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Aurelia Courville
11-16-2009, 11:01 PM
The rain outside was falling harder, a flash of lightning struck in the distance and five seconds later there was a clap of thunder. There was a man out side of an old rundown bar, the gas lights shown through the dusty windows. Another flash of light, and the man reached for the door, three seconds later another clap of thunder; the storm was getting closer.

Inside, the gas lights giving a dim burnt amber feeling to the room. There were brown leather arm chairs in one corner, looking fit for a gentleman’s cigar club, but occupied by the harshest looking of men, teeth yellowed and blacked with years of not brushing while in the skies and sticking snuff in their mouths.

“I’m telling you it’s there. I was there! The most amazing site you have ever seen.” An old man who looked like he had flown through too many storms to count sat at the bar, nursing a glass of bourbon. It was clear that he was out of his mind, mental either literally or just the amount of alcohol he had consumed.

No one was really listening to him. The bartender just shook his head wiping out a beer mug. No one was really listening except for one man, one of the greatest pirates known to this side of the world.

“I’m sorry sir, did you say the treasure of comoară?” he walked over to the old man, leaning his right arm over the bar. “Are you sure you’ve seen it?”

The bartender shook his head again, while a man on the other end of the bar laughed and said “That mans a fool. Don’t waist your time.”

“Yes I’ve seen it.” The old man said again looking up at the pirate, eyes glazed over.

“So show me.”

---
Captain Edward Thatch, a great captain to be sure, at least, Dolores thought so, other wise he would not have joined his crew. She was a strong woman and she expected any person she followed to be as well. She had overheard him ask, or tell this man, to take him to some place, that to any other normal person, did not exist.

“Captain? “ She had walked up to him from behind, glanced at the old man before turning her back to him. “You can’t be serious. I’m sure we could go after something we know exists.” She would follow anyone that got the job done; she would also be the first person to let them know when she felt they were letting themselves go weak.

She had heard the tales and legends of the treasure of comoară. It started, as most legends did with a subtle over view of the pirate himself, who apparently fit every pirate stereotype you could think of. This was just one of the many reasons Dolores would not believe its truth.


Willy Greenbeard stepped from the jolly boat, the shallow salt water seeped into his left boot through the holes, the wooden stump of his right leg sank slowly into the sand. With his one good eye he surveyed the line of trees about twenty yards away while his parrot, Peggy, who was perched upon his shoulder pecked at the cord which held the patch over his other eye. With the hook on his hand Greenbeard pushed Peggy away, so she took instead to biting his earring.
"Aaargh," he said after a quick glance over his shoulder at his galleon moored in the harbour, "this be a fine place for the buryin' of me treasures."

Honestly, it was sad that these stories were the ones that got passed around. It almost made her want to stab someone. Granted there were pirates around that had eye patches here, a parrot there, fake legs or hands (though none wooden) and such; Pirating was a dangerous career. But you would never see all of it all at once. And, at least for her, the grammar thing was just annoying.

The practice of burying treasure was not a common one. Unless there is a very good reason for keeping treasure hidden it is a waste, not only of time but also of the treasure itself, to bury it. Very few pirates ever amassed such a fortune that it needed to be buried when it could be far better employed in the taverns and brothels. The cargoes which the pirates stole were generally of little value until they could be taken into a port and sold. So for this tale to be correct, Greenbeard would have had to have get a treasure so large, that there was nothing else to do than to send most of it away. And it was very rare for that to be the case. At least, that could have been the only excuse she could think of.

And anyway, the treasure wasn’t really buried, but hidden in a cave, high up on the Valona Mountains, in a cave blanketed by clouds. The problem was, no one knew where Valona was, and more importantly no one wanted to take the dangerously long trip to find it, especially if this treasure didn’t exist.

Dolores Kidd sighed, if they were going to go after it, she would have to seriously re-think this employment on Captain Thatch’s Ship.

Illusionist
11-17-2009, 04:53 AM
Willy Greenbeard was said to be the last great sky pirate, and it was true. He was the last of his kind. He lived by no man's rule but his own, and the nations of the world had no choice but to respect him. His wealth was legendary as was his might. Some compared him to the kings of the time, but it wasn't a fair comparison. Kings owned land, and plenty of it, but Willy owned the sky. He commanded the wind and the rain as if they were but mere hands on his crew. When he died the golden age of sky pirates died with him.

Now pirates were a different breed. They owned little, they followed the rules of tyrannical kings, they were overcome with greed, and more often than not they robbed eachother to get by. There was no honor amongst these thieves. No respect for the history behind their craft. But they weren't totally beyond help. They just needed another man to rally behind. In a drunken stupor many a pirate would reveal his deepest desire: For another man to come along, a man like Willy, and take back the sky, and put things right again. Thatch intended to be that man and when he found an old guy wearing the crest of Greenbeard and rambling about the treasure of Comoară, he knew it was finally time to make his move.

"Show me," Thatch had said to the old man. The man nodded once, and then returned to his bourbon.

