LSS: Sailing With Strangers

Long ago, in the ages before words were written and lines were drawn, the world's main authority was the tight grip of the unknown, where chaos reigned. But, life settled into forms of forms, order underneath the sinking pandemonium. Above all the natural laws were the Primal Three: The Song of the Sky, The Pearl of the Sea, and the Jewel of the Mountain. These three primordial forces, settled in pockets both within and beyond this realm, offer the ability to descend back into the chaos of the World Before and manipulate the very fabric of nature itself.

The Song serenades the sky into its will. The Jewel echoes through all the land, crushing all earth underneath its beautiful might. And The Pearl gleams through to even the deepest depths of the dark ocean, commanding the seas and everything within to its waves.

Residing within the nature itself, these three objects have created a delicate rhythm over the millennia, but there's a secret hidden within these three. Thre is one last aspect of chaos incarnate that still reside within the earth, within all those who feel and think and love and hope, but most importantly... those who fear. And those who fear can become those who control. Control over the three primordial forces hasn't happened since the dawn of the orderly world... until now.



Society has flourished under the watchful eye of the several governments that have formed form the remnants of the old world. From the valleys of Atrea to the peaks of Oskon, from the mountains of Craenga to the swamps of Eirmoor, life has progressed further than it has ever before. People harvest the lands for resources and stability so they can build cities that reach the sky and vessels that can fly through them. People darken and dirty the skys so they can spread their nets across the oceans. People plunge into the darkest depths and plunder the seas so they can reconstruct the land in their image.

Steam clouds the skies, oils pollute the water, fissures anger the earth. All under the watchful eye of humanity's leaders. But, all that this earth has given, these beings of chaos cannot be satiated. They demand more from the world than its natural order can give.



You are a scallywag of some sort, under the rule of one of the Five Pirate Lords, those who are beneath the supreme reign of the Pirate Queen. You were there, as were most of the pirates who reside in The Cragged Teeth, to observe and celebrate the decennial Pirate Creed, the ceremonious occasion where the Pirate Monarch recruits a new Keeper of the Creed, whilst the old one allows themselves to succumb to the sea, to return to the waters of life.

There, you meet Captain Saratoga, who hires you to help crew his smuggling ship—its not as glamorous as your usual piracy, but its easy money with considerably less risk to life and limb.

You are with him, and the rest of the crew, when you find yourself at the wrong place at the wrong time. In the middle of the Pirate Creed, the Pirate Queen is murdered, and all the while you were underneath the place where it happened.

You now find yourself on the run from the very folks you once called family, stuck with a group of strangers who all could be suspect for the murder you were framed for.

All the while, the Pirate Lords call for your execution and capture, and squabble over who deserves the right to lead, as, with no new Keeper, there is no one who knows the location of the Pirate Creed. Leaders from the land and the sky of the peaks come crashing down upon The Cragged Teeth because they want the Creed for themselves.

Perhaps, the only way to freedom is to join the hunt. Are you up for the bounty, pirate?

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OOC thread

Captain Argathon Saratoga
The Pirate islands, scattered (and battered) in the sea, were as the name suggests, a dangerous place on the brightest of days. Scoundrels, murderers, and worse found their homes here when they weren’t off looting someone else’s, and good luck to the honest soul who thinks they can wander unhindered through the dusty streets.

Fortunately for one Captain Argathon Saratoga, he was no honest soul, and yet better, he had an agreement with the Pirate Lord Bluetooth Harvar, allowing him to opperate more or less unhindered in the south seas, and command enough respect to not be jostled in the Cragged Teeth. Unfortunately, all of that was going to Davy Jones’ locker. He was there, finding a crew for his ship from the many eager persons looking for work with a general lack of ethics. Finding a few competent souls they’d been going over their plans when it happened. Argathon wasn’t sure what had happened exactly, but he got the particulars: The Pirate Queen was dead; and they were blamed.

Therefore, Saratoga was running. Running quickly, pelting down the old streets, across the creaking bridges, leaping along a few ships that some good chance of fate had put across the water for him to cross. He was running fast, faster than he’d run in a long while; and as a smuggler, he’d spent the past ten years running. He’d run from disgruntled pirates, navies, and his past. Now he had better outrun the Pirate Lords after him.

Farther from the water, starting back where the Queen’s body lay, a hoard waas growing. Smoke started to boil skywards, from angry gunshots, or rioting, a steady cacophony of shouting was building—
“Saratoga! The smugglers! All for Lord Circes! Get the smugglers! No! Damn Lord—”
—came the confused shouts, as anger and violence overtook the collective mood; these were pirates and this was what they did best: Chaos. Murderous chaos, thought the Captain, shuddering.

As he rounded a narrow way, he slipped several coins from his hanging sleeves. At the next corner, he shed a bottle that shattered on the ground, spilling whisky in a brown puddle that dogs swiftly descended upon. And finally, as he turned onto the main street, and a vagabond sitting drunkenly against a house peered at him, eyes growing wide and mouth opening to shout, he threw a heavy pouch at the fellow that shut him up. Now his coat was much lighter, and he sprang down to the docks just coming in sight, where his ship lay in wait.

