of the cliffs, in case they get.... ferocious."

"And if we fail?" One of the captains muttered.

"We won't."

4

The sky blackened overhead as the final crates were thrown on to the hill barricade, the wind kicking up high the waves, some five meters up on to the beach. The clouds swirled overhead ominously, the trees rocking violently back and forth, as the masses of makeshift soldiers readied themselves in their assigned positions. Groups of men lined behind the barricade, wielding weaponry from cutlasses, to shovels, to broadswords, to brooms. Along the sloping edges of the grassy cliff, the lesser of the fighters sat their quietly with guns in their laps, fiddling with how exactly they could pull the trigger. Andrew, who was leading that group, kicked one of them, who was prepared to shoot themselves in the leg.

Off in the distance on an adjacent cliff, far behind the tavern, Lawrence sat their quietly, and alone. He meditated there, looking back on his life. He wondered to himself if it was worth living, and what his impact would be on the world. He was determined that if could not have done something monumental in the past, he would do it here.

Delmaria stood under his tent, along, running his hand over the blade of his golden cutlass. He sighed heavily, taking in the world. The heavy shifting of the trees, the glazing of the wind, the crashing of the trees, the obedience of his new army. He reflected not only on the moment, but on himself. Was he prepared to do this? Was he ready?

Delmaria tugged on his usual black leather coat, slipping his hand comfortably in to his pocket. Yet, he felt something. It wasn't gold, it wasn't a trinket, but it was.. something. He pulled it out slowly, and looked over the old pair of rosary beads. The same rosaries that woman had left behind during the attack on Port Royal. He clenched them in his fist, and kissed his hand, placing it back delicately in to his pocket. He immediately swooped up his cutlass, and ran to his men.

"Get ready me hearties! Today be the day that we show the world what we are - free!" The word gave them another strong, prominent rally cry, waving their weapons above their heads. But they were silenced by the crack off lightning on the horizon. Delmaria turned to see that eerie green fog roll in to the harbor. It was time.

The Undead stormed up the beach heavily, and quickly. Dozens, then hundreds swarmed up to the barricade, as the sharpshooters on the cliff fired down one by one at the invaders. They were picked off, but it wasn't enough to slow the process of the gruesome creatures that trenched up the beach. They moved across from both sides of the shipwright building, which was now set aflame by a few skeletons who carried along with them a few pieces of witchcraft.

The first direct blow was laid on a skeleton as he approached the barricade. This initiated the outbreak of war, both sides swarming from different sides of the barricade to take a knock at each other. They ducked, dodged, jumped, and lunged, trying to swing their way in to the enemy. The humans were far more resilient than the skeletons - but the skeletons had numbers.

They came again and again. When one fell, two rose out of the waters. They had flocked the entire side of the beach, pushing with a great, sweeping motion to try and break through the barricade. Delmaria ran up to the top of the hill, and screamed out "LAWRENCE, SHOOT!", right as the barricade toppled over.

Prince readied his gun as he watched the hundreds of undead pour on to the humans, mixing the battle in to a soup of violence and war. He pointed his gun straight down, a clear shot through the open back door, at the bottom barrel of the tavern pile. As he clicked the trigger, he realized that the gun was jammed. A no go.

It took him no time, no hesitation. Prince immediately stood up and ran in the direction he faced, down the slight slope, towards the tavern. Delmaria, who fought off a rogue skeleton as he scanned for Lawrence, saw his first mate dash in to the tavern. "No..." he whispered.

Lawrence slid to the base of the pile, and began to push with all his might. But the weight was far too overwhelming for him, and he rocked back in to a sitting position. He turned to a loud banging noise at the front of the tavern; the undead were attempting to bust down the door.

Prince jumped up, and walked casually over to the bar. He took a deep swig of a bottle of rum that layed out on the counter, taking a heavy breath. He turned around, the bottle in his hand. And faced the door. He took a final gasp of air, and let it out with a smile, as the skeletons burst through the door. As he looked in their eyes, he smiled, and said "Go back to hell, you dog." He took up the rum bottle in his hand, and threw it out, across the room - in to the fireplace.

Delmaria fell back on to his back as the initial explosion rocked. All he saw was a fireball rocket in to the sky, followed by a string of rapid, strong explosions that ran across the barricade. Fire and shrapnel ran widely, scattering across the entire battlefield. Screams of terror and pain rang out through the island, but to the humans, this was good - they were coming from the undead.

It was a sight to see. Thousands of bags of bones, screaming, running, writhing in pain, set aflame by the explosion. Some slanked to the floor in a heap, others tried to kill themselves with their weapons. And the rest, ran back, back across the hill, the beach, the sand, to the ocean.

They had won.

The pirates threw up all they had, screaming and crying in joy, dancing over the destruction and rubble. Husbands hugged their wives, mothers hugged their sons, brothers embraced their brothers. For the first time of that day, there was a new hope - a hope of freedom, not from government, not from dictators, or tyrants, but a freedom from fear. They reveled, not caring what the future held for them. All they knew is that they survived, and that the future was bright.

Delmaria paid no attention to the celebration - he ran to the fiery remains if the tavern, a simple pile of ash and rubble set at a blaze. He threw away whatever he could - tables, scraps, chairs, anything that could be moved. He went in to the middle of the chaos, searching wildly. This victory to them would be a loss to him.

Finally, he gave up. He feel back on to his heels, his head down. He took off his hat, and laid it down on the floor in front of him. As he fought back his tears, he pulled out the rosaries from his pocket, and put them out before his hat. He took a deep sigh, and questioned not God, but himself. Why had he let this happen?

And then, a tap. A tap on the shoulder. Delmaria turned slowly and reluctantly, to a bruised, burnt, soot-covered face. "Captain, did you honestly doubt my speed?"

And that was the one time Delmaria Darkskull cried in front of somebody. His first mate.

[SEAKING23]

nice!! love your story mate!

[Captain Del]

Thank you SEAKING! Glad to see more readers are becoming interested in my story!

This one was a little late in terms of my pattern of posting chapters, but I believe the length will make up for it. So, without further adue, I present to my readers...

Under Their Noses

The waves rocked along the tanned shore quietly, uncurling the sand grains nestled in the beach, and slowly unwinding them to the seas. The sun delicately rose over the gleaming horizon, in between the far out rocks that scattered themselves across one's vision. The orange, blue, red, and purple pigments swirled around in the sky, creating a breathtaking painting-like view that captured the soul of a being. It was quiet, like that like before it begins to snow, graceful, peaceful - eerie, almost. The island was bare - the tents, gone or left behind, the shops, boarded or burned, and the bay, free from any ships, aside from the Victory Shark, and a single vessel that slowly made its way out, away from the desolated space of land.

Delmaria walked along the beach of the island, from the hill, down across to the shipwright, letting the little waves ripple against his feet. Off in the distance, he stood and stared at the burnt pile of rubble, still steaming a little from the events of the night before.

