NationStates Jolt Archive

((OOC: This is the IC counterpart to this thread: http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=389439 ))

Captain Rob walked the deck of his majestic ship. It had once belonged to his father and Rob had since been using money gained by doing menial tasks to fix it up and hire a crew. It was currently fully staffed and fully gunned.

“Sir the storm is setting in, we should have gone to port a while ago.”

“Are we afraid of a little storm?”

“Well…uh…this is supposed to be a REALLY-”

“I said are we afraid of a little storm?”

“No.”

“Plus we’re in between multiple islands, if we really need to dock we put full speed and get there in a little while.”

“Yes sir.”

Suddenly a noise came from the crows nest, “There’s another ship.”

Rob ran to grab his telescope (Right word?) from his room and hastened back as another yell came. “PIRATES!”

He pulled it out and looked, sure enough it was pirates.

“Sir if we stay and fight the storm will get us.”

“I already told you. Now, get the guns ready full crews on cannons. Ready the boarders and anti boarders, bring up grapnels and boards.”

“Cannons ready!”

“Take aim! Hold steady! FIRE!”

The cannons were loaded with grapeshot and this ammo tore across the enemy deck ripping the crew to shreds. Return fire came as water splashed around Rob’s ship, and then it shook as a cannonball went through one side.

“Aim! Fire!”

Another salvo of Grapeshot further decimated the pirate crew. They expected an easy kill with what looked a lone merchant, but they were wrong.

As the pirates readied for a second round Rob’s cannons launched a round of Knippel shots into the Pirate ships sails. The mast creaked as it began to bend and several rigs holding sails collapsed onto the deck.

“Sir, the seas are getting rough. Rain is getting heavier and waves are getting bigger, we should just sink ‘em and forget boarding.”

“No, they pirates, they must have treasure.”

Rob’s ships sailed around and closer to the pirate ship while firing its cannons all along, half with Grapeshot, the other half with Knippel.

Finally the ships were coming side to side, the pirate ship was graced with a large hole where their line of cannons had once been.

“No mercy!”

Ropes flew across as others slid boards to the pirate ships. People swung in from ropes on the rigging as men ran across boards and others swung into the lower deck.

A quick battle with what crew were left and the holds belonged to Rob. Men ran off with whatever they could as the treasure was brought to Rob’s ship. Finally the pirate ship was released and it began to sink into the sea.

Men scurried about trying to gain shelter from the heavy rain that was now coming, and to hide what treasure they had taken.

“Sir, the storm is here.”

Suddenly the boat was slammed to one side as the aid was thrown off.

“Damn. All hands on deck! Lower the sails, make sure the anchor’s up, get repair supplies, get-”

“OH MY GOD!”

Rob turned around to see what his crewman was yelling about. There a wall of water was riding fast and hard towards the ship. Upon its crest were the remnants of the pirate ship, seemingly held together by some ghostly force. The wave dwarfed the ship several times over and seemed to be calling for them.

Rob stepped lightly back on his heels to see all of the monster wave. His hands instinctively grabbed his 4 shot pistol at his side and his saber. He heard screams and shouts as the wave descended upon them and engulfed the ship.


Rob slowly opened his eyes, but saw nothing. For a split second he was sure he was dead. He frantically dug his hands into the soft blackness, pushing himself up. As his face left its burrow in the warm sand, he realized that he was neither dead nor blind. He began to spit and hack in an attempt to clear the vast quantity of sand that had taken up residence in his mouth and nose.

As the air began to flow freely again through his lungs he sat back on his haunches and tried to make sense of where he was. He craned his neck, squinting in the glare. Soft wispy clouds floated through the blue Caribbean sky as palms danced in the breeze. He tried to remember how he had come to this place. The last thing he could see clearly was a great black wall coming towards him. Everything before and after that was dim.

He looked down at himself. His seaman’s pants and shirt were in tatters. His heavy coat was gone. He felt around his waist for the trusty four-shot, but found nothing. He looked to his right, and the glint of something metal sticking out of the sand caught his eye. He crawled over, and brushed the sand away to unearth the brass hilt of what had once been his fine saber. He held the hilt up, and examined it. The blade was now completely gone, undoubtedly broken away when it had washed up on the beach. His hand dropped to the sand, still grasping the hilt, and he let out a slight sigh before raising himself to his feet. He had all the time in the world, and he might as well use it to find out where the Hell he was.

Rob strode off down the beach, in search of some semblance of civilization. He walked for awhile, and was surprised to find that he felt neither frustrated nor disappointed with his predicament. In all actuality, he was quite relieved to be alive, and took the time to enjoy the light, airy Caribbean day. He noticed a good deal of coconuts lying along the edge of the tree line, and in turn realized that he was hungry. He wandered over and picked up one of the hairy brown fruits. He knelt in the cool shade of the trees, and set the coconut down, raising the broken hilt of his sword, which he had decided to hang onto. He brought the blunt instrument down on the head of the coconut and cracked it open. He raised the half shell to his lips, and drank the sweet juices.

After repeating this exercise a few more times, Rob stood, and stretched, feeling rather refreshed. He wandered on a few yards, watching the calm sky or staring out to sea. Suddenly, his feet caught on some large object and he went sprawling forward, into the sand. He heard a rough shout behind him, and sat up, rubbing his head. Turning around, he saw a man leaning up against a palm tree, an annoyed look on his face. Surprised, Rob crawled back a few feet, not sure of what to say.

“You could damn well watch where yer goin’ ‘stead’a trippin’ over a man when he’s tryin’ to take a bloody nap.”

Rob noticed several bottles scattered around the man. He reached for one that was propped up in the sand, still apparently half full. The man uncorked the bottle and raised it to his lips. He wiped his mouth and let out a satisfied ‘ah’. Rob, realizing that this man most likely had little intention of harming him, even if he had interrupted his nap, lost his apprehension and addressed him.