First Mate Percy Jarsson
On the opposite side of the island, Percy Jarsson sprung off of a rooftop, and crouched panting, in the momentary sanctuary that the shadowed hovel between another house, and behind a shed, provided. He was lean, but his arms quite strong, and he could just as well pull himself up the rigging of a ship one handed today, as he had climbed trees on his father’s estate years ago. And from his dark brown hair, down his loose shirt to his expensive boots, he maintained the same energy that had propelled him then. From underneath a pile of garbage, he found his sea chest, grasped it securely under his arm, and, adjusting his cutlass in his belt, he dawned his bright smile and sauntered around the shed.

Running into a group of older pirates first, partially drunk and with swords and pistols out and ready to wave, he grabbed their attention with a shout.
“Wha? Who’re— wait.” One began, perhaps thinking of the conflicting descriptions of the smugglers floating around already.
But Percy got a word in first.
“Those darn smugglers—they got my mate too; they’re on a rampage!”
One of the men shook his head.
“Too bad kid! Where’d they go?”
Percy waved behind him.
“Just that way, heading to the east docks! A tall man with a cap, and two fellows in orange shirts.”
“The traitors! Think they’re one of us do they!?”
The men muttered, running off the wrong way, with the wrong descriptions.

Percy didn’t wait to see how far they’d go, but disappeared in the streets, heading for the docks. But, keeping an ever roaming eye out for someone he recognised; he hoped the rest of the crew were getting through the commotion and back to the ship as well.

714 words.

Ilidan Viceta-void, chief navigator of Pirate Lord Circes, First of His Name, and many other titles that he could not think of at the current time, was currently on the run for his life as many, several angry pirates chased him for something he obviously did not do, and he was about to become an outlaw from those who he called friends basically the night before.

Funnily enough, this wasn't the first time this had happened to Ilidan. If he were to swap out the angry mob, this wasn't even the third time this had happened to him. As he ran, he had to laugh at the sheer ridiculousness of it all. If it wasn't the kind of scenario that was life and death and also a sad situation just in general, Ilidan would have a hearty laugh about it. Ilidan was gonna be laughing about this very thing hopefully in the near future. That said, if he didn't get caught and strung up for murdering the Pirate Queen.

Oh yeah, The Pirate Queen was dead. Crazy how that happened. And even crazier how Ilidan was right next to the spot her body floated up at. While it was obviously all a nasty coincidence, it was natural that all eyes went to Ilidan in the first few moments of the aftermath. He was just that sexy, afterall. Ilidan wished he could say that being so disgustingly attractive didn't involve some kind of death threats or death... well, death actions, but this was also not his first time he was ran out of a place because of his dashing good looks. Well, maybe more because of his various... actions with some of the men of the villages. Marriages were just a suggestion in port towns, it seemed like.

But, that was a story for another day! For now, Ilidan should really focus on the matter at hand. The series of events that had led up to this point were pretty unfortunate, to say the least. One moment Ilidan was accepting a bid on a certain Captain Saratoga's ship, The Vanishing Gull for a simple smuggling run, and the next a big explosion happened, knocked everyone back, and suddenly The Pirate Queen was murdered. Crazy stuff.

The port turned pirate capitol of Staggerfell was not a large place (as that tended to happened when one tried to build a city on an island) but it was a deceptive type of city. You see, pirates are kind of a sneaky bunch, so if, let's say, a pirate were to be tasked to build a city, there would no doubt be a bunch of secret entrances, exits, tunnels, alleyways, doors, walkways, and basically secret everything you could think of in a city. It also wasn't really properly well built, all things considered. Pirates weren't one to skimp on a good ship, but they were absolutely ones to skimp on a good city. And since no one singular pirate ruled for long (the life span of the average Pirate Lord was about as good as a pirate with scurvy on a good day), Staggerfell had no rhyme or rhythm to its city. If Ilidan was more of a city builder (and less of a dashing, ultra handsome and superbly modest master of the sails and seas) he would probably be peeved about the city.

But, right now, it was helping him escape his assailants as he bobbed and weaved his way to The Vanishing Gull. A ship wouldn't be that hard to locate in the port of a pirate capitol, right?

597 words

"The Queen is dead, the Queen is dead."

The whispers followed him through the streets, turning cherry tarts as bitter as poison. Ferryl continued to eat it anyways, stalking after a group of ragtag street ruffians, their eyes sweeping suspiciously at everyone around them. He blended in almost perfectly, minus the gold necklace he'd swiped off a passing lady in the chaos and the glittering hint of silver tucked away in his boot, too nice to belong to a gutter rat.

He stuffed the rest of the sweet-- now not so tasty-- tart in his mouth, cheeks puffing out as he struggled to get it to all fit. One of the teenagers he was following suddenly spun around and pointed a dull dagger at him, face contorting into a scowl. Ferryl scrambled back, swallowing hastily. "Aye, no need for violence man, just lookin' for some magic beans and sweet treats, y'know?"

"We ain't got none o' that here, ya hear me?" The girl said, shaking her head violently and sending the pirates nearby an uneasy glance. The pirates payed them no mind, instead searching the faces of the nearby adults with scrutiny.

