The Blood of Their Brothers
The light broke up slowly over the windowsill, as the early morning humidity seeped in through the small window that faced out towards the ocean, nearly touching the height of the two story room. It was relatively dark, only lit by three small windows high off the ground, far out of arm's length. The room was long, not wide, a stone, bricked floor lying across, the walls made of heavy, thick, wood planks that ran up vertically in a single stride. A lone door sat on the right wall, up at the front, locked from the outside. Only a little, terribly creaky bed and a French flag decorated the room, both sitting on the left wall, where the side shined in, with a mirror sitting on the short, front wall. The waves crashed violently outside by the sporadic crashing sounds from the nearby cliff, so much so that some managed to hop over the railing, to the side of the building where the room was.
Delmaria stood staring in to the window, as he buttoned the royal blue sack vest, button by golden button. The outfit he wore was lavish - at his head, a blue feathered hat, rimmed around the side by a thin golden outlining. A linen, ocean blue long-sleeved shirt sat underneath the beautiful vest, cutting down in to a deep-V, and then parting off at the bottom, just at the mid-thigh. Gold buttons ran down it up until below the groin, with a rich yellowish-gold sash tying around the waste, and then hanging down at the side. His pants were a dark blue, tight and linen, with a thin gold streak running down the side. The feet were covered by a blackish-blue pair of boots, with little silver cotton balls at the side and front to add a little effect. Delmaria smirked at himself as he fixed the last button, and then walked back over to the bed, where the final piece laid. It was a long, heavy, leather, blue coat, with silver buttons running down the side. Picking it up reminded Delmaria of lost memories, as he rubbed his right arm, where a fleur-de-lis sat.
Delmaria was a privateer in his young adulthood, after recently travelling to the Caribbean. After voyaging from Padres as a stowaway aboard a grain ship heading to Port Royal, Delmaria found himself with barely any food, gold, or other necessities. Meeting up with Nelson in the Rowdy Rooster, who would develop to become a long time friend of his, he was redirected the the newly founded French station of Ile D'Etable de Porc.
Upon arriving, Delmaria was instantly welcomed to by the little-known Pirate Lord known as Pierre le Porc. Delmaria was trained like the best, to become the best - everything he learned about the seas, he learned from Porc himself, alongside a few of his finest captains.
With their help, Darkskull rose quickly through the abstract ranks of sailing notoriety, until he became one of the most revered privateers to sail under the French flag. He grew to claim so many ships and crew men in his own personal fleet; he began to challenge the presence of Porc himself. And that, did not please the Pirate Lord.
Porc began to try and smother Darkskull, knowing that allowing his command to grow further would cause for a possible break-away from the French, leaving Porc subject to a final, lethal blow from the Spaniards. Slowly but surely, Delmaria was being disabled by his own benefactor, first being cut off from vital ammunition supplies, then crew, and even ships themselves. Seeing as to what was going on, Delmaria forged up his crew right before a deciding battle that might have just wiped out Avaricia, and instead, led a surprise attack against the French island, ironically ramming the bow of his ship in to the middle of a crowded area on the island (which is still jammed there today.) Within a matter of hours, Darkskull's crew had managed to break down an entire mecca of stores and buildings that had built themselves on the island, thriving under the prosperity of the island at the time. However, as Delmaria led his final assault on Porc himself, he and his crew were fired on by the remaining amount of loyal privateers, despite the definition in the Pirate's Code.
Porc received criticism from his fellow Pirate Lords for going against the Pirate Code, and was even stabbed in the hand by Captain Teague with a dining knife during a meeting at Shipwreck Cove. However, he simply denied his wrong-doing, on the grounds that "Privateers did not have to follow a code outlined for Pirates." By the end of the battle, a majority of the privateers, and the island's population, had been slaughtered, causing unreversable damage to the island, and thusly resulting in the state it is today. Only recently had merchants begun to return to the island, with specific orders by Porc to not remove the bow of the War Frigate, to keep it "as a beacon of victory over the wicked!"
However, it didn't stop there. Delmaria was condemned to death by Porc for treason, but was freed by an underground radicalist group known as the Libertists, for his actions against "one of the many tyrants of the Caribbean" (Delmaria would later become one of the higher members within the Libertists, now slowly attempting to get his crew involved in the secret organization.) Porc slowly began to shape his privateer force in to less of a mercenary group, and more in to a dictator-run militaristic city-state, with him as the sole "King." Delmaria has made few visits to the island since his outlawing, but when he did, they were mainly on undercover work within the complex systems of the island.
As Delmaria tugged the coat on, one of the guards busted through the locked door. "Porc is waiting."
1
The wind blew strongly as the fierce waves below crashed more and more. The skies were still clear from the day before, with the addition of a few minor clouds here and there. Armadas of ships raised their blue, red, and white flags, embellished with their own unique crest to symbolize their unity, yet individuality. Thousands of privateers moved through the maze of tents that lined the long beach below, the sun peaking over the horizon out across the bay. They all seemed to be a single body, dressed in the same strong, heavy blue color, moving all which ways like the swaying waves of the ocean. They efforted to mobilize quickly, crowding ammunition stores to ferry boxes over to the readying War Ships.
Delmaria was escorted up a ramp-like rope bridge to a covered, wooden platform, the deck area of the building he was previously in. A desk sat across him, with a man in a long, blue coat leaning over the far railing, long out over the bustling port. His red hair swifted a little as he turned to face the pirate, and he smiled, triumphantly, seeing his oldest enemy bound in chains, wearing his army's uniform. He shifted back and forth as he slowly walked over, motioning his guards to leave them in peace. His make-up was more prominent this morning; Darkskull struggled to hold back his laughter, as the pirate lord said, "Ah, if it is not Delmaria Darkskull. Good to be back in the place you belong, is it not?"
