Possibly Pirates: Seeds of Greatness

[Irish Wolf]

"Nay my lass" said Brain, "Though me black heart is more of dark shade of gray. Look around this here crew and ye'll find a collection of gutter scum, whore's sons, poor men and those who've got somethin' wrong in the head. Ye really should pity the poor bastards, I do. Rejected by those who can give an honest job and thrown aside by Naval dogs, what choice do they have but to strike out at those who have wrong them? Then ye have men like me, got a brain but not the money or title to go to school and Irish. Taxed to death and made all but a slave but the English."

[Xersist]

Thomas banged his fist to the table in agreement. "Ohe, Bree-an speaks the truth better than a saint." He got up and pulled out his saber, looking at the metal shine from the light coming from the window. "He right, There aint a person more free than a pirate in this world. We follow laws made by anger and vengeful men. Not by saucy old bats, or a half-witted inbred queen, who sits on her arse all day drinking tea. This is ship worth dieing for. I can't find a land or port where the people bow to someone who hasn't worked a day in his life. But on this ship, I might find men who would stand up for themselves rather than for something as stupid as royality. Even if they be the pimple on the face of the earth, I still find that ships like these are something to be admired by. For all those who feel repressed, rejected, and casted out." He walked over Sloane, his eyes somewhat bugered and filled with anger, looking not at the girl, but what she stood by, and all the asses she and her family had to kiss to make what she is today. "Look at mie, look at mie hard and good. I want you to see something, that you ain't gonna find anywhere on the shores of the Bahamas to the Mainland of England. A man. A man that is more free and happier to be alive, than I, and all the crew onboard here as well. We find us a job that makes us feel alive and righteous. That is why we pillage, to steal from those who have not lived. That why we kill, to end the mindless suffering of other. That is why we sail, to defy those who wish to let us live happy lives. Now taking that in, I find myself wandering have you or your sister ever lived a day of your life." he stepped back and put his saber back in his scabbard. He turned around and jumped in the hammock below Brain. He stopped and notice that his accented had faded half-way through his self righteous speech, only muttering “Shit” as he looked back on what he said.

[tigerz-peace]

Conan McGregor narrowed his eye, flicking the messy brown hair from his eyes as he spat over the railing into the churning waters below. Despite being behind closed doors, and below deck, the screams of the booty being ravaged still drifted up onto the deck, causing Conan to shudder in disgust. Never had he treated a woman in such a way, and never would he. His piercing blue eyes were fierce now, no longer vacant, but still intimidating, and he began pacing the near empty deck. One of crew emerged from below deck, to switch with the lad in the crows next and give him a go at the booty, and Conan shot a withering glare at the lads retreating back.
Whistling once to alert the lad at the wheel he was heading below deck, Conan braced himself for an assault of smells and sounds, before making his way below.
Not for the first time, Conan's thoughts travelled to why the Captain and all the Master's other then Brain had been huddled away.

Pausing at the galley to tear off half a loaf, Conan picked at the bread as he slipped towards Brains cabin. Knocking once, he leant against the door frame, his mouth filled with the doughy bread as he cast his gaze over the two lasses. Though one seemed to be looking the worse for wear, the other was giving off a very fiery appearance.
"I see yer go' yerself a fiery one, Brain." Conan muttered after swallowing a mouthful, adding before the lass could interfere with some retort.
"No offense bein' intended o'course, mar'm."
Rolling his shoulders, Conan slipped further into the cabin, pausing by Brain long enough to mutter.
"There be some suspicions arrising about our cap'n, Brain. And keep an eye on yer Doves, Slug's been a-plottin'; I 'ave reason to believe."

[Jadeling Hawkins]

Suddenly, Sloane was on her feet. Deirdre gasped and attempted to drag her back, but to avail. The fire-headed woman trembled with fury as she looked past Brain to the man lounging in the hammock. She either didn't notice the third man that had entered, or was so enraged at the second's words that she simply didn't care.