After the celebration of their victory over the invaders, the privateers went mad, pillaging, plundering, and burning anything they could get their hands on. A few of the remaining French Officers tried to hold them off from breaking the island in to chaos again, but they were easily overpowered by the masses of freebooters. They grabbed any piece of French symbols they could find, from flags, to paintings, to even jewelry, and tossed them on top of the pile of wood that was once Porc's beacon of "justice." They then created a massive bonfire out of it, before gathering their personal affects and fleeing the island in sprees.

Delmaria easily trotted up to the pile of wood, his royal blue, embellished tunic still floating in the wind (he believed that if he was given it, he would keep it.) It was beholding, standing before the former stronghold of one of the greatest centralized forces in the Caribbean. He walked forward, stepping over the little fence-like burnt area of wood, in to the actual site. The cooled embers and splinters crunched before his feet, as he climbed plank over plank to look further in to the wreckage. He had his sights on one item, solemnly determined that it was still there, despite the destruction. And sure enough, as he pulled over the base of a destroyed crate, it was there.

A little, alabaster box sat tilted over on the floor, smoked lightly by the fires that were doused with the rain earlier that night. It was very small, palm sized, but so beautiful carved and textured, that it had no bumps or blemishes. Delmaria scooped it up, and carefully opening it, revealing gold, shimmering ring. It had a simple, gold band, but was topped at the top with a craftful, amazing gemstone. It was a star sapphire, crafted by the mystical powers of the Earth to a bare a deep violet base, with a white, five-point star reaching out over it. Delmaria slipped the ring on to his finger, and nodded quietly, gripping his hand.

The ring was stolen from him by Porc far back during his rebellion against the Pirate Lord, and since was a prized possession of his, often flaunting it at any prospecting privateer who wanted to join his ranks. Delmaria smiled as he felt it on his hand. He turned, and walked paced back to the Shark, eager to reach his next destination, still fiddling with the ring.

He boarded his ship in an eager swiftness, the rest of the crew lousily making the knots in the ropes as they prepared to launch off in whatever direction. Lawrence tranced down from the second deck to his Captain, who shifted his way to the center of the main deck, around the crew. "Seas are open, captain. Guess all of them got scared out. Winds are good, too."

"Excellent. Preload all the cannons and set course due South-southwest. We might just hit up a few ships along the way."

As the crew ran off in their separate directions, Darkskull took one more look at the ring. Eccentric as it was, it was special to Delmaria. It had belonged to his wife.

1

The sun slowly began to ascend back up across the horizon, the glistening on the water strengthening to create a mystifying entrancement that glazed the eyes of the travelers that lined the large stone dock. A magical blanket of the clear blue sky created a free, limitless atmosphere, until one turned their attention to the sight before them. A thick, large stone dock rose steadily, then faster to the base of a great, massive set of walls leading off in both directions, fading as they cut off around a corner a little less than a kilometer away. The sight was amazing, to think that a man-made structure could be made at such a stature. At the end of the dock was a high, arching stone gate, that led off in to the entrance of the fortified island. Travelers, commoners, and elegantly dressed folk alike bustled up and down the dock, shifting in to and out of the entrance.

On a straightaway along the great stone dock, before the faster incline yet after the steady one, a pile of boxes layed next to the barely unprotected edge of the walkway. At the side of the pile, that faced towards the island, Delmaria stood, his heavy, black brimmed hat lowered to shield his eyes from anybody who tried to meet them. He watched the crowds go by, staring down at their feet. He didn't look, but observed, watching and waiting, cautious yet patience and quiet. He didn't shift or move, until the clank of Navy boots marching in sequence passed by him. As the group of six soldiers, lined in two rows of three walked by, their bayonets pointed in to the air, Delmaria slowly merged in to the crowd only a meter behind them, continuing quietly as though to blend in with the crowd.

When he passed under the daunting shadow of the gate, stepping out on to the short, fuzzy, firm grass below his boots, he paraded past them, now quickly pacing through the crowds, whom were lighter here than on the dock. He watched off his left, gazing over the outline of houses and shops that lined far off in the distance along the great wall, the center area cleared to allow for an expansive place for training, where the public could gaze as they went about their daily activities. A small group had formed near a formation of a few soldiers, who readied their guns at a few sack dummies, firing and stabbing them in unison as their bearded officer barked at them from the front. The esteemed crowd clapped casually, as in respect to the soldiers.

Another separate fort rose to the left , raising up high in to the sky, as Darkskull walked up a small hill, and under yet another gate, larger than the one at the entrance, as a few disgruntled Navy officers glared over the people that walked back and forth. One of them had suspiciously locked on to Darkskull, be the pirate ignored him, proceeding in to a longer strip of land that headed off to the right, the right wall that extended from the front of the island had now worked its way to move down the right. A little ramp led down from the left, where the massive second fort sat, which bore out from the fortification to allow entrance. A few minor tent shops had been set up, where a few people bargained and negotiated in a loud buzz over things from meat, to clothing, to supposed voodoo relics that were told to "cure all illness and disability." Yet the most impressive sight of all was the godly hill that rose straight out along the left wall, reaching far in to the sky. It was crowned by a great fort, which one might say could allow a single person to gaze across the entire Caribbean.

Darkskull headed down the stretch in the direction of a lavish, semi-forested hill that lead up in to another region of the island. Yet he ignored it, and, after checking that nobody was looking, made a sharp, quick right, up to a heavy pair of wood doors. A little slit was on the front of it, just at eye level. Delmaria checked again, and then knocked in a specific order, two heavy, slow taps, followed by five slight, quick taps, and then ending with three unevenly spaced knocks. The slit opened to a strong pair of eyes, which glared heavily. "Password?"

Delmaria, without hesitation, recited "In nomen of Licentia , Nos coma concussio.", followed by the two of them translation at the same time "In the name of liberty, we stalk the oppression." The slit closed, with the door creaking slightly open, followed by Delmaria instantly stepping in, as the door slammed behind him. The large, heavy set guard turned to him, his brow leaning over his gaze.

"Glad to see you again, Captain Darkskull." He saluted in a nod.

"Ah, good afternoon Herald. Glad to see you still are with us." Delmaria looked forward, in to the quiet room. It was a large storage room, piles of boxes, crates, barrels, sacks, chests, and containers of all sizes tossed around in a semi-orderly fashion. Halfway in to the room, it let down in to a depression, which was not visible from where Delmaria stood, due to a large stack in front of him. Little candles sat along the pillars of the walls, lighting the room. "I'm guessing that everybody is in the underground?"

"Aye." He shrugged, returning back to his post at the door. Delmaria walked down, past the pile of boxes, in to the depression. Walking in to the little area, he headed over to the far right corner, where two huge boxes sat side by side. Darkskull gripped them, and shoved them away from the corner, revealing a small, wood paneled door, which was only up to Delmaria's stomach in height, yet was twice in width. He tugged at a small handle on the side, and uncovered the grim sand and dirt floor that he could see from his point. He got down on to a lying down position, and crawled through the small space as though it were a usual routine. He crawled only a small length, before coming in to a narrow, long cave, that winded downward and to the left steeply and sharply. A few torches that were held to the wall by metal holders illuminated the dank, brown cavern, the ceiling looming overhead.

