LSS: Sailing With Strangers

Ilidan Viceta-Void

Ilidan shrugged, leaning against the salty wood and crossed his arms behind his head. If he had a place to rest his feet against, he would have done so, but this was about as good as he was gonna get. He basked in the setting sun and inhaled the sharp air of the seas. It was nice to be out of that stuffy island. He never was one to like the musk of a bunch of dirty humans gathering together.

"Definitely not accusing anyone; I just met you all. Just curious." He flashed a grin at who seemed to be the First Mate.

William Banner

Will chuckled and scrambled down the rigging," funny wouldn't it be? If the murder was on board. Fancy being killed in your sleep anyone?"
At least, he found it funny. Everyone else just stared at him.
He blinked," oh and I'm Will by the way, pleasure to make your pirate-y acquaintance."

"I promise I didn't kill her!" Candy screamed, pacing back and forth around the deck. The deckhand was writing fast across her journal, putting down all the facts she could remember as fast as possible. The crew's names, how she appeared here, what her job was... "I-I know I have some wanted posters up for things I might've done- but I didn't-" Candy stopped short suddenly, freezing in place. Then, her eyes scanned over the page, then back at the crew. "What happened to the Pirate Queen, again?"

Candy examined the faces of the people around her, scrutinzing every little detail. The only one she could even recall was the one who dragged her out from under the port! She turned to him, "You're Percy. That's..." she pointed at Ilidan, "... a guy. That's the captain, and-" Oh. Well, that was helpful. Candy quickly flipped pages and reached one that she titled 'Will.' "Will! And I'm Candy! Okay. Cool. Yeah. I can remember that. Will, Percy, Captain... other guy..."

“Calm down, everyone.” Saratoga said, further conversation looked to be getting out of hand. As all eyes turned to him, he pointed to the distant horison, where a pale half moon was rising, casting a silver sheet across the deep blue waters. “Night is falling and it’s no time to get upset; I’m sure more than half of us are murderers in some way and it won’t do to go pointing fingers when we’ve only just made it out of Staggerfell. So, off to bed, all of ye except Jarsson—he’s taking the first watch and ‘ll wake Void in two hours, then it’ll be Burner, then me. Now off! The lot of you.”

As the crew slunk belowdecks to find a bunk in the half-rotten rags and empty crates below, Percy trotted up to the helm. Saratoga waved him over.

“In case you don’t know, two ‘ours ‘ll be when ye can see the moon through that crack between the edge of the foresail and the mast.” Percy nodded, “Right, I’ll be down on deck for a bit, you take the helm.”

The first mate did so, and Saratoga trod a leisurely path to the bow, where he leaned on the old carpentry of the bow gunwales which creaked under his weight. Void was a navigator and the captain assumed he’d be familiar enough with the stars to keep his time, and Saratoga was intent on being up again near the end of Burner’s shift.

“So that’s the first night sorted at least.” He said to himself, “But what of the next? This is a far bigger stew than I’ve ever dealt with.”

In the dark emptiness, of the night-veiled ocean, he let himself think of his wife, of their adventures—misadventures rather, for well nigh on hour, when at last he pulled himself from the railing headed belowdecks. There found his scrappy bunk in the aft fortunately not taken, and let himself fall asleep.

“Whatever happens,” he decided, “we need to get out of the Cragged Teeth.”


When the Captain went below, Percy could no longer see the sharp outline of Staggerfell behind them, instead only the endless void spread around them. The horison disappeared as the dark waters melded into the inky sky. He soon became accustomed to the rocking of the ship, back and forth, as it hobbled over the rolling waves. And, the sound of the water slinking alongside the hull, like a stream in the woods he used to play in. As dusk disappeared, the night deepened, and the ring of visible water around the boat slowly shrunk. Yet, as his eyes became accustomed to the darkness, stars began to pepper the heavens, one by one their distant lights popped out, and soon a sparkling display lit the world above.

Percy left the helm a moment, for the sea’s were calm and the wind maintained their heading well enough, to peer over the sides of the ship. It wasn’t far down to the murky water. Returning to the helm, he checked their compass heading hadn’t changed. All was still going smoothly. Casting a glance about him once more, he snuck to the gunwales a second time. Then the crack of wood interrupted the nightly silence. He ripped the piece from a damaged part of the railing, and tossed it over the side. Even from the height of the poop deck it made less noise than the surf against the hull. Smiling, he retook his post.

Half an hour later, the pale crescent of the moon cast it’s dim glow through the small crack, where the foresail bulged out from the mast, and Percy trotted below to wake the navigator; or “other guy” as Candy called him.

617 words

Ilidan woke with a jerk to Percy's face looming over him, washed in colors from a lantern that looked absolutely horrifying for a moment as his mind filled in voided spaces with shifting figures from his dreams.