“Can you tell me where I am?”

the man turned his head and looked Rob up and down, as if noticing him for the first time.

“What now? You wanna know where you are? Well, Hell, you just blow in off the tide? I remember when people used to actually know where they were goin’ ‘fore they got there. Now people just get there and expect everyone to tell ‘em where they are. No sense of decency. Hell, you ain’t even introduced yerself yet.”

Rob, slightly amused and slightly perplexed by the straner’s attitude, did his best to remember his manners and introduced himself.

“Captain Robert Uhlman of The Crooked Bird, three weeks out of Port Knox Trinidad.”

“Port Knox. I been there. Good rum. Nice girls.”

The man raised the bottle again, finishing it off. He tossed it at his feet, where it stuck in the sand.

“Me name’s Tom. Pleasure to meet yeh.”

“A pleasure. Now would you mind telling me where I am?”

Tom stood, and brushed the sand off of himself. He was a young man of moderate height, with a scraggly brown mane of hair, and his face was covered in thick stubble. His entire appearance was equally shaggy. He wore a long, heavily patched coat that had at one point been a deep blue color, and a pair of equally tattered pants. A rusted cutlass hung at his waste, naked without a scabbard. A small scar ran across his lower cheek bone.

“You’re in Cuba, of course. Welcome to the other side of the Caribeen. You look like Hell, matey. I’ll buy you a drink.”

Tom began to walk off, and Rob got to his feet and followed. After a short time, the men crested a small dune, and below them was a small, sleepy port town.

“There yeh have ‘er. Port St. Michael. Proud to call ‘er me home for the past five days. Or was it eight? Or ten?”

Rob followed Tom down the dune into the streets of the town. Knowing his way like the back of his hand, Tom led Rob to a small tavern on the edge of the docks. The old wooden sign on the front of the place displayed the name “Prink’s Finest.” Tom opened the heavy wooden door and walked in, followed by his new companion. Rob looked around cautiously. The tavern was largely empty, save for a few unsavory looking seadogs and other miscreants scattered around the various tables, or lounging about in front of the open fire. Tom proceeded towards the back, and took a seat at one of the wooden tables. Rob did likewise. Suddenly, an angry looking young woman, a barmaid, appeared beside the table, and gave Tom the quintessential evil eye. Tom looked up at her, a look of slight apprehension on his face.

“Anne, how you been?”

Her expression did not soften. Then all Hell broke loose.

“You bastard! How dare you show your face in here! You promised me that you’d take me away from here! Said you’d take me with you to Tortuga, and Hispaniola! That was over a month ago!”

A quizzical expression appeared on Tom’s face and he began counting on his fingers, his eyes wandering towards the ceiling.

“Well, I suppose I’ve been here a little longer than five days.”

The woman paid little heed to his aside, and continued her rant.

“You’re all the same! You get what you want from me, and move on!”

“Now, now, Annie. I never said I wasn’t going to take you with me, I just haven’t seen fit to leave yet.”

“Ha! Haven’t seen fit to leave, my ass!”

“Well, it is a very nice a-“

“Shut up you pig! Truth is you couldn’t leave if you wanted to! You’ve got no boat! You’ve got no money!”

Rob was finding it impossible to contain his laughter, and so he quietly excused himself, and walked over to the bar, leaving the barmaid to berate his somewhat odd companion. Rob leaned up against the bar, and the barkeep approached from the other side.

“You’re a new face around here. You’re a seaman I s’pose?”

“I was a Captain.”

“Ah. Which ship?”

“The Crooked Bird.”

“Crooked bird? I ain’t seen her in the harbor.”

“She never docked.”

The bartended nodded in understanding.

“You got caught in that blow two nights ago.”

“Two nights ago?”

“Aye. Was quite a storm. You drifted a good ways, too. Happened about four miles off the coast. You look like you could use a drink.”

“I’m afraid I’ve not the means to pay.”

“Ah, don’t worry about it. First one’s always free for you shipwrecked bastards.”

Rob looked back at the table where Tom was sitting. The woman had apparently finished, and she turned up her nose and walked off in a huff. Tom shrugged. Rob turned back to the bartender and pointed at Tom.

“Can you tell me about that man?”

“You mean Black Jack Smith?”

“Black Jack? He said his name was Tom.”

“Aye. He was a smuggler. Black Jack’s a nickname most people know him by. Coined it hisself, he did.”

“A smuggler? How’d he get here?”

“Not really sure ‘a’ the circumstance, but apparently while he was sailin’ from Port Royal to Santiago his crew mutinied, and left the poor bastard adrift. Took his ship to go a piratin’. He washes up on an island a few miles from here, and builds hisself a raft from driftwood. Usin’ his shirt as a sail, he makes it here to old St. Michael. Poor son of a bitch was half dead when I found him lyin’ on the beach. Was singin’ somethin’ strange. But a few days of rest and some good rum put him right, and he’s been here for about a month. Keeps sayin’ he’ll get around to shippin’ out again, to get back at the bastards who took his ship, but never seems quite ready to get around to it. Tell you the truth, I wish he’d hurry up with it. He keeps drinkin’ all me rum and porkin’ all me barmaids. Poor old Annie’s half distraught now cuz ‘a’ him.”

Rob watched the man at the far end of the room, and took in the story. One thing was for sure, he had certainly fallen in with an interesting character, for better or worse. Rob finished his drink and thanked the barkeep before walking back towards the table and Tom.

“There y’are. I figured you’d run off to hide from that girl’s wrath. She’s a ferocious beast when she’s riled, I’ll tell you, but Hell if the sex isn’t worth it. Poor girl doesn’t believe I mean to take ‘er with me, but I’ll be damned if Tom ‘Black Jack’ Smith’ll be a liar.”