Delmaria headed down the cave in a nice, swaggering walk, preventing himself from toppling over in the abyss. The path was never straight or predictable, constantly turning around and around. It was only after a few minutes of walking and whistling did Darkskull reach a well-sized stone facing, bearing another large, wooden door. The white stone studded out from the deaf surroundings, peeling away a slight light of civilization. A little ornament hung down at the door, to which Delmaria took and slammed it on the door three times. After a few seconds, it opened - and with the door, opened the livelihood.

The pirate found himself submerged in an underground parlor room, filled with tables of happy revelers singing, drinking, and chatting, maintaining a healthy level of insanity, to the point that nobody got in to a bloody bar fight. A bar sat along the far left wall, where groups of men and women dressed in extravagant gowns and common linen alike clinked glasses and ordered round after round, flirting and mixing with each other. It had the regular dim orange hued-light of any other Caribbean bar, but the type of atmosphere was different - tight-knit yet crazily active and joyful, like the feeling of a large family reunion during the holidays. They were all relatively different in appearance, but they had one common piece that dignified them as a group - a little silk band, like a flag almost, that sat over their heart. It was three vertical bands of color, red, blue, and yellow, with their crew's or family's coat of arms put over the bands to represent individuality, yet unity. The red, represented the color of courage and revolution. The yellow, represented justice. And blue, represented freedom.

As Darkskull stepped in to the party, heads began to turn, to stare at the pirate. Slowly, their voices quieted, Delmaria coming down to a halt as he walked among the tables. As he stopped next to one, looking around to see the many faces, a man leaning back in a chair next to him, patted him lightly and cautiously on the arm, stating "Welcome home, Liberator!"

They all raised their glasses in unison and gave a cheer of support, before returning to their disrupted activity. Although it would humble most, Darkskull continued forward, past the room, and up a set of stairs that started at one end of the back wall, and rose to meet a walkway that continued above the walls surrounding the bar. He went up the stairs, rounded around the corner at the top, and then headed across an overhang, a little path that jutted out over the bar, where the chandelier hung from, to the other side. The other side led directly in to another room, with a few steps that ran from wall to wall leading entirely open in to an office-like area. A desk waited there, with a man leaning against it's front, his arms crossed in a smile as Delmaria approached. He was shorter than Delmaria, wearing an old, grizzled white bear, with a rough tricorne sitting on top his dwindling hair. He was puggy, but still in a normal shape. His old, blue eyes laughed as the pirate approached him, climbing up the steps and standing before him.

"Ah, my old friend, Delmaria, good to see you!" He clamped a heavy hand down on the pirate's shoulder, and shook Delmaria's hand with the other.

"And you as well, Admiral."

The two pirates sat there for at least a few hours, elaborately and dramatically going over anything from politics, to past ventures. Delmaria stood firm on the ground that his raid of Havana with the crest of Captain Gerald Blackly far outmatched the cunning of when the Admiral took down a half of the Spanish Royal Fleet Caribbean Division with only a War Sloop manned by himself an a one-legged pirate named Jeffrey. It got to a point where over a simple debate over the profits of silver trafficking did Delmaria nearly punch one of the Admiral's crew mates squarely in the brunt of the nose. It finally began to simmer as they slinked in to a period of silence, and Delmaria got back to the reason he took time out of his day to come here.

"Edward, perhaps you've seen a recent.. pattern in the current events, correct?" Delmaria asked as he propped his legs up on the desk before him, his back leaning towards the open space that led over back down to the bar.

"I'm not sure I'm catching your drift. Explain, please?" The Admiral questioned as he leaned forward in his chair.

"Well... the assassinations, Edward. Longshire and Regald, yes, they were on our hands - but I never heard any plans to eliminate Victorio, nor Porc. And I'm almost positive Roger isn't interested in joining the Libertists. What I'm saying is... don't you think it's a bit odd that Jolly has decided to take breaking down the tyrants of the Caribbean in to his own hands?"

"Well, as much as I like the fact we're getting somewhere in finally opening up the seas again, I can honestly say that I have expected something. What, with this base being directly under the capital of Beckett's iron fist, I can assure you we hear plenty of rumors. Anything from gold resivors to voodoo relics is the supposed reasoning behind Roger's reasoning. I've even heard rumors Roger is trying to work out something with the heavens, but I highly doubt somebody with his... stature, has faith in above."

"There must be something, though. Surely you have an idea."

A sudden roar of screams rang out at the bar, followed by the simultaneous blasting of muskets in the direction of the doors. Orders and shouts, heavy, male shouts, rocked and boomed as the sounds of not only tables flipping over and glass shattering, but retaliation, as cutlasses and daggers flew through the air, out of sight. On the second level, where they were, pirates ran back and forth along the walkways, until one of them ran in to the open room up to his leader. "Admiral... the Navy, they found us!"

Edward had an immediate streak of disbelief run down his face. He quickly rummaged through the pairs on his desk, and threw an envelope in to Delmaria's lap. "Head to building 122 up in the town, and stay low. Everything else will be explained in that letter. Take the door across the walkway, it'll lead you through a passage to a back dock on the island. Good luck."

Delmaria shoved out from the desk and flurried himself across the decorated rug, down the little stairs, and pushed his way through the scatters of pirates out on to the walkway. Darkskull looked down to the bar as he crossed over, watching the groups of red uniforms pile over the pirates, stabbing and swinging their bayonets with precise precision in to their bodies. The large wooden doors were flung open in to the room, a group of Officers making their way in to inspect the floor. A heavy, blank uniform stuck out behind them, but Darkskull darted out to the door across the walkway before he took notice.

Delmaria quickly grabbed the door, went through, and slammed in shut, murmuring the screams from the room behind him. He was again in another tunnel, only much larger in width and in height, with a less dense aura of light to guide his way. He began to walk slowly, until another shot rang out in the room backwards. He came back in to realization, and began to run down the flat, wandering passage. His feet thudded against the hard rock ground, the elevation of the ground staying platued and consistent.

Darkskull finally came to the exit of the cave, rounding a corner to meet a huge carving in the back of the island, the wind spraying water in his face as he stepped out of the passage, and on to the wooden dock. He looked down to his left, where the dock continued hugging the island until a jutting out from the island cut it off. Above, the sun peaked over the edge of one of the higher forts, now at full blaze. He walked along the small dock, the heavy wood not noticing his weight. The waves were quiet, despite the winds beginning to pick up a bit.

When he reached half way down the dock, the heavy pounding of feet made him turn to face a group of gruff Navy Officers, escorting the man in black from before. His body was roughly draped in black, a heavy leather coat covering layers of eccentric white and gold patterned vests. A thick pair of gloves shielded his hands as he slowly ran his fingers up and down a knife of some sort, a black, embedded tricorne covering the area of his face above his brow. His face was middle-aged, the rough edges of his face showing stern order and horrors untold. He stepped away from behind his enforcers, to face Delmaria.

“Mr. Balnette, I’m going to ask you politely at first to come in to our custody. Should you fail to make the correct decision, you will be brought back by myself, alive, or dead.” The man instructed as he stepped forward tauntingly.