“Captain?" Dolores Kidd, his first mate, said to him. “You can’t be serious. I’m sure we could go after something we know exists.”

Kidd was strong willed, practical minded, her wit could be sharp when it needed to be, and, best of all, she wasn't afraid to question the famous Captain Thatch. All these things made her a fine first mate, but she would need a bit more experience before she became a fine pirate. "There is a lot that we don't know," Thatch said, referring only to her when he said 'we'. "But not to worry Kidd, by time we reach the treasure we'll have seen sights that most pirates only hear about in story books."


Thatch's profits were minimal lately. He had stopped going after merchant ships, which were easy targets, and had been targeting the royal freight ships. This was a much more dangerous business, especially considering his crew was fairly new. He spent half of the profits he made repairing and refueling Siren, a third on supplies, and split the rest with his crew. He didn't make much money in the end for his efforts, but his name became even more famous as he rose quickly to the top of the Navy's black lists.

He had the fame, now he needed the funds. "Pay for this man's drink when he's finished," Thatch said to Kidd. "And then bring him to Siren. We leave immediately."

The bartender casted Thatch a curious look, as did the other pirates and drunkards all around. Thatch left the bar, steping out into the pouring rain, which was only a shadow of the storm that was to come that night. He hoped the the crewmen he sent out for supplies had made it back to the ship already. He didn't have time hunt them down. Siren needed to be ready to sail as soon as possible.

Thatch looked up into the dark skies, letting the rain run down his face. It would all be his one day soon. He would usher in the second golden age.

Coldsnap
11-22-2009, 08:47 PM
((Ummm...I haven't posted yet because I don't know where I should be. Help? >> ))

Tranzo
11-24-2009, 11:34 PM
His eyes watched the gears turn. The balloons floated silently in the thickly hulled engineering room, their thick canvas bulging with the feel of the air. Steam hissed out of a valve every five seconds like clockwork. Somewhere in the back of his mind, it was his clock. He'd been down here, staring like an idiot at the ship's machinations, for nearly forty five minutes. It wasn't a waste, though. Someone had to appreciate the symphony of sounds when the great airship was at its gentlest. It was a beautiful machine...now if only he knew what ninety percent of the stuff did. At least it wasn't his job. He knew components and that was all he needed. He idly scratched at his beard, the thick salt-and-pepper lining his angular face, wondering how he'd ended up in such a fascinating position. The man had no complains, no, none at all, but a mere curiosity.

Emmeth heaved a sigh as he opened the bulkhead door, letting the heavy metal seal the room up once more, walked up the stairs, and emerged onto the open deck. His hand shuffled around for something in his pockets. A cracked mahogany calabash found his finger tips, the oldest crew member stuffing it with a light, flavored tobacco by pure muscle memory. He rose it to his lips and gave a few light puffs on the unlit stuff, the light background flavor of black cherries hitting his mouth. A long match struck, gave the pipe a false light, and soon struck with a steady pulse of warmth. He took a light breath and let it escape with another sigh. Simple pleasures were wonderful, even as the night air blew crisply against the face, cold and biting like the fates.

It was remarkable, yes, remarkable indeed. Almost solidly into the mid-life, satisfied in his own wealth, he'd found himself in one of the most famous and yet infamous pirate bands in the age: that of the infallible Captain Thatch. Most people would call him insane for passing the lap of luxury and girls fancying him for more than just looks and charm, but they hadn't been there. It was predictable, the steady doldrums of the high life sickening and never-ending, like a waltz gone on far too long. He felt a sort of sympathy for Captain Thatch that way. Both were well off enough to merely stop on the moment, but they kept sailing. Of course, Captain Thatch didn't know about his position. Nobody did. It wasn't as if he didn't have the cushiest job on the crew: that of a physician. You couldn't have the doc dying early, now could you?

Emmeth's eyes took a long steady look at the darkened skies, lit up by the occasional far-off diamond of a star. He was glad he wore the vest today. He took another drag from his pipe and let it go. You knew you were getting old when wanderlust appealed more than simple lust. He must be the only one still on ship. The man merely smiled and shook his head as his tobacco lightly burned. A rare moment of peace to be enjoyed, that's what this is. The smoke continued to drift, smelling of black cherries.

Coldsnap
12-03-2009, 06:00 PM
The cabin door swung quietly open, allowing the breeze to grab a handful of dark brown ringlets as a small, pale figure slipped halfway into the evening air. "Mister Emmeth?" A small voice called gently, as though trying to blend in with the peaceful atmosphere. "I was just wondering if you would be joining us for tea this evening."
Alice smiled, shivering as the damp air coiled around her ankles. If the flour and cinnamon speckling her apron was any indication, the girl was dressed for the warmth of the kitchens, not a rainy night on deck. "I just pulled some spice muffins out of the oven." She continued, fiddling demurely with the lace on her collar. "They're always better eaten warm and I would hate for everyone to miss enjoying them at their best because the captain is away."

((Sorry all, that's the best I can do today.))