Port Maria (IC, Sign Up First)

[Kaziimar]

OOC Link: viewtopic.php?f=31&t=463370

”One hundred days at sea, a wretch away from misery
Rummies and rats and tarry jacks, my only family.
The island of salvation, is still a scream away
As the lungs of night blow out the light, my heart kneels down to pray.- Gaelic Storm, “Lover’s Wreck”

Port Maria, a small yet bustling little port on the island of Isla Sorra...formerly a prison base that housed the most unwanted and notorious criminals of the Irlian Empire, but all that changed when the prisoners revolted and basically took over the town, stealing ships and carving out the seaside port as a new base for themselves...piracy then exploded as an attractive alternative to live freely away from what many see as an oppressive government.
The out of the way island has become home to many drifters from all walks (or sails) of life. Pirates have long used this island and particularly this port as a base and a home settlement while they carried out their illegal activities, in fact this place is quite famous for it. Drinking, wenching, gambling, even setting up a legit business (hard as that may be with the more prominent captains wanting to collect taxes), we have it all here. The pirates who run the place hail it as one of the last bastions of freedom, the “civilized” nations hail it as a dump where the world’s trash congregated. Most people who reside at Port Maria are at one of two extremes, they came here because they jumped at the choice, or came here because they have absolutely zero choice at all. Some people literally just blew in with no inkling of how in the world they ended up there, but one thing’s for certain...it’s home now. You are one of the residents of this town, whether you’re an up and coming pirate, a famous captain, a merchant trying to get by, some wretch trying to get home, a clever prostitute or maybe you’re even a secret naval officer infiltrating the place to try to get some pirate hunting done, you’re literally and figuratively in the same boat as the rest of us, ye scurvy dogs! Now let the adventures begin, either sail into the sunset or walk the plank!

[Keruma]

Black Ash

10 nautical miles southwest of Isla sorra

"Fire!"

A flash of light followed by a cloud of powder-smoke erupted from the 8 guns on the Dragoon's starboard side. The cannonballs rake through the merchant ship's already battered hull. Cheers erupt from the crew's mouth; it even manages to put Asher into a slight smirk. Even though it has only been a year since he took command of his mentor's ship, Asher was no stranger to the life of a man of his stature. He is well-aware that this merchant vessel is no match for his ship, making it extremely easy to sink it with a single well-placed broadside. However, a sinking ship also meant sinking treasure. A man such as himself surely need to look after his wealth (and subsequently, his crew's wealth). And so, Asher unsheathes his sword, father's sword, and shouts a command to capture his prize.

"Chain shot on the sails! I don't want that bloody bastard moving!"

The boom of cannon-fire rings loudly as chained ammunition tear through the other ship's sail. Bit by bit, the merchants sail rips open, leaving the ship immobile and defenseless. From afar, Asher could see the chaos and bloodshed that is currently occurring. In one hand his ship is getting ready for the coup de grace; grappling hooks are being brought out to successfully and safely board the ship while on the other hand, bloodied bodies lay askew on the ship's deck with the surviving running amok on the ship, hoping to gain some semblance of order. Only one person seems intent on actually putting up a fight. He holds a swivel gun and fires a shot off the nearest person on Asher's ship, ripping him to shreds.

"Grapple!"

The command sends the objects flying through the air, making a thud sound as it hits the deck. The lines are hauled as the ship's battered and bruised side come closer to the dragoon's own side. The crew readies their various instruments of destruction; sabers, clubs, a gun or two. However, A voice reins them in a bit and walks up to Asher. "Y'know, it's only the captain making all the hulabaloo. I wager if he gets it in the neck, it's practically ours" The ship's quartermaster, Lyanna, speaks up. "So, will it be the black ash who finishes them off or do you want me to do it?" She says while flashing a toothy smile. "No need, I can handle it all by myself. Alone. Go make sure the others don't end up shooting me in the back". "Aye, cap'n" Lyanna says while getting the people back in line. Asher runs, grabs a long swinging piece of rope and uses the momentum to swing towards his prey.

As Asher lands, he hears the voice of the merchant captain. His dark brown is a stark contrast to the salt-and-pepper beard he sports. He however is visibly obese. "You don't think I know how to fight, boy? Come here and i'll make you meet your maker" He pulls out his sword in a way a trained swordsman from irlia would. He isn't lying, Asher thought. He brings out his own sword and takes a combat stance. The captain clumsily launches himself forward and Asher easily steps aside. He easily parries the swing and steps on the captain's back leg which makes him kneel. He brings the sword down on the captain's head, killing him instantly. The remaining crew stop in their tracks and kneel down, acknowledging that as of now, they are in the Black Ash's mercy.

Hours pass, and the matter regarding the captured ship is settled. The crew take it as a prize ship, repair it enough to be sea-worhy, and it's cargo; sugar, coffee, and a few fruits are taken away to be stored in the Dragoon. The crew who survived are tied up so that they will not cause more problems even though they assured that they won't. The dragoon's helmsman takes charge of the prize ship while Asher navigates his ship himself. The two ship then make their way back to Port Maria.

[Tomia]

Joseph "Black Death" Fisher, Port Maria, Dusk's Tavern
Dusk's Tavern was a popular hangout spot in the pirate haven of Port Maria. It was a loud and riotous place with music and constant drinking. It was packed like it usually was come night time, but people tended to move out of the way for the Black Death when he passed them. He walked into the tavern, with his first mate Davy Simmons, and one of the captains in his fleet Jack Kingston. Simmons was a short and stout man, while Kingston was a more towering fellow. He stood a good 3 inches taller than Joseph. The two of them made their way across the tavern looking for alcohol and a good time, while Joseph found himself a seat at the bar. He wasn't exactly interested in getting piss drunk and looking for trouble. Rather, at that moment he was more interested in people watching. He had been fighting the Empire for years now and he realized he needed to start being more active in recruiting new captains into his fleet in order to achieve his true objective. The hatred that flowed in Joseph's veins was only matched by his ambition after all. As he sat there no one seemed to approach him, likely out of self preservation, and that was fine with him. He ordered a drink from the bar and finished it quickly. They had been at sea for over four months, hunting down an imperial treasure transport that they had successfully captured. With his latest victory the reputation of the Fleet of the Black Death continued to grow and its commander was hoping to take advantage of that.

But hell, another drink couldn't hurt. He thought to himself as he downed another shot.

Edward Fisher
"Sir, we've reached the capital." A guard said as he stood at the door of the Captain's quarters. Edward gave a tired nod as he felt the ship slow for docking. He sighed heavily, rubbing his hands over his eyes. They had been at sea a very long time and it hadn't been a particularly relaxing trip. The fleet had returned to the capital for a resupply as well to receive new orders. He was personally looking forward to a bit of time to rest, but knowing his admiral she would likely want to use their time in the capital for more adventurous things. Unlike most captains in the navy, Edward was very close friends with his admirals. They were once much more than friends... but that was now in the past. Sometimes Edward wondered what he could have done differently, but then that just opens the massive vault of what ifs he had throughout his life. Pushing those thoughts from his mind he finished the letter he was writing and set about packing for his time on shore, hoping that could provide some rest for his weary mind.