"Surely you've got a mouse sized morsel you could spare?" The other kids had noticed something was awry and had slunk back, casting baleful glares at Ferryl, shifting uneasily from foot to foot, passing various weapons back and forth between each other.

"Depends on the size o' the mouse." She sent a quick, darting look towards the gold necklace looped around his wrist.

"Pretty small mouse, I'd say." He unwrapped it and quickly tossed it to her. She snagged it out of the air and pocketed it swiftly, almost too quick to be noticeable.

" ' reckon we could spare a crumb or two. What kind is the mouse lookin' 'or?"

"Anything with royal icing." Ferryl folded his arms across his chest, eyeing the pirates briefly to gauge how close they were before returning his gaze to group in front of him.

" 'mm, word is that the queen is dead at the hands of some smugglers. Found her body floatin' and they don't know how they did it. That's all we've got though, so you better git before they come lookin'."

Ferryl held back his disappointment before nodding curtly and scurrying away, towards the docks to hunt down Captain Saratoga and whateveryoucallit ship. The information was nothing new to him, but the pirates rounding the corner directly in front of him were. He yelped as they caught sight of him, eyes widening in recognition.

The boy weaseled out of one of their grasps as they managed to grab him, hitting the ground with a soft 'oof' and sprinting away, unable to help himself from grabbing a handful of tarts as he passed the abandoned and upturned vendor. Hey, nobody was watching them which meant it was up for grabs!

Shouting echoed from behind him as he crammed a tart in his mouth, cherry gel oozing as he swallowed frantically and began to make his way towards the docks, ducking and weaving easily between bustling skirts and men carrying too heavy crates. Ferryl soon lost the pursuing pirates, stopping in front of the gray and white ship he was ninety percent sure was the one he was supposed to be on.



Fabian wasn't quite sure why there was a horde of angry, screaming pirates chasing him through the winding streets, but the lack of knowledge and his own curiosity sure as hell wasn't going to keep him from running.

He had caught sight of Ferryl at some point but the boy had just crammed a cherry sweet tart in his mouth and laughed at his misery, smirking wickedly. Fabian had scowled and flipped him off before ducking into the nearest alleyway and nearly running face first into a stone wall and breaking his nose. They stopped just in time though, skidding to a stop and hiding behind a waste bin as the pirates went running past, brash voices fading into the distance.

He took the opportunity of a break in order to begin to alter his appearance so he was no longer as recognizable. First went the cleanliness of his face, smearing soots and ashes and pushing it into his skin in hopes of making it look more natural. Dark blackberry juice from his satchel was next, rubbing it under his eyes so he looked like every other tired, overworked person in this city. Fabian looked at his relfection in a dirty puddle, wincing. Oh Pearl, he looked like a racoon. If-- no, when-- Ferryl saw him, they would never hear the end of it.

Well, he wouldn't mind the teasing that much. It was from his brother after all. The thought alone of being able to call the semi-feral child that made him beam. He remembered the first time Ferryl had called him brother, drowsy from lack of sleep and jittery from too much sugar. He's tucked up along Fabian's side, mumbled a soft "goodnight brother." Fabian wasn't ashamed to admit he cried that night. Cried a lot. (And yes, he still got teary-eyed thinking about it sometimes.)

He pushed himself to his feet, shoving all his cosmetics and junk into his satchel, slinging it over his shoulder. He gave himself one more quick glance over, grimacing as he purposefully rubbed his hands clean onto his jacket, internally mourning the loss of the expensive fabric, a gift from Pirate Lord Kiira. The gold, tarnished from use and constant sprays of seawater, buttons had been dulled enough that he figured he shouldnt have to ruin those too.

Fabian shoved his way past a crowd clustering outside a post board, pausing briefly to try and see what they were all peering at. His own face stared back, nose a little too crooked and mouth too wide. He frowned, scanning the contents for the reason this unflattering image was being plastered all over.

Wanted for Murder of the Queen

Pfft, as if he would go through the trouble of murdering somebody. They really thought highly of a small group of smugglers. He scoffed and several people shot him glares before turning back to the posters. He shot them an apologetic smile before hightailing it out of there, clutching his satchel to his chest and making their way back to The Vanishing Gull. (509 words)

Total Wordcount: 1059

William leaned against the stacked crates in the shipyard, fiddling wit the toothpick wedged in his teeth. The shipyard was certainly chaotic this fine morning. Perfect for sailing, of course, the winds were strong, but the sun was bright.

Will plucked the toothpick and stuck it in a crate. He navigated chaos with ease. Slipping here and there. The shipyard where generally busy to some extent. Crates being carried around, crews docking fast, or others casting off just as organized.

Shouts mingled with the sound of lines and seagulls crying.

There was something more, tense and violent in the chaos today. A newspaper fluttered to the ground in front of him, the shouts of new boys not far off. Will swiped it up quickly. Why should he pay for a few silly little pieces of paper?

He smoothed out the wrinkles and skimmed the wrong page. Thankfully a background in acting meant you learned how to read pretty fast.

His grey eyes snagged on two words, printed in bold.

Dead Queen

The headline bled ink, like it'd hardly had time to dry before it'd been torn off the press and into the arms of the newsboy.

Dead Queen? There was only one Queen The Cragged Teeth would have enough respect for to print. Or care about for that matter.

