[Captain Del]

Sorry this took so long, never got around the time to finishing this. Well, my pretties, here you go:

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June 29th, 1724
Northeast of Rio Hacha, Fort of St. Peter Claver
12:26 PM

The sun beat down viciously from it's stronghold in the sky straight above the enclosed mouth, one of the many that danced around the large coast. The clear blue skys were nearly the exact opposite of the abandoned fort. From the beach, it sat a large distance away, some fifteen meters away. It was a daunting sight, the dark, tarnished, stone fort standing as though it were a single, thick wall. The only opening at it's front was a large archway, nearly touching the very top of the front wall, which hid in small, square peeks a walkway within the fort, used to patrol back and forth. It would have been a fearsome sight, except for the fact it had lost it's care with it's soldiers dead and gone. It was now rambled, fallen apart, veins twining around it. What would have been challenging view to any foe, was nothing better than laughable.

Merchant tents dotted all around the outside of the fort, though it looked like the majority of the activity occurred within the fort. There were many pirates from many places, selling many things - Far Eastern pirates selling rare, eccentric silks, West African pirates selling crazy, often hideous furs, only caught by the strange eye of Delmaria himself. To think this mere failure of a Spanish fort had become a heavan of commerce.

The two crews of pirates, those of the Shark and the Queen, ported themselves in the makeshift bay, and took seperate row boats towards the renegade port. When they docked, they continued to exchange strange glances and glares, studying each others features, the two crews of two different worlds. One raised off of blood and hatred in the lands of Northern Europe, the others born of freedom and heart within the Caribbean. The only two who did not even give each other a blink were Delmaria and Leanne, both dressed in flamboyant, boasting outfits, making their presence known. Pirates among pirates.

They instructed their crews, who slowly began to converge in a thick atmosphere of distrust, towards the entrance of the fort, parting the dazzled crowd of pirates they passed. As the shadows of the archway cloacked them, Leanne spoke over to Darkskull "How does it feel to walk in the footsteps of Sir Francis Drake, Mr. Darkskull?" she taunted in an elegant, "better-than-you" tone.

"More common than you'll ever have the pleasure of knowing." He volleyed back, in the same tone.

By now they had walked themselves in to the thick of the black market before them. The wide, open fort was filled with tents and booths, clustered and cluttered all across the way. Pirates and merchants of all nationalities raced back and forth like ants, screaming bids for rare items, fighting, shouting, running away with as much stuff as their hands could carry. Above the orderly chaos, where the walkways that hid behind the top of the fort walls were, a small militia of hired mercenaries walked back and forth, protecting the area from any sign of unwelcomed visitors. A few of them on the wall of to the group's right took the time to glare down at them suspiciously, looking as though they were prepared to fire the muskets they kept at hand. Slowly they turned their attention back outward, and the group of pirates went on their way.

The majority of the group had split up before they even began their way through the shops. Grace and Wisdom had become entranced by a group of witchdoctors from Africa selling their crafts and ominous trinkets. Firesteel, Lawrence, and Andrew made their way over to a small blacksmithing tent. The rest went about their way, wandering through the tides of people, as they swayed back and forth, left and right, like the confused waves of the ocean.

Leanne tugged at the sleeve of Delmaria's long coat as he was guided through the masses of pillagers and privateers. At each and every turn, his eye was caught by a different object, treasure, relic, from lands near and far. The colors, the pure diversity of the atmosphere swirled around him at an atonishing rate. This simple hide-away for thieves and scoundrels was not all of that only, but it was a melting pot, where ideas could be transferred, goods could be bought and sold. An urban mecca of outlaws, this was.

Delmaria was awoken from his blank stare at the world when he and Leanne came to an abrupt stop. He looked around furiously to see where they had ended up. They were in the farthest northwestern corner of fort, where the first few slivers of shade began to lure down from a tall, disshelved guard tower that sat above them. The life was less dense here, only a few people walking by here and there. It seemed as though they were afraid of what they were passing - heads down, eyes wandering away, feet in a near-sprint. After combing the area, he looked to what sat before him.

Craddled in the corner of the fort was a medium-sized, royal purple tent, elegantly curving itself inward, then upward in a magnificent spire. The vertexes where the various silk walls merged were painted in a rich, shining gold color, bright and knightly as the sun. Around the tent sat assortments of rugs, golden trinkets, silverware and furniture, and on-going racks of Near-Eastern weaponry. Directly before them sat two loose folds of material on the tent, acting as a stately doorway in to the realm of convergence for the lands of Asia, Africa and Europe. A burly, heavily tanned man stood at the entrance, standing in a very authoritative stance, legs wide, arms crossed, eyes firmly glaring down at the two pirates. Leanne shockingly stepped foward, meaning Delmaria was to follow.