"So that's it, then?" She demanded, her voice approaching a shout. "You've been dealt poxy cards, so you're entitled to rape and murder and pillage those who choose to simply work with what they've got?" She took a faltering step forward, her fists clenched and her eyes ablaze, but couldn't move very far with Brain standing so close to her. "My father," She started, voice rising, "My father has worked hard every day of his life! His hands are dirty and calloused, his skin weathered and worn, and he's never once harmed an innocent! He's never treated a woman with anything failing utter respect, and he is ever ready to aid those weaker than he! We have so little, but we've never granted ourselves the luxury of wallowing in our own filth, or take from others simply because they have what we don't! You think so highly of yourself, you call yourself free! You consider this, taking from others what can never be returned, living?! I say you're but a slave to your own sloth, lust and greed!"

And with this, she turned back to Brain, who, thanks to her step, was close enough that she could practically count the freckles in his eyes. She didn't move, keeping her smoldering gaze on him. "And you...you're just a wolf in filthy sheep's clothing."

Deirdre cringed in her corner, trembling from head to toe in fear of what would come from this latest explosion.

[Irish Wolf]

Brain glanced over at Thomas, his voice had charged a little in his speech. Before he could say anything, Conan slipped into his small cabin, making it very crowded. The warning that Conan passed to him was noted and a head nod was given in response. Maybe it would be good to sleep with a dagger ready. He glanced down at the defiant woman he had the pleasure of catching in the town, meeting that smoldering gaze.

"And some men can live that way" said Brain, bring his hand up and cupping Sloane's chin, "And some men cannot. Some men do not have the wits to live like that and some have a darkness in them that will not let them live that way. This life was in the cards that were dealt to me, my dove, to watch out for the half wits and luckless bastards on this ship. I never have claimed to be more then I am and I will most likely end my life swinging on a rope for a crowd but I will make sure those lads die with a friend besides them."

[Jadeling Hawkins]

Sloane remained motionless, neither cringing nor jerking away at the pirate's touch. She continued to meet his gaze, and for a moment considered promising that she would make certain he had an audience on the day he danced the hempen jig. But the words didn't come. Perhaps...deep, deep, deeeeeep down, she felt a tiny, insignificant amount impressed at Brain's honesty. As it was, she finally pulled out of his grasp and moved past him back to the window, scowling and crossing her arms as she looked to the horizon.

Deirdre, who had remained silent throughout this, swallowed hard and slowly looked to Conan. She cleared her throat softly, sitting up in what she hoped to be a less pathetic position, and asked in nearly a whisper, "Who is Slug?"

[Xersist]

Thomas chuckled, "She is a saucy bitch aint she, that right there was a big turn on for me, any more an I might have ta grasp for tha horn." He had a few more good laughs before dosing in and out a sleep. Thomas looked back at himself again, as he felt himself to be a great big lair, sitting in a stool of his homemade crap. He was raised better and acted better than most. But now he found that he was losing what was making who he was and leaving the coldness of the world around him to suck into his skin, and eventually to his soul.

[tigerz-peace]

Conan didn't leave the room as Brain completed his speech, instead he waited and watched, his hands clasped behind his back as he leant back on his heels. As he finished, the fiery lass stepped away, Conan cast his gaze to the lass that spoke to him timidly.

"Who is Slug?"

Conan stepped forward, somehow fitting into the already snug cabin, and dropped down to his knee. As the lass sat up straighter, Conan allowed her to reach a higher point then himself. Muttering gently, he gaze an explanation.

