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.
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.