[Ruskland-Preuben]

Karl Flint, Misfortune's Son
Port Maria, the Docks

Ah, nothing like the smell of afternoon sea air in your face, and the familiar metallic taste of blood in your mouth. See, a brawl had broken out on his ship, the frigate to be exact, and instead of breakig it up like any sane man would do, he did what he did best, bring misfortune and make it worse. Joining the haphazard duel and making it a two on one fight, one of the bastards actually got lucky and hit him square in the cheek! Of course, it takes more than just a punch to face to put down old Karl, and he promptly dished out the damage to both pirates. At the end of it all, a good duel, the three knew that, and so further resentment was prevented and no further damage was made other than a few bloodstains, and two heads, on the floor of the lower deck, which were cleaned about an hour ago. Right now, he sailed his two boats into port and left some orders for his more skulduggery and cartography oriented men, and that was to make maps of the place, highly detailed ones, and collect as much information as possible. He needed to conquer his soon-to-be capital as quickly as possible, of course!

As for him, he would be trawling in the various taverns and brothels scattered about the small town, for more detailed information, and to seek out potential recruits for his cause, and potential threats. No rivals allowed. First stop? Why, one of the most popular hangouts for pirates and scum like him of course! Dusk's Tavern! He has heard that the one that took down his prey from about four months ago was here somewhere, and Karl would like a productive chat with whoever he, or she, you never know, was. He was about to find out as he pushed the door open and stepped slowly inside, and he could already assume the person he was looking for was here. Giving the area a quick look, he spotted the usual wide eyes and whispering mouths, pointed at him and... Somebody else. Taking another quick look, he spotted this somebody, somebodies to be exact, and walked over to them.

He'd recognize the Black Death anywhere. "Joseph Fisher, the Black Death..." he started as he walked onwards, inching ever closer to their position.

[Hothnia]

Valeria Cryuffsten


Candlelight flicked off Valeria’s face as she watched the young pirate struggle against his bonds, unaware of her presence in the room. She had kidnapped him last night, in a dark alleyway behind a pub that he often frequented. He was the first mate of a small sloop, the Seawolf, which had only begun raiding two months prior. And he would be Valeria’s first kill in Port Maria.

The Skörlydia expedition this far has been a complete disaster. 4 members were dead, 2 were imprisoned, and another two had apparently deserted, after hearing of the failures of the other six. This left only four of the Grand Duchy’s elite Guard active in Port Maria, along with the crewmen of the Princess Alicia, still undercover st the docks. Between the four of them, they had 3 kills, and only one small ship sunk, an embarrassing number compared to their losses.

The man in front of Valeria continued to struggle, but immediately stopped as he heard the sound of Valeria’s dagger being drawn behind him. “ Hello? Who’s there?” Valeria walked up behind the man and lowered her head, whispering into his ear. “Sova nu, och må Gud vara barmhärtig över din själ.” Valeria’s knife slit acrossed the man’s throat after finishing the old death rite, and the man choked on his own blood for a second, before slumping down, dead.

Valeria cleaned her knife on the dead man’s cloths before exiting the man’s house, leaving his body tied up in a chair inside of his bedroom. It would be a few days before anyone found the body. Valeria squinted as she exited the house and into the sunlight. All around her was chaos, per usual. Immediately, the Yelling from street vendors, the screaming of children, and the squawks of chickens attacked her senses at once, causing her to wrinkle her nose, before setting off at a Brisk pace towards the harbor.

I Need to identify a new target. But who? Should I shoot big, or stick with small? Valeria grimaced as she entered the frequent meetup of some of the town’s most notorious pirates, Dusk’s Tavern. Upon entering, Valeria made her way to the back, where she sat at an unclaimed table, wedged between a group of whores and some drunk sailors, who were, by the looks of them, not currently enlisted in a crew. Once again, Valeria wrinkles her nose, silently observing the occupants of the establishment.

[Ormata]

Captain Sandberg, Oscar
St Verlay-Aumay

“Clear for action, Leftenant.”

“Aye sir. Clear for action!”

“Clear for action!”

The whistles started up, a drum starting it’s fast beat, and across the ship men ran to their stations. Powder monkeys ran up from below decks, charge bundles in their grimed little hands, running up to each of the guns to distribute the black powder and shot. It was a lot of powder; the vessel prided itself on having some of the largest cannon fielded on a Swadian vessel and, by relation, on any Irelian, Seelandt, or Hanverson vessel. The 36-pounder was a hell of a gun, mounted on mostly the largest ships of a fleet, the 2nd and 1st Rate Warships of the Line. Long range, hard hit, they didn’t give a damn for the enemy. The polacca carried a good, honest sixteen of the bastards.

It made for a hell of a surprise.

The guns were charged, powder in it’s paper holders down the barrel and the ram-rod being put to work. In the distance he could see the enemy, a damn Irelian frigate with full sail and tack, her guns already out. Lucky for the St, she had no chasers, the poor bugger. She was on the starboard, started a port turn with the massive banner still waving from the topsails. It looked like the flags at the capital, heavy and massive, long and sweeping in the wind like a banner to proclaim all present of the grandeur. The fabric looped about itself like a dragon in flight. In went the shot, solid iron, tapped down again, and each of the guns was primed. Reports from each chief gunner to each officer, up to the XO, were made in rapid order; they didn’t play about when things like this would happen. A pirate they might be, but that didn’t really matter at all on the order of battle; through determination, fortitude, and acting like what they plainly were not would battles be won, victories had. The enemy frigate began to slow as she turned out of the wind, her large square sail not affording her the speed while perpendicular to the motion, her turn slowing painfully.

“Cleared for action, sir! Ready to fire!”

“Fire as she bears! Helm, hard to port!”

“Hard to port, aye sir!”

The two helmsmen began to move the ship’s wheel, a large affair with her two wheels, each on each side and each working it rapidly to bring the rudder hard about. The polacca responded beautifully, as any ship should respond to any sort of maneuver; not a bit of speed was lost as she turned hard and fast, swinging about. The first cannon lit-off, a harsh thunder, and each of the rest lit off in their own disorganized manner. Firing as their bare indeed, though that also meant firing as the chief gunner of each cannon saw fit. The frigate had presented itself an easy target; they took advantage of that fact.

One shell holed her below the waterline it seemed, the splash too near the hull for it to be anything else. Another impacted the frigate’s gundeck, then another three setting the area alight with panic, confusion as smoke gave way to splinter, hull gave way to hole. It was unlikely a good, hearty broadside could be dealt after that sort of blow. Two others smashed the hull towards the bow, where presumably there would only be provisions and supplies, things of that sort. The last two went wide, one over the enemy and the other undershotting by a fair margin. The frigate had brought herself about, then, a brace of near twenty aimed at the St; it might be a poor fact, but something comforted Sandberg, gave him hope in the midst of hell. They’d engaged at nearly two kilometers, far outside of the supposed effective range of his own cannon and far, far outside of the enemy’s. It was doubtful they had anything near 36-pounders; at best a few Long 9’s, but those cannons didn’t really do their job whatsoever and so posed little threat. He’d trained his crew to be accurate, far more accurate than any enemy. Now would be the time to see if such a thing paid off.

“Reload!”

The enemy fired, her entire side turning to smoke and fire seeping from the cracks, and the sea about the St turned to hell and back. Plumes of water rose up, up and high as the deck, and perhaps two cannons in the twenty gun broadside had a chance to hit. The first was too far lead, the second too far away to do anything but blow pretty kisses at the target. Each of the crews went to work at reloading their cannon; unfortunately enough, the frigate seemed to have fresh loaders alongside their fresh gunners and too many fumbles gave the edge needed. Sandberg made sure his lads fired two rounds a minute, something he looked up to and hoped would be enough.