But alas, it was just Percy's mildly annoyed face staring at him. As Ilidan wrangled his pathetic excuse of a shirt on, Percy let him know that he was next watch. Ilidan groaned through the sleepiness and raised a hand at Percy, nonverbally pleading with the man to give him a moment to wake up.

After Ilidan struggled with his boots, they both clambered up to the deck.

"Cap'n wants us out of The Cragged Teeth as soon as possible," Percy droned on as Ilidan stifled another yawn. He would have liked to sleep in a little bit more --a man's gotta get his beauty sleep, after all-- but with a crew as small as theirs, sleep was more of a luxury than a guarantee. And, as Ilidan was the navigator, as was his terms of hire, it made sense for him to be out while the stars still shone. It would be easier to know where they were going and where they needed to be. Yeah, land masses were stark shadows at night, but once outside of the main few islands surrounding Staggerfell, they were mostly in the clear when it came to land.

"Did you get that, other guy?" Percy interjected on Ilidan's thoughts, which were clearly of higher importance than whatever divel the guy had said.

"What? Oh, yeah, of course. Got it. We're good." Ilidan saluted the man, which made Percy both pause and frown at him in probably what was confusion. Ilidan took the lantern from him and made himself look busy on something that was not in Percy's direction.

"Okay then. Captain will be up at first light. " Ilidan nodded at that, hoping his lack of response was enough.

Which, after a moment, had worked, as Percy was gone, presumably to get some rest. It was then that Ilidan realized Percy had called him other guy... Please don't let that catch on, he thought.

After a routine check of knots and the sails, Ilidan climbed up to the crow's nest and scoped out the area around him. As his eyes attuned to the darkness, he scanned the horizon for any surprise landmasses that would not be a pretty sight for the small ship he was on. A rogue rock or, even where they were, a glacier, could make their trip a short one.

At this point, he couldn't even see Staggerfell anymore, not with his eyes or with his spyglass. No ships were following them close enough for him to see, either. The Captain's idea of blowing up the dock, while a little dangerous, worked well enough to get the mob off their trail. And, don't get him wrong, Ilidan was a huge fan of the dangerous solutions to a problem. He was honestly sad it wasn't him that came up with the idea.

Once any potential obstacles were scouted, Ilidan left to the front of the ship, where he scanned the night sky.

As a navigator, Ilidan was more than able to keep the ship on the right track. But... where the hell where they gonna go?

551 words

Pirate Lord Circes was a fair and just ruler. In the decades since the last major struggle of power following the previous Pirate Queen's unceremonious death, Circes had wrestled control over a subset of islands through mediations, preferring to use her mind and the power of bargaining over the slice of a sword or the sinking of a ship. Those all happened, of course, but to a far lesser extent than the other pirates rising to power at the time. Diplomacy was not a pirate's strong suit, after all, so it stood to reason that a group of pirates trying to establish some sort of fallacy of an order would also be unused to diplomacy as a tactic for power.

Now, pirates weren't stupid. Not a singular pirate worth their weight in gold would accept a gift without thinking there was some kind of ulterior motive. Most pirates, however, wouldn't use another brain cell to think that maybe the ulterior motive was more detailed or in depth than normal.

Just as Staggerfell was built delicately around an ever expanding island, Circes built her empire around a web of deals and loans, secrets and promises. She didn't need to kill a pirate to assert her control; a rumor would end their trade, slice their sails, see them trip into a dark alley and become another forgettable tragedy of the rough life that is being a pirate. It wasn't honest work, but since when was a pirate's job honest work? But, it worked.

And so too did Pirate Lord Circes wrestle control over Staggerfell in the following hours since the Pirate Queen's death. At first she had the support of Pirate Lord Obliviana, who was old blood and, while she lived in Staggerfell, she also had absolutely no desire to rule over things or do the massive amount of damage control that was needed to stomp out any flames of resistance from an entire army of rebels incarnate. Then Pirate Lord, after the third hour, vanished from her seat of power under no pretense. Even with the combined might of both Circes' and Obliviana's forces, Circes had no clue where Pirate Lord Obliviana escaped off to, and picked up no trail.

Circes had cut off access to a majority of the ports off of Staggerfell. Ships under her banner were allowed to leave port first, only to control the traffic of who left and who arrived onto the island. Obliviana was the least of her priorities at this point. She had little to go off of anyways, and if she were to follow breadcrumbs, she would follow the breadcrumbs of who actually killed the Pirate Queen.

Which were not all that many. And, try as she might, the famously patient Pirate Lord Circes was beginning to lose just that: her patience.

After these past few hours, Pirate Lord Circes had the combined might of all those still stuck in Staggerfell. It was possible that, at that very moment, Circes was the most powerful Pirate Lord in the entire covenant's history. And she couldn't find one stupid killer.

