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[Fenrir]

quote:Originally posted by Haven:
<STRONG>Wooo, Pirates! Didn't think you could do that in this game...</STRONG>

The ship is being held above the water with a pillar, if that's what you mean.

[ColonelTEE3]

quote:Originally posted by Fenrir:
<STRONG>The ship is being held above the water with a pillar, if that's what you mean.</STRONG>

Whats this blasphemy of our ship needing a pillar to support itself? We all know its just physically manifested pirate awesomeness holding the boat up...

[valcon]

quote:Originally posted by ColonelTEE3:
<STRONG>

Whats this blasphemy of our ship needing a pillar to support itself? We all know its just physically manifested pirate awesomeness holding the boat up...</STRONG>

Nevermind him, he's been brain damaged, he thinks the world is made of dwarven cheese and kobolds are just furry gnomes!

New updates coming momentarily, I promise, with a heavy, heavy heart.

[ March 11, 2008: Message edited by: valcon ]

[valcon]

7th Malachite, Early summer, 1059:

"Captain, I'd like to resign."

Kalen turned to see her first mate looking dejected and pitiful before her.  

"Request denied," she states calmly, turning back to her desk.

"Captain, just give Fishgut my bunk and have him look after you, the two of you are," he shudders, "close now, anyway.  I'd perhaps be a good carpenter, or fisherman."

Kalen turns to him and approaches him swiftly, causing Skipper to wince in anticipation of a blow.  

She reaches up and puts her scarred hand upon his shoulder, saying, suprisingly softly, "Skipper ... you've not been a pirate long.  It is quite common for us to form bonds, and relationships while at sea ... but once we're back on land, everything changes.  Our whole world is confined to this floating casket, and everyone gets lonely.  We must all become friends, and some of us even lovers, but these things rarely last.  If you and I ...", she says, as his eyes light up, "were ever to become lovers", Skippers shoulder trembles under her hand, "I could not have you as my first mate.  I need someone I can trust, someone who can be impartial.  I need you as you are."

Skipper lowers his eyes.  "Please captain, let me be a carpenter or fisherman."

Kalen suddenly takes her hand off his shoulder and bashes him across the face, knocking him into the wall.  

"NO!"  She asserts.  "You are my first mate, and the only way you're getting out of it is in an ALDER BOX.  However ... since you are so KEEN to be a carpenter, why don't you go make a casket.  It will remind you of the only path you have to leaving my servitude on this ship."

Skipper leaves, failing to make eye contact, his face red and purple and blue, his tongue clenched tightly in his teeth.  

On his way below decks, Beardless Bob passes him and notices his drooped shoulders and stinging jaw.  "Aharr!" he says, chuckling, "Te' cappin's given ye some lovin' aft'r all, eh?"  Bob slaps him on the back, trying to comfort the dejected pirate.  "Cheer up, lad!  Things'r goin' fine, eh?  We've got us a fine crew of mates, what could possibly go wrong!"

15th Malachite, Mid-Summer, 1059:

Horatio stumbles out of his chambers, his legs weak and his head still muddled, but his army properly healed.   While heading over next door to check on the still ailing professor, Horatio notes the oil lamps lining the bunks are not rocking with the ocean waves ... they must not be at sea yet.  

The Professor greets him warmly as he enters the room.  "Why haven't we left?"  Horatio asks, offering Professor some water.

"We've taken on some ... stow aways.  Two of the natives have come aboard."  

Horatio looks confused, shaking his head, when he hears a screeching come from out the door.  Rushing out, he's nearly bowled over by what he can only assume is one of the natives, his tattoo'd body nearly naked.  He's being dragged along, grasping onto the ears of a ... WOLF?  

Horatio draws his blade and prepares to walk out to kill one or both of them, but Jaina comes up behind him and stops him.  "It's okay!  The wolf is tame ... we recieved him in trade with the merchants and Kalen did not see fit to keep him in a cage. "  

Horatio sheathes his blade and turns to hug Jaina.  "Thank you ... for the food and the water.  It's been a long time since I've been able to walk the ship, and I'd forgotten about them.  Are we still on the same island?"

"Aye, one of the villagers grappling hooks has tangled up the wheel at the helm, and we've had our hands full with the natives.  It's good that you're awake now, though, you'll get to watch the fight."

Horatio looked confused, "What fight?"  