The Pirate Queen.

Will squinted and re-skimmed the front page article, just to be sure. Allegedly nobody knew how she died, just that her body had floated up on shore. And there was a group of smugglers suspected to be the ones who did it.

The Admiral would love to hear about this! Prime time for power to shift. Maybe he could move up in the Admiral graces too!

He folded the newspaper as small as he could, then took off, jumping and hopping around the crates and buildings. It was far faster to travel above the crowds. Plus the views were far better. He briefly eyed the ships in port, just incase they ended up being noteworthy later.


The Admirals Office was located in a neatly kept building. Perched on a bluff overlooking the mostly empty docks where the fleet was kept. It was rare for all the ships to be in or out at once. They were cycled through for general maintenance and hauled out for annual hull checks and repaints. The Lord of the North may be a pirate, but Admiral Becket ran her fleet with efficiency and pride.

Will trundled up the storm steps that zigzagged up the side of the bluff, from the docks to the small array of blue and gold buildings. The Lord of the North's flag hung proudly at the top. He burst through the double doors of her office, rattling the small ship models on the desk.
"I have a message for the Admiral!" He proudly declared to the small man who sat at a desk adjacent to the Admirals. A desk filled with papers and a large box, resembling a radio machine, but with far more exposed gears than a regular radio would have.

The man started, his headset half falling off his head in his surprise, "OH! Oh, it's you, William." A sigh dragged itself out of the man's throat," what's the message?"

Willian strode up to the desk and planted his hands on it," Perry, The Pirates Queen-" he started dramatically.

"Is dead." The man bluntly interrupted him, "yes we just received the news from the Lord. I've already Dispatched a message over to the Admiral. She'd have gotten it by now."

William blinked, "Oh"

The radio fizzled and Perry quickly adjusted his headset back on, "Oh hello!" He paused, and William leaned in, trying to listen. Perry glanced at him. "Oh, alright then." The short conversation stopped and Perry slipped own ear of the headset off, "she said to await further instructions."


647 words

Sprinting through the streets, over barrel, and under bridge, through tight cracks, and along wide avenues, leaping and climbing if not ducking or turning to get by whatever was in his way, Percy soon reached the docks. There, he allowed himself to rest, hoping that he had enough of a headstart on the spreading news to pace himself a tad. So, slowing to a quick trot he descended the gangplank onto the wood planked docks, which shuffled up and down as he strode on them. They wove between the enormous ships, and their crews that scuttled about like ants between the cargo, the rigging, and the port. If luck was on his side (and really, he flattered himself, it often was) they should give him some much needed cover.

About halfway there, he could just pick out The Vanishing Gull's little mast from the forest of others, when he abruptly heard a cry. A small squeal like someone who's stubbed their toe - really badly. Stopping in his tracks, he gazed about; no one else had heard it. Everything was fairly empty. Backing up a few steps he heard it again, and a shuffling and splashing.

"Is that? No..." Percy muttered to himself.

He stepped lightly onto the plank ahead and didn't hear a cry, but did catch the noise of someone swiftly moving out of the way underneath, as his weight pushed the old dock down.

Someone was under there.

He glanced bad and forth once more, there still weren't a lot of people. For the moment his whereabouts were unknown. A smart person would have savoured the extra time and continued safely on to the ship. This was Staggerfell, pirate capital of the world, stranger things had been found in stranger places. And, his plan was at stake, it was imperative he boarded The Vanishing Gull. Yet, curiosity prevailed, for he had the ship in his sight—it was only a short sprint—he had time.

So, he dropped on his knees and leaned over the edge of the railing.

"Hello? Anyone down there?" He said into the darkness.

Only dark silence greeted him.

"Hm, mayhaps it was nothing - oh, what's this?" He said, his eyes catching on a hanging object under the dock. He reached out to grab it—

"Wait!" Someone replied. "That's mine."

He squinted, but he'd never had great night vision and still couldn't make anything out in the void.

Now, really he ought to go. Enough time had been wasted and this person clearly didn't want to talk. For all he knew there were lots of people living under docks in the port, why should he risk his plan to bother with this one? He had places to be, people to manipulate. After a long moment of indecision, he pried his attention away and, triumphing over his curiosity, got up.

"Wait! Stay!" The person said again. Percy's curiosity returned, defeating him in an instant and he promptly ducked his head underneath again.

"Yes?"

"I— Do you know where the... disappearing... goose.. is docked?"

"Sorry?" He said, before mentally kicking himself. Pirates didn't say sorry, he had to stop messing up like that.

"Oh, actually." A thought occurred to him. "You don't mean The Vanishing Gu—"

"Yes! That's it!" She replied.

"Oh, I'm going there now. You too?"

She answered first, by coming out of her hiding place, and climbing up onto the dock, and second, by saying: "Yes, where is it? —oh, are you hunting those um, smugglers?"

Encouraged by her wariness, Percy decided to take a risk and assume she wasn't either—also, he thought he’d seen her before, recently somewhere.

"No, I'm one of the crew.

"So am I." She replied, and then he recognised the deckhand from beneath the wet hair and drenched clothing.

"Ah, yes, Candy I think? Let's go, it's just over there."