Tom picked up a mug, and finished its contents. Anne appeared beside the table again, an icy look on her face. Tom reached into one of his coat’s pockets in search of money. He removed his empty hand, and tried another pocket, then another.

“Er, hold on a bit, lemme just see he- Aha, there we- No, no, that’s not it, maybe, yes! Here! No, never mind. Now what’s this?”

Tom reached into an inner coat pocket and withdrew a crumpled brown piece of paper. He unfolded it, revealing the ink marks that formed an illustration of sorts. Upon closer examination, ii became evident that he was holding a map of some sort.

“Well I’ll be damned…”

Rob reached over and took the paper. He held it up to the light of the candle, examining it. Though the ink was smeared in certain places, and pieces had been ripped or worn away after God knows how long a period of captivity spent in Tom’s pocket, it was quite evident that this was indeed a map.

“I’ve been looking for that for ages. And to think it was right here in me pocket the whole time.”

Rob continued to stare at the map, his eyes scanning the strange illustrations, cryptic symbols, and mysterious labels. As his eyes fell on the bottom of the map, he discovered that there was more than the outline and illustrations. There a riddle was scrawled. Rob read the strange words and his eyes widened.

“My God, Tom. Have you got any idea what this is?”

“Well, I s’pose I figured it was some sort of map or something, but it’s not really going to do much good in paying for-“

“Damn right it’s a map!”

Rob’s heart leapt.

“This isn’t just a map, Tom. It’s a goddamn map!”

Tom’s brow furrowed and he eyed Rob with a perplexed look.

“You sure you didn’t get too much seawater up yer nose when ye floated in here?”

Rob ignored his comment, and continued to stare at the map. For a seemingly cryptic treasure map, it was actually rather easy to decipher. It was a series of simple landmarks, well known to any seaman, with the final destination marked with the traditional red ‘X’.

Tom grabbed the map and examined it himself. In turn his eyes widened. He had never really taken the time to examine the thing, and now it finally dawned on him what it was that had been floating around his coat pocket.

“Christ…”

The bartender had appeared beside the table now, as Anne had gestured to him to inform him that Tom hadn’t the means to pay…again.

“What’s that ye got there?”

Tom did his best to look casual as he leaned back. He folded the map and hid under the palm of his hand.

“Nothing at all. A dirty letter from an old girl in San Juan.”

“I don’t think it is.”

With surprising speed, the barkeep lunged out with his hand and snatched the map from under tom’s hand. He unfolded it and realized instantly what it was. A huge smirk crossed his lips.

“Well, well. Since you can’t seem to pay for your drink, I s’pose I’ll just have to take this instead-“

With his own lightning reflexes, Tom reached out and snatched the map back. He leapt out of his seat, knocking the chair to the ground. The bartender made to lunge forward and tackle the lithe ex-smuggler, but Tom drew the rusty cutlass from his belt and held it out menacingly. Rob stood up, surprised, and began to move backwards. Tom too began to move slowly towards the back door of the tavern, brandishing his cutlass. The others in the tavern were on their feet by now, and were slowly moving towards Tom and Rob, their hands on the hilts of their own swords.

“Well, Rob my friend, it seems that we’re going to have to be leaving before I can give you the full tour.”

“We? Why am I involved in this?”

“You see those gentlemen with the swords coming towards us?”

“Yes.”

“Well, they don’t really give a damn who that map belongs to, and once they get their hands on it, they’re going to kill everyone else in here, including you and each other, in order to make sure it’s really theirs. Follow?”

“I believe I do.”

“Now, Annie, darling. If you want to take me up on that trip to Tortuga, now’s as good a time as any.”

Anne smirked, and raised the bottle she had been concealing above the head of the bartender. With a crash she brought it down, and the man fell to the floor. Tom lowered his sword, and together with the barmaid and Rob, rushed out the back, pursued by a surprisingly quick mob of miscreants.

The three sprinted down the alley towards the docks. There was a single small dinghy tied to the pier, and Tom leapt in. Rob followed, and helped the young woman into the boat as the horde careened after them. Tom raised his cutlass and swung it, chopping the rope, and freeing the small boat. As the boat drifted away, Rob grabbed the oars and began rowing as fast as he could. Tom stood in the prow, and called to the group of angry seamen who had halted midway down the pier.

“Ha! I’ll see you apes try to catch me now!”

A shot ripped the air, and a pistol ball whizzed by his ear. Tom ducked.

“Well, Rob my friend, it seems we’re going to have to be leaving before I could give you the complete tour. Not to worry, though. There isn’t much to see.”

The dinghy pulled out into the harbor.

“Are we supposed to set out in this?”

“Of course not. We’re supposed to set out in that.”

Anchored some yards away was a small pinnace. The dinghy pulled up alongside, and Tom leapt onto a rope dangling from the side and climbed onto the deck. Anne did the same, followed cautiously by Rob. The two men raised the anchor of the empty vessel, and it broke free. Tom rushed for the helm, and turned the pinnace towards the open sea.

Rob walked up beside the helm.

“So where to?”

“Port Royal. We’ve got to get ourselves a proper crew if we’re to go off treasure hunting. There should be all sorts of unsavory characters there that would be up for just this sort of thing.”

Rob walked silently forward, and stared out at the open sea before him. Interesting company indeed.

As that was happening, a party was going on aboard the ship of Captain Vito Corleone, a known pirate. He controled a vast underground criminal empire, made up of racketeering, arms smuggling, theivery, and the like. Rather than be seen out in public, he sat in his office, granting 'favors' to his 'friends'.