Her top advisor, Rodrin Haverfist, had been paramount in seizing control of both the ports and the ghosts that the other Lords left to tend to their duties while the Lords themselves scurried away to a safe corner of the pirate world. Circes would delegate to Rodrin, who would then delegate to her guards and her followers. Except, well, when the advisors would come barking at her heels, demanding things they knew full well they couldn't demand. All the while, Circes had to keep a rapidly resisting mob calmed down enough so they didn't openly riot in the streets. But, judging how quickly things spiraled into chaos in the first few minutes after the Queen was found, Circes was keeping the entire balance of Staggerfell in precarious hands.

There was not enough food to keep the entirety of Staggerfell fed; Circes knew that the event, the Pirate Creed, was exhausting all of Staggerfell's resources. Pirates were never one to actually stockpile or think of the future all that much. The more resources they had, they more resources they used. And the event planners of this Pirate Creed wanted it to be as glamorous as possible. After all, the world's eye was on them during these events. It was a show of power as much as a celebration of tradition. Kingdoms like Ecedya and Brythalon had scouts in Staggerfell; Circes had already found one in her hunt of the killer.

He was a simple peddler from Ecedya, going by the name of Jacod Smethstin. Jacod, which presumably wasn't his real name, was found in a side street just a few blocks from where the Pirate Queen washed up to shore, while a hoard of pirates were across the island, chasing after a small group of vagabonds. That was one trail, which Circes was of course following, but Circes immediate concern was Jacod. On one hand, following the crowd was one way to blend in after crimes. On the other hand, Jacod was found hiding from something or someone, which was equally condemning.

Jacod had nothing to tell her. Whether it was because he had something to hide or he was actually an innocent bystander, he wouldn't spill any secrets. And Circes had no time or patience to drill him further than traditional tactics. Normally, this would have been the kind of perfect opportunity for Circes to get some kind of intel about the land governments, and she could certainly use him as a bargaining chip. But, Circes had enough to deal with, without landlubbers trying to stake a claim on pirate territory or test their boundaries. Circes should string Jacod up on the borders of pirate land as both a reminder to the landlubbers and a quick and dirty show of force.

But for now, she kept him locked up deep within Mount Asunder, in the royal halls of the Pirate Queen. Pirate Lord Circes moved her center of command into the now-empty halls.

1008 words

William Burner

William shifted in his hammock, uneasy as the ship gently rocked. He hadn't been on a ship in ages, the Admrial generally kept him on shore, or sent him to hijack and hitchhike his way to destinations.

Generally to maintain a less trackable rough, with less, paperwork, then a steam liner or sailing ship would entail. If he did manage to get on any type of vessel, it was a small rowboat. He'd briefly boarded a fishing boat once, only to forget that fishing vessels merely went out to fish, and returned to their former mooring. It'd put quite a stick in his plans, and wasted a few hours of his time.

He supposed he'd have to gain his "sea legs" sooner rather than later, if he wanted to get any ounce of sleep. A few more agonizing and uncomfortable hours passed. Or was it minutes? or half hours? In the dim and damp depths of the hold, who knew what time it was. The only tell was the slivers of moon and star light that seeped trough small crevices in the weathered wood crevices.

William huffed, annoyed, enough of this trying-to-sleep nonsense, they day had been too exciting anyway. Maybe he could take someone's nightshift. He still needed to inform the admiral about his whereabouts ad plan, given he left with notice to anyone at all. Night Shift may be the perfect time to sneak around and find a communicator of some sort. Unfortunately, hammocks can be a terribly difficult thing to exit, so after wrestling with the swath of fabric that kept trying to engulf him, he finally manage to slip out, somewhat quietly. Although everyone seemed to be sleeping soundly, probably tired from the events of the day. Or at least much more able to adjust to sleeping on a moving vessel than he was.

Now, he squinted in the dim light, what was the way out of the hold again?


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Admiral Becket

The anchor fell swift and fast, plunging into the deep, dark, and cool depths of the water with a splash, sending ripples cascading out in a circle. The coiled chain unraveled like a snake set on prey, clicking and clanking methodically as each heavy link sailed through the molded metal bit and over the gunwale.

The admiral watched it, arms crossed, until a link marked with red crossed through. She brought her weathered leather boot down hard on a metal lever, sending the chain to a halt. A sailor leaned over the edge, peering down at the chain. The links settled, leading at an angle away from the ship, disappearing in a ghostly line underwater. "Looks taunt."

The admiral lifted her boot. "Of course it is. Store the rest of the chain; I want a stern line set. If this ship moves, you're going to be sleeping sideways tonight."

The sailor blinked, Yes, Admiral."