Saratoga had finally made it to the ship. His slender little two masted sloop lay lightly in the water, her hold empty and awaiting contraband, unaware of the calamity that had just struck her crew.

Leaping on board he grabbed the lines with experienced hands, and began to untie her, when he saw the first mate sprinting up. Just behind, was the deckhand, and after a moment he spotted some other figures in the distance he thought he recognised.

He sighed and put down the lines. If they were so near he might as well wait. But, farther behind he saw also the growing cloud of dust, from the mob hunting the city for them. And, he decided, pulling his sword and hopping down onto the dock to guard the ship. If things got too rough he wouldn't hesitate to leave a few behind.

"Hey!" Percy shouted, coming up.

"Ay! Prepare to cast off!" Saratoga answered, as the first mate and Candy jumped aboard.

804 words

Admiral Hira pried the headset off her head, hanging it on the hook beside the radio.
She replaced it with her wind-worn white bicorn hat. It featured a thick blue strip around the brim, topped by a thin gold one, chipped away from many a sail on the sea.

Once she was sure the hat fits snugly on her head, framed underneath by braids of her dark red-toned hair that coiled to the back of her head, tucked into a bun hidden by her collar.

The admiral skirted the large oak desk that sat in the center back of the room, upon which the radio sat, making her way towards the watertight wooden door at the front of the room. She adjusted her step as the room tilted to one side, maintaining a straight march towards the door as the room straightened again.

Beyond the door was a flurry of activity, wind swept in a steady dance across the deck, flapping the loose lines and causing a sail to whip violently with a snap if it disagreed with it.

Hira checked her hate once again. She stood underneath the poop deck, sheltered on either side by the two sets of stairs running up alongside the gunwales. But the sea winds had solen many a hat of hers.

The Starboard side of the deck swelled up to one side again, the Admiral planted her feet apart and simply compensated her weight, yet again unbothered. The sea had a rhythm, you just had to find it. Three gentle skips over a trench's, riding on the crests, and then the bow would sink down a trench, the motion rolling the ship one way or another, to which the pattern was repeated. Only to be changed with a new wind or a new set course. While the large frigate barley felt most waves, there was still one here and there that dared to push it to and from.

The motion passed and she surveyed the deck, this time stepping out into the steady wind. The sun was out and it bleached the deck in a heat, only toned down by the cold wind. Salt crusted in every nook and cranny, shining like small diamonds where the sun hit it, damped only water was splattered up by the wind onto the side of the tall sides of the ship.

The crew, for the most part was lazing about in the sun, the lines where tidy, the fenders long stowed away, they hadn't touched land in days, it had simply lingered on the horizon. The only thing to do was keep a watchful eye on the sails, trimming them as needed. The admiral turned her head, just able to glimpse the skipper through the railing above her. He was leaning on the large well, lost in thought.

The sea did that to you, lulled you away by the warmth of the sun, the sway of the water, the strange calmness that came from its deep dark watery depths.

For all anyone knew, the tales of sirens was imply just the sea itself.

A twang rang out from up above, the skipper blinked, gazing momentarily up at the nearest mast. Hira knew it was only part of the thick metal wire rigging. If the ship tiled violently enough it tended to hit some of the metal brackets on the mast, resulting in a harmless sharp twang.

She breathed in a deep breath of salty light air, and turned on her heel. May as well tell the news sooner rather than later. The skipper noticed her ascending the stairs and tipped his hat, leaning back from the wheel, "Admiral."

Hira nodded back, crossing her arms behind her back as she came to stood by him, both of them gazing out to the shining water. "How's she handling Captain?"

The Skipper patted the wheel," As graceful as ever, we should make our anchorage in a few hours."

She nodded again silently, then turned to him," we may very well have to make our way back tomorrow."

The man frowned," Eh? Why's that?"

Admiral Hira licked her lips, tasting the salt in the air, then met the Captains eyes, "the Queen is dead."

The words felt hollow, a uneasy feeling brewing in her chest, having said the words for the first time. How where you supposed to feel about someone you didn't know, someone you'd never met, yet had helped dictate almost every step you took?


Words:746

The Pirate Creed this time around had been going as smoothly as one could expect with a nation full of pirates, thieves, burglars, ex-prisoners, and vagabonds. Circes herself had been to a few Pirate Creeds at this point. For Pirate Lords, the entire affair was less of a celebration and ceremony and more of a political affair. Much of the business was done before the actual Creed itself, so by the time that process had started, Circes had mostly checked out. After an entire full few days of negotiations, heated discussions, and narrowly dodging multiple assassination attempts from unruly smaller lords, Circes had more than enough of these theatrics and politics to last another ten years.

See, Pirate Lord Circes was not the type of Pirate Lord to obsess over lines on a map or words on a document. She much more preferred action over silly words or even sillier decrees. Many pirates with ambitions larger than their egos would take the Pirate Creed as an attempt to seize power by any means necessary. However, those very same pirates did not think much further than simply wanting more power. Little did they know, but Pirate Lords had far more countermeasures for any silly little attempts on their lives or their areas of power, especially during something as obviously dangerous as during the Pirate Creed. On a throne built by blood and secrets, only those who manage to keep the throne know just how much it would take to usurp said throne.