"Kalen is going to have the villagers try and prove that they are capable of fighting, if they should fail, they will die.  If not, we've got some new deck hands."

"Great, as if the ship wasn't crowded enough ..." He responded, mildly annoyed.  

"C'mon mate, they'll more than likely be shark food by the dawn, let's go watch the fight!"

Jaina helped the weakened swordsman up onto the deck of the ship where he is greeted with a hearty cheer and some goodnatured jabs.  "Who te' 'ell are ye, mate?"  Q-Tip says, wrapping her arms around his shoulders.  "You not welcome here!"  Sigurd roars, ruffling his trussed beard.  "Aye, aye," Horatio laughs, "What's all this about a fight then?"

"Just in time!"  Kalen says, striding out of her room, Skipper in towe, looking bedraggled and depressed.  

"What's got his plank in a rut?"  Horatio whispers to Jaina.  "Cap's taken a liking to Fishgut," she responds, quietly.  Horatio looks shocked, but considers that on such cramped quarters, he's seen stranger bedfellows.

"INOD!"  Kalen yells, her authoritative voice defying the language barrier.  

The tattoo'd native meekly walks up to her, a wary look on his face.  

"Jaina, tell him what he's to do,"  Kalen ordered, a beautiful looking wooden sword draped over her shoulder.

Jaina babbled something haltingly, leaving a confused look on Inod's face.  He looks back to Kalen and shrugs, obviously not understanding.  

"Oh hell," the captain curses, tossing him the sword.  Inod deftly reaches out and grabs it by the hilt and gives it a few agile swings, obviously familiar with the weapon at least.  "There we go, swords speak EVERY language!"  Kalen bursts out illiciting much laughter.  

She points at Inod's chest, then turns, and points up the stairs leading to the sparring deck.  "You, go, now."

Inod still looks confused as he trudges up the stairs.  He emerges through the heavy microcline hatch cover onto the deck to see 3 cages around him.  The hatch swiftly closes behind him with a thud, and a clanking of a latch.  He turns and tries to re-open it, but it won't budge.  Turning back around, he looks at the cages, screaming and whooping rhesus macaques banging on the bars.  

Suddenly, the bars drop, and the monkeys are free.

[valcon]

15th Malachite, Mid-Summer, 1059:

Inod senses the monkeys are about to pounce and deftly flips the sword from hand to hand, preparing, his eyes keen.  Whoops and hollers come down to him from the crows nest, nearly the entire crew stuffed up in the box leaning over the edge, mugs of grog swinging as they cheer him on.  'No', he thinks, 'probably cheering the monkeys on ...'.

Knowing that he's being judged on his actions, Inod pounces on the closest of the monkeys, his taught muscles carrying him swiftly over the deck.  

To the raucous guffaws of the foreign crew above him, he dodges the monkeys bites and claws easily, spinning on his heels to deliver a crushing blow to the simian torso sending it hurtling over the edge of the ship.  

   

Pausing momentarily to revel in the battle, he watches as the screetching macaque flails at the water, sinking quickly in the bay.

   

Turning quickly, he sprints across at the next macaque, grasping the wooden blade in both hands like an axe and swinging it into the gut of the prancing monkey.  It stumbles backwards, nauseated, confused, and defeated.

   

Inod, barely giving it a glance, delivers a swift kick to it's head, sending it overboard as well.  

   

The crew on the crows nest chants and hoots, many nodding approvingly.  Kalen, though impressed, has to taunt, "STOP that you lug, we can use their bones!"  The crew laughs, slapping her on the back, Beardless Bob chuckling, "Maybe we can use HIS bones!"

Inod is grappling with the final macaque, dodging it's viscious bites, when he hears the laughter from up above.  His face reddens as he knocks the monkey aside, rolling to his feet, sword swinging about him, a rage spreading across his face at the thought of being taunted by such crude foreigners.

   

His tattoo'd sweaty body glistening in the sun, he grabs the monkey by the scruff of the neck, delivering a series of swift strikes to it's extremities and skull, knocking it out.  He looks up to the crows nest as the men peer down from above, grog spilling out of their weaving mugs.  Locking eyes with Kalen, he shoves the full length of his blade down the unconscious macaques throat, impaling it.