"Slug is a man who ye' wouldn't want ter cross, lass. He be the kind of man who would be doin' lil less then ravishin' yer innocence silly, and he be a man tha' I won't allow to touch ye' or yer sister. Ye be truly lucky Brain was the one to be a findin' ya, as he be one of the few aboard who would be the closest thing to a gentleman aboard a pirate ship such as this vessel."
Standing, Conan glanced about the snug, over crowded cabin. Though only being slightly bigger, his cabin would be better suited for three people.
"If ye be needin' somewhere ter keep yer doves, Brain, be free to use me cabin. I best be seein' to gettin' the crew inter gear, and I'll see what I can do about their booty's -" Conan nearly spat the word "-well bein' when they be on deck."
Scowling for a moment, Conan nodded to both the woman, then to Brain as he excused himself from Brain's cabin and headed along to the mens quarters. His booming roar echoed below deck, resounding off the hardy yet old wood.
"Gi' yer bloody no-good hides inta gear yer lazy fools before I be throwin' yer over to the depths fer Davy Jones. Leave yer booty be for the time and ge' to work. A ship don't be runnin of its bloody own." When he didn't recieve instant response, Conan roared once more.
"NOW!"

[Skallagrim]

Persistent the HMS Seeker after the smaller pirate ship, doggedly following it, hunting it until the ship, like all wild beasties ran to ground where it would be killed with deadly efficiency. The frigate-raider was designed for one thing, killing pirates, hunting them to their hidden coves and inlets and killing them.

Alister watched silently as the other, more senior officers talked about the possible places the pirates would run. The HMS Seeker, while not fully provisioned, would be able to stay at sea for another month and a half, for longer than a dirty and dingy crew of miscreants who would have to put in sooner or later if for not other reason, than to divvy up the booty.

Raising his spy glass again, Alister scanned the deck of the pirate ship, what he was seeking, he was unsure but he gazed upon the ship. Soon, very soon they would engage in battle, and the pirate ship would lose.

[Muser]

The last beams of a fiery orange sunset streaked out across the dark ocean, providing a few final moments of warm light to the pirate ship before the sun slipped below the horizon, plunging the ocean fully into night. The moon had already risen slowly during the sunset, and now cast dark blue moon shadows across the pirate ship's deck. As soon as the sun disappeared, the night sky opened up, revealing millions upon millions of twinkling stars and planets; the celestial bodies that astronomers were just beginning to understand. More than one man upon this ship had gazed up at those stars and searched for some sort of meaning or guidance, perhaps from their heathen pirate gods. The stars flickered on with their existence, oblivious of the hearts and souls that dreamed of them.

Matthew English watched the sun crash with a final explosion of purples and oranges into the horizon from the gun port, and took another swig of foul flavoured rum from Tom's ration. He swirled it around in his mouth, swallowed it with a smirk and passed it back to Tom with a nod. The earlier roar of the quartermaster, Conan, had spurred everyone into action and Matthew and Tom had spent the rest of the afternoon oiling and cleaning the cannon, getting more cannonballs ready and topping up their store of gunpowder. They sat now in the gloom of the inside of the pirate ship, lit only by flickering lanterns, smoking foreign flavoured cheroots. They took turns blowing rings of hazy smoke into the air, competing as to who could make the most stable rings and watching them drift lazily out the gun port and off into the star filled night. Matthew took a particularly long drag and exhaled it slowly from his lips. It seemed to drift like fog slowly moving over a swampy moor in some far off dream Matthew had of England. Tom chuckled and did the same, however doing it much better.

"It been far too long since you and me be sharing da smoke, Matt young boy." Tom spoke quietly, his eyes focused out towards the star lit sky. "When you got yourself lost out in da ocean, I and I was thinkin' it all be ovah. It not be easy to find a bastard you can be trustin' wit your life, y'know?" Matthew nodded, blowing another puff of smoke out of his mouth. A small chunk of ash fell from the end of the cheroot, and landed silently on the deck at Matthew’s booted feet. With a small movement he crushed the ash out, smearing black dust upon the stained wood.