“Oh Mr. Mercer, haven't you learned anything in my time in the Caribbean?" Darkskull said as he turned about, returning to his little stroll down the dock.

"As you wish. Ready your aim, ma-!"

It took Delmaria only a few seconds to garnish his dagger and spin around, sidewinding it across the deck. It barely passed by Mercer, but dashed the leg of one of the soldiers, causing him to fall down on to his knee and trigger his bayonet, that shot a fellow soldier in his foot. By the time Mercer turned away from the confusion to look for the pirate, he was gone, diving off the dock in to the waters below. The assassin ran to the edge of the dock, to watch Darkskull swim off around the corner of the massive cliff.

He frowned, disgruntled, as he turned back to his soldiers. He walked past them, back in to the cave, stuffing his throwing knife back in to his pocket. He walked over to the wall, where a torch sat, and picked it up off it's place. He walked back over to the dock, and tossed it, setting off a fire at the patch of the dock before the wounded soldiers. As the fire spread and the screams rang out, Mercer returned back in to the depths of the underground.

2

After taking a few days aboard the Shark to relax and allow for things to calm back on Kingshead, he instructed his crew on the plans. They would spread out across the island, and head to the safe house at building 122 at different intervals of time, so that not to draw attention. Delmaria would go first in the early morning, to ensure it would be a safe venture.

He walked up the dock, past the marching fields, and up the long, gardened hill, trees coming off at the sides in a spaced and consistent pattern, leaning over the stone walls at their side. At the top of the hill was yet another large, stone gate, roughly the same size as that of the entrance. A few Navy soldiers stood there, watching the people walk in and out of the town. Luckily, Delmaria was cloaked over so that his appearance was hardly recognizable. He bypassed the guards in to the town, a quite small expanse, reaching to the left about half the length of the marching grounds. Houses and buildings run along the walls of the town, sitting cloaked under pillars or overhangs. Delmaria finally found building 122 nestled in between a gunsmith and a storage facility. After checking to make sure nobody was looking, he pushed through the small door and shut it quickly.

The building was completely vacant - no furniture, no forms of life, nothing. It consisted of a regular foyer with a vertical staircase leading up around a bend to the second floor, where two adjacent bedrooms sat. A little corridor sat to the left of the foyer in a little depression, and then down a long, narrow halfway, at the side of and then under the staircase, sat another, empty room. Delmaria triple checked the building, making sure the rooms were empty, the floor boards secure, the windows nailed shut. Finally, he went in to the left room from the foyer, sat down right in the middle, and tugged his massive coat off. He got himself settled, and pulled out the letter that Edward had given him.

All throughout the day, as crewmate by crewmate made their way in, Darkskull focused on the piles upon piles of documents that poured out of the envelope. From detailed trade routes, underground maps beneath Port Royal, Delmaria shifted through all of them, studying them.

He finally came to a report written by one of the captain's of the Libertists, to the Admiral, concerning the siuation in Kingshead:


Admiral,

Libertist ships have successfully managed to cut of grain supplies coming in from the South and West, which we've ferried back to the safehouse in Perdida. Navy soldiers are being deployed back to Port Royal in order to compensate for the lack of food. We've reported upwards of at least 250 soldiers returning to Charles, and 100 to Dundee.

Spies planted in Beckett's Quarry have uncovered the rumored plans by the Company, which depicts a new tunnel that will be excavated to go under the Corzana Tattoo Parlor, stretching out under the bay. Fortunately, it's path will not come within reach of our rumrunning path from the Skull's Thunder to the docks.

Reconstruction of Fort Charles is steadily gaining momentum with the influx of Navy soldiers. Progress is expected to slow, however, once Christmas arrives. Libertist Lt. Johnathan Perels, Captain Ronald Times, Officer Luke Rials, and Captain Delmaria Darkskull and their crews are to be rewarded for their ability in aiding in a swift a destructive cleansing of Fort Charles.

Lord Ambrose Royals (Delpadros Darkskull, son of Libertist Captain Delmaria Darkskull) has begun the militarization of Port Royal. Reinforcements of Navy soldiers have begun regularly patrolling the town and port, with inspection of all cargoes and ships entering and leaving the port increasingly significantly. Taxation on all land claims, imports, and exports have increased by 3.58% in the past two weeks. Children in schools have had their courses shifted to include lessons on "The Evils of Piracy" by Herald Lessington and the Mandate of Laws and Actions for the Reprimandation of Acts of Piracy and Treason. Execution rates of all pirates, suspected pirates, and relatives of pirates have also increased. Until further notice, all Libertist members should remain away from and around Port Royal.

On a further note, Lord Ambrose Royals has recently planned an unannounced trip to Kingshead, in which he will meet with head Naval and East India Trading Company Officials. He will arrive in the port roughly three days after you receive this letter. An assassination order has already been filed against him, and will be conveniently carried out by Libertist Captain Delmaria Darkskull.

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

Ok, so this wasn't extremely exciting, but it was filled with more story than action. At least this will set the foreground for things to come

Can't wait to here comments and reviews, mates! Thanks for reading!

[SEAKING23]

finally, pirates are planning to take over port royal!

[Captain Del]

I tried to mix in a little suspense with this one, although I'm not sure how it'll be blowing over with you all. Either way, need to experiment, aye?

Here you are, mates! I present to you all:

Within the Night

It didn't take Delmaria long to prepare for the evening. Before him on the wooden table, located in the middle of the little corridor he had furbished in to a small planning area, he laid out everything he might need. He was cloaked completely in black, linen clothing - tight, moveable pants, light, buckled boots, a flimsy, airy long sleeved shirt, and a small black bandana. He tucked in a few daggers in to his belt, along with a bag of firecrackers, for reasons unknown even to him. A map of the fort that was sealed in with the Admiral's envelope was tucked in to his right boot, full with details on the patrol routes of the soldiers.

He had spent the past two days laying low in the empty building, syncing together each and every aspect and detail of his plan. The crew spent their time around the town, perhaps stealing a few odds and ends, despite their captain strictly telling them to not draw any attention whatsoever to them. The only people who stayed in the house regularly were Buck, who was receiving delayed kick-backs from the medicine Grace had given him to heal his wounds back on the Cove, and Grace, who was responsible for healing him.

Finally, earlier this morning, the crew was spread through the gathering crowd, watching Lord Ambrose Royals being escorted by his convoy of guards from the deck, up through the town, in to the higher areas of the island, which was blocked off from the public. As he passed, random people in the crowd booed and threw rotten fruits and vegetables at him, jeering out against his actions on Port Royal. Delmaria was all the way in the back of the crowd, and although he could barely see his son, he knew that something was different about him. Whether it was a vibe of confidence, or depression, Delmaria couldn't tell.

As he checked all of his things a final time, and quietly made his way to the door, to undisturb the crew sleeping in the rooms upstairs, he was caught off guard by, of all people, Deadpool. He was standing at the top of the stairs, in his night clothing. He stared at Delmaria, who had his hand gripped around the door knob faintly, looking at him. "Captain, I know he's your son," Dead said shaking, "But I want you to kill him slowly and painfully, like they did my father."