While such things as anchor setting could easily be handled by any experienced sailor, Hira preferred to oversee the matter herself. She'd been one too many vessels that had drifted anchor, failed to set a stern line when needed, let out too much or too little chain, didn't run an extra line on the chain, or had found themselves with a keel jarringly hitting bottom with each wave, or worse, tipped awkwardly to one side.

Anchoring proved to be a much more difficult task than one expected it to be.
She didn't trust any of the crew enough to dictate the task.

While the sailor dumped the rest of the chain in the anchor locker, securing the hatch that was tucked on the deck in a corner of the bow, she tugged her overcoat tighter around her, the chill of a night setting in.

They'd tucked themselves into a cove, just deep enough for the vessels draft at low tide, although if the ship shifted too far in any direction, that wouldn't be true for long. According to the chart, it also seemed to have an underwater land-bridge. Meaning the cove was only accessible by most vessels during high tide. Hers was one of them. She made a mental note to double-check the tides for this specific area of the sea and year.

A gentle splash brought her out of her thoughts. A lifeboat had been launched. She crossed the length of the ship, stepping up once again to the poop deck to serve the task.

A large spool of weathered but strong line had been hoisted and attached to the back railings of the ship, with the end of the line lowered into the newly launched dingey below. One crew member held on to the line, while the other rowed to the shore, almost directly opposite to where the anchor had been laid, and behind the ship.

The captain's boots softly thumped on the deck behind her. She turned her head slightly, spotting him in the corner of her eye. He smiled and offered one of the two mugs of steaming cider to her. "Gettin chilly out here, Admiral."

Hira stretched out from the position her body had sunk into, leaning on the railing with arms crossed, and took a mug. Stretching her worn, cold hands around the warm, comforting ceramic mug.

She turned back to the railing, leaning on it again. This time sideways, with an arm propped up on the railing, still cradling the mug with both hands, "I'm making sure your ship survives the night." A hint of humor spiked the sentence.

The Captain chuckled, sipping on his drink, steamily clouding his face before he answered. "Much appreciated. Technically, this is your ship."

The Admiral shrugged, looking back again at the rowboat. It'd reached shore, and the sailor with the line hand clambered up the nearest and lowest rocky bluff, looking for a secure spot to loop the line around. "I may be in charge of the fleet, but I do still consider this ship yours, Clancy. I tell the ship where to go and how; you sail it there safely."

Captain Clancy couldn't argue with that, so he simply took another sip of his steaming cider and joined her by the railing. Watching the debacle on shore.

Hira realized that her drink's sole purpose wasn't just to warm her hands. She lifted it to her lips, carefully sampling the hot liquid; it burned the tip of her tongue, and she hid a grimace, instead swallowing and letting it warm her body.

The sailors had finally finished their task, looping the line around a single rock that jutted skyward, and they were both on their way back to the ship, one rowing and another clutching onto that one precious end of the line for dear life. The Admiral took another cautious sip as it neared the vessel and disappeared under the poopdeck. She was confident they'd finished their task properly. Nobody liked waking up on a ship strewn sideways.

A few more minutes of cider-sipping silence passed before pulleys creaked and the lifeboat was hauled back up on deck. Hira sighed. The vessel was set and safe.

She glanced down at her half-empty mug. For how long would it be safe? With the Queen dead, just how secure was her position? While she was no stranger to fighting for her right of rank, she was tired.

Captain Clancy swirled the remaining liquid in his mug, looking down at it likewise, then glancing up, peeking under the Admiral's large hat. "I still can't believe it."

She nodded, straightening and downing her drink, ignoring the burn as she set her jaw. It won't change anything."

Clancy pursed his lips and said, "It may."

Hira set her jaw, looking away and out over the sea. "I won't lose my fleet. Or your ship, for that matter. Not if I can help it."

Words:977

Pirate Lord Circes made sure not to make herself or her army comfortable in the halls of Mount Asunder. She needed everyone to hear the echoes within the hall and understood its meaning. This was an encampment as they prepped for war, nothing more.

Pirate Lord Circes glanced to her second in command, Rodrin, who nodded his affirmation and shouted into the vast halls: "Bring in the next suspect!" His words rang hollow against the intricate supports that rose high into the mountain itself. Circes wondered how the pirates of old managed to carve out something so beautiful as this. She wondered how many souls these halls had laid witness to their final breath.

Her guards brought in a middle-aged woman who struggled against the chains she was bound in. When she noticed Pirate Lord Circes sitting peacefully in a high-backed decadent chair, the lady's demeanor shifted and a smile adorned her face, like she was meeting up with an old friend.

The guards brought the woman to within a few feet of Circes and she dropped to her knees, leaning down in what could have been seen as prayer. The guards then looped her chains into a bolt that dug through the fancy carpet of the hall. The Pirate Queen had no more use of niceties anymore.