"You're telling me, Tom, you're telling me." He let the matter drop into silence as he took one last drag on his cheroot and filled his lungs with smoke. Matthew held it in just long enough to feel his lungs begin to burn and complain, then exhaled rapidly, blowing a long stream of smoke out of the port and into the growing dusk. He stood up then, crushing the spent cheroot beneath his boot and patted Tom on the shoulder as he passed him. “Just stretching the ol’ legs mate. Back in a while.” Even though he wasn’t really a tall man, Matthew still had to duck to avoid the low support beams as he made his way through the ship. Darkness always seemed to add an extra essence of malice to the inner workings of the ship, the lantern light failing magnificently to illuminate the majority of the walkways and rooms. All they succeeded in was adding a frightening glint to a man’s eyes, if the light reflected just right. More often than not, as Matthew passed, the eyes that followed him lit up like the Devil himself. As much as Matthew had been welcomed back by those he had been closest to, he supposed he was a stranger now to most of these men. And a stranger could be a serious problem.

Problems always had a way of being sorted out with violence on a pirate ship like this.

A while later, Matthew found himself a few decks down from where he had been sitting with Tom, and the stench had become even more powerful, if that was believably possible. He held his bare forearm up to his nose, trying to block it out as much as possible. The lower decks smelt of excrement and fear, sweat and blood; a foul concoction that pleased only the most vulgar and barbaric of men. Matthew might have been a scoundrel, a murderous and black-hearted sort of man, but even he had limits to his evils. Granted, those limits could be stretched, but still, some men took it a few steps beyond. And they never came back from there. Here in this part of the ship was where the worst of the debauchery happened; the raping and defiling of captured women. Matthew stepped over a torn piece of clothing that was stuck to the wooden planks with a mixture of blood and God knows what else. The majority of the women were alone now, chained to bars and clutching their mostly tattered clothing to their mostly naked bodies. A few more insatiable pirates were still at it with their ‘treasures’, their guttural grunts lowered to just the faintest of sounds.

Matthew shook his boot loose from the sudden grip of a terrified woman, with messy tangle of blonde hair that was pleading with him to let her go. He muttered something about not having a say in her future, and pushed her away. She cursed him, but her words fell on deaf ears; he had been cursed so many times in his life, the novelty had worn off. Other women began to shout at him, some asking for begging for release and freedom, others swearing at him. Matthew was beginning to wonder if wandering down here had been a mistake when a metal cup struck him in the back. He turned quickly on his heel, eyes scanning the darkness for the culprit. Most of the women shrank back, suddenly falling silent in the wake of his smoldering anger. But one woman did not. She would have had a pretty face, but for the bruises and cuts, the smears of blood and filth. Her eyes burned with a naked defiance, a stunningly pure hatred of him. Matthew didn’t even bother asking whether or not she had thrown the cup. It really didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. He strode towards her, and with a flash in the dark, struck her cheek with the back of his hand. She fell back, surprised by the strength of the hit. She tumbled into another woman and the two collapsed in a heap on the ship’s deck. She turned slowly back towards Matthew, a huge red mark pulsing on her cheek and tears welling her eyes. She spat towards him in the gloom, and the gobbet of phlegm landed just inches from his boot.

“Spirit will only get ya so far, bitch,” he spoke calmly, breathing out as his anger ebbed away, “But ‘opefully for you it will be far enough.”

“M-m-matthew?” A voice stuttering far behind Matthew made him turn around and search the gloom. He stalked forward, ducking under low beams and stepping over unconscious, ravaged women. He found the source of the voice quickly in the form of a shivering woman with tear stained eyes. Jenny sat huddled in a far corner of the room, her knees pulled up to her chest and her arms subsequently crossed over those legs. Her clothes had been ripped to shreds and she clutched what she could in her shaking hands. Her light brown hair, usually clean and tied back, hung loose over her face and was matted into clumps and strands by her sweat and blood. “I recognized… your voice… it sounded far away… like a dream, like I was… home again.” Her baby blue eyes were only half focused, and in many ways, had lost their usual sparkle and joy. Matthew knelt down in front of her, reaching one of his tanned and calloused hands out to touch her cheek. She shrank back from his touch, and fresh tears sprang from her already red-rimmed eyes. “It hurts, it hurts so very much.” Her head tilted down, away from his eyes and Matthew followed her gaze down to between her legs and was greeted by the sight of the crotch of her dress stained dark with blood. Matthew had no words of comfort for her, nothing soft to whisper her to soothe her pain at being violated over and over again in the darkness of this room. Nothing could remove the scars now firmly slashed into her mind, scars she would carry for the rest of her life, however long that might be. Matthew kept his hand on her cheek, and slowly wiped a single tear from her face with his thumb.