Tossing both the monkey and the sword aside, Inod proudly strikes a menacing pose on the deck, his body entirely untouched and unwounded by his opponents, grunting up at the cheering crews, their heads bobbing up and down as the cheer at the battle.

Sssssssssssssssssssssssssssssshhhhhhhhhthwp!

The crew suddenly stop cheering, some of them dropping their mugs from the crows nest.  Inod looks at them confused for a moment before noticing a strange feeling rising from his leg.  He looks down to see an iron bolt embedded in calf.

   

Inod hears one of the strange dwarves yell something piercing which causes the rest of them to scurry down the mast ladders, concerned and determined looks on their faces.  

A second iron bolt flies out, striking his lower right arm, flying cleanly through the wound.  The confused look on his face turns back up to the scurrying crew a moment before collapsing to the deck, unconscious and bleeding.  

If he could properly speak dwarven, he would've been terrified.  Imp was shouting, "GOBLINS!"

[ March 11, 2008: Message edited by: valcon ]

[ March 11, 2008: Message edited by: valcon ]

[valcon]

**I've added two more updates on page 5, make sure to read them first, this entire entry would be one single post except the forum only allows for 8 images per post, which I would like to impale on a -=!+Microcline Spike!+=-**

Still 15th Malachite, Mid-Summer, 1059:

Kalen barks orders at the crew as the scamper out of the crows nest.  

"Imp, hold them off while we get below," she says, pausing to turn to him, "When you run out of bolts, come down, and hand your crossbow to the other villager."

"Aye ... cap?"  Imp says, confused, before shrugging it off in favor of the battle ahead.

A raiding party is swiftly approaching their ship, boarding planks strapped over their shoulders.

   

Another group was gathering below the ship, weilding heavy hammers and gleaming spears, waiting for their marksmen to bring boarding planks.

Imp knocks a bolt and sets his crossbow on the edge of the crows nest, carefully adjusting his carp-bone rangefinder.

   

He wishes Kalen would've let Bob stay upon the nest with him.  During Bob's training, they'd become close friends, teaching each other as Bob nearly surpassed his mentors skills.  Together, they'd be able to nearly wipe this whole party out.  Alone, Imp could merely hold them at bay while the captain thought of something.

Clank, clank, clank, his shots rang out rapid fire as his trained hands swiftly worked the bow, folding back the lock, slinging a bolt, cranking the handle and loosing into the crowd gathering close below.

His first shot pierces the chest of a goblin, dropping it to the ground immediately.  

   

Another bolt slices down, piercing the top of a goblins skull, sending it wobbling off into the sand.

   

Imp continues rattling off shots until his quiver is empty.  He's wounded 3 and killed one, but another group is quickly approaching.  He scampers down the mast ladders, reluctantly following Kalen's orders.

As he gets on deck and aproaches the hatch, he see's it open and the second villager is shoved out on deck.  Recalling his instructions, he gives the poor chap a look of pity after reluctantly placing his crossbow into his tatto'd hands.

"Good luck mate," comes the cry as Imp disappears below decks, the hatch locking behind him.  

Rigoth looks around, confused.  He see's a pile of bolts sitting at the edge of the deck near a ballista and walks over to grab some of them, filling his quiver.  He looks up, and is horrified.  

Sssssssssthunk, thunk, t-t-t-thunk, multiple arrows sticking to the hull of the ship, barely missing him.

"AIAIA!" He shouts, instinctively hiding behind the ballista.  He eyes the doors, all of them locked.  He grits his teeth and prepares to do what sure he is being forced into.  

Hopping up onto the ballista like a monkey, he crouches, shouldering the crossbow, and begins firing.

   

Bolts whizzing by his head, he calmly continues knocking and firing, humming a song his mother had sung to him in their hut before the kobolds had taken her.  He imagines a kobold head on each of the goblins, his fingers tightening around the crossbow.  

The moment he starts to see them as kobolds, his aim improves, and he begins perforating the gathering crowds.

   

Not pausing to revel in his good aim, he reaches for another pile of bolts at his feet.  While leaning over to reload, a bolt slices through his left foot, tearing out a chunk of flesh.  He tumbles off the ballista, crawling over to the bolts, continuing to fire.

Another bolt slams into his right arm, causing him to drop the crossbow.  Rigoth looks up into the clear sky, whispering a tribal prayer to his mother.  Another bolt hits him in the left arm while he falls onto his knees, looking skyward.  