"Pirate Lord Circes, forgive my intrusion!" She said in the heavy and thick accent that most pirates had grown up with, Circes included. However, she had to forcibly remove that accent from her dialect. If she were to have any success with improving the pirates' relations with the land governments, it was what she needed to do: extract her heritage and ancestry from her like removing a tumor.

"Goila Femera, you were a part of the Pirate Queen's legion, were you not?" Rodrin spoke.

"Well, ye, of course. I was the best cook she had. Always made the best meals. She had us working overtime, cooking us like we cook the pigs." Goila chuckled at what Circes assumed was some sort of inside joke.

Rodrin cleared his throat. "Goila, you indicated to our guards that you had knowledge of who the murderer of the Pirate Queen was. Please know that Pirate Lord Circes is a busy woman."

Circes glared down at the woman, hoping that this lady had at least enough intelligence to know that she was wasting Circes' time, and Circes was not someone to be trifled with.

Goila stammered and glanced between Rodrin and Circes, her eyes widening and she tugged on the chains that bound her to the floor, as if then was the first time she actually realized sh was here, not as a guest, but as a prisoner of war.

"Right, right," she stuttered as her head swiveled around wildly. Pirate Lord Circes followed her vision. The guards were stationed at each door and pillars of candles lit the part of the hall Circes occupied. But, aside from that, the rest of the place was drowned in shadows. The extravagance of the hall's past now only played in the shadows of the hall, frolicking about in the corners of the eyes. What secrets did the shadows hide, and what plays did they act out when someone like Goila looked upon them?

Circes only saw the failures of her past and the fumbles of the present when she looked into the void. So she avoided the slinking of the shades and instead focused her sight back onto Goila.

"Speak, Goila of the Pirate Queen's protectorate, or forever hold your tongue." Rodrin declared.

Circes could tell this simple cook had no idea what she had gotten herself into when she was spreading her tall tales in a local tavern. Had she been drinking when she swaggered her way to one of Circes' guards and loudly proclaimed that she knew who had killed the Pirate Queen. Had she realized just how many enemies she had unknowingly given cover to from her false exclamations.

No, no. Because Goila Femera was a simple cook. She had no clue the inner workings of running an empire of pirates, or what it meant to have their leader murdered in the largest gathering of pirates history had ever seen, or how the world mocked and cackled at them when their largest show of force ended in the complete loss of any civility. All the work Circes and the other Pirate Lords had done to garner respect as a society (let alone any facet of power), just gone in mere moments. Circes was working to pick up the scraps left behind, but she knew it wouldn't be the same. It would never be the same.

"--So you see, I had taken to getting meself a nice ol break, since I had been breaking mah back to keep all these hungry animals fed, and ah tell ya, nothin's worse than a hungry pirate, save that of a scurved pirate, yah feel me?"

Circes didn't know if she could bare to hear anymore of this drivel. She motioned to Rodrin with a quick and simple flick of her fingers, and Rodrin held up his hand for Goila to stop talking, who stared at him with wide eyes. "Get to the point, Goila. And quickly, please. We have several more people who wish to have an audience with Pirate Lord Circes after you."

"Right, right. Well, ah went on mah way to get some booze. Even a working lady gotta have fun during events like these, ya know? That's the spirit of the Pirate Creed. But, aye, as I got some booze, I saw some'n fishy by the firecrackers. Din think any'n would be by the crackers r'now, those celebrations would be saved fur later, yah? Naw until the announcement of the new Creed Keeper."

"Did you see the face of this person?" Circes interjected, which made Goila jump and Rodrin turn his head to look at her in concern. Circes' voice was quiet, but it carried itself through the hall with importance.

"Aww, nah, I dint get a chance, but maybe the firecrackers was the explosion?"

Circes leaned back in the chair and closed her eyes, trying not to let her disappointment show in her face.

"But, but ah dint get a good look at their face, ah did see them! They were tall and grimy lookin'."

Circes nodded tersely to Rodrin. Rodrin stuffed his scroll into the folds of his shirt. "Goila, we thank you for your honesty. Tell no one what you've told us, is that clear?"

"Oh, ye, as clear as the first rainfall in spring." Goila grinned at them.

Dead ends and loose ends, nothing more.

1112 words

The moon had crossed overhead, and was slowly falling behind them when Saratoga woke. Sliding out of his bunk, he stretched his sore limbs, and gazed out the small porthole in his berth. They’d made it, whether or not they were pursued would be revealed with the dawn, for now any ships (including theirs) could be blanketed in shadow if they so wished.

