Blackwater Buccaneers

Peck. Peck. Peck.

The warm water of southern Stranglethorn swirled around her and Caleb's ankles as they stood in the foam of the waves. She had dressed simply in a thin white dress, he in his best pair of cut off trous and a red shirt.

Before them stood a human chaplain, a pirate chaplain. Even pirates had gods and faith. He was portly, he was bald, he was roasted brown as a nut and wrinkled as a pug dog. His nose was big and his teeth — those he had — were black, and his breath!

But his beady black eyes regarded the human and the elf standing in the foam and warmed, and he opened the tattered holy book he carried with him and began to read.

Peck. Peck. Peck.

"Iloam'll be annoyed," she said, stretching beside her human husband, before curling back up against his side on the hammock. Caleb just grunted; his shoulders shifted as he shrugged.

((Music!))

The warm aquamarine waters of Stranglethorn were rent into frothy white waves as the White Lion sailed towards Booty Bay. The dawning sun painted the waters deep colours, from the bright day's aquamarine to the night's deep indigo. It was beautiful.

Maethori Whisperwind balanced on the bowsprit, a youthful, bronzed teenaged elf. Her long legs, arms, midriff, face and neck had turned the toasted amber colour of someone who spends her entire day outdoors, and her reddish-brown hair glinted with golden highlights, bronzed in by the sun. Dressed in nothing but a pair of white canvas pants that had been cut off way above the knee and a red checkered lumberjack's shirt knotted to leave her stomach bare, the girl basked in the warmth of Stranglethorn, the light of the sun, the spray of salt and water from the ocean.

“Aedran, Aedran, c'mere. Sit on my lap. I got something for you.”

“Izzit candy? C'n I eat it?”

“No, candy day is Sunday. Only Sunday. Today is a new day. It's flower day. Here, take it.”

“Ooooooh! Red!”

“Just like your hair. But look. Here's a game. Have you seen it? You pull the petals off, one by one. You say, 'He loves me,' then 'he loves me not,' 'til they're all gone. The last one tells the truth. Try it.”

“He loves me, he loves me not, he loves me, he loves me not, he loves me...! … H-he loves me not...”

“Oh, that flower was a bad one. It lied. Here, take this one. We'll keep going til one gets it right.”

“ … He loves me!!”

“That's right, I do. Who loves you more than anyone?”

“You do!”

They traveled through Silvermoon, just the two of them. Tom always stayed head, making sure the streets were clear. Swift was patient; she didn't care how long it took, just that it would be done. Tom found the bar near the center of the city, no other crewmen though. Struck him as odd. He began to think something wasn't right.

Have no illusions when I tell you this tale, it was an awful venture; one which should never have been. Pirates are said to be bad or good, but to those we work for we're heroes! To those we work against, we're no better than demons. But the wise know that while neither is accurate, the second is closest to the truth. So remember that as we begin... because this tale is long and epic, and I dare not make you hope for the like of us. The like of Pirates.

Tsilas opened his eyes very slightly, hampered by the int,en,se headache and general unpleasant feeling in his body.

A letter lies upon a table in a dark room, flickering torch light casting a sinister glow over the simple parchment. An unseen hand slowly unfolded the letter. The hand smoothed the letter out and placed it carefully in the center of the table, the torchlight illuminating only the parchment. It was blank. A hunced over figure sat, setting ink well beside the parchment in alignment with the top of the paper, and dipped a quill in.

The large hand began to scratch the quill across the parchment.

To the Admiral of Blackwater --

A great shadow follows every man. Every woman, every child. It is under your command that this shadow thrives. To what end? Your own splendor? For all that I have seen, one would assume my soul to be silent. Gone. Diminished, in the least, but I still feel. Do you? Do you hear the cries of those you have put to death? Those your servants have removed?