"Uh, sir, that Fratteli guy wants to see you." said a man at the door. Vito motioned for him to be let in. A feeble old man strode into the office, and knelt before the crime lord, kissing his ring.

"Joey, my friend, what can I do for you?" he said in Italian to the man.

"Sir, please help me!"

"What is the matter?"

"These horrible men...they...broke into my home, and...raped my daughters. The Imperials won't do anything to punish them."

"Why is that?"

"Well, they said they have no evidence..."

"Don't worry. You're a friend of the family. I'll make sure your wish is granted."

The old man looked up, tears in his eyes. "Th-thank you, Mr. Corleone. Thank you." he said, kissing his ring once more. The old man walked out of the office.

"I want those thugs taken care of, send some good men."

"Yes sir." replied one of his gaurds, walking out of the office.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Doomingsland Colony of New Rome, Cuba

The man assigned to the hit was a man named Giovanni "The Scar" Vercetti. This was a man who was born to kill. He'd killed countless people for nothing more than a few gold coins. These two would be easy, since they generally stayed near each other. Today he would be testing a new method of killing. The two men sat in a bar, their horses hitched outside. Vercetti was disguised as a stable hand, and was carrying two saddles. He carefully switched the saddels on the horses with the special ones he had. No one thought much of it. He then quietly walked away, tossed away the old saddels, changed clothes, and headed to a bar across the street from the one the other two were at. He made sure to grab a window seat.

"Can I get ya somethin'?"

"Sure, whiskey."

"Comin' up." replied the bartender, who worked his magic, sending the massive mug across the bar into his hands. As he took his first sip, his prey walked out of their bar, and went to mount their horses. Both men put their feet in the loops at approximately the same time, causing enough friction to light a fuse concealed beneath the saddle, leading to a powder charge.

BLAAAAAMMMMM

Everyone rushed to the window to find two mutilated horses and two men who were completely blown in half. After that, they went back to their drinks. Buisiness as usual.

Admiral Santos Vidal stood in the prow of the launch, watching the rapidly approaching buildings of the majestic Port City of St. Isadore, the capital of Generian interests in the Caribbean. Behind him his flagship waited at anchor. The forty-eight gun frigate Anja was the symbol of the extent of Imperial influence, with her ability to project the Emperor’s will anywhere in the West Indies.

Of course, as Admiral Vidal knew well, the Emperor held little influence at all over the goings on in the Caribbean, even among his own colonies. Here, the wellbeing of Imperial interests rested solely in the hands of Governor Alexias Valens, a man who had at one time served as one of the Emperor’s closer advisors. Thus, as he was one of the few men about the Imperial court who could be genuinely trusted, the immense honor and responsibility of keeping the Emperor’s West Indies possessions firmly in the control of the Emperor had been placed in his hands.

Of course, not only was this man expected to protect existing Imperial holdings, but also to expand the grip of the Empire over the other islands. With only two large port cities and military garrisons, along with the smaller outpost of St. Michael in Cuba, the Empire, and consequently Governor Valens, was eager to bring more land under the Imperial standard, through colonization or otherwise. This was precisely the reason Admiral Vidal had been called to St. Isadore on this breezy June morning.

The launch pulled up alongside the dock, and a group of sharply dressed seamen scrambled out to tie it in place. Awaiting the party was an entourage of government officials, marines, and of course the common rabble that was always drawn to events of varying importance, in an effort to slay the boredom that was so often a plague for Caribbean landlubbers.

Admiral Vidal stepped out of the launch and onto the dock looking like a king. He made a mental note to keep his face set somewhere between a scowl and a smirk. His uniform was spotless, and his boots polished to a mirror shine. He kept his cloak precisely hung over his shoulder in such a fashion as to ensure a look of importance and casual nonchalance. His hand rested firmly on the hilt of his finely polished, tasseled saber, and his bicornered hat rested firmly atop his head, covering the naturally unruly locks of hair.

Leaving the congregation of officials, soldiers, and gawkers, an important looking man approached the admiral, and offered a slight bow, as was the Generian custom.

“Admiral Vidal, Puerto St. Isadore welcomes you.”

Vidal nodded his head in a gentlemanly fashion, and taking this as a sign, the official turned and walked briskly off down the pier, expecting the admiral to follow him. Vidal turned to the group of seamen standing at attention behind him, and gave them a nearly imperceptible nod. This they took as a sign as well, the sign that the moment he and the official departed, they would be given the rest of the day to do as they pleased in the expansive port. They had been lucky enough to get landing party duties while everyone was stuck back aboard ship. Vidal walked off down the pier, after the official.

It was a short ride to the hilltop governor’s mansion, and upon passing the crafted iron gates and pulling up in front of the enormous white structure, the official and the Admiral stepped out, and proceeded up the steps to the intricate oak doors.

Vidal was met by Governor Valens himself upon passing into the majestic reception hall. The Governor offered a sweeping bow, which the Admiral begrudgingly returned. Truthfully and on a personal level, Vidal did not care for the Governor in the least, but seeing as he was the supreme commander of his naval assets, he was forced to deal with his personal dislike or risk losing his job. Or worse.

“My dear Admiral! So good to have you back in St. Isadore. It has been too long.”

“Indeed, Governor Valens. But I was under the impression that we were here to talk business?”

“Oh, of course we are. It’s always business around here. You know, for the glory of Generia and whatnot. Follow me.”

Admiral Vidal followed the governor up the main staircase, and into an office. The two then proceeded out onto an open balcony overlooking the expansive harbor.

“Admiral, in the past five years, this port has exploded in population and consequently size. Ships from all over Europe and anywhere in the West Indies have to pass through here before proceeding. The Emperor sees this and is pleased. However, in the last six months the economy has begun to stagnate. There’s too many people here, and not enough people everywhere else. About three months ago I sent a message to the Emperor asking for reinforcements. Ships, soldiers, and supplies more or less, but also for colonists. I believe that it’s high time we struck out and began expanding our foothold here.”

