Golden Age of Piracy - Stranded in Antigua

[Captain Will Townsend]

Absently, Will walked down the alley, past the beggars and drunks and midnight merchants. The heat still simmered lightly off of the cobblestone walk and only added to the overwhelming odor of unwashed, dirty bodies and exotic spices and scents. A toothless old man rasped, offering him the finest in brass pots and pans; a small boy not older than twelve was selling baskets. Sailors, gambled out and drunk to the deep, passed out here and there, causing Will to step over them as if they were part of the landscape. Come to think of it, he was not sure why he had come down this way; Alejandro was likely going to get some back up supplies. He was to find manpower. Some dumb old salt willing to put to sea with a wanted man or three and live a risky life which may end in either a cold watery grave or a hanging. Some dirty back alley was not the place to find those...

As he passed a wretched old woman, her hand snaked out and seized his arm, startling him. Her face was ancient and weathered, but her eyes shone brightly with something akin to inner madness. And her voice, weak, yet strong with some sort of hidden conviction, spilled forth.

"Young Townsend." She hissed, the recognition of his name making him forget to pull free. "Yes, I know you." She went on, teasingly. "Knew your mother and your father. Knew them both." She grinned, mouth like an open pit in a dusty forgotten tomb. "I have something you need, young Townsend." She began to hum a bit to herself, as though enjoying some private concert. Obviously living up her position as the mystic old hag in the alley.

For a moment, he was speechless, as though spellbound. Finally, when his wits returned to him, he stuttered: "You knew them? Of them?" She nodded sagely. "What do you have? What do you know?"

She tugged him closer, leaning forward to whisper into his ear her dark secret. "I have a gift from your late father, William." He felt something being pressed into his hand. The weight was real, though the whole scenario felt like a dream. Then, she stood up, her ragged cloak flowing about, blending into the darkness of the building she was sitting near. "He would have wanted it this way." She said vaguely, before stepping back into the shadow of the building, disappearing from sight.

His jaw was open, his arm feeling a bit chilled from where she had touched him, though the chill spread everywhere as the eeriness of the situation took hold of his mind. Still, in his clenched hand was the secret she had bestowed upon him. Shaking, he opened his fingers up to see a small box made of pine, a strange symbol burned on the top. He had half a mind to open it there, but not in front of all these damn thieves. Looking around for a nice place to hide, he stuffed the box into his coat.[/size][/font]

[Degaré Bontecou]

The inn’s warm and cozy interior beckoned to Degaré like a mother to a lost child, but he was old enough to know that its gifts, unlike that mother’s, weren’t free. A full belly in there would require payment. Forehead pressed to the cool glass, he sighed longingly. Homesickness was a disease he just needed to work through as the only cure for it was long gone. He tore his gaze from that inviting sight and let it roam over the darkened streets. He was in need of someone drunk enough not to notice, but rich enough to spare the cash. An unlikely, but necessary find if ever there was one. About this time the threesome behind him were parting ways in opposite directions and, low and behold, the upper class British accent with its slight yet recognizable slur was on the move alone. Racist though it may seem, of the three, a noble Englishman was likely better off than a slow-toned and quite possibly huge African or a shifty Spaniard. Degaré blamed the times for this judgmental assumption. With only three detached voices in the night to base such important decisions, he had no choice but to rely on stereotypes. That they would go forth with whatever money they might hold while the Brit took the financial hit eased his conscience some. That he faired his chances against that sloshed, prissy white man more than what sounded to be a giant and a born-to-be criminal eased it more. You had to know your limits.

At first, even for an inexperienced and hesitant thief, it was not difficult to track him. The victim was preoccupied with whatever preoccupied his kind and strolled along oblivious to his stalker. Soon, however, the alley proved more crowded than the main street and it became a struggle to get over and by its inhabitants without drawing unwanted attention. Degaré’s nerves were fried and his clammy hands shook something awful as his prey was pulled aside by a woman older than dirt. His initial reaction was to turn and flee for she may be giving the hunter up to the hunted, but he held his ground under the shadowed overhang of dilapidated building between two unconscious drunks. There were plenty of reasons why he would be in this alley at the very same time as everyone else. In spite of those many reasons, none of which he could think of on the spot, he was none too relieved when their business showed itself in the form of a box passed from one to the other. The words they shared were lost and in the darkness even Degaré’s keen eyesight could not offer any details on what type of box it might be.

He was still trailing after his chance for a late supper when genius struck. In what appeared to be an attempt to hide, Will was moving through the sprawled bodies of all types of men. Undoubtedly violent men from the looks of them. A loose stone in the cobbled path had an idea so devious he was appalled to be thinking it coming to mind. He snatched it up and going on instinct alone, waited for the perfect moment to throw it. His throw and its result was one of his proudest moments, if not one of his lowest. After winging past the Brit’s blind side, it caught the nearest and biggest sleeping form in the side of the head with a nauseating clunk. Degaré held his breath again as the man came awake with a roar, swinging already as he lurched to unsteady feet in front of the ex-captain. Bloodshot eyes fell on him, deeming him the culprit with the simple logic a dim-witted lowlife can sometimes manage.