He should have said something.

But as he held Jenny in his arms, the faintest Pop! sounded in the distance. Moments later the far side of the room exploded in a shower of wood and metal, vaporizing the bodies of the nearest men and women upon impact, showering everyone else in blood and gore. A second cannonball struck the ship, higher up this time, but the impact still rocked the other decks, sending Matthew sprawling onto the ground.

The Navy had caught up with them.

[Jadeling Hawkins]

Sloane had been sitting with her back to the wall, eyes closed and with one arm resting protectively over the sleeping form of her sister. But she had not been asleep. One never knew when the foul breathed pirates would come sneaking into the room to pester them...or even when their own kidnapper would change his mind about his 'gentlemanly' attributes.

So she was awake when first balls struck the ship.

With the sudden lurch, she was tossed to the floor with a shriek. The sound was a bothersome thing, never mind the sudden rocking of the ship. She heard Deirdre scramble awake with several screams, kicking at the covers as though they were attacking her. There could be heard the same pops that had been heard before their home town was attacked. It seemed as though they were always the recipients of these attacks!

Breathless with the shock of it all, Sloane rushed over to Brain's hammock and began shaking him for all she was worth. "Wake up! Wake up, you twat! Wake up!"

[FJameson]

"Really, love, you should go down. It's not safe up here."

Her hands clenched into the railing of the naval brig Dido, as she watched the two cannon rounds pound the hull of the Hound's Tooth, or at least that's what Edmund called it. A river of red streamed down the barnacle crusted hull, and when she held her husband's spyglass up to one eye, she saw bodies.

And parts of bodies.

She'd lived 10 years of her life actively practicing the art of piracy, but she'd never gotten used to the sight of seeing limbs floating on the open seas.

"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?" she screamed, slapping the spyglass shut on her palm, and then immediately clamped her mouth shut as Edmund stared at her, his mouth gaping open in shock. She cleared her throat and smiled prettily at him. "I mean. That is to say...there were hostages on that ship, didn't you say? How dare you open fire in a hostage situation? You were supposed to save the women onboard, not blow them to bits."

"I...I..." Edmund stammered, and a young deckhand saluted him sharply.

"Milord Commodore Blackwell, we've dispatched two warning shots, just as you've ordered, Sir! What will your next orders be?"

When she saw the excitement in the boy's bright eyes, she completely lost her head, completely forgot about her new situation in life. She was no longer Lady Judith Blackwell nee Aston. She was Rakehell, second in command to the Cassandra, still anchored at St. Martin's, a few hours away from Port Royal.

"I'll give you orders, you little..." In an instant, her hand snaked out, wrapping around the collar of the young boy's shirt. "You open fire one more time, and I'll throw you over. Myself."

The deckhand's face blanched at such manners from such a distinguished lady, while Edmund looked upon with shock on his entirely all too handsome face. It was a pity that he wasn't half as clever as he was good-looking. With looks like that and brains to match, he and she might have been enough to take over the world.

Fortunate for him. Unfortunate for her.

She let go of the boy, who fell back on his knees, his hands round his neck, and she turned to Edmund, the spyglass still in her hands.

"Please. You must stop this. We'll board and that will do the trick, I suppose," she said quickly. "It'll be more dangerous, but it'll save the women."

Edmund stared at her. "I don't understand how you would know all of this..."

As if she was ever going to tell him the life she'd had before they'd met at a soiree held at the Alcott's London townhome during the Season. "Never mind all that. Just tell your men to stop firing on that ship, damn it all to hell."