   

The blood pours from his wounds onto the deck as his vision drains, the sky darkening and going black.  As he slumps forward, collapsing towards the deck, another bolt screams out, slicing through his heart.

   

***

"GRAB YOUR SWORDS GRAB WHATEVER YOU CAN!"  Kalen barks out below decks, hanging onto the ladder above.  The crew are strapping on armor and forming up beside her while she listens intently, her ear snug against the hatch.

"He's dead ..." she says, noting the resounding quietness.  Jaina looks horrified, the rest of the crew grim in their resolve.  

"Where th' bloody 'ell did they come from?"  Horatio asks, unsheathing his blade while Fishgut follows suit, coming up from the weapon stockpile.

"We've been laid up here too FUCKING long," Kalen glowers hard at Skipper, a dead look in his eyes as he grips his spear.

"There's too many cap, we don't stand a chance!"

Kalen rounds on Skipper, preparing to clobber him again.  His cheek is still puffed out and his eye swollen, and she needs him;  she needs ALL of them for the coming fight.  She can't let on that he is right, because she needs her crew to be unwavering in battle.

"Bah!", she snorts, laughing, "They're just some mangy goblins, We're PIRATES!  Besides, we can't stay down here forever, The Professor will starve and that poor native up their will be eaten alive, I'm sure.  Now, Fishgut, Skipper, Horatio, Duncana, Sigurd, Imp, and you, you crazy son of a bitch,"  She slaps Beardless Bob on the shoulder while he grins at her and tosses his bag of gunpowder nervously in his hands, "I NEED you lads.  Now, let's be ready, for this battle will be one to remember.  We'll all be fine swimmers once we've waded through the blood we're about to spill!"

THUD

"Alright boys, they've planked us.  We've no choice.  On my mark ..."

She unbolts the hatch, pausing a moment, never looking back to her men, not even Fishgut.

"CHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGE!"

[ March 11, 2008: Message edited by: valcon ]

[Kagus]

Arr!  Great fun, this is!  

Pity the lad will most likely die.  Would've made a fine shipmate.

Or at least good cannon fodder...

[valcon]

Still 15th Malachite, Mid-Summer, 1059, midst-of-battle:

The crew burst onto the deck in a hail of crossbow fire, bolts slicing the air around their heads as they head for the ramp.

   

Kalen orders her crew to shore, flinging Rigoth's bloody corpse off the ballista before loosing an arrow into the now reinforced goblin crew.

   

The crew steps out onto the plank, cheering and roaring at the sight of the pitiful goblin rent asunder and pinned to the clay cliff wall behind him, his green toes wiggling and dripping in blood.

Fishgut is the first off the plank, Sigurd and Q-Tip behind him.  He runs up to a goblin and feints to stab at the stomach before bringing up the pommel of his sword to crush the goblins face in.  Sigurd storms past him, axe held high, a viking chant upon his frothing lips as the glory of battle overtakes him.  

Q-tip steps off lightly and springs towards a goblin crossbowman, knocking his crossbow swiftly into the ocean.  The green sniveling fool stands before her, confused, before she turns his face inside out with a blow to the head, bits of brain and blood spraying up into the air, carried aloft on the roars of the crew.

   

The sounds of battle ring out as goblin after goblin are cut down, their already wounded bodies being split in twain, blood splattering up on the cliff wall like some bizarre tribal cave painting.  Sigurd, his axe drenched in blood, watches as a goblin charges at him, catching him off balance, until a crossbow screams down from the heavens and strikes the goblin clean through the eye like a lightning bolt.

Imp has regained his crossbow and is standing on the mast, firing carefully amongst his assembled crew, unleashing a deadly fury of sharpened cat bones.

The three remaining pitiful goblins retreat for a stairway in the nearby cliff, withering away from the hail of ballista fire and bolts and the rowdy pirates covered in blood but entirely unhurt.

   

Beardless Bob, his eyes crazed with the joy of battle, runs past his comrades to catch them as they flee, unwilling to let any of them escape alive.  "AAyeee I'll blow ye all te 'ell you scurvy elf rats!"  he curses, peeling off from the group.