“And how does this involve me?”

“Well Admiral, we both know that the Caribbean’s a dangerous place. One minute your buddy-buddy with an Empire, and the next they’re raping your wife and eating your babies. And if that’s not the case, there are always the damn pirates. When the new troops arrive, about five hundred of them, I’m going to dispatch a good number to augment the garrison in St.Michael. That place has been a backwater outpost for too long. Along with the new garrison, I plan to send upwards of six hundred colonists over the next few months. I believe that by October, we can turn St. Michael into a fully fortified city, worthy of St. Isadore or Puerto San Diego.”

“I still don’t see where I come in.”

“Relax, Admiral. I’m getting there. Of course in addition to augmenting our existing garrisons, we need to establish further colonies to the west, in Cuba and Hispniola. Now I have a bad feeling that there will be objections from the Sarzonian currently inhabiting Hispaniola. If things get too nasty, we’re going to need a strong military arm to put a stop to any grumblings, and possibly seize ourselves some new ports. There, my dear Admiral Vidal, is where you come in.”

“So you want me to play guard dog?”

“No, no, Admiral. Your job is far more important than simply ‘playing guard dog’. You are going to lead the next great step forward in Imperial Caribbean interests! With your augmented force, you will be able to fully make yourself a threat to our possible enemies, and perhaps take something for yourself in the process. So, Admiral, what do you say?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“No, not really. Our reinforcements arrive in three days. At that time I expect to see you striking out for Port St. Michael. For God and country, Admiral.”

The Governor handed the Admiral a sealed envelope containing his orders. He took it, grumbling, and walked out of the room.

Jufedkg walked the ramparts of the fortress. He looked out to sea, in a couple of days 30 ships would sail in bringing 500 men with them. Some of those ships would be put under his command; he had just become Borman’s anti-pirate captain. He was to hunt down and sink all pirates, regardless of what they could offer.

“Sir, we’re making a trip to smugglers cove.”

“Fine.”

Smugglers cove was the only break in the cliff surrounding Trinidad, excluding the side without cliffs which housed the forts and port. The smugglers had seized that area and used it for heir own purposes as long as any could remember. They built a fortified wall a little while back so as to not make the cove an easy place to land. They figured that if the cove was merely a smugglers hide out rather than a security risk why spend the man-power to clean it out and staff it. They thought right and the soldiers neglected to send men to stop or take them over. The only involvement of soldiers was them visiting the brothel in the smuggler village.

Jufedkg left the fortress and hopped onto his horse. Several of the fort’s men would escort him on his ride back to town.

Upon passing through the town’s walls a messenger informed him the Governor wanted to see him immediately.

------------------------------------
“Good to see you.”

“As it is to see you too sire.”

“When the new ships arrive you are to take 2 and some privateers to help hunt down pirates. The more you get rid of the more ships I will see fit to give to you.”

“I know this already sir.”

“Well I have another menial task for you, but right now you seem the only one I would trust with it. No doubt you know of who we border back at home.”

“Yes sire, France, Switzerland-”

“No, I mean Generic Empire.”

“Ah yes.”

“Well we have had seemingly pleasant interactions with them so far. They hold important places in the Caribbean and have influential peoples. All crap aside we see it good to ally. I want you to deliver this letter to the Generian governor at the capital city and then come back with the response. It has a wax seal so I know if you break it our not. Bring two ships and the crew you need. I expect you back in eight days.”

“Yes sire.”

Imperial Govener's Palace, New Rome, Cuba

Praetor Maximus Decimus Meridius sat around a long table with his captains, surveying a map of the Carribean, and deciding where to sieze land. The palace was a high walled citadel built on a fortified hilltop, surrounded by malaria infested moats and hordes of legionaires. The men were totaly isolated from the fortress city of New Rome which sat a few hundred feet below them. The city itself was built into a difficult to locate cove, fortified on the inside, and lines with cannons. There were high walls above the beaches manned by Imperial Legionaires. Merchant traffic was high, but pirates didn't dare stride into the cove, unless they had legitemate buisiness within the city, like Captain Corleone. The pirates who were dumb enough to try and raid merchant vessels within the cove would join others like themselves who's severed heads were stuck on spikes along the ramparts, their terrified expresions still showing, fully visible to the people within the cove.

"Captain Marcus, do I have your support on this move?" said Maximus. He had just explained how he intended to starve out the Sarzonian forces on Hispaniola by allowing privateers to ravage the coast as a legion made an amphibious assault on an unoccupied area. Marcus was suddenly woken up; he'd dozed off during the briefing.

"Errr, yes, of course, my lord. It's a very well though out plan, indeed."

"Good, than let us drink to victory, for within a week, we shall drink from the crushed skulls of our enemies." said one of the other captains, raising his wine glass in toast to the impending campaign.

Maximus had been ordered to colonize the West Indies by the Emperor, Helldawg III. He was a personal favorite of the Emperor, and one of the Empire's most capable generals, which made the Inquisition all the more suspicious of him. A few weeks ago, he'd recieved word that Inquisitor Manius Magnus, one of the most feared men to hold the title 'inquisitor', was on his way to look over Maximus' sholder. He wouldn't arrive for a few months, and that gave him time to plan for the man's arrival. He, like all other good soldiers, hated and dispised the Inquisition and everything that had to do with them. Just another man to be disposed of, he supposed.

Letter given to Generian governor:

Our governments have long had friendly relations back home. I believe here and now would be a perfect place to form an alliance. We both control key areas and have large capable forces. Together we could rule.

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Jufedkg walked down the gangplank and onto the dock. There waiting for him were several imperial guards.