1

Delmaria walked swiftly through the town, hugging along the buildings to his left, towards the two pathways one on top of the other that ran up across the side of the fort. He walked over to the pillar all the way at the end, closest to the fort, and looked around quickly to see if anybody watched him. When he saw he was along, he passed the corner of the store that nearly hugged him, in to a little space in between the column, and the wall of the store. He put his feet on the wall, and his hands on the pillar, and used the counteracting pressure to scale himself up, to the lower of the two walkways. When a nearby tree began to reach over, Darkskull slowly slung himself on to it, easing his way up on to the thick branch. His height was just enough to allow his arms to reach the edge, and jumped up to grab it. He scrapped his feet on the wall to help him, and watched silently as the guard passed by. As the guard went on to his left, marching towards his goal, he instantly sprung up on to the path, and wielded one of his daggers. He ran up behind the guard, grabbed the back of his head, and slit his throat from the front, tossing his body off the cliff to the right, to the deep waters stories upon stories below.

He went across the rest of the passage to a little tunnel that led to a small courtyard, with a stone staircase leading up to the next level. A guard lazily stood at the top, letting his eyes wander around him. Darkskull got as close as possible before being detected, and then flicked his dagger at the guard, piercing him in the pelvis. He toppled over head first down the stairs, the pirate letting his lifeless body pass him. He dragged the body in to an empty barrel, and tucked him in before putting the top on. "Sweet dreams, mate."

The stairs led him up to the top of the square courtyard, where he followed up a little hill, then turning around a bend to continue it. A single guard stood in his way, but he quickly grabbed him by his collar, pick him off his feet, and tossed him violently behind him, rolling him uncontrollably down the hill. When the finally reached the top of that incline, he faced the top fort of the fortress, beckoning him like the crown of Mount Olympus.

2

Ambrose delicately poised himself, back straight, head up, as he dunked the bag lightly in to his tea cup. He easily let it down, to let it rest. The heavy, red outfit he was wearing was, for the most part, ridiculous. A tall, overpowering hat ran from the front of his face to the back like a white, blazing mohawk, dressed in gold and red embellishments and fabrics. He coat was thick, blood red, with golden lines running across from button to button to create a regal affect. The rest of his fancy, tuxedo-like clothing was hidden under the coat, except for his lavish pants and boots, and the white gloves over his hands - or, hand. The damaged one was still wrapped.

The small, gothic styled room was a greatly dramatic, almost church-like office space, with a small window in the stone wall behind the desk that let in a small midnight breeze. Two Navy guards shifted back and forth over by the wooden doors, sighing in a tired and hopeless manner.

"I assure you, Mr. Mercer, by the time my reconstruction project is complete, The Company will have it's very own head office in the new and improved Fort Charles." Ambrose assured as his hands went on to the table.

Mercer, who sat on the opposite side, erect yet slightly bent forward, his usual stern gaze staring down at the Lord like the barrel of a gun. There were a few smoke spots on his cheek, but he brushed them off so not to draw attention. "That's not exactly the point. Your dues are long over your time limit, Mr. Royals. You exactly expect Lord Beckett to continue waiting, buying over favors for you, while you pass over project and project alike? And I ensure you, he grows more impatient than me."

"Trust me, Mr. Mercer. These will produce, over time, serious resul-"

"You can't just play the 'Son of a Pirate' card every time trouble pops up. The Company paid good money to cover up your past, but all you seem to focus on is your past. Do you really think things will go well if you prove common speculation?"

Ambrose had enough. He stood up, taking off his hat and throwing it on to the table. e undid his bowtie as he walked towards the door. "I’ve had enough prosecution for one day. Good night, Mr. Mercer!" The two guards opened the double doors, and he strutted out in to the cool night.

He paced to his right, down the long, stone walkway that ran at the top of the wall of the highest fort of Kingshead. He looked out over the edge - from his vantage point, high in the sky, the marching grounds far below looked like a blur in the night. The ocean was limitless in his view, him being able to make out the shadow of a nearby wild island, and off in the distance, the Spanish island.

He let the cool winds hit him as he neared the end of the West wall, now approaching the North. He was coming upon it soon, when he stopped in his tracks.

3

"Move and I kill you." Delmaria threatened as he pointed the dagger in to Ambrose's throat from behind. He shook him a little, then gripped his head with his hand, and threw him over, on to his back. The pirate stood where he was, brandishing his pistol menacingly.

"Get away from me, you bru-" before he could finish the sentence, Delmaria threw the dagger with the flick of his wrist and nailed the dignitary in the left thigh, send him in a shock of pain. The pirate walked over and commandingly pulled it out, side winding it far, over the Northern wall, in to the night and down to the oceans, right as he pulled out another. He stood up, and stamped on the cut.

"If you don't want to be considered my son, then you won't be treated us such." Delmaria grunted as he kicked Ambrose in the chest, then picking him up by his shirt, and tossing him over to the North wall. Ambrose caught himself, throwing his left arm on to it, supporting him as he bent over on his wounded leg, facing Delmaria. The pirate just stood there, viciously. "Now, I'll ask you, what is your name?"

After taking a deep gas on breath, the Lord pushed out "Ambrose Royals, governor of-"

"Wrong answer!" Darkskull shouted, flicking his new dagger so that it grazed through the air tauntingly, only a few decameters from his face. "I'll ask AGAIN, what is your name!?", almost yelling as he stepped forward tauntingly.

He heaved in pain and terror, finally, almost begging, "D-d-d-Delpadros... Delpadros Darkskull! Delpadros Darkskull...." he repeated, terrified.

Delmaria instantly put away his dagger, taking another step forward. "Good. Maybe now we can talk, hm?" He wiped his hand over his face, pulling his bandana off and rubbing it over his face. "Well, Delpadros, you really are a piece of work. Dedicating you life's work to killing your father, just because you couldn't succeed at doing it yourself."

Delpadros struggled to stand up without using the wall, his wide stance wobbling under pain and pressure. His face was glaring, a few strands of hair falling in to his face. "All I've ever wanted was you out of my life, but you can't seem to get the hint. I've been forced to take matters in to my own hands."

"Ah, but I'm your father. It's my job to watch over everything you do, no matter how far you try to push me away. And I can't do that if I'm dead, can I?"

"I don't.. need YOU. Do you ever think that if I as a child had to live without a father, that I can support myself without a f-"

"My father is DEAD!" Delmaria stepped forward in rage, almost like he was about to pounce. Delpadros fell backward, sitting with his back to the wall. "When I was younger, I never had a father. He went from place to place, because he was a PIRATE. The only time I ever got to see him was once in a blue moon when I was younger, and by the time I was an adult, do you realize when was the first time I saw him? He was in my arms, bleeding to death! I never even knew him. But do you know what?

"I still loved the man. I didn't care that he was never there for me. I loved him because I was his blood, and THAT SHOULD BE ENOUGH FOR YOU!" Delmaria shouted, almost shaking.