Powder charge in, rammed, shot and cloth wad, rammed. They dispensed with the usual acts of wetting down the barrel between shots; every damn one would count to kill more Irelians and taking precautions like that to not die in the long fight was how one died in the short fight. Bring the bastard to bear, all together as over a hundred men on the starboard heaved away, backs into it, straining against the weight of each cannon. They moved in jerks, solid jerks upward to the gunport before being aimed by their chief gunners, pinned to be made ready to fire. Eight voices roared out to heave, heave bastard boys, heave it to and make it ready because the Irelians weren’t going to give good quarter, weren’t going to fight in good order, and damn them all because the Swadian Navy still lived somewhere. It might live in the bottom of a barrel of booze, might live as slime, but moments like those, when the Irelians were about and they needed a little killing? Moments like those were ones where the spirit moved and moved like a bat out of hell.

“Gun ready!”

“Gun, ready!”

There wasn’t time. They needed to put pressure on the bastards and needed pressure now, now not later. They needed to make the fresh lads drop, needed them to see bloody red, needed them dead and needed splinters on that frigate’s gundeck. Sandberg heard the first two guns ready and knew the others to be followed close and quick behind. It was poor nature for the gun crews to be let loose, against good order in one book of war or another, but to hell with a broadside. Broadsides were for amateurs, crews who missed. They were better. They had to be.

“Continuous fire you bastards! Pour it onto em!”

The first two lit off, then another, then another, an off-cue beat that wasn’t quite good for any involved. They didn’t miss, though, not by a long shot, and it looked like at least one crew had a sense of humor. The aft of the enemy exploded in a shower of death, where the enemy captain stood turning to a hole and what was presumably his first mate going up in the air in pieces. The torso went off the side, an arm up in the air. The two poor helmsmen hadn’t it much better, far as Sandberg could see, chests turned to bloody pulp and hands into half splinters by the treacherous wheel. That did something, that was for sure; it turned what was controlled panic into simple panic. They lowered their colors, the white flag drawn up on the aft of the poor bugger, and at that sight that could not be missed a great cheer rose up from the St Verlay-Aumay, a massed, riotous cheer. Damn the Irelians, that was good enough for them.

“Mister Gibbons, take forty men and deploy longboats! Take what you can off of her and have her crew deploy their small boats! Then sink her.”

“Aye aye, sir!”

Mr Gibbons, a rather wiry man around a foot shorter than the Captain whose frame belied a capacity to kill most of anything at range with the rifle, made his way down to thee deck, ordering the jubilant crew out and away on the boats to board her. Sandberg had little interest in taking the frigate, especially in her ruined condition, and very little interest in forming his own fleet. Fleets made targets out of them and he preferred instead the style of a shadow, striking when they did not wish it, taking when they did not know it, and wreaking havoc when the enemy warships were still deployed in ones and twos. If he stayed singular, well then they would stay at underestimating his manner, his skill, his ability to kill. It was rather embarrassing; he’d taken four of their sloops, now a frigate, while also raiding two independent vessels.

The independent buggers were more interesting to him, though; they’d had passengers, ones he found curious, odd, and useful. The Grand Duchy of Hanverson was a place he’d visited before, when he was still with the navy, when Swadia still held strong, and it was not a place he would forget easily. The accents, the people, the customs, all were strange, all were curious, and all were fascinating. The ladies didn’t even squeak or moan, he’d found; some of them growled. Most fun in all of the ways. He’d found two ladies from there, found them and invited one into his bed even. Saints above know where she’d hidden that dagger because Oscar didn’t expect it one bit; what he did not enjoy was strangling her until she released the damn thing, then taking part in a little bit of interrogation, a little bit of torture. The man took no pleasure in it all, but some things had to be done. Six broken fingers later and he had been informed of it all. The ship’s doctor worked on fixing it all, all whilst three men with blunderbusses watched.

Agents from Hanverson indeed. It wasn’t surprising, not a bit really, considering exactly how often others raided their shipping, how often others had taken a liking to the northerners with the strange tongues and the fact that, while they were indeed fierce in close combat, they were not fierce at range. It was unfortunate, in a way; he wished they could stand against Irelia, the bastards, but sadly that wasn’t the case. Too few, too seldom, and never enough conviction, that was the issue in his mind. The two were in his brig, along with an Irelian Duke who claimed they would all die by hanging, a Swadian bastard the crew wanted very, very much dead, and fifteen prostitutes. The Duke, it seemed, was very much an active member in the relief of his boys abroad. The prostitutes had been locked away for the very simple purpose that they were far safer in the brig than anywhere else; Sandberg didn’t need a plague of the scabs at sea, not at all.

The Irelian deployed her longboats, the friendly vessels coming off of her and taken aboard, and as their small boats began to row away from the enemy she blew. A massive explosion lit it up, apparently the main powder magazine, and the vessel heaved up against the sky in two. She’d been blown into chunks in the middle, that section falling into the water quickly and the two ends following suit. Taking them aboard, the Irelians began to row towards the St Verlay-Aumay; the Captain noticed that sort of thing immediately. Taking a pistol, he moved over to the starboard side to roar out.

“Man the swivels! Stand by to repel boarders! Move, bastards!”

A confused moment before they made the realization; the ship wasn’t big enough to take on the enemy’s crew, that was damn sure, considering they likely had somewhere around four hundred men. It just wouldn’t work. Men moved to their posts, taking rapid pace in loading their small cannons with grapeshot and canister, whatever came at hand first, and others moved to the side armed with blunderbusses and carbines, muskets and pikes, swords and sabers. The nearest boat protested, of course, an officer standing-up among the rowers and starting to yell. Sandberg didn’t really give a shit on the words as they didn’t matter. He simply cocked the pistol, aiming it at the man. Taking cue, the rest of the cue lowered their own rifles and weapons, a salvo that none raised a musket response to protest. The officer made a derisive motion, those bloody two fingers, before making an order and moving off.

They were around six nautical miles away from the next island. They could make it. They should make it. Sandberg nodded as they moved off and, as such, the ship made her preparations to return home, cannons in, rifles unloaded.

He didn’t care much for Port Maria save for the simple fact that the ship could really only moor there and few other places. It was a good enough safe harbor if one kept face, if one kept up their appearances and didn’t allow anyone to fuck with them too much. Let that happen and everyone and their mum would try to skimp on repairs, try to fool you out of hard-earned cash and gold. They’d try what they thought they could get away with. Sandberg tried to not let them think they could get away with anything. Keep control over everything, every bit of the situation you could, keep control and move that conversation yourself, those were the rules and methods he lived by. The movement of violence had to be in his favor, had to be his. If it wasn’t his, well, he already lost the game and battle before it even started.

And so, the St Verlay-Aumay drew into port.

---

“A hundred guineas.”

The harbormaster was uppity, the twit. His potbelly belied the fact that the man was ruthless as they come, ruthless enough to deal with pirate captains on the daily, ruthless enough to burn some of the ships that tried to get a free spot on the docks. Balding, too, though that was likely due to stress from doing his job than anything else. Sandberg towered over him, a wry look on his face as the harbormaster tried to stare down a man quite taller than he was. It was funny, considering how he had to crane his neck upwards to meet his eyes, but the potbelly man did it anyways.

“Last time it was seventy.”

“Last time you didn’t come in with news of a damn fleet of Irelians dead. They give a shit. Making my life dangerous.”

“Irelians aren’t here, Jack. I am. We are. They’ll hate this place whether it has me or doesn’t because they used to be here and now aren’t. Doesn’t matter who’s here.”