Whassa idea yeh clumsy oaf?! Canna showwa sleepin man sem respeht? We’ll seeboot thah!

Liquor still flowed through his veins and out his pores and mouth as he faced off with an innocent man. Struck by his cleverness, Degaré made his move. As the tank charged on the Englishman, the boy closed the distance between him and them. Short anyways, he ducked lower and on racing past, his small hand darted into the pocket of a ratty brown coat that looked as if it belonged over his own outfit and not on Will at all. His fingers sought gold, silver, or anything of any worth but would eventually find the box if they made it in at all. Whatever he might find he would snatch to sort out later, never breaking his stride as he dashed frantically for cover. May God watch over poor Will. I’m sorry… he thought. And he really was.

[julton]

*Bull thought for almost an hour as to the best way to dispose of the bodies and finally came up with a plan. He had already fetched an appropriately sized bag from below and had begun the messy work of emptying the bodies of their entrails, those that he could reasonably throw overboard without too much suspicion, as a bucket or two of fish guts would be dealt with just the same. It was dirty, bloody work and unpleasant to no end, but Bull had done it before. He had known the unpleasant inner parts of men to stain his clothes before, although it had been some time since the task had been quite so coldly gruesome...

He looked around again, checking to make sure all was going as planned. The captain was foolish, and Bull was just clever enough to take advantage of this, with the help of some of the others. They had put everything they had into this, having a purpose in this dank pit gave them hope, held strong their sanity in a world turned upside down. Chains rattled as a row of men and women were removed from the rough planks that served as their bed, their waste pit, their cage. Bull was in the middle of the line, yet their plan did not come into action until the last of the men was taken from the racks, then they would strike. The wait was long and painful, but allowed him some time flexing his massive muscles to warm them up from the stiffness of the minimal space allowed them in the cabin. He was ready to act, the guards were within reach. He knew it might mean his death, but all for freedom, for revenge against these cruel monsters, to return home would be to wake form this nightmare and he would make these men pay for dreaming it up in the first place.
There it was, the last click that meant they were moving the last man on the line, they all knew the sound, and he could see them all pull a bit tighter to wait for the whip and the gun to prod them forward for their only time in the light of day for at least another day. They all knew the sign, and, with a last meeting of eyes with his comrades, he stepped out of line.
The chains held his feet and arms close, but they all knew what to do. They moved with synchrony, with a singular will forged from the desperation and pain of capture and enslavement. The guards barely had enough time to berate them before the heavy chains of their dominance became their downfall. He grabbed the gun of the nearest guard and wrenched the man to the ground, tugging the gun free of his hands and handing it to the waiting man behind him. The Bull took the heavy chain and, pinning the man to the ground with his legs, wrapped it around the man's fragile neck and pulled with all the strength he had. The man struggled, but, unlike some of the other men, had no chance to fight back before the strength of the chain crushed his windpipe and snapped his neck, releasing him from the pain of a slow death. Bull looked down the line then, seeing that the others had taken up their parts and even the surrounding dark bodies reached out to aid their cause, tendrils of dark grasping, pulling, bashing, clawing at a chance for freedom. The guards had been dispatched, their synchrony rewarded with the success of victory, and some already had freedom from the dreaded chains that had bound them since they had been taken from their homes. The key man, that last man in line, worked along the row freeing rejoicing body after rejoicing body, smiling as the key clicked over and over and the chains dropped to the deck. He worked quickly, with a passion and joy that revealed his spirit. He was to deliver his people from bondage, conquer evil, and return them to their rightful place in the world. His work quickly freed Bull, and the urgency of the danger form the men on deck drove him to action. He reached down to take the sword from the man he had felled, pausing a moment in his looting to give the body a slap to the cheek before closing the eyes in respectful reverence. The dead liked their sleep, and he would be sure that the eternity of sleep would bring this man nightmares for his wrongs, he needed no more punishment. Most of those chained had been let free when the first few came down to see what had gone wrong. The first two were pulled down into waiting blades, but the third was more cautious and managed to get a shot off and a cry for help. One of the watches fell to the bullet, his skull splitting from the close shot. The shooter was taken down, but the seed of chaos had been spread and those free as well as those still chained now poured out onto the deck followed immediately by the sounds of gunshots and pain and death. Bull charged out amid the crowd and leapt to the kill, knowing that this moment was his freedom and he could not afford to fail...

He shook himself from his reverie and continued the bloody work of emptying these men of their innards. He had been using a dagger from the captain's boot to open them up, but soon gave up on keeping anything intact and now simply sliced and chopped away at the organs til he could pull and handful forth to drop in the bucket. He paused occasionally to empty the bucket out on deck and check to make sure none were around to witness. It was late night and there were many shadows, any movement could have been a threat, but he knew the sight of a body in waiting, and he would probably not draw the attention of anyone with skill enough to hide from his eyes.
He returned to his work, cutting forth both bodies at once. He pulled forth masses from the first mate, a man he had known, now no more than a task, a lifeless object. He had once put faith into the death of men, but had long since lost any ideas or superstitions about whatever else may have once inhabited this mass of flesh and bone. He finished with the mate and emptied that last overboard, and now worked a little more carefully with the captain. He had been a good man, if greedy, and Bull felt he deserved a mite of respect.
He reached again into the body to fish out more parts for his bucket, grasping and pulling and emerging with a bloody red chunk of flesh. He noticed then, the image before him. He held now the man's heart, lifeless and cold, and beneath him...