Along with his bunk, the small aft berth contained a sea chest on one side, and a desk on the other. Flipping up the top of the desk, he pulled out a sheaf of charts. A few of them were stained with either coffee, or oil, and all had a creased corner or two. Arranging these in front of him, he contemplated their options.

Going north could be dangerous, it was always a bit of a gamble with the weather heading up there, but he knew some hideouts that would be practically impenetrable—so long as they got to them. Saratoga could handle the cold, but whether the crew had coats of any great volume was doubtful; still, perhaps they could steal ashore and find a few somewhere. He was inclined to go south, for he knew the way well and had operated there extensively, building a network of hideouts that would never be more than a few hours sail in any part of that archipelago. But doubt still lingered, he had made many acquaintances down there, and when they got wind of the happenings on Stagerfell, he knew not who he might trust; that could be the first place they’d be looked for. The continent, to the west, he hadn’t gone to often, they would have to avoid Pirate Lord Circes’ fortress, but perhaps they could lay low on Earke?

He heard a shuffling outside; either Void coming down, or Burner getting up. Whatever happened he needed the crew to agree. Something told him they wouldn’t all be so inclined to sit in a hidden cave and wait out the hue and cry that would spread over the sea.

Exiting his cabin, he wove his way through the cramped hold to the steep steps to the topdeck. Mounting these, he emerged in the pale, waning moonlight of early morning. Behind him, a silhouette leaned against the helm, motionless except for the gentle rocking to counteract the ship’s rolling motion. So doing likewise, Saratoga made his way to the bow.

Casting his eyes over the dim seas, they caught suddenly on a flare of light. Some leagues off to port there had been a spark in the night like a candle lit but hurriedly covered before he could get a proper glimpse. He peered intently on where he thought it had been, his stern old eyes fixated on the spot. Whether he was imagining things in the gloom or not, he was too experienced to try and judge, but against the dark horison there seemed to be another, nearer shadow. Like a ship.

495 words

Circes nodded to Rodrin, who motioned for the guards to take the lady away. Her story was nothing of importance, and Circes would not spend anymore resources or brain power chasing this stupid non-story.

"Goila Femera, thank you for your candor," Rodrin announced.

"Oi, thank you so much, Pirate Lord Circes! Ya know, if we gotta have a new Pirate Queen, I think ya'd do nicely!" Goila stammered as she was led into a room that connected to the side of the great hall, and her voice became muffled and non-descript. Circes let out a soft groan. She would not be the next Pirate Queen, even if she wanted to. Despite her best attempts, it was unlikely there would be another Pirate Queen. If they were extremely lucky, The Cragged Teeth would be the place they could still call home.

She could feel the jaws closing in on them. It would only be a matter of time.

Crack!

The sound splintered through the air, leaving an aching nothingness in its wake. Goila's voice was no more. Although she was a minor annoyance, it still pained Circes to ensure she kept her mouth shut.

But Circes would go through all of Staggerfell, one by one, until she found the culprit. Better they off their own than the ravenous navy of Falnar come in and sweep through everything and everyone.

They were hungry. They were anxious and they were intent on making someone pay. If Circes did not find a culprit soon, it would be her head on the chopping block next.

She had to make a move, draw some attention away from her actions. She needed a sure show of force that would not draw the ire of the pirates, but instead rally them behind her cause. She needed some extravagance.

A scout scurried in and made her way to Rodrin, where they exchanged hurried whispers that bounced around the hall like the wind as it whistled through restless forests. Rodrin accepted a scroll from the scout, who bowed and left the great hall with just as much speed. He scanned through the scroll, and handed it wordlessly to Circes.

Circes opened the scroll and read it, once, twice, thrice. This... this was certainly an action.

"Rodrin, get me a navigator. Prepare my fleet."

Rodrin nodded.

"And, Rodrin?" He glanced back to her, stopping in his tracks. "Pack something thick."

They were going to need it against the bitter cold of Pirate Lord Davenport's territory. The Lord of the North. Now that was a name that Circes hadn't thought about in a bit. No matter how much power she had amassed by seizing control of Staggerfell and Obliviana's forces, it still paled in comparison to the great Lord of the North. Cassian had been noticably mostly absent from the Pirate Creed, but that was nothing new. They had their own issues in the north, and had largely held control there through sheer tenaciousness alone. No pirate worth their weight in gold wanted to be in the frozen waters of the north, besides Lord Davenport.

Even with all her weight, all her influence, all her power, Circes still didn't manage an audience with Pirate Lord Davenport. Instead, she was set to meet with an admiral under his banner. A certain Admiral Beckett, who had a reputation all of her own.

To do this would mean Circes would either need to abandon her position of power here in Staggerfell, or to abandon her seat of power in Blood Rock, which was largely the only thing that stopped the land governments of the west from moving in on The Cragged Teeth. Blood Rock was her ancestral home, but she had to put things like her personal feelings aside for the greater good.

