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Isles of Fire » Places

Places in Isles of Fire

This is a list of locations that can be found in Isles of Fire.


All Places

Port Royal, Jamaica

11 posts · 5 characters present · last post 2017-06-13 18:46:58 »

         Frederich took a rather large gulp of his rum and wished it had been an ale. He was not a remarkable lover of the drink; wine with a meal or brandy with a pipe at the behest of a comrade was not out of the norm. A pint of bitter ale when the weather turned to chill, the crunch of frost under his boot and rosy cheek walking home. Thinking he had perhaps made a grievous error in judgment, another gulp was taken. The Admiralty would surely hear of this though Marcus would likely not rush over at this late hour, he would lick his wounds and occupy himself with whores or at least a bawdy house full of pornographic statues and loutish epigrams until morning. Frederich, were he to commit to this recalcitrant behaviour would have to acquire the means to elude capture and of course the gallows.

He took off his most glaring accoutrement, the uniform coat which was as a signal fire for anyone looking for an English Naval Captain. He draped the covering along the bench next to him and felt just as blatant in a scarlet waistcoat. He could perhaps discard that as well however that would leave him in just his shirt which was sweat-soaked and clung to his body uncomfortably. This ensemble would have to suffice for the time being at least delay a rope around his neck – his neck…Frederich’s hand went to his throat and took out his gold collar pin then proceeded to untie the strip of black silk that was a barrier between his cotton shirt and wool coat. His undid the whale bone toggle at the top of the shirt and felt truly embarrassed at his state of undress in public.

Trenchfield also needed to accumulate filth, if the gathering here was any speculation - as to blend in with the common people. He thought a single person might stand out in such a place as this. This was a tavern after all, full of vigour, spilled drinks and clapped backs. The man needed to befriend someone, perhaps if only for a short time in case dear diligent Marcus did fetch someone to detain him. It was at this time a large man was involved in quite the altercation. He seemed to be of Teutonic stock, Lord knows if those people even left their forest villages regularly but he did come across an errant Saxon sell-sword now and then so he being there was not out of the realm of possibility. Though this German may have been the instigant it seemed he also would finish what the other men could not and all without a weapon drawn by his own hand, for that, Frederich had great respect. Trenchfield watched him leave, trailed by a barmaid as buxom as one would happen upon as graffito donning the wall of a piss alley.

He recalled the two women’s table he jostled earlier when he was away in thought. He saw the Oriental eating very hungrily and the other making pantomime motions to her, a translator Frederich thought. The man had employed them before in most exotic locales since he only seemed to have the tongue for given English, French and Latin. Wonderful, he would make their acquaintance post haste. The man stood, grabbed his rum bottle and cup but left his jacket on the bench then walked over to the two women. He nodded slightly at Oriental woman then at the other. “Good eve, I saw you two sitting here and was in desperate need of conversation, forgive me for being so brash. I am Captain” – should have not mentioned rank, far too late now, can’t un-say it. Can’t use your name either unless you plan to tell them of your knighthood you dullard. An alias, something common, a peasant’s name. “Mathaias Trench, at your service.” The man smiled.

None

The Laughing Harpy

3 posts · 0 characters present · last post 2017-05-16 19:36:30 »

         Captain Frederich Trenchfield was denied the end of his dream by a stout voice causing him to stir. “Masts on the starboard, sir!” The Captain propped himself up on his elbow. “Configuration?” He said, voice still thick from sleep. The man shook his head. “Set course then, able on the canvas.” The sailor saluted and left. Trenchfield dressed quickly, splashing some water on his face and neck and left his room. He adjusted his jacket as he walked down the stairs leading to the main galley to speak with his first officer, Lieutenant Henry Davies who at the moment was smoking his pipe by the mizzenmast. “Davies if the boys are having a fuss at a barding sloop heading for Vera Cruz or other tradesmen port, I will be very cross they woke me.” The Officer turned to the voice and knocked the crumbs from his pipe. He whistled. “Two ships, the men have seen lights, so I shan’t think them adrift.” Davies filled his pipe, took the hanging cannonade match by the lamp and lit it, exhaling a small puff of smoke. “General goings on, the wind is clear enough for voices to carry I should guess within the hour.” Trenchfield frowned. “Then I presume we have the time to break our night’s fast.”