The man considered it for a moment.

“That...is true enough. Seventy five.”

Another pause. Seventy five was as good a deal as he’d get in Hannbeera, another independent little cove that had a lot less fun and a lot more seriousness than Port Maria. They’d practically turned that place into a fortress with the amount of landed cannon and groundworks, supposedly done so under the advision of an Irelian Army officer who’d defected once they offered him more whores than the Irelians did. Vices kept a man in check, kept him chained, kept him happy. That was only a rumor, though, even if it was one Sandberg believed. They’d charge him that, plus a few other fees that he got for free at Port Maria.

“Done.”

With that, the guards were set, watches set, and around a two hundred and fifty happy, horny, and wealthy sailors disgorged themselves onto the town. They kept to their groups, of course, kept to their groups because it was only natural and because it was far, far safer that way. Pirate cities were dangerous cities, especially for drunk sailors, especially for wealthy sailors. They got off, as did a good few of the vessel’s former captives. The two agents were kept, kept on the basis that the Captain had some little hope that they could still be useful and had some minor issues with actually killing them. They were helpless, after all, and it was quite possible one was starting to take a shine to him. The prostitutes got off, off with a good recommendation by Sandberg on their skill to a nearby brothel, and actually got jobs. That wasn’t surprising, more was normally better as far as staffing for brothels. The Duke was kept, mostly for use as selling him back to his family. Sandberg got off as well, wandered about the place with a small contingent to what was easily enough one of his favorite pubs. It was near to the harbor, a place called Dusk’s Tavern.

The name was annoying to Sandberg; he disliked it in most ways. It had none of the stupid charm that others had in Swadia, some adjective and an animal. The Horny Toad was one he found funny enough and those types of names stuck in people’s heads. Dusk’s Tavern? That sounded like a broody person for broody ideas, sounded like the sort of place people with dark cloaks sat in the corner and drank their mugs while staring at everyone. Sandberg had met only one person actually like that; he couldn’t talk, in his defense, and hated how bright the lights got at times. That and he loved watching people a little too much. Oddest requests for the prostitutes, that’s what he had been known for before a cannon ball had torn out his middle. Strange little guy. But he did like it for it’s whiskey, which had little equal in the port, and did like it for it’s ladies. There was one, a redhead who screamed something fierce…

It was a good memory. Oscar kept it away, away to remember it later.

They walked in, all thirty five of them, all with steel on their hips, and took over three tables in the corner, away from most of the other rabble. Sandberg sat himself down, letting one of the boys go to the bar to get them their drinks. He watched, watched about himself at the world and the people inside of it. Sandberg’s eyes sweeped the room, from one to another to another.

In one corner, a lass all by herself. That was odd, all things considered, especially considering the style of the bar itself. It wasn’t a place for random young ladies, wasn’t a place for people who talk with some little sense of joy, and if she were a working lady well then she wasn’t doing her job at all. She was simply sitting there, sitting there and watching the world about her as he was. The only difference was that she did not belong. Perhaps the lady wanted to join a crew of one sort or another, provide entertainment on the move as it were? Possible, though he doubted it. That would just take the fun out of ports and the discipline out of sailors. He needed both of those things.

Another would be Fisher, a man they called Black Death, sitting at the bar. The man had done somewhat well for himself, taking several ships and earning a reputation as a good enough sailor, good enough pirate. Sandberg had heard that the man couldn’t navigate, though, something any good captain needed to be able to do. A captain who couldn’t navigate was a captain forced to rely on others for his navigation and, therefore, a captain who held weakness plain enough to be seen by others on the ship who would be smart enough to navigate and high enough on the chain to challenge. That was a dangerous move by him, a dangerous mistake that should be corrected. It was a damn pity.

The last he could see would be Flint; “Misfortune's Son”, that’s what he called himself. What a damn pretentious thing, a childish thing, and Oscar heard a hell of a lot about the man. He’d heard about how he enjoyed torturing whoever he pleased, how he hated seeing weakness in others and yet concerned himself with killing anyone smart enough to potentially challenge him. That was a stupid move, definitely a stupid move. He was savage as all hell, a savage bastard who loved war and did not understand the complexities about it. It was a pity he held command over two ships, a pity indeed.

The drinks arrived, though, and Sandberg drank, continuing his watch.

[Kaziimar]

“Crow! Do we have to go visit him again?” Captain Billy Bones muttered under his breath as he and his lover, fellow pirate captain Crow Anders made their way up the bustling streets of Port Maria. Captain Crow, whose real name was Maria was looking forward to visiting her “uncle”, the retired but still formidable Bloody Baron. Her partner on the other hand...not so much.
“Quit complaining, Billy. I mean he’s my uncle and of course I’m going to visit him. I want you two to get along, he taught me everything I know and we’re both family.”
“You know he doesn’t like me! He called me a fop!”
“Love, you’re lucky that your body doesn’t get as easily wounded as your pride or you’d be dead.”

“Would not!” Billy put a silk-gloved hand to his heart and gasped in dramatic fashion. “You wound me, dear lady! You deny my reputation as a feared captain of these waters!”
“Boy...” Crow shoved his arm playfully, the silver trim glinting off her black velvet coat. “Alright, if it makes you feel better we’ll head to the Dusk first. I’ve been wanting to take a look at the new flotsam that’s washed up on shore anyway if you know what I mean.” Billy adjusted his feathered hat and stood a little straighter in an effort to make himself appear a bit taller than he was. She was still taller than him however, but that didn’t bother him though. “Just because I take care with my appearance doesn’t make me less of a man. Anyway, the male is supposed to have showy plumage for how else am I supposed to impress my songbird?” He kissed her hand gallantly as anything and she smiled at him. “Awww...you adorable dingus. But crows are terrible singers.”
“Yeah, exactly.”
“I’ll fight you later.” She muttered as the finally arrived at the bustling hangout spot, Billy pushed the door open and the place was packed as usual. There were so many people that it was nearly impossible to get a seat, among the semi-familiar faces such as that Swadian fellow with the ginger hair and that dark-haired girl standing awkwardly off to the side, there was one captain that stood out. Dark hair loose around his shoulders, thick short beard. “Black Death Fisher.”
“The guy who named himself after the plague? Yeah, heard he’s shopping around tryin’ to make a name for himself. Somebody should tell the Baron that somebody’s comin’ after his title.”
“I think he figured that out himself. We gettin’ ale or nah?”
“Of course! Sit tight, m’lady and I’ll be right back.” Crow actually giggled, uncharacteristic when she was around big crowds like this and blew a kiss at Billy’s retreating back. The other captain caught it midair in true Billy fashion, pressed it to his cheek and went up to the bar.