The two just stared there, silently, for a few minutes. Their throats calmed, their eyes retracted, their breathing slowed. Delpadros steadily returned his attention to his leg wound, but he was still distracted, almost. Finally, Delmaria spoke:

"Join me." He instructed affirming, looking confidently at Delpadros.

"What...?" The son asked, trying to understand if he heard that right.

"Think of it, Delpadros. Think of what we could do.. together. You'll be free again."

Delpadros slinked back, letting his eyes wander off. He thought heavily, concentrating all of his thought on the subject. Delmaria just stood firm, watching his son contemplate the one thing that may revive their bond. His heart raced in anticipation. As Delpadros took a final sigh and prepared to speak, and click.

"Step aside, Mr. Darkskull." Delmaria turned to the barrel of a pistol staring straight at him, held at the handle by none other than Mercer himself, yet again. His attention was not focused on the pirate, however - moreover, on the lord.

Delpadros stared wide-eyed, kicking his legs to push his back on to the wall. He looked at Delmaria, who was slightly off to the side, so that the assassin had aim, but was still right by Delmaria. He looked to Mercer, then his son. And in his eyes, he saw fear.

"Your dues are much too much to burden, Mr. Royals. Mr. Darkskull, please, do yourself a favor and walk away. I will just be easing your load. I promise, it'll be quick." Mercer nodded, motioning his free hand to send Delmaria off.

Darkskull watched himself. He remember, his son will forever be his son - but he came here not to mend battle scars. Slowly, he shifted over to his son, nearing to the side so that he may round the corner. As he neared, Delpadros's heart sank. He looked at his father, not saddened, but ashamed. He felt that the one hope that could liberate him, that sat far back in his heart, was gone. Yet as he gave a finally look, he saw only one thing - a flash of hope, in a wink of an eye.

As he hit the corner, Delmaria spun instantly, wielding his pistol and instantly shooting it at Mercer. In a stroke of luck, the bullet graced through the air, and made impact - squarely in the forehead.

As the blood ran down, Delmaria rushed over to the body, appropriately dressed in black. He went to his knee and looked it over, unraveling the pistol from its hand and tossing it over his should. He glazed his eyes, quietly, looking over his results. He took his hand and ran them in to Mercer's coat, pulling out that long, embodied, eccentrically lavish set of knives, wrapped in a small cloth. He nodded in solemn approval, put them in his weapon belt, and turned back, to face another gun.

His son, whom he saved only moments ago, had Mercer's pistol, now pointing it at his savior. His face was red with shaking anger, grunting as his hand wrapped around the gun. Yet it was blanketed lightly in regret, as he whimpered, "I'm so sorry."

He gripped at the trigger, but immediately dropped the gun before it fired. Off from the right, along the North wall, an empty rum bottle was throttled through the air, crashing and smashing on Delpadros's head. He went in to a shocked daze, before slinking off in to sleep. Delmaria looked over to John, standing there swaggeringly.

"You’re welcome, Captain." He chuckled.

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

Not sure how I can really respond to this chapter... so I'll leave that up to you all!

Also, just a note. The next chapter involves a new character entering the story, so, for just this once, I'll open a call for anybody that wants to nominate their pirate for inclusion. Just post below, or PM me, if you want to apply.

Be sure to comment and review, mates! Thanks for reading!

[swordshot]

Great chapter mate!

[Dog Firestack]

The excitement has gripped me into the moment! I wait for the awesomely awesome answer to the cliffhanger!

[Captain Del]

Thank you mates!

Sorry this took a while mates, but between Real Life, and the overall length of this chapter, it was quite the ordeal. But, I finally managed to get myself to finish it! And so, without further adue, I present to you all:

Liberation and Captivation

Delmaria, John, and Lawrence returned to their makeshift home quietly and undisturbed, the rest of the fortress still sleeping, unaware of what had transpired the evening before. They were met, however, quite warmly, as the rest of the crew was left restless after Lawrence and John went to the aid of their captain. The rest of the crew had prepared a hearty breakfast of pork, eggs, and rum, all of which had been stolen beneath the grubby hands of the towns citizens the day before. The crew was eager to head off the island, but Darkskull persisted they were to stay for just a few more hours. "I have a plan.", he told them.

The next morning, the sky was once again clear and crystal, shining like a mirror of the glorious ocean that gleamed at itself. The port was filled with a great bustle, for what was to be occurring. All through the night, the Navy was occupied with making the public hangings of all the Libertist pirates they were able to capture.. before they killed themselves, at least. They had set up gallows in the side-fort over by the market place, right past the marching grounds, picking off the pirates six at a time on the hour. As the sun rose, the crowds around the area grew, and the bodies rose. Yet the Navy saved the best for last, so that all the dignitaries and people of the island may observe the last and most anticipated hanging, at noon - that of Libertist Admiral Edward Low.

Masses of people had flooded the floor of the fort, with Navy Officers and British Officials looking down like vultures to their prey. Among them was Lord Ambrose Royals - and he himself was a spectacle. His right eye was swollen black, and bruises danced around his face and body. Ever so often, the people around him would turn to take a glance at the shipwreck of a man, to which he turned them away with a snarl.

At the far side of the fort, across the entrance, was a small, wooden door, which led in to a jail-like area - a wall of cells lined the right side, and on the other, was a wall of separated openings that looked out over the grand ocean and all its glory. It's here where out vigilant crew worked hurriedly, using their cutlasses to hastening cut open the locks of the cells, hurrying the ragged jail dogs out. Delmaria, in his great black outfit, brimmed hat and all, stormed in to his crew. "Are all the wires set?"

Andrew, who was digging his blade in to the last cell, yelled "Aye captain! All factors are as go!"

"Excellent! Ok, Andrew, Dead, ferry these scurvy knaves down to the docks. The rest of you, assume your positions. I'll be in here to set the fuse."

On his word, the crew automatically flipped up the hoods of their long robe-like coats, draping their head and down in to their vision, and scurried quickly out in to the crowd that waited out in the fort. Once they left, Delmaria walked over to the openings in the wall, and leaned over one of them, taking a breath of the soft ocean air that swirled around him. For just a moment, the roar outside calmed - it was only him and the ocean, thinking and moving back and forth subconsciously as one, the pirate and it's only master. He was at his nirvana.

And then, the great forthcoming.

The crew, who had scattered themselves throughout the crowd, turned their attention with the rest of the jammed fort to the entrance, where a path was formed, along with two Navy soldiers, side-by-side, dragging in what seemed to be a person. As they passed, the crowd erupted in jeers and calls, throwing both words and objects at the prisoner, who was purposely exposed by the Navy for humiliation before execution. His clothing was tattered and soaked and blood, with a dingy potato sack over his head.

They dragged the poor soul up across a flight of wooden stairs that led to the platform of the gallows, where now they had a clear view of everything that transpired before them. The stocky man was decorated in a nearly destroyed, mangled outfit, that was both regal and rebellious, golden studs running over the shoulders, vest, and arms of the dark black jacket. The two soldiers tugged his coat off, handing it to another soldier who waited off at the side. They then proceeded to pull off the bag over his head, revealing to the crowd the bloodied face of the Admiral.