The guard began to ramble some foreign Arabic tongue at the two. He was unsure what he was saying, but by the tone of his voice, he didn't seem particularly happy. By the time he finished his savage rant, Leanne had already planned out her moves. She shyly stepped foward, not even dazed by the horrifying sight before them, and slowly began to roll out a strange list of words and statements, in the exact same tongue as the man. She only showed a pleasant emotion, but it was obvious by the way the man at the door had calmed down that she had been working her magic. After she finished, she bowed her head in thanks, and the man opened the curtain, allowing entrance.

The two pirates stepped in to what looked like the Arabic version of a gypsy tent. It had a very soft, majestic mood to it - there was barely any solid furniture, and if it were solid, it was gold. The rest of the room was simple pillows, arranged so neatly and finely that it looked as though a king dwelled within these quarters. It was also extensively dark in the room, due to the lack of openings in the tent. Still, a few candles that were scattered around the room pointed out the finest details of the tiger-patterned fabrics that lined the room. At one of the small circles of pillows sat a very elderly man, nearly completely covered; the only part of his body that you saw was a few parts of his faces, and the tips of his fingers. A long, snowy, winding beard poked out through the small piece of cloth that covered his chin and neck at the front, lowering in a straight line all the way to the middle of his stomach. He wore a large, regal turban atop his head, graced at the front with a silver plate, and a single birds feather. The man sat at his little circle, writing something with his slow and shaken hands down on a piece of parchment, on a little glass table that stood before him. Only before they stepped closer were the pirates noticed.

His dark, tanned skin contrasted deeply with his bright, glazing eyes. They peered directly through them, soft, aged, learned. Unlike the guard, he smiled at their sight. He spoke to them in an old, cracked, Middle-Eastern voice, "Ah, marhaba!, my guests. Salam aw aleikum!"

Before Leanne could respond, Delmaria cut her off, "Wa aleikum ah salam, mate." He nodded in a friendly way as he walked towards the man.

"An English man? Very interesting..." He turned his attention to Leanne, running his eye up and down her. "And an Irish woman... lovely, indeed... should you two be in lock?"

The rapidly shook their heads. "No, no, my friend," Delmaria assured.

"Ah, I see. Very well then. What is it that brings you here? The truths of life, of love loved and lost, of happiness?"

Without a verbal response, O'malley simply winked at the man.

"Ah, yes.." The old man clapped his hands twice. "Jad, bring our welcomed visitors.. the storage." He choked to a man behind him. They had not noticed anybody there, but only a few seconds later, sure enough, a man clothed in the same way as the elder, only much, much younger, came in carring a heavy roll of cloth. He laid it down perfectly on the table, and immediately resumed his post at the back wall of the tent.

The old man unraveled the cloth to reveal a wide assortment of daggers. Some were large, shining, curved, dark, straight, winding, simple, complex, iron, steel, copper, cobalt; all of them were beautiful. But all Leanne did was chuckle as she said "It would be better if you could show us your.. special.. storage." She winked at the man. Dishonored, he beckoned Jad towards him again, whispering something in his ear. He turned and disappeared back to the hidden end of the tent, and then, sure enough, he returned moments later, this time carrying with him a single leather sheath. He laid it down on to the table, and once again returned to his post.

Leanne reached out in curiousity and picked up the sleak leather container. It was in two parts, one small end, which held in it the handle, and the other, which held the blade. Slowly and carefully, she revealed the handle first. It's handle was much longer than it's width, curling in a majestic curve, starting from where it met the blade, keeping itself straight for a few moments, and then drastically yet evenly and beautifully beginning to curve. The handle itself was a deep, shiny, metalic black, most likely obsidian, crafted to make small, detailed designs on the dagger, depicting beasts from old lore in the East.

Already mistified, she wrapped her jeweled hand around the dagger, clenching it protectively. She slowly uncovered the blade, to reveal a what they all believed was a masterpiece, shockingly astounding and tantalizing to the eye. The blade began it's ascent shifting alightly from side to side, in a slowly curving fashion, making it's way outward to the same side the point of the hilt pointed to. Then, as it hit it's peak like the waves of the ocean, it broke itself in the other direction, spiraling in to a point, formulating a half circle at it's end that was a pinch longer than that of the hilt's spin. The blade had little rifts and dips in it, creating the illusion of the waves curling through the seas. But it's most magical aspect, was what it looked like. The blade was, itself, the sea. It was blue, but not just one shade. They were mixed together, light, dark, navy, royal, all in one, changing a shifting, peaking in differnent areas, then fading away, only to pop again in another place. As well as this, it flowed, too. It looked as though there were waves of the ocean within the blade, swaying, dancing, breaking, crashing, flowing. The dagger was not moving, yet what was within the dagger was.

Leanne held it so intently, not giving any attention at all to the world around her. The man spoke out to break her amazement. "You like it, yes?"

Her head nodded slowly, still struck by the awesome sight. "It's.. it's the most beautiful sight that I've ever... I.." she stammered, at a loss for words.

"Yes. I sensed your desire for the blade. Normally such a product would go for a high price, but for you, my queen," he bowed his head in a childish, humorous, and kind manner, "you may take it with you."

"Oh-ho! Wh-wh-why thank you,... uh..."