“Sire your ships are ready.”

“What happened since I was gone.”

“The reinforcements came. We have colonized St. Vincent and St. Lucia. Every island has a garrison of 100 soldiers, except here and St. Lucia which have 200. You are to be given 2 war ships and 3 privateers. Begin immediately.”

“Yes, oh wait. Here is the letter from the Generian governor.”

“Most excellent.”

Somerset, Wales
John Clough looked at the sundial in the city centre as his horse trotted toward the dock. He and his family were among the adventurous 110 souls who planned to set sail for adventure in the New World.

He had just lost his job as a coppersmith and he knew things weren't getting better any time soon. Not with the Crown imposing yet another tax. Not with an economic system that didn't reward hard work. Not when his children were struggling to scrounge enough food to keep from going to bed hungry.

When he reached the dock, the ship sat waiting for its cargo and passengers for the long journey to the New World. Marie and his sons William and John Jr. were waiting for their father to arrive while Marie cradled her baby daughter Joan as John and William began to carry their belongings aboard the Adventure. After everyone's belongings were stowed below ships, Clough and his family climbed on board.

"Anchors aweigh," came the call from Captain Jeffrey Porter. With that, the ship caught a good wind and pushed off toward the new world.

Letter to Borman Governor

Of course an alliance would greatly benefit both parties. In the foreign land so far from our homes, we must do what we can to survive, and as they say, there is strength in numbers. In the name of the Imperial Crown i accept your offer of alliance. May it prove as fruitful here as it did back home.

Sincerely,
Governor Alexias Valens

The Fleet had left Amsterdam some months ago and now, finnally the long awaited cry of "Land Ahoy" was heard fromt he lookout in the crosstrees of the 90 Gun Second Rate Rotterdam. The massive ship of the line lead an impressive convoy of colonists and other warships into a previously scouted harbor on the Island of Barbados. The voyage haed been quite uneventful apart from a run-in with a few pirates who had sailed close but deicded not to tangle with the hugely powerful escorts.

Work began quickly as hundreds of launches and other boats left for shore and by night fall a small wharf and some rude shelters had been erected. There was alot of work ahead but the Netherlands was anxious to establish her colonial empire and what better time than now.

1600 hours, Thursday

It has been a full three weeks since we set off for the new world. Junior is already homesick and he's been crying to go back home for the past week. We've been wanting for a good square meal that doesn't include biscuit and meat for the past two weeks, but there's not much you can get on a ship.

William is not doing well. He fell ill two days ago and has been vomiting over the deck for the past hour. I'm afraid he's not going to be long for this world if the doctor can't perform some miracle. We've already lost six people on this journey and there's been an outbreak of scurvy. The Adventure doesn't seem to have been designed for this trip, but she was all the captain could afford.

My cousin Frederick should be leaving Hastings within the next day or two and sailing for the colonies. He should be bringing along a convoy of men o' war so that will be helpful in case we run into something. The Adventure was able to take along 10 nine pounders and found a sinking pirate ship and managed to take six of its 12 pounders. We'll be able to defend ourselves if we run into something.

Marie is trying to teach some of the children how to read and write. She should have been a schoolteacher but with Joan along, she couldn't leave the home. Hopefully when Joan's old enough, we'll be able to have a school in the colony.

The captain tells me that we're about halfway to our destination, but we may have to slow down if we hit storms. I hope we won't have too much turbulence.

"Land ho!"

The call from the lookout was one that none of the colonists aboard the Adventure thought they'd ever hear. Of the 110 passengers aboard the ship, 14 died en route to the land mass that was now slowly appearing beyond the horizon.

Within two hours, the passengers all stood on deck or peered out of portholes or gun mounts at the mass of land. They finally got a chance to reap the rewards of their long journeys.

The able-bodied men and women all scrambled belowdecks to begin to pack their provisions and some started a lottery to figure out which would be the first to land. Eventually, the captain ventured down to make the announcement of the order in which people would man the boats and land to set up their temporary camp.

Reaching landfall was seemingly just in the nick of time for the Adventure passengers as an outbreak of scurvy was worsening and the scourge of the seas was about to claim five more victims before nightfall. All of that mattered not to the ones who survived the initial journey as they began to row themselves ashore to construct a makeshift camp for some of them. Until they built huts and other needed buildings, they would have to take turns sleeping on the ship. If it rained, they all would have to sleep aboard the Adventure.

Fairly soon, the first batch of colonists began to throw up makeshift tents and hastily-assembled huts to create some semblance of a city.

The convoy had anchored in the deep natural Harbor supplied by the newly named Carlisle bay. On shore the also newly chirstened Bridgetown was beginning to take shape as the colonists and soldiers slaved in the hot sun.

Admiral Van Der Meek stood on the Quarterdeck of his flagship the Rotterdam, her massive main deck laid spread out in front of him as he patiently waited for the governer's launch to reach his ship. A bear of a man, Can Der Meek had begun as midshipmen and managed to work his way to the highest levels of the Dutch navy. After years of fighting the British in the Channel and the frozen seas of Scandanavia this command was a welcome respite.

The small boat was having a rough time of it, a new crew and some fairly choppy seas made the normally pleasant passage into a harrowing experince for the lubberly governer who clung to the side rails for dear life.

The admiral shifted his gaze to the rest of his squadron. Apart from the Rotterdam the rest of his fleet was mainly 4th and 5th rate frigates of 50 to 32 guns and one other ship of the line the 3rd rate 74 gun, Orange. The smaller ships bobbed gently in the chop of the bay as the polished brass of their guns gleamed in the afternoon sun. The Admiral knew his mightly Rotterdam was really only for show, the grunt work was to be carried out by the fast and powerful frigates which were expressly made for the kind of cruising his mission required.