The pirates who tried Circes... well, they would be dealt with after the Pirate Creed was over. It was longstanding tradition amongst the Pirate Lords that they would not attempt any bloodshed during the Pirate Creed. This ceremony... this was far more important than silly power dynamics. The number of pirates could be reduced after the ceremony was over. Any pirate who didn't appreciate that unspoken rule would ever make it as a Pirate Lord. After all, they were pirates, not heathens.

But, this unspoken rule had been not just broken, but shattered into so many pieces it would never come back together. All of the Pirate Lords, including Circes, were so pre-occupied with their own self interests that they never suspected someone would go for the throne of thrones for all the pirates. After all, if it was so difficult to kill and replace a Pirate Lord, who would have a chance against the Pirate Queen herself? A figure so mysterious, no one even knew her true name.

The first fingers that would be pointed would be pointed at the Pirate Lords. Obvious. It made sense. More than half of the Pirate Lords had left the ceremony before the Pirate Creed had begun. Pirate Lords were busy people, after all. Some more than others. And some's self righteousness were through the roof, so they viewed themselves above the ceremony, and even above the Pirate Queen. In some aspects, that was true. While the Pirate Queen held much power and sway, the Pirate Lords ruled the sea itself.

Pirate Lord Circes was there when it happened, and so many names were thrown out. After the explosion happened, Circes was rushed to her safe house by her right hands. It was a small outlook nestled in between one of the newer mountains -- a semi active volcano that allowed Circes a view of the entire island.

Her assistants and those below her rushed around, crafting scrolls and summoning servants and carrier pigeons as they all tried to work on damage control. Couriers of the other Pirate Lords were stopped at the door, demanding an audience with Circes as everyone pointed fingers and clasped filthy hands over the vacuum of power.

Pirate Lord Circes silently veered down at the island as a new age of pirate lawlessness began right before her eyes.

640 words

The sun was waning over the sea, casting an orange glow over the tumultuous affairs of the day. When it had dawned, all had been calm, and routine for those on Staggerfell, who had appeared for the ceremony. The Vanishing Gull, her grey hull, intentionally ruffed with a bad paint job to look all the more like the rocks she so easily slipped amongst, had nosed into the harbour, and Saratoga had cast his lines over her sides and leaping lightly onto the dock tied her well. Now, those lines were being tossed back. Much had happened in-between.

"Larrson! Prepare to cast off, lower the Foresail and get the jib rigged if you can." The First mate nodded and dashed up the rigging. "Void!" Saratoga called the navigator, and gestured to the rope ladders that doubled as stays for the mast. "Get up the shrouds, and if ye have a gun load it, and if you have a good eye and a keen aim all the better." He turned to the deckhand; Candy. "Take the fore and aft lines and hold 'er here 'til the rest get over; untie anything else keeping her moored."

He didn't wait for either of their answers but turned, and strode aboard. The deck creaked, and the small boat shifted under his weight as he stalked to the hatch and slide down into her hold. Three secret compartments and an expensive mechanical lock he'd picked up in Car-Tantalon later, he lifted out a hefty, double barreled rifle. Lugging this over his shoulder he ran up into fresh air again, not bothering to close the compartment; if they were stopped, there would be no smuggler who needed them kept secret anyway. Landing with a thud on the dock he pounded up it several metres.

There was a cloud of dust, mingled with smoke from an occasional drunk, or enthusiastic vagabond, rising over the nearby buildings. It signalled the approach of the mad mob that would tear them to shreds if they couldn't beetle off soon. It was making in their direction, all stealth had been lost now, speed was the watchword of the hour (or rather, few minutes) now. He cocked the twin barrels, and slowed his breathing; he was there to make them a few more minutes. Resting the end against his shoulder, he levelled the gun in a swift, smooth motion, toward the street that opened up onto the dock; he wouldn't fire till he saw someone level theirs.

He wouldn't be a murderer. Never again.

422 words

William trundled down the many steps, lazily letting his feet go from one to another. He hated waiting, expecially when something so exciting and new was happeneing. Imagine being alive when the Pirate Queen was murdered! Who knew when that would happen again.

He eyed the harbour, wondering again about the mysterious group of smugglers who'd supposedly killed the Queen. Clearly they were somewhere in there, the docks were clogged with throngs of people, scurrying around the edges of the crowds like ants without a purpose. May be worth an investigation, would be something to do while he waited on the Admrial's ever so imprtant command. Whatever that was.

His pace picked up, shoes clicking on the cobbled stone stairs as he found a new calling for the day. The crowd was getting tighter, forcing him to naviatge via crates, and skipping over boats. Pausing occisionallly to see where the people where collecting. Finally he found himself on the rigging of a fine little sloop. Seemily at the neck of the chaos, he squinted in the sun, glaring off the various weaponry or buckles. A stout older man with a large tricorn hat and an equally impressive beard had stationed himself at the land end of the dock, desperatly trying to hold back some drunk pirates who had rushed ahead of the rest of the ensuing mob. Desperate being the key word in this situation. William clambered onto the next set of rigging, setting him just above and behind the man.

He leaned closer, "Hey there mister, thats a nice schooner you got there."