"No need for names. And it is my pleasure, seeing as how you were going to kill me for it anyway."

Leanne was flustered, embarrassed almost, and about to respond, when a loud crack rang out from behind them. It sounded like a heavy musket shot, but before they could respond to it, an entire flurry, a hailstorm of fire erupted from outside, scaring the two pirates, and jolting them towards the old man, who had sat opposite from them. He still sat there, firm as a rock. Unchanged.

The door guard came rushing it, blood splattered across his chest and lower face. He brought in with him the noise and screaming of a thousand men and women, which was depicted through the sliver of the scene that went on, as the guard held the flap of curtain a little open with his arm behind his back. He began shouting loudly in his native tongue, and two cloaked men from the back room came in, and helped the old man up. As he was helped towards the back, he called over his shoulder. "Run, my children! May your winds be fair!" The guardsmen followed hurriedly behind the two men that walked with the elder, and pulled a massive cloak behind him. When the two began to pick themselves up, they noticed a small speck of red forming at the bottom of the cloaked that the guard entered.

Fire.

The two pirates bursted themselves out of the tent, back in to the daylight. Waves of people ran back and forth, pushing and ramming in to each other, tripping and falling - a near fatal thing in this instance - trying their very best to get out of that forsaken fort. It didn't take too long for another shot to ring out. Delmaria looked in it's direction, at the very top of the fort, along the walkway. It was a Navy soldier, shooting down at the pirates like they were caged mice. His eyes continued along the top, until he realized that the guards previously patrolling the top of the fort were simply disguised British soldiers. Fantastic.

O'Malley had already bursted out in a sprint, and had vanished like a ghost in to the crowd. Delmaria began running back towards the original entrance he and his crew had entered, pushing random people out of his way. Not like they would mind, afterall, seeing as how everybody was most likely focused on not getting themselves shot. When he bumped himself against a thick wall of pirates trying to rush down that single aisle, he made his way over to side, and jumped opver one of the benches that would have divided the buyer from the seller. He made his way down the smaller, much more cluttered path, hidden by an umbrella of sheets that covered the tops of the little various shops. He jumped, ran, hopped, and stubled, until finally he had bursted hit last bit of energy in to sprinting his way through a wall of people, and breaking out in to the port area down by the beach.

Pirates of plenty different ships and crews were randomly piling themselves in to dinghies that lined the beach, desperately doing anything they could to escape the massacre going on within the "freebooters' castle." Darkskull managed to squeeze his way in to one about to launch from in to that bay, and took up a paddle to push his way out. He noticed that Buck was the same dinghy as him, but he was too distracted and determined to take a second and acknowledge him.

Those aboard the dinghy were instructed to get out as soon as they saw their ship, as there was no time to go to each ship one by one. Thankfully, the Shark was parked close to the shore, so as soon as Buck and Del caught eye, they plunged in to the warm, rough waters. With so many ships hurrying out of port, the water had been churned signficantly, making it very hard to swim. By the time they had managed to lift themselves up on to the ship, they were exhausted, heavily gasping for air. The rest of the crew, who had left for the ship before trouble arose, helped Delmaria and Buck in to the Captain's Quarters, which was only open to visitors in the event a pirate was badly injured. As they did this, Lawrence began their way out of port. In the corner of his vision, Delmaria looked to see if the Queen was still there. It wasn't.

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Delmaria was stripped out of his wet clothes, and had them replaced with a much lighter, more airy attire. He laid himself out on a large, cushiony bed inside his cabin, and took a moment to close his eyes and relax. At this time, Firesteel came through the door with a note in his hand. Without a word, he placed it in to his captain's hands, and walked silently outward. Unfolded, the note read:


Del,

Luckily, while you were off in your usual daze, I was able to scribble this and hand it to your crew before you and I left port. I apologize for my abrupt leave from your side, but it was simply too dangerous for us to stay in the same place. Rest assured, my crew and I are fine, with the dagger in tow.

If you would prefer, I am seeking refuge in The Samballeos until the current situation calms down. And I highly suggest you join me, as your presence would be comforting to me.

If you don't happen to understand my reasoning, allow me to explain. Word amongst my crew is that Jolly Roger's forces have become increasingly violent ever since his attack on Port Royal failed. Reports of ships and their crews going missing have increased rapidly in the past few days.

Not to mention the kidnappings. One of my mates told me he heard back at the port of man that had lost his son one day when he wandered off in to the Governor's Garden - you know, that forbidden woods behind the mansion? Another says a house was burned down due to "supernatural powers." Interesting indeed.

I would prefer not to allow myself to get caught in the thick of this conflict. Please take in to serious consideration my offer. A "time-off" would be good for pirates such as ourselves.

~ Leanne

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That was definately one of the harder chapters to write, mainly because it is basically a mini-conflict going on in the middle of the story. However, it provided a good reason for a transition, so I'm glad I can use this to continue the overall story. Please remember to comment and critique! Next chapter will be ready soon!