His blade sticks into the back of one of the goblins and it lets out a piercing howl into the sky, the sun setting over his shoulders.  As Sigurd and the crew race to follow, they see something glinting behind Beardless Bob's shoulders, but cannot quite make it out.  Bob pulls back his blade, letting a mist of blood spurt up into the air, obscuring their vision.  Wiping wretched goblin blood from their eyes and out of their beards, the crew prepares to finish the battle, when Imp suddenly yells down from above, his voice absolutely tortured, shocking the crew who are handily winning the battle ... or so they think.

"BOB!!! NO!!  AAAAAAAAAAMBUUUUUUUUUUUUSH!"  Imp's tortured cry rings out as the mist of blood falls around them, revealing a swarming mass of goblins, heavy axes swaying in the air, swiftly enveloping their group.

   

"IT'S A TRAP!"  Kalen shouts, too late, rushing for more ballista bolts.  Sigurd's roar erupts, drowning out the sound of battle with an echo reaching from deep within his mountain home of a chest.  

Kalen watches in horror as she loses sight of them, covered by charging goblins.   Duncana, Fishgut, Horatio, Jaina, Sigurd, Q-Tip, Skipper, and Beardless Bob disappearing under the wave of goblins.  Kalen holds her fire, she couldn't fire into the tumbling ball of flesh rolling on the beaches, without hitting her crew.  She watches in horror, her eye peeled open, as spurts of blood and guts fly up out of the mess, severed limbs spinning into the waves, bouncing off the side of her ship.  

Roars, clanks, slices, and a massive thud ring out.  Kalen is rocked back off of the ballista, feeling as though the force of the very fight itself had pushed her back, stunned.  She grabs her hammer and weaves out across the deck, stepping over goblin corpses to join her crew in what she hopes will not be certain death.

When Kalen reaches the battle, she finds her crew is actually winning!  Her eye gets a twinkle as she wades in, collapsing a goblins skull casually while singing out her crews names.  "Let's at them, lads!"  She cries out, shortly joined by the men as they slaughter the the goblins.

Kalen pauses, taking stock of her crew.  She is shocked.  Covered in goblin blood, entrails draping their shoulders and bits of brain and goblin teeth sticking to their beards, the crew are finishing off the last of the first ambush as Sigurd heads up the steps onto the overlooking cliff.  None of them appear to be wounded ... 'Unfathomable ...' she ponders, looking at the mess of goblins.  A spot in the center of the carnage shows the bodies of at least 6 goblins, their corpses nearly unrecognizable, punctured with bolts and sliced into pieces, blackened and bloody.  'Blackened?'  She ponders, nearly calling off her men, when she sees Sigurd disappear over the lip of the cliff, Horatio fast behind him.

"ANOTHER AMBUSH!"  Imp cries out, his voice weary, arms tired, and quiver nearly depleted.  

Kalen, horrified, glances up at the cliff wall, and she can make out the glint of steel, and multiple goblins, but cannot see her crew.  Horatio hangs on the edge of the cliff, unable to progress further, his feet wrapped around the ladder.  Q-Tip is holding his ankles as he draws his blade back and begins swinging.

"SIGURD!"  Imp yells out, loosing another bolt.

Above the cliffs edge, Sigurd is grinning wide, his braided beard swinging.  He imagines valhalla, his parents, carved out of granite, their tombs closed, laying next to an open one.  Sigurd eagerly wades into the goblins, praying to join them.

   

   

To be continued ... in a few seconds =)

[ March 11, 2008: Message edited by: valcon ]

[martinuzz]

Ahhhhhhrrr. Bloody carnage!!

[valcon]

Still 15th Malachite, Mid-Summer, 1059, STILL midst-of-battle:

Horatio tries to swipe at one of the goblin's ankles from his precarious perch on the ladder, losing sight of Sigurd in the mess of goblins.  He loses his grip, sliding down the ladder, unable to see.  Blood spurts out over the edge of the cliff, limbs flying, bits of hair and entrails spinning past him.  

A shove comes from below and he see's Kalen at his feet, pushing hard.  

"GET UP THERE YOU OAF!  We've got to get to Sigurd before they slice him to pieces!"  

Horatio grunts, and crawls up the edge, grabbing Q-Tip and Kalen by the hand and hoisting them up behind him at once.  The three stumble up, and turn to face their enemies, outnumbered.

Or ... not.