Delpadros stood up from chair that watched directly down towards the gallows, and flicked his hand to hush the crowd. When they all were silenced, he began to speak. "Mr. Low, any final words before you return to where you belong?"

At that call, the crew spread out and took a quiet standing behind a few of the Navy soldiers that stood at attention in the fort. John rushed back to the jail, where his captain stood, staring blankly in to space. When their eyes met, Darkskull instantly nodded, and drew his sword, cutting it along the floor to ignite the string, the flame creeping along it, out the door, and in to the fort.

As the spark moved quickly, Dead and Buck moved along either side of it, pushing people that were unknowing as to what was going on off its path. The string had one flight path in mind - the gallows.

Up on the gallows, Low stood, his head lowered and his eyes half closed. He seemed to be thinking - but instead, he was waiting. He waited until he began to hear the faint noise of a sizzling off in the background. At that, he turned his head up, as the flame along the wire neared its final destination. He looked Delpadros square in the eyes, and said, with a smile, "You lose, mate."

The instant the spark made contact with the crates of gunpowder, they instantly ignited, exploding in a great boom that took out the two back legs of the gallows. Dozens of people were lifted off their feet, thrown in the air by the great fireball, as Dead and Buck ran to the now collapsed structure, where the Admiral had rolled to on the ground before him. As they ran to recover their comrade, the crew made a swift cut with their blades across the throats of the soldiers they were standing near, ripping off their cloaks and hurrying to meet up with the others so they could rush to the bay.

Delmaria rounded out of the jail to observe over the scene - the great, beautiful chaos. Masses of people were thrown rampant, running in every direction possible to move, somewhere. As Darkskull stepped out of the shadows, he turned his attention the sky, pulling out his pistol. He watched up on the ledge as his son protested what was going on, banging his fist in terror on the stone slab as he shouted over and over in to the fort. His red, horrific face finally turned in the general direction of Delmaria, all the way yonder. The pirate readied his pistol and aimed it, leaving a wash of unexpected terror on the dignitary's face. "Politics are politics.", he whispered under his breath, shooting the bullet through the air. It took only a second for the projectile to take his son in a twist down to the floor, out of vision.

As the captain ran off to catch up to his crew, John chased after him. "By God Captain, what was that!?"

"Relax," the pirate assured as he briskly made his way down the stone ramp, "any pirate with good vision could tell all I did was pierce him in the shoulder. Fortunately for us, I hit him over his good arm."

1

The Victory Shark waked quietly in the warm ocean waters below, rocking side to side as the great gusts of wind came and knocked waves on to the deck. The night was dark, with only being able to see maybe thirty feet off the side of the ship. The rest was a void, hidden in the droplets of water that swirled through the air. The ship was alone, the outside quiet. But the inside of the ship was just the contrary.

The two crews, Darkskull's and Low's alike, mingled with each other below the deck, in the crews quarters. They chatted, rambled, and laughed, as they tried to out-do the other crew in terms of strength and stories. The wind roared outside, but the bustle within the quarters was overpowering it with ease.

Up in Captain's Quarters, Delmaria and Low were alone, both wielding long, narrow sabres. They had been practicing their technique throughout the night, trying to get to the other round after round, game after game. Both had begun to break a sweat, but the competitiveness between the two comrades was enough to keep them both occupied well in to the night. They would take a few seconds in between each round to laughingly exchange either insults or compliments, then throwing immediately back in to the duel. It must have been at least three hours, a little after midnight, before Low was able to cut his blade and knock Delmaria's saber out of his hand, flying it across the room. Darkskull turned to the captain and said "Touché, Admiral."

"Ah, you're not so bad yourself, mate." Edward set as he let down his blade. "Gah, I'm getting too old for all this pirating business."

"What do you mean, Admiral?" Delmaria stopped in his tracks as he was stunned by what he heard.

Edward continued to run his cleaning rag along the blade. "You know too well what I mean. I'm well past my prime, mate. My bones creak and my legs ache. After the little switch-a-roo I pulled in Martinique at the gallows, I suspected the world lost sight of Captain Edward Low. Unfortunately, I was mistaken, hmm? Needless to say, my involvement as a pirate has begun to bring more terror than prosperity. After I can get back to the nearest port, I'll be sailing off, alone, to a quaint little village up in forests of eastern Mexico. Safe and away from prosecution, where I can hopefully live a peaceful elder life."

"Oh, like I haven't tried that, mate." Darkskull said as he went behind his desk to sit down. "I've made plenty of attempts to seek refuge from civilization."

"Ah, but Delmaria, your failure to do so isn't that you couldn't do it, it's that you didn't want to do it. As much as you try to convince yourself you never wanted this life, that rush that tingles in you veins... you taste it once and only want more, eh?"

Delmaria leaned back in his chair to think. Was he really the civil, quiet person he thought he was, condemned to his waters, or did he really subconsciously force himself to not give up on the life of pillaging and plundering? He didn't want to go in-depth, as he was tired. But a quick snap in his mind led him to change the subject. He immediately tugged out a folded piece of paper he had in his pocket, and unfolded it.

"Admiral, I now remember why I came to see you. I found this map here on the person of the now deceased Don Victorio, bless his soul, cradled in his cold, dead hands aboard his death voyage. Needless to say, it must be something if he gave his life for it. I tried to decipher it, but it's... different." Darkskull took the ancient piece of parchment and handed it to Low.

The map was less than ordinary - it was not a map of the actual Caribbean, but just random areas thrown unorganized all over the place, out of order and coordination. It was surrounded by words in all sorts of languages, unnoticeable and unreadable. The sight of it nearly gave the Admiral a headache, but he certainly recognized it. "I remember seeing this somewhere... just, not sure where. All I can tell you is that that little island right there seems to be.. well... it looks like..."

Delmaria instantly raised his hand to silent the pirate. They looked around, to the faint noise of creaking. Delmaria slowly walked over to the window of his ship, and, through the fog that covered them, say something moving, from the back of the ship to the side. It was more of a flutter than a solid shadow, but nevertheless, terrifying. Darkskull watched it move along the side of the - followed by a fierce flash, like the crack of lightning followed by thunder.

The entire ship jolted back and forth, as if they were being attacked from all angles. Delmaria fell to the ground with a thud, bringing his hat off his face to frantically look about the earth quaking cabin. The Admiral was using the desk as a support, swiping Darkskull's cutlass of the table, and tossing it to him. Darkskull staggered to his feet, caught the handle, and busted down the little hallway, through the door, in to the night.

The wind whirled and the water flew as the waves slammed over the deck, creating a great, dramatic effect that swirled around him. Delmaria yelled across the ship to bring all crewmen to attention, as they spilled out from the hull, running to any cannon in sight. They were caught of guard, straggling, but the two combined crews moved with swiftness and anger that strived them to create chaos amongst the enemies as was done to them. Suddenly, a large, firm hand clamped down on his shoulder, and the captain faced Low, who pointed his attention to the sea, on both sides. "Look!"