[Keruma]

Black Ash

Docks, Port Maria

Ah, Home sweet Port Maria. Asher looks towards the ever-busy port drawing closer and closer to his ship. From afar, Asher could see a Third-Rate being barely kept alive by its crew, quickly patching up the holes in its hull to keep the water from flowing in and sinking the ship. While watching his surroundings, Asher vividly remembers the times he spent off the ship with Peter, the man who stood as a father figure when his own father had been mercilessly cut down by a swing of a blade. Peter would often make Asher accompany him in his business around the Isla Sorra, learning the ways of commerce and trade throughout the area. Even though the place is a barrel full of dregs and vagabonds from back home and other places, most of the time they don't outright try to kill you; they just try to cheat you out of your money either by words or a well-placed slash to your pouch. Throughout Asher's time spent in tutelage under Peter, he got to meet a lot of the people that are important cogs of the machine that is Port Maria. One of these cogs is a man named Jack, the harbormaster. Apparently, Jack and Peter went back a long way. Jack and Peter were a part of the same ship back when the world was much more quieter. One time, their ship was ambushed by privateers from the Agusid Empire. Jack and Peter fought them off but Jack caught a nasty shot in the leg. They both escaped using a longboat, and landed on Isla Sorra, back when it was only on a penal colony of the Irlian Empire and on the brink of revolt. The two partook in the uprising, and both quickly rose up the ranks; Peter as a captain of the ship and Jack as the harbormaster. As Peter's protege, Jack was quickly introduced to the young lad; they got along quite well after that.

The trip back to Isla Sorra was fortunately a quick and favorable one. The winds were good and they covered a lot of distance in a small amount of time. However, the winds died down in the final stretch and so the Dragoon was needed to be towed towards the shore. After a few silent minutes had passed, the Dragoon was finally docked. As Asher and his crew walk down the docks, he was greeted by the potbellied harbormaster. Expecting a friendly greeting, he was rather caught off-guard at Jack's first words.

"Ninety guineas, my boy"

"It was seventy guineas the last time I was here" overhead, a bird squawks and flies back to the ocean.

"Last time," he looks beyond Asher's shoulder. "You only had one ship with you" He returns his gaze to Alexander, craning his neck a bit to match Alexander's eyes.

"Tell you what;" Asher puts on his most charming smile. "I'll give you sixty guineas and you can get a share of the prize money once I sell its goods and the ship itself. Sound Good?"

"If only I didn't know you personally I would have scuttled your ship right now" Jack says as he hands out his hand.

While pouring the coins into Jack's open hand, Asher asks him a question. "What happened to the Third Rate?" waving a hand towards the broken and battered ship.

"Oh, that? Hanversonians. They're much more bold these days; usually it's the Irlians or Argusids hunting about"

Asher pondered on it for a moment. The hanversonians were usually contented to keep to themselves. They would protect their own colonies yes but rarely do their ships go pirate hunting. Maybe, Asher thought, it was an upstart captain seeking glory. Much like him. Nevertheless, he put it out of his mind; he has more pressing matters to attend to. When the dust settles and the Dragoon and the prize ship was secured a spot and a callback in place, Asher and his rowdy crew step into town and disperse to whatever place can satisfy their vices.

First, Asher visits a well-renowned smuggler in town; Damien. His building looks like a respectable townhouse in a posh area in the capital of Irlia, situated near the outskirts of town. Inside the building is very much the same as it looks on the outside; leather furnishing, gold statues, a few pieces of art. Near the entrance of the home however, is a desk where an olive-skinned woman is residing. "what brings you to Nilson's home, sir?" She says in a polite but practiced tone, clearly having been through this procedure before. "I'm here to negotiate a prize ship. I thought Nilson would like a new smuggling ship" Asher says, looking and handling a golden statue in one of the building's corner. "I will be handling the matter at hand as Mr. Nilson is currently...occupied with other business". She says with a small smile. "And please get your hands off the statue; it came from Irlia itself and Mr. Nilson values it very much". An intense round of haggling ensued but in the end Asher was no match for the woman's skill with talking about money. A pouch of guineas are handed to him by an unsuspecting man-servant as Asher makes for the door. "Come do business with us again, sir" He says while holding the door for him. Just before he goes out the door however, Asher swears he saw an iron chain around the man's neck underneath all the clothing he has.

The next place he visits is Dusk's Tavern, the most popular tavern in town. Already some of his crew is wasting away their money with either gin or skirts; maybe even both. As he enters, he is greeted by his quartermaster Lyanna. "What we looking for here, cap'n?" Lyanna asks, taking off her bicorne which lets down her silky black hair. "To get a drink," Asher looks around, "And get more bodies. We could use more of them so it won't look like there's a bloody circus on the deck". Lyanna gives off a soft chuckle. "Aye. I'll see about them greens y'want. How about you take a breather while i'm at it?" she says with a smile before walking off. Asher proceeds to one end of the bar and orders whiskey. While Asher was looking around waiting for his drink to come, a few characters came into view. First, there was the 'Black Death', a renowned pirate known for his fleet and skill to sail. Too bad he couldn't tell the south from the north, at least that's the word that gets around town. He might be useful as an ally but he'd rather get to know the man first and foremost. Next, there was the son of misfortune Captain Flint. According to Asher's studying Captain Flint had been a war veteran renowned for his sailing. He would be a scary sight in battle; according to reportd he would simply bombard the enemy ship to smithereens and if he decided that it was worth taking, he'd do it nice and quick, basically catching the enemy mostly off-guard. Seems pretty easy to outsmart him, though. I can probably take him on with a better ship, Asher thought. The last person caught his eye simply because he was a fucking giant. The mood quite literally stood above all and Asher quickly realizes that the man exudes a strong aura of experience. The man looks extremely dangerous in Asher's eyes and he would rather not mess with him until he knows more about him. He also spotted a strange woman sitting in one corner of the room. If she was a worker here she isn't doing her job at all. If she was a worker she's most likely to wait until someone asks for their services. There was also a newcomer to the bar: a man and a woman. They seem to be lovebirds,what with their overly grotesque display of affection. They did enter just a but before him so the man is already ordering ale by the time he arrived at the bar. When the whiskey comes, Asher takes a sip. Let's see where the night goes, he thought.

[Tomia]

Billy

Fisher noticed the crowd fill in, he recognized some Captain Sandberg and a few others. He decided he'd stay at the bar. There were a lot of eyes on him he was sure, and mingling with other influential pirates was an easy way to start trouble, or an outright brawl. He stayed in his seat, finishing his third drink as he felt an ever so slight buzz fill his mind. Just as he was about to order another he noticed a short man take the seat next to him. He had seen him around the island but never actually made acquaintance. He was a captain by the look of him, and that peaked Fisher's interest. A lesser known captain was probably the best place to start what he had in mind.

"Hey, you're a captain aren't you?" Fisher asked, gesturing to Billy. "I've seen you around before, but never had the pleasure. Name's Fisher." He said, offering his hand to shake.

[Hothnia]

Valeria Cryuffsten

The Woods Are ripe for hunting.. Valeria played the phrase over and over again in her head.It took her back to a much more simple time, where what she was supposed to do and who she was supposed to kill were clearly set out for her. It was much easier as well. She wasn’t alone, in a hostile city, waiting to become a pirate’s plaything. How she missed those times.

Valeria pinches herself in the arm, to clear her head.Do your job, then you can go back home Eyes scanning over the large clumps of people, Valeria took mental notes of every noteworthy pirate in the tavern. There was Fisher, whom called himself the Black Death, somewhat arrogantly. He was the son of a wealthy Irilian Aristocrat. After plotting against his father, he had been thrown in prison, before eventually escaping to pursue a life of piracy. He had sunk three of the Grand Duchy’s ships; two merchants, and the 32 gun Frigate Belsen. A top target on her hit list, but not the one she wanted.

Another man, near the door. His jet black hair and sea worn face identified him as the man known as “Black Ash”. She had heard he was the Son of a sailor,and that his family had been slaughtered in warfare. After that, his history got fuzzy, but he had ended up in control of a pirate ship, and that pirate ship had attacked and destroyed five of the Grand Duchy’s ships. Three of them were the sloops King Albert II, Penelope, and Rødforsr, which made up half of the squadron at Fort Görtrude, one of the Grand Duchy’s colonies in the new world.