Beneath him, under the crushing weight of his body, there lay the captain of his enslavement, the leader of this expedition of suffering and pain. The fighting continued around him, leaving him to deal as he wished with this monstrous thing that perhaps had once been a man. Certainly there was a demon in control here, surely this could no longer be a man, and a demon lay rooted in this man's heart preventing him the rest of death. Bull would give him that rest and rid him of this demon. He used the clumsy blade, stained with the blood of many men, and sliced open the man's chest amid his fearful agonized screams. Bull the lay down the blade and carefully but firmly plunged his hand through flesh and between bone and found the corrupted beating heart inside. He grasped firmly and pulled it free of flesh, sending the man into spasms of pain before he fell limp under Bull's massive form. The thing let go another few beats before giving up and laying still in Bull's large hand. The demon still dwelled within and must rest in the cool calm of the ocean to be trapped forever in its crushing depths. The bloody heart sailed over the side of the pitching deck and into the ocean as Bull had hurled it with all his might. He turned then to the captain, the good man, and saw the dark grimace of pain etched firmly into the man's face. He pressed the tension from the man's features and drew closed his eyes, hoping that slumber would claim him free of the torment of evil, and all the while he cried for a good man, for freedom, and for the taint of the demon he felt numbing his own heart to the loss of life. He never cried again from that day forward, for his own heart had grown cold with the harsh truth of death...

He leapt up from his place on the floor and charged outside, taking again the chance to hurl a corrupted heart into the waiting waters. His rage made his blood boil, memory would not claim him today! He had given too much to stop now, he had to keep moving before his father again found him and tore at his chill heart to rid him of his own demon. He knew it dwelt there, deep inside, but he would live on to spite it, he would not give it the satisfaction of control.
He returned again to the cabin, quickly finishing his work and loading the emptied bodies into the large sack he had retrieved from below. This he slung over his shoulder and, taking one last glance around the cabin and noting that the blood stains would now take some time to get rid of, strolled away like a sailor gone to find a room after a long journey with all of his belongings on his back, all of his belongings now being the two bodies of two greedy men.

[Captain Will Townsend]

The entire transaction with the mysterious old woman had left him a bit dazed, and the filthy alley air was hardly cleansing for the mind. Intent on his newfound purpose in life and thinking of some place where he could view this without company, he was oblivious to the rock sailing past him, colliding with some poor drunken sod. When said drunken sod reared up and began blathering on and on, obviously believing Will to be the culprit, the world became a bit more complicated. He backed up a step, trying to gather his wits and think of a way to de-escalate the situation when he felt the novice slip his hands into his coat pocket, those thieving hands coming back with a handful of Spanish coins and the now-precious box.

"Oi, thief!" He was about to bark when the drunk decided to revenge himself upon Will for the assault no doubt caused by said thief. "Dog! Down with you!" Will growled as he slammed his fist into the drunk's nose three times in rapid succession, each blow crunching the wretched nose and spilling a good deal of blood. Being rather broad shoulders and powerfully built, it was like sand blasting a soup cracker, and after the rage had subsided a bit, Will felt horribly guilty. But no matter- the thief was making way with his things!

"Oi, avast, thief!" He ran after the lad, lumbering steps making no quick stops for prone bodies or hapless bystanders. He shoved people about and gave chase, his face red and understandably furious. "Hell has plenty of rooms for cut-purses and vagabonds!" He bellowed, more for bluster and to hear himself say something righteous than anything else.

[julton]

*While Bull searched for a proper alley in which to deposit his 'belongings', he hoped his partners in crime were as successful in finding something that might resemble a crew. He was trudging along another grungy roadway when he heard a commotion not far from where he was. He listened for a moment, and judged correctly that it was coming in his direction. Not being one particularly gifted in quick thinking, he found the first dark alley he could find and dumped the solid remains of the bodies amidst several other equally odorous garbage bags. He immediately left the alleyway and, as casually as he could, strolled down a winding series of side-roads away from the bodies and the commotion behind him. Unfortunately, the commotion found him, and he soon saw the strangely dressed little thief come darting around the corner followed closely enough by his recent business partner, the latter screaming obscenities and accusations while the former deftly maneuvered through crowds in an attempt to escape unscathed. Bull knew from experience that such a commotion drew official attention much more than any inconspicuous stashing of an oddly shaped bag. He decided that it would be best to interrupt this chase, and stepped into a good position.
As the thief darted by, Bull anticipated a small leap by the pursued over a half-conscious waste of a man and placed himself quickly at the little man's landing spot. His excessive body weight acted like a brick wall to the tiny man. Despite his quick positioning, Bull's balance was off and he wasn't able to reach down in time to grab the dextrous thief, but still delayed him a bit so that Will could catch up.*