He was shaken from his thoughts by a loud exclamation on the deck and turned to see the pale and shaken governer attempt to climb over the rail, lose his balance and fall flat on his face. Crewman quickly picked him up and embarrased politique quikcly straightend himself up before walking over to the imposing Admiral.

Van der meek spoke first and cut straight to point, he had never been one for formalities, "So, how goes it?"

The Governer was momentarily taken back by the Admiral's grave breach of ettiquite but quickly regained his composure, "Things are progressing well, we'll have a proper dock up within the week, we had some contact with the natives and they have proven to be excellent workers. The fort is being built on that point over there," he pointed to a rocky promentory,"and we should be self-sustaining in a year or so."

"Good Governer, care for a drink?"

[OOC: Compressing the time a bit, partly at GE's request.]

It has been a full three months since the Adventure reached landfall and the colonists began to assemble at what they began to call New Somerset. Conditions were absolutely brutal without the basic medical facilities that people on mainland England came to take for granted, 26 colonists died from diseases where only half would have perished in England. Only one doctor was available and he didn't have nearly enough supplies for the medicines he used.

He wrote to a distant cousin who happened to be visiting Spain. Somehow, the letter came to the attention of Felipe Sarzo, who owned quite a bit of land near Barcelona. He and several of his nephews were doctors and they also owned four ships. One of them, the Madiera was a 84 gun third rate that he bought when the King of Spain sold it off the Navy's rolls. Two of the other ships carried 32 nine pounders and six 12 pounders each. They would form a convoy to protect the passenger vessel which was the second largest ship in the squadron.

Sarzo bought 24 long 12 pounders and six 32 pounders and put them aboard the Nueva Nina, which would carry 90 passengers. Each ship carried enough stores to feed crew and had some left over for passengers, but they figured the journey would last five weeks like the Adventure's trip did. Still, Sarzo decided to ration food just in case they took a week longer than expected.

He figured that when he and the crews arrived at the colony, their cadre of medical personnel and equipment would help stave off the death of the colony. The Madiera's captain expected to have pirates or hostile natives along so he brought gunpowder and muskets. Some of them had to have crude bayonets fastened to them, but that would be a job for landfall. Right now, that motley squadron would have to get them to the colony.

"Vamanos! Let's go!" The squadron pushed off from the pier with Madiera and Nueva Nina leading the way toward the colony and toward their new lives.

The pinnace slowly pulled into the harbor, the massive Jamaican cliff looming up before the two would be buccaneers.

“There she is. Praetonian Port Royal. A sleaze pit if I ever seen one.”

The two men anchored the miniscule ship, and lowered the rather rickety looking rowboat into the water. As Rob rowed and Tom bailed the water out, the boat slowly made its way to the pier.

The men followed the winding cliff pass to the town itself, which sat above the harbor. The streets seemed alive with the mass of crooked humanity that seethed and drifted in every direction, in and out of the numerous taverns that lined the streets. The two proceeded deeper into town, until Tom finally halted in front of a venue proudly displaying the name “The Rotting Hull.”

“This place should do nicely.”

Tom waltzed through the door, grinning, and Rob followed him. Though he was still slightly apprehensive of Tom’s choice of taverns, he had learned to live with it.

The scene inside was utter chaos. Seemingly a hundred drunken sailors were shouting uproariously while bottles of Rum flew through the air and smashed against the walls. A the two St. Michael refugees passed through the door, a knife whizzed by Rob’s ear and stuck into the wall behind him. Ignoring the madness, Tom casually strode towards the bar. The large, heavily scarred bartender turned as he approached.

“What do you want? We got rum and rum.”

As he finished the sentence, an equally burly and heavily scarred man crept up behind the bartender, and, without warning or apparent motive, ran him through on his cutlass. He withdrew the sword and the bartender fell to the floor with a thud, barely audible over the din. The man wiped his cutlass and looked up at the two customers.

“Bastard wouldn’t sell us the good stuff, so this is my place now. What can I do you for?”

Tom, a bit stunned by the display, regained his composure.

“We need rum. Lots and lots of rum.”

The man turned and grabbed several bottles of rum from the shelf behind him, and placed them before the men. Tom knocked the top off of one of the brown bottle, and drained it. Wiping his mouth with his sleeve, he leaned over the bar towards the seadog turned proprietor, and spoke quietly.

“Now, me friend, down to business.”

The hearty seadog’s interest was piqued and he leaned in to hear what Tom had to say.

“Me and me friend here have a bit of business to take care of on another island, but we’re in a bit of a predicament.”

“What sort of predicerment’s that, ‘earty?”

“Well, we’ve got ourselves a fine ship, but not the crew to sail ‘er. I was hopin’ that someone could point me in the direction of some scurvy seadogs to crew me vessel.”

“Tell me, what kind of business are ye talkin’ about?”

“Arrh, the lucrative kind.”

Tom reached into his tattered coat, and slowly withdrew a corner of the map.

“Mums the word, but this here’s what most of us on’y dream of layin’ our mits on.”

The barkeep’s eyes were widening now, and he slowly began reaching out to take the map. Tom saw this out of the corner of his eye, and tucked the paper back into his coat.

“Now, now. Keep yer hands ter yerself.”

The large man sheepishly averted his eyes.

“Arrh, I was just goin’ fer a peek.”

“So can ye do me the favor and point me in the right direction?”

The man, remembering the original question, brightened instantly.

“Arrh, yer in luck, matey! It just so happens that me and me boys over there were lookin’ to sign on fer a bit o’ sea scouring aventure and whatnot.”

Tom grinned. Everything was falling into place.

“Well then, that settles it. Oh but wait. If yer goin’ ter set off with us, then who’s goin’ ter take care of this loverly establishment?”