Valeria’s eyes moved over a massive man leaning against a wall in the tavern.You would think I would be able to remember the identity of a man of that size, but I have no recollection of any importance related to him. A frown of Frustration flirted across the young woman’s face.Rising from her table, Valeria pulled down the hem of her dress, exposing more of her chest, and sauntered over to the man, attempting to look as confident as possible. “ Hello sir, you look a little lonely. Do you mind if I join you?”

[Ormata]

Captain Sandberg, Oscar
Dusk’s Tavern, Port Maria

Oscar’s eyes watched her as she approached, the lady in the back who most certainly didn’t belong. Perhaps she did make some measure, perhaps she did want to be on some other vessel and be out in the middle of the ocean, out with a bunch of bastards. Whores did seem to try to be bold, but most made the attempt to try to stay on land. It was far, far safer to do such a thing, far safer in the brothel instead of the vast expanses of the sea, especially when the vessel one was on aimed to kill and plunder and ravage. She’d get her money, though, after each and every battle. Well...perhaps she would, perhaps she wouldn’t. Men bathed in blood rarely asked permission.

If she wanted such a thing, well that was a poor thing to wish from Sandberg. He aimed to not have any of that nonsense on his ship; in his opinion, a lady had no place on a fighting ship, be it a good vessel under a flag or a good vessel under it’s own. It robbed a fighting man of his sense of focus, of his ability to prioritize, and doubtless enough would create strife in a crew one jealousies began to erupt, once people began to catch love in the air and she had them wound about her little finger. It cheapened the image of a port in a fighting man’s mind, made it far easier to come back. Of course, there was the medical concerns as well…

She’d been looking the others over as well. Perhaps she’d been sizing them up, figuring which captain was best to work for, figuring which would be lenient on her. For obvious reasons, Flint was out. The kinslayer bathed in blood often, more often than not his own men’s blood, and took a sadist’s pleasure in the infliction of pain. He would likely become jealous faster than any other man alive, likely enough on the basis that he found any rival to be unacceptable. Perhaps he’d use women’s affections as another measure of rivalry. Fisher was good, but young enough that he would perhaps fall sooner rather than later. The old giant in the corner? Perhaps more lenient in her mind.

“Hello sir, you look a little lonely. Do you mind if I join you?”

Looking to his left and right, to the thirty five who came with, Oscar looked back to the woman with raised eyebrows and a humorous smile on his face. Lonely indeed. His lieutenant heard the statement as well, a smile breaking out on his face as he leaned in to whisper something to the man beside him, something lost in the music and manner of the bar. They both laughed, of course, laughed because the prostitutes were bolder than last time it seemed and laughed because the captain clearly was not alone. Perhaps the rumor had gotten about that the man was proportional would be the next comment whispered between the two, something that elicited more laughter.

Staring at her, almost level with the woman even though he was sitting, Oscar considered it. Her accent was...yes, most definitely Hanverson. The recent talk with that accent had brought forth the memories and recollections and her accent most certainly wasn’t helping the case. Last he’d checked, there had been few of their ilk in Port Maria, far few, though doubtless enough one of their kind would find work in a brothel. Like he’d recalled before, some of them growled and more than enough horny men found such an aspect engaging to say the least. Last he’d checked, though, the tavern didn’t hire such sorts; they preferred the more submissive girls, the ones who took the pay and didn’t really say much else. Perhaps he’d have to have a talk with the Mistress on that. Last he’d checked, they hadn’t hired either, though such things might change while one was out. The sinking of such ships would give a little trickle of refugees and spreading legs was an easy, easy way to get coin in Port Maria. They always were hiring.

Of course, she might be one of the grand guard, one of those personal guard from the Grand Duchy. Skörlydia, that’s what they were called, and if that was the case he wanted to not be near her at all. Having her in his lap would be suicide on a grand scale.

The dress she wore made little effort in hiding the nice curves though, that was for sure. The curve was quite, quite nice, gave her that same air she’d had before even if the lady hadn’t been traveling about to get some form of work in the tavern. Oscar looked to the man beside him, same one as before, nodding his head briefly and motioning out and away from the three tables.

“Gibbons, I think Charlie was waiting for you in one of the rooms. Might want to get to it before she finds another client.”

The lanky man got up without a response at all; Charlie was one of the ladies he’d eyed for some good time and getting to something like that first was paramount above all other priorities. Going at something second was a poor alternative towards it, as Gibbons was fully aware. Man wanted to make something respectable out of Charlie and, funny enough, keeping with her for the entire night was a costly, though effective, way of going about that.

And so, Oscar motioned for the now empty seat next to him for her to sit, that little smile on his face still.

“Sit, then.”

[Hothnia]

Valeria eyed the men surrounding the large man, who clearly stuck out as the group’s Capitan. Given their jovial manner, it seemed as if the group had just returned to port, and likely had involved in a successful raiding trip. Additionally, given the size of the man’s crew, and how they addressed each other, they seemed to be the crew of a larger ship, perhaps a Fifth or Fourth Rate. This was both good and bad news. This man was important, extremely important, and if she was lucky enough to kill him, it’d be enough to severely disrupt the day to day life of Port Maria, as well as severely frighten the rest of the Pirate Captain’s of the rogue port. This would, hopefully, allow for the Grand Duchy to secure her trade routes, and perhaps even eliminate Port Maria as a threat.

However, Valeria didn’t have near enough experience to even attempt to strike at the man without getting herself killed. She was extremely pale, which stuck out like a sore thumb amidst the tan bodies of Port Maria. She had a thick Northern accent, also uncommon in these parts. And worst of all, she had no idea what the hell she was doing. Nevertheless, she had approached the man, and if she backed out of this now, she’d look even more suspicious than she already probably did.

After giving shy smiles to a few of the crewmen off to the Captain’s sides, Valeria turned her attention back to the man himself. Gesturing to the seat beside him with a halfway amused smile plastered on his face, the man told her to sit down. Valeria complied, smoothing her dress over her legs and straightening her posture. The man had a northern accent, not from the Grand Duchy, but perhaps from Swadia, or maybe even something farther north, although given the lack of large ports past the Grand Duchy, that was unlikely.

Valeria looked uneasily at the man, but tried to put on what she hoped was a confident grin. “Pardon me for being unfamiliar with you, but I’ve never seen you before. Mind telling me what ship you command, if you do command one, that is.” As she spoke, Valeria felt her hand slide down the fold of her dress to rest on the hilt of a hidden dagger, just in case things went badly in their chat. “My name is Valeria, by the way.” Valeria stretched out her hand to shake his.

“Well, Valeria,” he paused, pronouncing it in an experimental manner as though to test each and every syllable, “you seem new here. New enough that I don't recognize you either. So a word of friendly advice seems to be an order; you don't shake hands with strangers, don't shake hands with rivals. You shake hands when you know the other bastard can't kill you, won't kill you. So you excuse me for not shaking your hand. It's just how it is.” A wry, sour smile played about his features in the shadows, nodding to himself at her question in turn.

“Don't know who he is? Him?”

The man across the table leaned a bit closer, eyebrows up as his voice exclaimed honest surprise. He was younger, younger by a good margin and likely younger than Valeria. The shrillness of his voice said more that he hadn't yet reached the full peak of his manhood, perhaps fifteen, and his hair was cut close.

“That's Cap'n Sandberg of tha Saint.”