Delmaria turned to see the running about of sets of triangular sails, a vibrant green with golden crescents that hung down in its shape almost down to the slender, sleek hull. There was not one, however, but three attack ships, moving around the Shark fiercely in a circle. "Corsairs!? What in God's name is... BAH!"

"Shall we send them to the locker, captain?" Lawrence shouted as he ran from the main deck, up the stairs, to his captain.

"No, no. They're too quick to hit. Look-" Delmaria pointed to a noticeably bigger ship between the three. "That one. We'll need to board it."

"Aye aye! ALL PIRATES, LOAD YOUR HOOKS AND AIM FOR THEIR ARMS!" Lawrence shouted as he ran off to the side. As he reached the side, the middle mast of the massive War Frigate toppled over to the right side. The great creaking and splintering as it fell magnified as it swooped through the air, almost flying in the wind to land off in to sea with an amazing splash. The cannon fire raged through the enormous distraction, hurling from both sides as a few cannoneers tried to grapple the grand Xebec. Their shots just fell practically short due to the wind, until a lucky shot latched down on to it. The Xebec was in no comparable weight to the War Ship, so a single hook slowed it enough to allow the others to bring down a few more. They then attacked the ropes to the gigantic pulley system, pushing with their might in a circle of labor to turn the ship in to them. This went on as the two other ships fired down, and the free crew of the ship fought them off with anything from heavy round shot to simple knives and spoons that they shoved in to the cannon.

As the side of the two ships met, the sight became clear - a crew of about eighty aboard the War Frigate against close to two hundred running above and below. Darkskull instantly pulled up a rogue plank, torn from the ship, and laid it down between the two, instructing to his crew "Let's show these Barbary bastards who boss, aye aye?!"

As he yelled, a Corsair jumped on the board he had laid down and came at him. Delmaria instantly flew his cutlass and cut down across the chest of the pirate, sending him bleeding in to the rough waters below. "Move pirates, move!" The captain yelled, followed by a flood of Shark's crew pouring over the little planks laid in between the two ships, and on to the deck of the Xebec. Delmaria was one of the last to come over, and by that time, the battle was already in full swing. Each pirate was left to himself to fend off two Corsairs, but they were doing a good enough a job as was. As he feet slammed to the wet, lightly colored deck, the pirate ran straight in to the mix, taking his first jab through the Corsair's stomach. Almost as if it were instinct, three other Corsairs came down upon the Captain, but they their light sabres were easily deflected by the thick, heavy cutlass.

The middle Corsair came in with a thrust, but the captain was easily able to curve around it and return with a deep cut that ran from the Corsair's right shoulder down to his pelvis, then running off and chopping the Corsair next to him in the leg. As the two fell in pain, the third came rushing in with a flurry of spins and jabs. His accuracy was incredible, but his blade went only so far as meeting with the golden sword. Finally, in his drunken rage, the Corsair slipped on a pool of blood and fell, and Delmaria took that advantage by jabbing him in the foot.

Delmaria then called on a few of the double-teaming crew mates off on the bow to begin to make a push towards the cabin of the ship, to which they did. The crew pushed back the remaining Corsairs with quick jolts and stabs that blockaded them backward, across the deck and the longboats, behind the masts, all the way up to the wall of the cabin. There were about twenty Corsairs left, as opposed to fifty of the Darkskull/Low crew remaining. Low walked to the front of the oppression line and yelled "Drop your weapons, or he'll make sure you do!" he then turned his attention to the man who looked like the first mate of the ship, richly draped in soft silk and linen. "You! Instruct the other two Xebecs to cease their fire, lest they want to be killed too!"

The Corsair's unwillingly raised their hands and dropped their blades to the ground, as the first mate ran to the masts, and, with the help of a few crew men, lowered the beautiful green and gold pennon, and raised the doused white flag. The crew erupted in victory as the Corsair's surrender waved in the sky. Meanwhile, Darkskull had other things on his mind.

2

"What is the meaning of this!?" the old, weathered Algerian man protested as Delmaria, Low, and a few other crewmen walked in to the lavish quarters. There was a long table dressed in eccentrically designed cloth, that was covered in gold and silver bowls, plates, and other dining tools, drown about. The old Algerian stood surrounded by a few other, younger advisors, who were dressed in to the same extravagant style as he - the flowing silk, the crowning jewels, the dangling trinkets. The all stood their defensively, cautious.

"I should ask the same thing, Your Excellency. Is it just a coincidence that a group of the mighty Dey's corsairs come to ambush me, thousands of miles from the homeland?" Delmaria asked as he reached the far end of the table.

"You have no business in knowing our trials or ordeals in these waters! We are on official business, a-"

"So you decide it proper to risk the structure and stability of your own country to come and fight a simple, resting pirate ship? Hmpf. Guess my assumptions of your inability to fill ben Hassan's shoes were corre-"

"BEN HASSAN WAS NOTHING MORE THAN A FOOL!" the Dey cried. "I will not stand here and let my title be tarnished! Do you are to with us, if you must!"

"Rest assured, Your Excellency, nothing will be done to harm you any further, if you're willing to answer a question or two." Delmaria slyly negotiated.

"Fair enough." Pasha nodded.

"Firstly, why are you here in the Caribbean?"

Abdy sighed as he paced along his side of the cabin. "A few months ago, I received a message from one Lord Ambrose Royal's, from Port Royal. He told me we had business to discuss in terms of our current trade agreement, but felt that it would be appropriate for me to come instead of a dignitary. We met with him just a few days ago on Kingshead, but just a day ago, he ordered a change of plans. He ordered us that if we were to keep any trading ties with the New World, we were to capture and kill a one Captain Delmaria Darkskull. Too much of an offer to refuse."

"An honest start. Now, next question," Delmaria tugged the old piece of parchment, and shoved it in to the arms of the Dey. "Any idea what that is?"

The Dey unfolded the map and read over it for a good five minutes, before he puzzled and handed the map back. "It was definitely Arabic... but the wording was very strange. One could say that would date back to the time of Muhammad himself, but even I doubt that. The only imitative you might be able to follow is the one port that was mentioned on there - Havana."

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

I'm actually very proud of myself I was able to incorporate actual people in to the story

My apologies to Dog for not being able to hit him in here, but I think it might be possible in the next one.

Well, what did you all think? Please, if you read my story, don't feel shy to comment and review. I know there are alot of pirates out there that read, but don't comment. So, please be sure to review, it'll only make me writing better!

Thanks mates!

[SEAKING23]

Hey del, Just so you know, i'm arab, and your story seems to involve several arabs. so if you need to know anything about that subject, Pm me.

[Captain Del]

Thank you for the helpful instinct, but that won't be necessary. My Alergian friends were just a little side-character group, which won't be appearing again. Thank you though

[SEAKING23]

Aliright Del, anytime. I will wit for the next chapter!

[Jackfiresteel]

Ok your stories are one of the best series of stories i have every read. (dont kill me) They are very descriptive, easy to follow, and long (good thing) and I await your next chapter! Again don't kill me.