Snippet #2215748

Captain Colten Grey would walk the ship, silently, his head held high with dignity. The boards, would creak quietly beneath him as he paced. His coat would furl and bend around him, deep gray in color the frock coat was torn and mangled, not befitting the elegant if not wicked ship the Captain called his own, the ship that went by the Lady Spite, feared among British, French, and Spanish sailors. It didn't even seem to fit the attitude of the man wearing it, who seemed keen and regal in his mannerisms, while the nonchalance spoke of someone free of royalty.

He would stop and look back at a briskly approaching man, "Captain, there is a ship off the starboard bow." Unlike many other pirates, Colten had been careful, always careful, to recruit the most capable men, not those subject to rum and barbarian-like ways. His thinking in the matter, being. How could someone without the mind to listen, be expected to run and maintain a ship. Be it as it may, these men were loyal, a collection of personalities and poised skills. He felt the utmost camaraderie for them all.

He would change his pace, pulling a telescope from a hidden pocket within the coat, with practiced grace pulling it to it's extent and raising it to his eye. "Hmm." Was all he managed to say, viewing the average and stale ship. It was insignificant, and brandished a privateering ship by the sails it wore. Though it was extremely large, and it would seem the cannons were being prepared.

"Let us have them sinking, then." He would give a charming smile to the man who would nod in understanding leaving his side to issue the orders.

In mere moments cannon fire was thick in the air, the privateering ship receiving the worst of it, the Lady Spite true to it's reputation closed distance quickly. Colten would swing from the nets along with his men, securing a plank. His men would flood the ship, overwhelming the enemy. He would swat away a wild stab of a rapier with a slight swing of his own, as he repelled it away he would extend his own stab into the man's chest. "Gragh.." He would pull himself away, falling back into the pole of the mast.

The Captain would pull his flintlock from his belt turning, and with one second's aim, smoke would erupt as flint was struck, an iron ball burying itself in the neck of an unfortunate sailor.

The battle took less than an hour, the large ship surprised. Be it short as it was, they had taken casualties in the fighting. Only recovering weapons, and personal goods, and treasure.