“St. Verlay-Aumay, Harring. Give her the full name.”

Sandberg spoke offhandedly, still thinking on it all as one hand grasped for a glass of whiskey, downing it in one go. She didn't even know him, not one bit, not even enough to know he was a captain, not even enough to know the name. So, then, the question arose on why exactly she went to him, him a stranger, if she didn't know him, didn't know what sort of fun he liked, didn't know what sort of play he did. She didn't know if he was a loving man or a cruel one, a savior or slave driver. Besides that fact, she hadn't even tried to ask one of the other working ladies what his name was, his ship, his reputation. Oscar had one among the prostitutes, that was for sure, and any single one would have said so. She hadn't tried to flatter, not one bit, by feigning she knew his exploits.

The facade was just that. A facade. She wanted something else...what, then? A whore she most certainly wasn't, so perhaps...perhaps she was one of that grand guard. Perhaps instead she was an adventurer. Perhaps. Didn't seem to be the sort with the guts to do either of those things.

“Sorry sir, ‘course sir.”

“Do you make a habit of going to tables you don't know?”

Things were going downhill, fast. Valeria has been trained to read expressions, and she could tell from both the look on the young man’s face and Captain Sandberg’s face that her cover as a prostitute was falling, fast. Her eyes darted across the table to glance at the young man, and after sensing no inklings of kindness from him, looked away from him, back towards Sandberg.

St. Verlay-Aumay. Valeria did recognize that name. The former Swadian ship had destroyed at least four ships from Hanverson, although that tally could be upwards of six. It would be a prize for her, if she could somehow get it, but right now, her foremost concern was getting out of this situation alive.

Valeria drew her hand back. Underneath the folds of her dress, she grasped her dagger even more tightly.

“No sir, I generally don’t. But I saw you, and your size, and I was interested, so I came over to see if I could do anything to meet your needs.” Valeria attempted to feign embarrassment, without much success, as her true feelings, nervousness and naivety, showed through her generally disciplined mask. She had been trained for this, but not this situation. She had no clue what to do, what to say. She was a warrior, not a spy.

He immediately sobered-up, sighing briefly as he looked her over with impassive eyes. Those were the wrong words, in his manner, and he knew to a greater degree what the woman was. She wasn’t a prostitute, not at all, not by her tone and not by her manner, and frankly enough it was damnably annoying how they seemed to love getting at the joys of being independent. Agents from the Grand Duchy indeed, and here the man had been, only wanting to relax. Even in the tavern work seemed to find him.

A motion to two of the lads sent them into more discrete action. It was dismissive, almost, a wave of the hand that could be likened to a master bidding a servant to go and lose themselves amongst the labyrinthine corridors of the manor yet most certainly held more meaning than that. Harring frowned, a flintlock produced from his waist and cocked, kept underneath the table as it was and aimed straight for the lady’s belly. Clint, closer to her, drew a dagger, started to draw it against a sharpening stone even though it was always razor sharp. He liked it that way, gave him a little bit of joy and a little bit of distraction in the long night of watch when his hands needed to do something.

The rest of the band had made some little notice of it; they stopped laughing, the mirth fading away. Some figured that they might have to bang out and fast, sat their drinks down because sobering up was far more important than getting drunk if shit hit the fan. Fingers caressed sword scabbards and holsters, pistols stuck in sashes and blades in the boots. Some dared to whisper to one-another while others took the decision to instead simply stay silent, observe all about them, and figure-out who they would discharge their pistol against if everything went south. She did seem alone, though, something good in entirety. A few rose from their seats to go and make sure the comrades in the rooms were in fact still safe and there.

“You’re not employed here, so you can drop the act. I don’t recognize you and, If you were, you’d have asked one of the other girls how I was in bed; they’d have told you my name, my import, and precisely how good I was. Or tell you to find out yourself. You’re not some random prostitute. If you were, you’d be out there on the street, bent over in some alleyway to yip away like a bitch. They don’t take kindly to independent prostitutes in this tavern, I know that much. So, Hanverson girl, you can drop the act of a whore. It doesn’t suit you.”

Oscar drew from his belt a dirk, frowning at it and his reflection before turning that frown against her. He most certainly wasn’t having the charade anymore, not at all, and the eyes there fixed her with a stare. The man’s voice, before covered in a thin veneer of mirth, now was rather cold amidst the joys of the world.

“Skörlydia aren’t as good as I’d heard, you know. It took six fingers to break before she spilled her guts out and she told me everything. Do the names Petra Lyng or Synnøve Aga sound familiar? They didn’t give any other names, but that wasn’t exactly necessary now was it? You broadcasted what you were without a damn word. I don’t like assassins. You can guess why.”

“Hands on the table, now. Both of them.”


Things had gone very bad for Valeria. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a man approach her rear and pull a knife, halfheartedly sharpening it. The boy across the table also seemed very concerned with something under the table, which, given her present situation, and the look in Sandberg’s eyes, was most likely a gun. The rest of the crew also turned away from their drinks, hands now resting on scabbards and pistols.

Valeria took a deep breath and assessed the situation, feigning shock as she heard the man’s spiel. There were at least 30 of them in the room, and all seemed loyal to their Captain. All were armed with either a pistol or a sword, most with both. She, on the other hand, had two small daggers on her person, and even though she was most likely a more adept fighter than the lot of them, she couldn’t take 30 or so heavily armed pirates at once, especially since they had firearms. So, fight was out of the option. Her one advantage? She was in a public place, and even though she was in a scoundrel’s Port, someone in the room might have a bit of chivalry. She could play damsel in distress, although there was no guarantee of success in that. She could be shot immediately, by the young man across the table, or she could get ignored. Neither of those would suffice, so screaming in terror wasn’t an option.

Valeria, listened carefully to the man as he spoke. So he knew what she was. Maybe she had misjudged his intelligence. No matter at this point. And Sandberg gave her two things in that. The two missing Skörlydia hadn’t deserted, but had been captured, meaning they were still alive and perhaps still players in the game. Less important, but just as satisfying for Valeria is that she didn’t play the part of Prostitute well. Valeria made her voice crack in mock terror as she responded. “I’m sorry sir, but I’ve got no idea what you’re on about. Yes, I’m from Hanverson, but I’m just here to make a living after my ship sank, I don’t want any trouble with you.” Valeria raised her hands in the air, one with a dagger visibly inside of it, the other dagger still tucked inside her sleeve. Alright now, time to be bold.

Hopefully, she had lowered the young man’s guard a bit. As they had been talking, Valeria had slowly been scooting closer to the pirate sharpening his dagger, and now that she was in range, Valeria struck out with her foot at the back of the man’s knee, noting with satisfaction that the man lost hold of his dagger, letting it clatter against the floor. At the same time she dropped to the floor, pulling out her dagger, narrowly avoiding the inevitable gunshot. The kick to the back of the man’s knee caused him to stumble forward, and Valeria used this moment to wrap her arm around his waist and pull herself up, all in one fluid motion, ending with the man’s body positioned between her and the rest of the crew, dagger pricking at the edge of his neck.

“Now, Captain Sandberg, I’m not fond of criminals, and it’s taking all of my resolve to avoid slicing through the neck of this poor lad, like a chicken. If you don’t want that to happen….” Valeria shrugged, her eyes scanning the crew to watch for any movement towards a weapon. “I’d recommend you tell the lad with the gun to place it on the table and slide it towards me and tell your crew to stand down, immediately. Then we both go on our merry ways and don’t have to bother with each other again. If you don’t agree to these terms.” Valeria shrugged again and drew a thin line of blood across the man’s neck. “Use your imagination.”