The man turned, his features strained and not enjoying the new aggravation.
"Aye? What's it to you?" He said, turning back momentarily to knock one of the annoyingly persistent drunkards cold with the butt of an awfully hefty gun; as their friend slumped over and splashed unceremoniously into the water, the rest of the vagabonds were thankfully dissuaded and stumbled off.

William shrugged,"Can't I apprecate a beauty of a boat?"

"Get to the point," He replied, gesturing with his gun to the oncoming horde, "Can't you see I'm busy."

The boy clambered down the rigging. "Well, I can lend a hand with that if you like."
This could be useful, William thought, the Admiral always likes initiative, how's getting oneself aboard the infamous smuggler's ship everyone's so eager to bring down for that? Also, it would be fun. "I hear you're on the run; I might be as well."

Saratoga appraised him for a moment, then pursed his lips in frustration, normally he'd have a little more thorough of an interview. But, the mob was nearly there---the gunshots were already begining to report through the air---and he could use all the crew he could get if they were going to get The Vanishing Gull away in one piece. Besides, if he'd wanted to, the fellow could have killed him by now. He gestured to the ship with his gun, "Get aboard, and be ready to cast off when I am."

William nodded, and rushed off, with an expression that the Captain thought was suspiciously pleased with itself.

518 words

Ilidan followed what he assumed was the first mate and they both loosened the knots that held the sails down. The Captain, Captain Saratoga, barked orders over the ruckus and the noise of what could have been the usual comings and goings of pirate life, especially with how many were aboard Staggerfell. But this commotion was the commotion of the winds of war marching their way. Who knew that a bunch of lawless folks would actually rally behind something as foreign to them as a ruler, even if she was more of a figurehead or a legend than an actual being to most of them. Ilidan doubted a vast majority of them had ever seen her face, or even been on the same island as her, in between the Pirate Creeds. Well, Ilidan was amongst that vast, vast majority. That was, until he saw her dead face float up onto that rocky shore.

Fun times!

The Captain shouted an order at Ilidan. He was to keep an eye on the incoming militia, and, within his means, keep them from getting to the ship. He pulled out a pistol and some bullets from one of his pockets. He rubbed them, making sure they were adequate enough. How long had they been just sitting in one of his pockets? Oh well, it was now or never. Either they would work or they wouldn't. Ilidan wasn't really one to rely on odds. He was the type of guy who cheered on the winning side, not one to want to try and manipulate the odds or take advantage of them. Did that make him the kind of person to follow where the winds blow? Well, sure, but wasn't that the kind of thing that made a pirate a pirate, anyway?

Ilidan dodged around one of the other people Captain Saratoga, someone who was mostly just wandering around. She turned to Ilidan, who scooted past her with a "hi, nice to meet you, 'scuse me" type of motion; one that was popular among ships. Communication sometimes needed to happen far faster than words could ever convey. Nonverbal ones, like body language, face language, just movements in general, show the type of things that the roar of the sea would drown out verbally.

But, this person didn't get what Ilidan was trying to convey, and she awkwardly crashed into him as he tried to get out of her way.

"Oh, sorry! We-- I should be... going this way."

Ilidan flashed her a smile. "You go that way, I'll go this way."

With that, Ilidan left he behind to... whatever she was doing and began the short climb up to the crow's nest. He fished out his spyglass and raised against the crushing winds, towards the port. He could make out rough figures rushing towards them. Flames and shiny flashes of light sparked from the crowd. Man, they were really causing some mayhem out there, on their way to a group of pirates they could all point a reliable finger at so they had something to focus their doubts and fears onto. Ilidan certainly couldn't blame them. If circumstances were different, perhaps he would be in the crowd too, lighting up shop and skipping around, screaming at the top of his lungs. After all, that was what vagabonds did when chaos was rampant. And, Ilidan was nothing if not the typical vagabond.

"Well, Captain, unless you have got any other last minute stowaways," Ilidan shouted below, glancing at the guy climbing aboard, "we should probably set sail sometime soon. And, by sometime soon, I mean sometime now." Man, Saratoga must have been desperate if he was just picking people off the streets... Wait a minute. How did Ilidan and Saratoga meet again? Oh Gods, Ilidan was a street rat!

He would add that to his list of titles. The more, the merrier.

Ilidan stuffed his spyglass back in his belt loop and clambered down from the crow's nest, sliding down the last parts. It hurt his hands, letting them rub against the rope like that, sure, but boy, was it fun. And, when you have possibly hundreds of people who wants nothing more than to see your head on a stick, you tend to find the fun in any way you can, rope burn be damned.

Ilidan sauntered over to Captain Saratoga. "What are our next steps, Cap'n?" He had to stifle a giggle at the last word. Years and years at sea, and around the same type of people, people tend to get similar ways of speaking, and words themselves stop having meaning after awhile. When communication is vital, sometimes words get shortened or even cut if it meant saving crucial seconds. But, Ilidan could never get over the accent that came along with the sea. Even after all these years, being born and raised on land, he just found it funny how people could act similarly or the same but speak so different.

The Captain took no notice of how he spoke, or that he was somewhat, sort of, please-don't murder-him mocking the way the Captain spoke.