       

One goblin is flying through the air ... no, make that HALF of one goblin is flying through the air, and the blood drenched viking is swinging his axe at another, the last remaining alive, his lower legs dismembered, kneeling in the grass.  His head flies off into the sky as Sigurd roars, his axe screaming through the air, trailing streams of blood in it's wake.

"Holy blood god ..." Kalen gasps, witnessing the death.   The viking is wiping his blade off, turning towards them.  

"Sigurd win."  He grunts, no grin on his face.  

"Uh, Sigurd, let's get you below decks ... you're hurt."  Horatio walks towards him before Sigurd briskly waves him off.

"Sigurd not hurt, pathetic goblins not stand chance!"

"Sigurd ... "  Kalen cautions, stepping close.  "You've got a sword sticking out of you."

Sigurd looks down to see that a sword is INDEED sticking out of him, jutting out from his lower left side.  

       

Kalen and Horatio step up to care for him but the viking laughs them off, "Me fall on sword, goblins not do that!"  Sigurd chuckles before plucking the blade out with his mighty meat paw and hurling it into the ocean.

He grabs Horatio and Kalen around the shoulders, not to lean on them, but to hold them close while he whispers a viking prayer.

The trio head down the ladder to witness the carnage below.

       

Goblin corpses are strewn everywhere.  Severed limbs and entrails litter the beach, the very sea turning red as the soil sops up the blood and deposits it into the drifts.

Kalen beams at her men, ordering them to assemble so she can give them a deserving victory speech before preparing to loot the bodies in favor of filling their treasure hold.

She beings to count her crew;  Duncana, Sigurd, Q-Tip, Skipper, Fishgut, Horatio, Jaina ...

Kalen, distracted, looks up to see Imp running down the plank, bare handed.  "NO!"  he shouts, running towards them wildly, tripping over goblin bodies.

"Ah fuck, another ambush?!?"  Kalen shouts, turning around, hammer at the ready.

Seeing nothing, she turns back, Imp running up closer, screaming, "NO, NO, NO!"  as he crawls towards them and the carnage around them.  As he grows closer ... he can see tears in his eyes ...

'What the bloody ...' she ponders, as he begins digging in the pile of 6 goblins at the center of the mess.  She walks over to him, confused, her heart sinking at the shrill wail in his voice.  'He's acting as though we've ...'  she begins to think, until she sees him flop over the corpse of a goblin.  It's face is burned off.  'The blackened corpses ...' she thinks, horrified, as he pulls more and more bloody, burned, singed, and incinerated goblins off the pile.

Her eye peels back as Imp wails, pulling off another corpse.  A hand ... no, a blasted chunk of flesh ... with some traces of pig skin and a small string.  She watches in horror as Imp reaches up and begins rubbing a blackened rock.  

No.  Not a rock.  Kalen leans close, her face scrunching and her eye welling up as he wipes soot off.  

She's met with a grinning, smooth, scorched, beardless face, smiling back at her.  

       

"NOOOOOOOOOOO!"  Imp cries out again, his tears overflowing his beard and dripping into the blood, blackened, scorched crater in the sand.

Kalen drops her arm on his shoulder, "I'm so sor--" she begins, before Imp stands up quickly, grabbing one of the goblins swords and pressing it to her throat in a flash.

"YOU!" he yells out, marching her towards the sea front as the crew hold their breaths behind them.  

       

"Whoa lad!"  Kalen says, her voice choked and her head cocked back from the blade.  

"You did this!"  Imp shouts, furious.  "Nay," Kalen responds, only a slighty waver in her voice, "He sacrificed himself for us, we'd all likely died if it weren't for him cooking off that bag o' powder just then ..."  she steps back, her heels meeting the edge of the sand.

"We'd never have been in this situation if it weren't for you!" Imp shouts back, a single drop of blood slowly sliding down the edge of the blade.  

"If you'd let me and Bob stay on the crow's nest instead of letting that PATHETIC", he spits into her beard, "fucking villager 'Test himself' against these goblins, Bob might still be alive!  Rigoth had no chance and you knew it!"

"And what now?" Kalen asks, glaring at him.  "You'll behead your captain and leave your crew stranded on an island while another army surely marches to kill you all?  What good will that do?  I have to live with this," she chokes, her voice parched, her arm tingling from the bite of the shark that took her former crew.  

Imp lowers the blade, his eyes still locked on her remaining one.  He turns his back slowly, dropping the blade into the sand before marching back aboard the ship, sobbing.  