The scroll the scout had delivered showed her that Blood Fleet had arrived to Staggerfell, almost tripling her armada but leaving her childhood home empty. Her choice had been made... but, then again, what choice did she have? Her arm had been twisted the moment The Pirate Queen stopped breathing.

Pirate Lord Circes stood, stashing the scroll into her belt loop, and began her preparations to return to sea and abandon Staggerfell, letting it return to the ways of lawlessness that, perhaps, was its true nature.

715 words

William Burner

William crept up the stairs from the hold. Easing his foot onto each step, testing it for creaks. Only a few boards sporting faded varnish proved to do so. Eventually, he made it to the top, giving him a clear shot right down the narrow hall to the door.

The cool salty air greeted him as he emerged onto the deck, he lingered in the doorway. Eyes scanning for any other awake crew. Finding none he stepped out, shifting to the side, out of view of the doorway. Then finally allowed himself a proper look at the wide open nighttime sea they were all but engulfed in.

The sea was almost perfectly flat, ripples from waves simply nuged by currents or shifts underneath the sea. The surface was so smooth and glassey, reflecting the night sky, it almost looked solid. Althought he knew far better then to make the mistake of stepping out onto it.

A step creaked and he knelt and swiveled around at the same time. Captain Saratoga was ambelling up the steps, making his way to the top deck. Good. William had an inkling that Saratoga may have a radio of sorts in his cabin. The only question was, how much time did he have to snoop.

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Morning came, and as predicted the tide was high enough for the ship to exit the cove at sunrise. After the stern line was released and the anchor hauled, one of the mainsails was unfurled, giving the ship enough propulsion to glide out of the cove.
Once they cleared the island, Captain Clancy shouted an order from the helm. A rush filled the air, sailors scrambled up masts or released lines from the small cleats on them.

The sails unfurled, sounding as mighty as the wind as the stiff canvas sheets were let loose. Pulleys jangled and lines clanged. Then with a snap and a final flap, the sails filled out.

The ship jolted forward, spurned on. Water slapped the bow as it cut through the waves, falling into a rhythmic pattern of sound.

The Admiral smiled, tugging her hat tighter on her head. Such was the dance of sailing. A balance she could control. Or maybe she sea just let her think that. She knew better than to question it.

The crew rushed about, tidying up the deck. Hira stepped up behind the captain, snapping a few buttons on her overcoat loose. The sun was hot even in the cold breeze.

Captain Clancy looked like a man in paradise He leaned on the wheel, eyeing the horizon and occasionally the sails. A smile lingered on his lips as she approached. "fine day for sailing."

Hira nodded, "What's our speed?"

Clancy clicked his tongue at a younger boy down on the deck. The teen was in the middle of shrugging his unform jacket off, he paused, unsure of the attention," Yes Captain?" He nodded politely to the Admiral, "Admiral."

Clancy picked up a small piece of drift wood from a midsized crate by the wheel, "Chuck this off the port bow so I can measure our speed." He flung the piece at the boy, who caught it, his jacket hanging by one sleeve on his arm."Yes Captain"

With that he dashed to the bow, pulling the rest of his jacket off as he dodged the crew. Hira dug into her jacket, pulling a stopwatch out of a pocket hidden in the lining.

The boy reached the port bow, and looked back at them expectantly, Hira marched to the port railing, eye glued to the ragged piece of wood he held. He flung it down and over the side.

Hira's thumb hovered over the small knob on top of the watching, waiting until the wood splash unceremoniously into the water.

Click, the watch started ticking.

The driftwood swirled around in the wake, forced to flow with the water beside the ship until it passed Hira and she hit the knob again. Finally turning away from the wood, left to drift in the sea.

Clancy leaned towards her from his spot at the wheel, no longer leaning on it, but standing alert. "what's it say there?"

She read the numbers out loud, Clancy looked at the sky, lips moving soundlessly as he did the math in his head.

Hira calculated the number just as quickly, then looked at him." Ten knots?"

He nodded." Ten knots. Pretty darn good speed."

Hira tucked her watch away again," we should be there just before sundown then. Good."

Words:540

Captain Saratoga

Saratoga retrieved a spyglass from his jacket, and tried to peer through it at the ship. The glass was foggy, and the brass trim worn. He wiped it with a handkerchief and looked through again, his eyes straining to make out the form in the dark. But, with years of practice, he swiftly found the spot.

It was certainly something. Now the moon’s light was coming down over the sea, and dawn was approaching, it was somewhat more defined. There looked to be two masts, muffled by billowing sails, and webs of lines, but clear enough. A small sail could be set over the poop deck, but he couldn’t tell. It’s girth was large, and he thought it must have at least two, if not three decks below the waterline. So it was bigger than them. In certain sense that was a good thing; they ought to be able to outrun it.