The large man’s expression turned downcast, but quickly brightened again as inspiration struck. He stood and called to one of the men at the back of the table.

“Johnny-boy! Get yer ass over here!”

A small man with scars covering the majority of his body, and a ferocious eyepatch skulked over.

“Arrh, be quick about it. I got a dice game waitin’.”

“John, congratulations. Yer now the proud owner of this fine estaberlishment.”

The small man eyed him suspiciously.

“Arrh, what’s the catch?”

“No catch. Enjoy it.”

A huge grin crossed the man’s face. The large man turned back to Tom.

“There yer go.”

“Well, that settles it.”

The large man extended an enormous hand.

“Me name’s Jack b’ th’ way.”

The man shook Tom’s hand forcefully, and, being a significantly smaller man, he grimaced in muted pain.

“A pleasure, Jack,” he gasped.

Rob spoke up.

“I’m afraid we’ve already got a Jack.”

Tom, wringing his hand to save it from being completely lost, spoke up.

“Arrh. Sorry ter say, but he’s right. Can’t have two Jacks on one ship, now can we? Too generic an anglo-saxon name to bear repeatin’.”

“Arrh. Then ye can call me Bert.”

“Well then Bert, welcome aboard.”

Bert called to the men at the back of the room again, and a group of fifteen scarred men of varying shapes and sizes, scars and tattoos, sauntered over, their various weapons and jewelry jangling loudly.

“A’right, boys. This here’s tom. He’s goin’ ter be our new captain fer the time bein’.”

One of the men spoke up.

“Arrh, why we follerin’ him for?”

Tom reached into his coat again, and withdrew the map. Each of the fifteen instantly knew what it was, and all grumbling immediately stopped.

“Well, gentlemen, let’s be on our way.”

Tom and Rob led the group of seadogs out into the streets, and down to the dockyards.

“Arrh, where’s yer vessel at matey?”

Tom extended his arm and pointed, not to the tiny pinnace they had sailed in on, but instead to a majestic sloop of war sitting on the other side of the harbor. Rob, not completely sure of where Tom was going with this, but with a pretty solid idea, walked up beside his strange companion, and pulled him aside.

“If you’re insinuating what I think you’re insinuating, how exactly do you plan to both overpower the crew and sail the thing at least somewhat effectively with fifteen men?”

“Don’t worry about a thing.”

The men grabbed a nearby launch, and began rowing out to the small warship. On deck, the crew dozed lazily in the warm sun, left on watch while their compatriots were enjoying shore leave. The launch pulled up alongside, and the men began to scale the lines to the deck. Before the crew knew what was happening, they were lying on the deck with cutlasses to their throats.

Tom strode forward, and his newfound crew backed away. Pacing back and forth like a feral officer, he spoke to them.

“Fine sailors of your native land, you are now under the custody of Black Jack Smith, fearsome pirate and scoundrel extraordinaire.”

Though none of the sailors had ever heard of ‘Black Jack Smith’ before in their lives, they still felt the pang of nervousness coming on as they watched the crazily dressed figure peacocking about in front of him. They had no other conclusion but that he was indeed a feared dread pirate of the high seas, as opposed to an ex-smuggler with a lucky streak.

“As I consider meself a gentleman, I will give you fine seamen a choice. Yer can join us, or yer can have me friends here cut yer throats. What will it be?”

The sailors, now reasonably terrified, looked at each other unsure of what to do. One man finally broke down, and spoke up.

“We’ll join you! We’ll join you, just don’t run us through!”

Tom grinned, and his men backed away, allowing the sailors to get to their feet.

“Well it’s yer lucky day then, boys. Yer about to find yerselves very rich men.”

The crew scurried off to make their stolen vessel ready to set sail. In the bright afternoon sun, the white sails unfurled, and the sloop made it’s way to the mouth of the harbor, stopping to pick up Anne from the abandoned pinnace on the way. As the vessel set out for the open sea, a crowd of stunned naval officers gathered on the pier, gawking wildly as their ship disappeared.

Jufedkg walked the length of his ship. Lined in front of him was the crew of his capital ship. There was a little more then the amounts of men needed, but extra hands aren’t bad, plus the fact that they all had some military experience. And behind them were 20 Borman soldiers.

On the sides of his ship two other military vessels sailed. Behind them five high-class merchant ships had been commandeered and outfitted to hunt pirates. Each one was fully crewed and had a score or so of soldiers.

Navigators were currently working on getting the ships to the Wirrawayan colony. Jufedkg had a letter to deliver and was also instructed to gather what forces he could for his pirate hunting team; he intended to clean the Caribbean.

On the way there a shout came from the crow’s nest. “Pirates!”

Jufedkg was pleased indeed, he had been given the ability to keep 1 fourth of the wealth on any pirate ships, add the ships to his armada, and keep any crew to help man them, so long as they swore loyalty.

As the ships grew closer the long-range cannons on Jufedkg’s capital ship, the Crusader, opened up. Cannon fire was kept to a minimum so as to preserve the ship for taking. Finally Jufedkg’s fleet neared the pirate ship. The second in command ship, the Gibraltar ran alongside the pirate’s left while the Crusader went alongside the right. They boarded from both sides and a quick decisive battle won the pirate ship. What pirate crew remained and valued their life swore loyalty to Jufedkg in various oaths and became crew.

The pirates were divided among the ships so no one ship was entirely or mainly or even close to a third manned by pirates; they may have taken oaths but they were not to be trusted.

As Jufedkg enjoyed the treasures the ship brought he was informed that they neared the Wirrawayan colony.

“Order all but the Crusader and Gibraltar to stay back, they may think we’re invading.”

The two ships sailed closer to the island and stopped just outside of cannon fire.

“We’ll wait for them to come to us.”

Bump