Saratoga was deep in thought, his expression so serious it broke Ilidan's smile completely. Still, Ilidan took the moment to include another joke. "As much as I enjoy going down with the ship, I would like to spend some time with the beauty beofre I do. You know, take m out to dinner before you screw me over."

The Captain didn't smile at the joke. Darn. He would have to try again. If they were about to get murdered, he would take his final breaths trying to get a rise out of the guy who unknowingly pitted him to his death.

Saratoga pointed at the dock. "See those barrels?" His finger guided Ilidan's eyes over to a set of barrels on either side of the wooden deck, a few dozen meters from their ship. They were packed to the brim with cannons. Probably some crew trying to get some restocking and refueling done before the Pirate Creed was over. But, of course they didn't want to miss the special announcement of whoever was going to know the Creed next.

Oh, Ilidan didn't even think about that. The previous one was dead and there was no new one, not without the Pirate Queen and the whole ceremony and all that nonsense. Well, that wasn't Ilidan's problem, anyway.

"Yeah," Ilidan spoke up. "We could use some cannonballs."

"No, we fire at them. Blow up the explosives under the cannonballs." Saratoga explained. "The explosions, combined with those balls... should be enough to cover our tracks."

Sound enough for Ilidan. He always was a fan of explosions. They were cool.

It was a single, nerve-wracking minute, before the dust-cloud of the bloodthirsty hoard came into view. Saratoga’s hands grew sweaty and if he worried he’d miss-fire. He didn’t dare turn his gaze away to check on Void, he just had to hope. Then the thunder reached them, the mob burst forth onto the dock which sunk visibility under their weight.

And two reports broke the air.

The barrels of explosives erupted in a cacophony of concussive bangs that combined into a single blast which tore the dock apart. The boats nearby were holed, the mob was shrouded behind the smoke, and Saratoga turned on his heel and pushed hard against the rickety dock boards toward his ship. A three metre wave passed him suddenly and the schooner’s grey aft was lifted high into the air, its small gilded name plate vanishing the spray. Saratoga leaped aboard from the end of the dock and held fast to the mast lines as the ship plower ahead, surfing the wave. If Illidian hadn’t made it he was as good as dead.

As the bulk of the wave passed underneath and beyond them, Saratoga clambered up to the helm and took in the scene in an instant. The mob behind was thoroughly quailled; the ship was lurching to starboard; there was a large ship directly ahead, and the harbour exit was visible through a crack between the aft of another ship, and the behemoth ahead; also, out in the bay, a small single masted sloop was bearing toward them; meanwhile on deck the crew were picking themselves up after the extraordinary exit.

He threw the helm down to port, and shouted to Percy to tack the jib. The first mate, with Ilidian switched the sail around as the ship turned to the opening, and wind caught the sail which snapped into a smooth curve with the sound of a whip, and heaved them over so that the ship rested at an angle in the water and put on a burst of speed. Saratoga tapped the helm, letting a small pleased smirk play across his face; this was what she was built for. There was hope yet.

Alas, as they passed into the larger harbour, the sloop tacked to cut them off, and the sharp faced ruffians onboard looked tougher than the half-drunken mob behind. Over the slick noise of the ‘Gull’s hull cutting through the water, Saratoga picked up the rumbling of cannonballs being loaded. He had a moment to think, his crew were standing tense and ready, with guns loaded or hands at sword hilts looking either expectantly up at him, or with excitement and trepidation at the sloop, but they would be no use against a barrage. The sloop would just block their way if they continued straight, and if they tried to sneak by either side, they’d be parallel, and within easy range for every cannons to turn the hull to sawdust.

“Ease out the mainsail,” Saratoga shouted, and Percy and Candy swarmed up the rear-most mast. A moment later the sail dropped alongside him, billowed outward, and swung the boom wide to starboard. About half his view was blocked, but he could still see the suddenly confused pirates ahead as he brought the quickening prow toward them. The sloops nearing deck was about a foot below The Vanishing Gull’s and its size almost half; let them try and block their way.

A resolute, malicious grin crossed his face, as his eyes narrowed in focus and he kept a deft hand on the helm as the pirates ahead lit their cannons. Two blasts rang out across the water, and a ball ripped through the mainsail, but as the white smoke cleared, they charged on yet, their speed unchanging.

It seemed the pirates weren’t interested in being capsized and buried in the waves today, and Saratoga waved mockingly to them as they turned out of the way, the ‘Gull swept by, and his crew let out a triumphant cheer.

Fifteen minutes later they’d cleared the harbour and replaced the torn mainsail with a grey, worn replacement, Staggerfell was disappearing behind them, and the sun was doing so ahead of them. The navigator came up to the helm, presumably to discuss their destination Saratoga thought. Instead he looked upon the whole crew who were beginning to tiredly gather around as well, and said:

“So, who killed the pirate queen?”

735 words

Percy stretched his sore arms, and looked inquisitively around at the crew. The killer was of little interest to him, so long as he made it aboard The Vanishing Gull his plan wasn't affected---if anything the catastrophe would be useful. Nonetheless, the remarkable turn of events would arouse at least a mild curiosity in anyone.

"Is that an accusation? I think tis' little early for anyone to mutiny" He replied to the navigator; he didn't like the fellow, Ilidian seemed a little too genial for his plans.