The two men retired to the officer’s parlour, where Second Officer Mathew Higgins already waited. “Might see a bit of bloody sport this day.” The man said, squeezing a lime half into a cup of rum. “Ah, and good morning to you horseman of war.” Davies said, smirking. Trenchfield sat and helped himself to the watery oats and salt pork. “I would like to reach Port Royal sans any combat, we still need to transfer forty men and pick up seventy yet we’d still be lacking bodies by a hundred,” He ate a spoonful of pottage before continuing. “We’re to be statues, no better than town watch; there to deter not fight. The Northumbria is nearing thirty years old gentlemen, she’s being put to pasture and they’ve turned us into her garrison.”

Frederich poured himself a glass of brandy while the other men processed what he said. Davies went to speak before Lieutenant Ludlow knocked and entered the room and appeared breathless. “Grey Dawn, five eighths distance, no fog to speak of. Midshipman Kentsworth seems to see a red ensign.” Trenchfield came back to reality and put his glass down. “His he confident? I would so hate to nod to a Danish scout.” Jacob Ludlow nodded. “He’s sure she’s ours alright. A small brigantine, fourteen guns - can’t make out a name.” Higgins scratched his chin. “Might be Thomas’s ship, The Maxim, we were supposed to rendezvous with him a week ago but he never showed.” Trenchfield stood. “Bring us to her, give the girl a berth like scouting doves, Mr. Ludlow.” The man saluted and left, closing the door behind him.

The three men stood, leaving their breakfast and heading to the quarterdeck where Ludlow was issuing orders. “Sir, we are vocal distance from the unknown ship and issued a standard acknowledgment. A signal has been sent but was not returned. I have deemed the ship elusory, decorum states we should open fire. The port guns are manned. Shall we fire?” The Captain was stunned. “Mister Ludlow, at this indecent hour you wish to send a fellow British vessel to the sea’s bottom? No, Lieutenant we will not fire. We will ease next to them and exchange a dialogue.”

The Northumbria had limited manoeuvrability but in straight lines, she had enough canvas to overtake just about anyone. In no time the large ship’s bowsprit was passing the brigantines’ stern. The small ship’s maintop barely crested the balustrade running along the sides of the 1533 tonne second class ship of the line. Midshipman Kelly waved his hand as he shouted ‘ahoy’. After several moments a return call was issued along with safe transit flag signal.

Boarding grapples and ladders were secured, tethering both ships and Captain Thomas Lyndon along with some of his crew boarded the Northumbria. “Thomas, you old cock,” Trenchfield said. “You certainly gave some of my less seasoned men a fright, thought you to be a pirate vessel with the wings of Lucifer ushering you to our doom.” Lyndon was small, round and very sunburnt but smiled broadly when he spoke. “And you now? Like a hulking beast hunting us before first light, should be thanking you, it was great fun!” The man laughed. Pleasantries were exchanged amongst the crew along with barely for oats and tuna for wine. The rest of the journey to Port Royal was easy sails and spirited wind.

The men were elated to see terra firma, even rolling around on the sand like children. It was late however, so meeting with the standing Admiral of Port Royal would have to wait till morning. Trenchfield dismissed his men to drink and indulge in their baser pleasures as he too would find entertainment. The Laughing Harpy was convenient and yet raucous but he would be damned if he would trundle around until he found an officer’s tavern. The smells reminded him of sailor pubs when he was a boy in Bristol, the people were laughing and in that merrymaking, Frederich felt comfortable. He walked past patrons of various breeding and even women in trousers, wait till he told his father about that – continuing towards the bar and ordered a strong beer and bread paid with a half crown and told the bar man to refill when he was empty.

Everyone was concentrating on an oriental pugilist trouncing her opponents handily, almost like a dance as he too became enthralled at the display. The beer was good, bread was mealy but the ambiance was a very welcomed change for Captain Trenchfield.

A popular tavern in Port Royal.