However, if it was armed, they would have another issue. A ship that large could boast guns with impressive range, so Saratoga had learned the hard way a few years ago.

Lowering the glass, he pulled his large coat closer around him, tucking in his beard. The cold, salty breeze that flew swift over the sea would have been refreshing, and cool in the intense heat of the day. Then the sun would fire down stifling rays, and the strong wind would be a perfect counterbalance. These were temperate, easy waters, much plied by all the nations like a crossroads. So perhaps it was only a merchant vessel, braving close proximity to The Cragged Teeth in exchange for the favourable southerly wind. Still, all the more reason to avoid the area. News would travel fast. He shivered, temperate in the day at least; this night the air was chilling.

He heard a creak, and turned.

“H’llo? Burner?” He spoke into the stillness. Only the rocking of the ship, and the rhythmic slapping of loose lines that it induced answered.

“Odd.” He muttered, heading up to the helm he found no one there. “Idiot Void.” He must’ve been too tired to remember to wake the next helmsmen.

The Captain checked their compass heading in the dim light. At least the wind was more or less guiding them. He swung the wheel over a tad; they hadn’t drifted much off course.

Perhaps it was Burner. Perhaps that was the creak; Void had woken him, he’d just fallen asleep on the steps.

“Idiot Burner then.”

Heading down he slid his hand along the rail, and pulled it away in surprise when a sharp splinter pricked it. There was a small piece of the rail ripped out, it looked recent, with bits of thin splintered wood hanging half-heartedly on; even as he brushed it again some fell off. Was it from the explosion? A piece of rock of metal might have flown by and chipped it off. Yet, it didn’t even look wet, most of the ship had undergone a terrific shower after the blast, this was still dry.

Seeing no motive for anyone on his crew to have done it, he filed it away in the back of his mind to be pondered later, and continued. Onto one of the two possible idiots.

Burner wasn’t on the stairs, which mildly disappointed Saratoga. Meanwhile Void was snoring in his hammock; with nothing but a guess and an odd creak to go on the Captain felt it would be a touch too far to wake him. But, William, he was nowhere to be seen amongst the hammocks.

Perplexed Saratoga made a quick circuit of the deck, stealthily stealing along beside the slumbering crew, and weaving in and around the scattered barrels (he hadn’t really had time to organise things before they got underway) but turned up nothing. He ducked into the hold for a second but it was so packed he doubted anyone could be under there without him hearing it. Finally he ended up at his little cabin in the aft, he opened the door without really thinking there would be anyone on the the other side.

There wasn’t, although, his brow furrowed, something about his charts looked off, was that how they’d looked when he’d left them? They were messy yes, but, were they… precisely messy in that exaact manner?

Shaking his head, he closed the door and headed back up top. The suspicion that had filled Staggerfell seemed to have gotten to him. The rocking might’ve ruffled the charts, and maybe his ship was developing a few new creaks.

“Hello Captain.” William said from where he stood behind the helm up on the poop deck.

Saratoga whirled, mouth agape. This was all too much; he had half a mind to scold the mate, but he’d been up more already than he intended. Someone was at the helm that was all the mattered. Now to catch a little rest before dawn.

Percy Jarsson

Percy counted to three hundred in his head after the captain’s door shut, before he carefully eased himself from his hammock. The boards under him creaked almost imperceptibly, but, alert, he heard them and stopped, crouching. Still nothing moved for what must’ve been a minute, so he proceeded. With similar caution and dexterity, he made it too the entrance to the hold.

With its old hinges, lifting the hatch took almost as long as it had to walk there, and he cursed the captain for wandering about so much. Now he only had maybe an hour and a half before dawn. At last it yielded quietly, and he crept below.

The steps barely made a noise, but once his feet hit the floor, he realised the sheer bulk of stuff down there. A deck above it was mostly barrels, lashed to the floor or the inner sides of the hull. But here, anything went. Barrels were large, barrels were small, crates were stacked on crates, and nets and bags hung in lumps from everything. A queer odour filled the air, fish and salted meat probably; spices of different types definitely; and gunpowder as well. What was in and under everything Percy almost didn’t want to know. Most of it would be illegal for sure. Alcohol! That was the other smell. With such a clutter he no longer expected to get this done tonight.

Nonetheless, picking his way slowly through the clutter, he began to comb the ship. His hands brushing over every beam and spar, feeling for cracks, or splinters, worn spots or hollow rotten ones. Every vulnerability (and every strength) needed to be accounted for. His plan must be calculated to perfection. No chance could be left for error. He needed to know this ship better than its captain of ten years.

It would be a long night.

1132 words