He continued to watch, sat as he was in bis chair, though now Oscar's features drew tight about his face in rage. The crew kept still as well, still for rage as the lady threatened one of their own. How dare she, that was the tone in many a mind.

“Came to the wrong man and the wrong crew if you hate pirates. Let me do you another favor and tell you what's going to happen. I let you go, you let him go. You leave. I hang one of your friends on the yardarm of my ship if you don't come by tomorrow's sunrise, alone and unarmed. I hang the other if you don't come by the next sunrise. Then I put a bounty on your damn head and every pirate looks for you in this port. So, let's cut to the chase. You put down your blade, and come with me back to my ship. You won't be harmed, on this I swear.”

Tears started to well in the boys eyes, squirming just a little in her arms. A mouth kept shut, shut for fear of all things alive, and then he stayed still as cogs started to turn in his own mind. A shuddering breath drew through him as he spoke out, an urging call that was closer to a whisper than a word.

“Shoot ‘er, cap'n. Do it.”

“Clint, shut up. Now. What will it be, Hanverson girl.”

Now, Valeria was no friend of either of the women had been captured, in fact, she had never met them in her life. But, the prospect of letting two of her countrymen hang didn’t weigh well with her, so that wouldn’t do. But, neither would leaving with the Captain, as she had a job, and leaving with the Captain would be failing her nation and the Grand Duke.

“Shut up.” Valeria flicked the knife across the man neck again as he spoke. “If you speak again, you’re a dead man”. Valeria returned her gaze to Sandberg. “You see, Captain Sandberg, I have a duty to my country and my people, and leaving with you would be failing in that duty, and that’s unacceptable. However, if I leave, you leave, and you hang my comrades, word will reach Hanverson, and more of us, more experienced ones, will come. Who says your head isn’t next? As for me, I disappear. Out there,” Valeria flicked her head towards the tavern door. “That’s where we thrive. No pirate would ever find me.”

Valeria pondered her options a bit more before sighing loudly. “Alright, here’s what we’ll do. I go back with you, and you release your two other Skörlydia. You told me yourself that you broke their fingers, making them useless in combat. You get, a younger and healthier warrior instead of them, two old, incapacitated warriors. Deal?”

“Out there? Out there you thrive?” Oscar gave a harsh bark of laughter. He'd found her in the first conversation, the first words red flags. It was hard to believe such a thing, very hard. But...he had taken them once, at sea, and his men knew their faces. They knew them, he could station men on either side of the pier to intercept them after an hour, mayhaps half…

Letting them go didn't mean letting them go for good.

“Maybe you do and maybe you don't. Your duty is admirable, if misplaced. Excuse me.”

Oscar turned, leaning over to one of his officers and whispering in the man's ear. Everything to be ready, soon as all possible, and such a thing involved planning and the like. He wanted men on either side of the pier, blocked as it was by warehouses perpendicular to the waterfront, and wanted them there now. The man nodded, got up and out of the tavern with four others. The next was told to ready the ship, load two swivel guns along the side, and to bring the prisoners up from the brig. He ran off as well, also with four others.

Turning back to her, he nodded. “I accept your terms.”


(Made with Ormata)

[White Bluff]

Madame Damara

Port Maria

Damara sat in a chair on her porch, smoking her pipe, she looked up into the branches of the trees around her cabin, they gleaned in the sun because of a multitude of different coloured glass bottles hanging from their branches. She sighed with a bit of a smile as her gaze turned to the town, her cabin was just outside of town and she was glad it was, she no longer had to hear the shouts of the men and hear their cat calls.
After a few minutes she stood and walked inside, the smell of incense was strong, from the rafters there was animal bones and strips of cloth hanging, in the centre of the room there was a table with her crystal ball in the centre, along the back wall there was another doorway that had a deep red curtain hanging over it, behind it was her living area.she sat at the table and pulled out her deck of Tarot cards and mutters to herself, "what does today hold?" She flipped the top card over, the 7 of Cups, illusion. "Something isn't what it seems."

[Kaziimar]

Billy

Fisher noticed the crowd fill in, he recognized some Captain Sandberg and a few others. He decided he'd stay at the bar. There were a lot of eyes on him he was sure, and mingling with other influential pirates was an easy way to start trouble, or an outright brawl. He stayed in his seat, finishing his third drink as he felt an ever so slight buzz fill his mind. Just as he was about to order another he noticed a short man take the seat next to him. He had seen him around the island but never actually made acquaintance. He was a captain by the look of him, and that peaked Fisher's interest. A lesser known captain was probably the best place to start what he had in mind.

"Hey, you're a captain aren't you?" Fisher asked, gesturing to Billy. "I've seen you around before, but never had the pleasure. Name's Fisher." He said, offering his hand to shake.

"You're the Black Death, ain't ya?" Billy held out a velvet-gloved hand and shook the proffered hand of the other pirate, offering his most dazzling grin. "William Bones, pleased to make your acquaintance...but you can call me Billy, most people do. Captain Billy Bones of the Hooded Crow, I must say it's an honor to be in the company of such a distinguished and handsome captain." Billy gave him a wink and Maria behind him was giggling in amusement. "My lovely companion is Captain Maria Anders, but you may know her as Captain Crow."
"Nice to meet you." Maria greeted with a smile, tipping her hat.

Admiral Sinestra Buchanan
"So, the capital's nearing huh?" The Navy woman adjusted her spyglass and she could indeed see the familiar main harbor of her homeland. "Did you give orders for the men to prepare for docking?" she asked.
"Yes, ma'am. We should be there in less than an hour now." A young officer with her blond hair tied back in a braid stood as straight as an arrow. Sinestra flashed her a smile. "Very good, Annette. Please go fetch Captain Fisher for me, there are some things that I wish to discuss with him before we land."
"Right!" As Annette left, Sinestra tucked an escaped strand of black hair behind her ear. Young Captain Fisher and she were close...they had once been very close, in fact. But surprisingly, things didn't really turn super awkward between them and they were still friends. Still, it was kind of weird giving him orders now.

[Tomia]

Billy and Maria

Fisher shook Billy's hand, allowing a wolfish grin at this young flirtatious captain. This is just the kind of man I'm looking for. He thought to himself. Fisher was proud of his fierce and terrifying reputation but that tended to close some doors for him and his fleet as well. A young charismatic captain like this could bring him new opportunities to make allies and connections. They were a charming couple, and even though it wasn't exactly his comfort zone, Fisher would have to be charming in return to recruit them.

"Well, it's nice to meet you ma'am." Fisher said, tipping his hat to Maria. Before turning to both of them. "Well, I'm honored to meet such a fine pair of young pirate captains. Think I could buy the two of you a drink? I'm sorta here on business, and I think its business the two of you might be interested in. And well if you're not, the free drinks can't hurt can they?"

Sinestra Buchana

Annette had come to Edward's office, telling her the admiral wanted to see him. He thanked her and tidied his office before heading over to Admiral Sinestra's office. They were very close friends but Edward was careful to keep their relationship professional when on duty. He didn't want any concerns of corruption or nepotism to arise in his career.

He reached her office door, and saw her. She was the same beautiful woman he had fallen in love with years ago, but sadly those memories brought pain as well as happiness. "Admiral, Captain Fisher reporting, you sent for me?" He said, giving a quick salute while standing at the door.