"You just cursed. Good Heavens, you've just cursed," her husband said with incredulity and Judith resisted the urge to hit him in the stomach with something hard. Maybe something pointed at the end. "You sound like a common fishmonger's wife."

She took a deep breath and decided, in for a pence, in for a pound. "Frankly my dear, I don't give a damn."

The boy continued to hack and cough and she allowed herself a moment of guilt before plodding him in the ribs with the toe of her sensible French boots.

"Yes'm?"

She proceeded towards the ship's hold, intention clear on her pale English face.

"Get me some attire that will fit me. A shirt. A pair of trousers. And a pair of boots, if you have them."

The boy gaped at her. "My lady?"

She smiled, a slow, graceful smile as half the crew looked on in shock.

"And get me a saber while you're at it, won't you?"

It was good to be back.

Oh yes, it was good to be back.

[Muser]

A pair of excited footsteps ran together down a dimly lit cobblestone series of alleys, bobbing and weaving between the grim buildings, searching for respite from the pouring rain. The downpour, like most showers in London, came on suddenly and without warning. It began with a few scant drops of rain, here and there, and with minutes it became an unrelenting sheet of perfectly vertical water. The footsteps belonged to a boy and a girl, their completely soaked clothes clinging to their thin frames. The boy, nearing the tail end of his teenage years found a small awning and pulled the girl underneath it. The girl clung to him, shivering in the cold, and her warm breath steamed as it left her lips. She couldn’t have been much older than sixteen, and her short black hair was flattened to her face and head, heavy with rainwater. Her bright green eyes sparkled even in the gloom of a dreary London rainstorm, dazzling the young man who held her in his arms. They huddled together, pressing their shivering bodies against one another, feeling the warmth spread between them. The young man reached a hand up and cupped her pale cheek, tilting her head up so her eyes met his. He swallowed heavily and exhaled slowly, letting his hand drift up to sweep the damp strands of hair back from her pale and beautiful face. He leaned down then, pressing his shivering lips softly to hers, and without any hesitation she kissed him back. They shared their first kiss between rain soaked buildings and under a sullen grey sky. Moments later, the girl broke the kiss, and smiled a bashfully broad smile. She nuzzled her face into the young man’s neck, and held on to him even tighter now. She spoke, but so softly that the young man had to strain his ears to hear her.

“I love you,” She whispered.

Screams, horrible blood curdling screams of immense anguish and pain.

The vision faded slowly, leaving the two lovers in the rain. The image lingered behind Matthew English’s closed eyes for just a few moments, long enough to give him an uncertainty as to where he was. He groaned and let his eyes open themselves, the gloom of the pirate ship not much brighter than closed eyes and far less pleasant. The first thing he understood was that he was lying face down on the wooden deck, in a pool of blood. And his head hurt. He groaned again, blinking his eyes a few times. He turned slowly onto his back, and breathed in heavily. The taste of smoke and burning flesh danced on his tongue, and he coughed violently. The ship was on fire. Sitting up slowly, his head spinning, Matthew could see the flames across the room and the black smoke that filled this room and subsequently billowed out into the night. It seemed that when the cannonballs had struck the ship, he had been thrown back and had knocked his head against something hard and passed out. Luckily for him, he had only been unconscious for a few minutes. Running a hand quickly through his hair, he found a fresh bump on his skull with a scab of drying blood already crusting upon it.

The smoke stung at Matthew’s eyes and made it hard to see anything around him. He could hear the screams of the captured women, those who were injured and those who were simply trapped, chained as they were to the ship. The fire was spreading quickly and with a real vengeance, greedily feeding on the dry wooden planks and support beams. He rolled to his knees, and began to crawl away from the growing inferno. His head screamed at him, as did his lungs as he took great gasping breaths of smoke every few moments. He had crawled maybe twenty feet, when something landed awkwardly on his back. He flattened to the ground, and was about to shake the thing from his back, when a thick metal chain suddenly wrapped its way around his throat and began to pull back, hard. Matthew gasped, taking another huge lungful of smoke and coughed. His hands grasped at the chain, gripping tightly. He struggled to pull the chain from his throat, but the blow to his head and the smoke inhalation were taking their toll on his strength. He groaned and strained, but to no avail, the chain simply pulled tighter and tighter on his throat, choking the air from his lungs. His face turned a deep crimson colour and black spots began to appear at the peripheries of his vision.