       

The crew stand silent, stunned.  Kalen straightens herself up and wipes her beard.  "Grab his body," she says, softly, "and any weapons you see.  Skipper, fix the helm, we've only hours before more are on us.  Let's not tarry."

The Duncana and Jaina solemnly lift Bob's corpse and carry it gently aboard the ship.  Duncana looks up as she carry's the burned corpse to see Imp glaring down at them, tears in his eyes, from the crow's nest.  

***

1st, Limestone, Autumn, 1059:

The crew are gathered on the deck.  The plank is up, the helm is fixed, and they've left the dock at last.  They've changed from their bloody garments and are standing before the main mast, waiting for Kalen to speak.

       

Skippers knee's tremble as he looks down upon the casket.  His fingers ache, remembering crafting the thing, longing to be placed inside it, never imagining that it would be used so soon, and for one so full of life and hope, while he lived on, in despair.  

"This casket," Kalen begins, her back to the crew, "will remain here always, a constant reminder to you."  She waves her hands around the ship.  "Beardless Bob made this ship a warship.  He gave us a fighting chance against the natives, he saved The Professor and Horatio from a certain horrible death by crafting a still, and he sacrificed his life so that all of us may live."

Kalen turns, her eye clear, her voice strong.  "Beardless Bob was the FIRST pirate on this ship.  We were all maggots before, even me," she says loudly, proud.  "When he gave himself for us, he made us pirates."  She pauses, looking at them harshly.

"HE MADE US PIRATES!"  she shouts as loud as she can, her voice echoing off the icy waves curling under and around their ship.

"HE MADE US PIRATES!" the crew yell back, many salty tearstained eyes looking up at her.  

"We set out for plunder and money," Kalen continues, standing before the casket.  

Kalen beckons Boucher over, the grogmistress sobbing, a wreath of whip vines and prickleberries in her hands.  She gently set's them on the casket, sobbing, reaching down to caress it softly.  

Boucher stands up, and Kalen stands behind her, looking over her shaking shoulder at the crew.  She touches her softly, and whispers, "Now, lass, let's see him off proper."

Boucher reaches into her pigtail dress and pulls out a tiny pouch, similar to the one Bob was constantly playing with.  It contains a small amount of gunpowder, his most precious gift, to keep them together always.  

"We are no longer in search of plunder and money!"  Kalen shouts out as Boucher slowly strides to the front of the ship, standing up at the bow, her head low.  She opens the pouch while Kalen continues, "We've got only one mission on these high sea's now."  Boucher lifts the pouch up, the wind licking at the string untied around its neck.

As Boucher sobs, tipping the sack over, letting the wind pick up the gunpowder and swirl it about above their heads, swishing between the sails and masts, jib lines and spindles, Kalen shouts, "WE'RE AFTER REVENGE, LADS!"  

The crew cheer, though it is somewhat half hearted.  The sun is setting, and the dreaded island they are leaving is a dark silhouette behind them.  

Imp, sitting in the crows nest, his back to the wall, crossbow across his lap, a bolt in his fingers, hears the cheer.  "Revenge, indeed," he whispers, twirling the bolt.

[ March 12, 2008: Message edited by: valcon ]

[Kaelem Gaen]

Man, that part nearly brought me to tears (And yet I had no urge to cry when I finished reading Boatmurdered just before reading this.)

Rest in Peace Beardless Bob   *throws a handful of gunpowder in with him in the casket*

[Dasqoot]

Long live Inod the Hopper, slayer of monkeys, one legged half-pirate!

[martinuzz]

Ahhh. Darkness at last!
Wait... No...Did you.. did you place my coffin... out on the deck?
In the blight of the hated sun?
NOOOOOO!!!! ARRGH!! I...WILL...AVENGE!

But I did go out with a bang!
Permission to board again when an opportunity (or my corpse) rises?

[Kagus]

Well, I would say put the coffin on the bowsprit, so that each wave will crash dramatically about his final resting place as he leads us to greater glory.

I need to find that sturgeon bone necklace...  Wrapped in a few fish guts, it should make a fitting send off to the lad.  Drink hail to Beardless Bob!  A finer dwarf there ne'er was!

[Retro42]

What a way to go Bob.  Very much a pirate's death.

Retro