Matthew English had led a long and horrible life, and had committed a staggeringly long list of crimes and carried with him more than his fair share of unforgivable sins. In a way, it was more than just poetic justice that here, in a burning God-forsaken pirate ship in a far off corner of the known world, that he should die with a prisoner’s chain around his throat. In the back of his mind, as his vision grew darker and darker, he dreamed of that alleyway and that kiss, that girl in his arms and the rain falling all around them. Good things come to good people, so they say, as do bad things come to those who do commit them. A female voice, sounding far away, as if from a dream itself, though it came from right beside him, spoke mockingly into his ear.

“Spirit got me a whole helluva lot farther than you, you bastard pirate scum!”

[Skallagrim]

The sounds of cannonade carried, the sudden twinkle of flame carried in the evening, small streamers of flame licked the wood of the pirate ship. The officers aboard the Seeker scrambled to the railing; ahead of them the smaller ship had come within gun range and unleashed a salvo on the fleeing rogues.

A loud cheer and huzzah echoed as another round fired upon the pirates, quickly the orders went out; the Seeker was to press as much sail as possible on their masts to gain ground.

Alister smiled as the sailors carried out the orders, with a renewed enthusiasm the ship sprang to life, they had been given another opportunity, much sooner than they expected to rain down the wrath of the Royal Navy upon the sea dogs that had boldly raided the port town.

“Look lively lads, the good Lord has given us this chance, let us not waste our opportunity.” Alisters voice carried among the gun crew, “Grapnel lads Grapnel for these heathens. Well rip their hull then chain their masts to stop them.”

As he reached the far line of twenty-two guns, Alister popped his spy glass again, even in the gloom he could make out two ships ahead of them, hopefully the pirates would stop and do battle, allowing the guns of the Seeker to come into play.

[FJameson]

"My word! This is highly unseemly, Judith, my love. I must insist that you think this highly rash decision over again."

Seeing her naked didn't seem to do anything to him. Then again, Edmund wasn't particularly fond of the female gender when it came down to passion.

No wonder all the cabin boys were unusually effeminate looking. She'd wondered about that, but after seeing some very strange pictures under the maps in his private study, she no longer harbored doubts as to why he'd never came to her in bed.

All the better.

She never loved Edmund, hadn't married him for such a paltry emotion. It was all about money, position, status. Edmund needed someone who didn't mind his long, long assignments out to sea and someone who didn't look too hard at the men in his employ. She needed someone with money and someone who wasn't home enough to catch onto the rather obvious fact that she, well, wasn't at home at all.

They were perfect for each other. In that sense, in any case.

She stuggled into the linen shirt that smelled rather strongly of thick perfume from some flower she thought she knew, but the name was on the tip of her tongue. "Do shut up, Edmund and let me get on with my business. Are the men ready to board?"

He shuffled his feet, hands clasped behind his back. "Er, well, yes, but..."

Tugging tight on her stockings, she tugged on the boots that were just a tad bit too big, but they'd do. Do until she found a someone skilled enough to fashion a pair of boots without asking too many questions or looking too scandalized. "Good. Now you go be a good boy and tell them to ready the hooks."

Edmund drew himself, looking affronted. "Now, see here!"

Without a word, she unsheathed the cutlass, the sound sounded wickedly metallic in the small bedchamber, and he shut his mouth with a barely inaudible 'gulp'.

"Any questions, husband of mine?"

He shook his head. "None at all, Wife. None at all."

[Irish Wolf]

Brains first reaction to being touch was to pull the dagger out from under him and slash. Luckily for Sloane, Slug had shorter arms then her, as the slash had been meant for Slug. He also was shorting in hight then Sloane, the edge of the blade sliced through the top of her dress and nicked her skin a little. He scrambled out of his hammock and into a fighting crouch. Glancing around , he stood.

"Don't do that dove" said Brain, just as a second volley hit. "Bloody Hell" he exclaimed, dashing from the cabin, just in his trousers. He had grabbed his whistle and blunderbuss and headed above deck. "What is going on!" he thundered, looking around for the attacking navel ship.

[tigerz-peace]

Having been up for the most of the past night and all day, Conan finally retired for an hours rest in his cupboard sized cabin. The hammock rocked in time with the ship as exhaustion had overcome him, sending him into a deep sleep. Conan couldn't have been asleep half-an-hour when the first canon ball struck.

The impact caused the ship to rock dramatically, which, as if on cue, led to Conan's hammock rocking some much he was thrown onto the wooden floor - or what there was of it, the area was so cramped. Scrambling to his feet, Conan tried to block the screams of the women from his ears. He had one of the closest private cabins to them, and the soud was horrible. Lunging forward at the door as the ship rocked dramatically as the second ball hit it, Conan pushed the door open, stumbling out into the thin gap that was the corridor. It was all Conan could do to not lurch forward, and to stay standing as he made his way up on deck. As he did, he began hollering out orders.
"Shake a leg boys. Gi' yer bloomin' hides inter gear before I kick 'em there. I be wantin' ter see tha gun crew to their posts an' a weapon in every hand. Gi yer asses onter the deck NOW!" Conan was hollaring on the top of his lungs as he came to stand by Brain. Casting his gaze about, Conan let it rest upon the firing ship.
"What now?"

[Irish Wolf]

"I have no idea!" said Brain, scanning the dark seas, "But someone doesn't like us. I was sure we lost the navy dogs!" He frowned and let his thoughts run. "Get the lads loading the guns with powder. I have a little something for our new friends!" With that, he raced below decks and down to the cargo hold. He had been saving a few a crate or two for a moment like this. After a few minutes of searching, he found them, fire darts. Each was made from an iron dart with a ball of rope, pitch and tar just behind the barb. Attached to the barb of the dart were four hooks on long chains. When the fire dart was loaded in a cannon and fired, it caught fire and would either be driven into the mast and decking or the hooks would catch in the rigging, starting the burn the enemy ship.

Brain gathered an armful and raced topside again. This was going to be fun.

[Jadeling Hawkins]

Sloane had reeled back, clutching at her chest as she felt the sharp impact of the slice on her previously unmarred flesh. Her deep green eyes were wide as she watched the shirtless pirate rush out and into battle, and yet another volley slammed into the ship, tossing her to the floor as it rocked. Picking herself up, and with one arm still pressed to the thin cut on her chest, she looked at Deirdre, who was covering her mouth with both hands as she trembled with fear, her own green eyes enormous.

"Get up, hurry!" Sloane whispered, barely audible over the sudden crash and tumultuous noise of ships at war. "This might be the only chance we get!"

[Xersist]

Thomas eyes peeked open as they word's left Sloane's mouth. He chuckled, pulling out his blunder-bust out of his belt side. Pulling the hammer back he aimed it at the two girls. "Now just one moment ther loves, I neva said "Thomas says" yet." The evil looked came up on his face, playing the role which he hated so much. He paused as he got to his feet, pulling his body out of the hammock. Keeping the gun up he walked to the door. "Now, what would Bree-ann say if a let you go. e'd hav my head. So I can't let you go..." He paused and chuckled, Switching side in mid-game is always fun. "... Unless I protect ya." Thomas opened the door behind him, letting the girls go. ", But ya need to follow my lead ar you'll be as gud as dead if you walk u'p on tha deck." He picked up a tangle of rope and tossed it over his side, "Ar ya up for a wee Shakespeare 'lil doves?" He smiled as he looked out the door, making sure he wasn't to be heard.