"I assure you, it's not as thrilling as you intended." Delmaria commented as he walked forward with his enemy to the far railing.
"Look at this," Porc motioned his hand outward. "You could not have chosen a better time to drop in, no? We are once again on the verge of victory over the Spanish, the day I have long waited for! And how appropriate you will get me there, hah! I swear, my comrade, history only chooses to repeat itself.. but today, I will be history's author!"
"You keep telling yourself that. You fuel your little imagination on the suffer of other people. Within time, they'll figure your little game out. And by that time, you'll be back where you belong - beneath my feet."
"Well, Mr. Darkskull, that's where our paths end to intersect,. You see, today, I have planned many things... but it would be so unfortunate if your ship was just chosen to head out against the Spanish... along the front lines? And if it just so happened a rogue bullet, of friendly fire, mind you, poked through your neck, right..." he pointed a bony finger at the jugular of the pirate's neck. "..there. Yes, so unfortunate, it would be."
"Don't get your hopes up. I've cheated death plenty of times, and I highly doubt Death has worse aim than one of your little cronies."
Suddenly, a massive migraine shot through Delmaria's head. He collapsed to the ground, his chained hands gripping around his head. As he writhed in pain, flopping back and forth on the floor, his vision flashed wildly before him, in quick, bright lights. He heard shouts, screams... fire. He looked in to the cold stare of Death, and was pushed back before they touched.
His eyesight cleared up, the Pirate Lord standing over the pirate, taunting him and calling him names. Delmaria was overcome by a sudden urgency, as a great gust of wind blew out across the island. In act of desperation, he rocketed his leg upward, slamming it in to the groin of Porc. As the man fell to the ground, Darkskull struggled to his feet, and sprinted across the platform, down the ramp, and on to the soft grass before it.
Instantly, a roar ripped across from behind, so extensively loud and crushing it deafened any sense of sound Delmaria had. He spun around, still lying on the ground, to see a flurry of cannonballs rip through the tower he just stood on, splitting the wood banisters and walls that supported the structure. In seconds, the majority of it was reduced to splinters, toppling over in the opposite direction from Delmaria in a heavy swoop. He sat there in his own world for a moment, quietly staring at the pile. At last, he was dead.
He turned his attention out to the bay, where the lead came from. A group of the awfully familiar black, tattered, skeleton-like ships lined the waters, pumping round after merciless round in to the island. Darkskull crawled over towards the cliff were the waves carried by the wind sprayed in his face, lying down still giving him a vantage point past the rubble of the tower, to the beach.
The crowds ran amuck as the cannon fire poured down, bringing death and destruction against the tent cities that had been set up. Pockets of fire tore through every fragment of cloth, metal, and anything flammable as people tried to break through the crowds, to some form of protection up in the hills, or in the bay. Men, women, and children alike fell over, either crushed by the cannonballs, or trampled by the stampede of people. Smoke flew across the island, blurring his vision far off.
A deep hand wrapped around his arm from behind, dragging him away from his spot, towards a little area off at the side of the island, between the end of the hills, which dropped off in a rounded cliff, and the edge of the island, creating a narrow way to the back of the island. He bumped and rocked over the dirt and grass of the island as the sounds of terror in the port faded, finally rounding the rock, to a small crevice between the edge and a boulder. He laid his back against the wall, and looked up to meet Lawrence, who was working at cutting the chains with his dagger. "What in God's name is going on!?"
"Ssshh...." he whispered as he finally cut through the chains, pulling Delmaria up to a standing position. He continued as Delmaria tugged the ridiculously heavy coat off. "Roger... he's attacking the island. By the looks of it, it's not just a usual attack... he's getting closer, meaning he's going to attempt to invade."
Delmaria sighed heavily, putting his hands in his face, and rubbing. "Are all the survivors on higher ground?"
"Aye."
"How much time do you think we have before they decide to land?"
"An hour at most."
"We'll work with it." Delmaria commanded as he rounded back around the cliff, heading up through the front.
2
The survivors all sat down huddled in to little balls across the extent of the elevated, grassed area, covered with a luscious rooftop of trees, providing shade. They cried and screamed, thousands of people huddled in to such a limited length. They leaned of each other, rocking back and forth, crying, sobbing, coughing, screaming in outright grief and despair. Soot covered their faces, their clothes drenched in water, sweat, and blood. The blood of their brothers.
Delmaria, Lawrence, and John carried a large crate to the center of the plateau, in a little opening between a few of the people. As they laid down the box, Delmaria caught the eye of a small child. He huddled alone, with a small sailor doll clutched to his chest, soot across his face. He looked up at the fearsome pirate, and talked in French to the man. Delmaria couldn't decipher it, but he made out one word - mother.
Darkskull stepped up on to the soapbox and shouted, trying to get their attention. When they didn't respond, he sighed, and whipped out his pistol, shooting it up in the air. They immediately snapped to attention, fear residing in the sound of another gunshot. He cleared his throat as the masses turned to him. "That's better. Who were can speak English?" Delmaria questioned. The majority of the people raised their hands, wearily. "Good enough.
"My friends. We sit here today, concerned, scared. In fear. And for what? Are we simply going to sit here, and allow them to come to us without resisting? Shall we just condemn ourselves to death now, and save them the trouble? Shall we let them come and take our children, our women, our valuables, and our lives? Our shall we take a stand?
"I, for one, refuse to die without a fight. I have lived too long to go down in vein! I will not sit here, and let you all perish at the hands of them!" He motioned outward towards the sea. Slowly, they began to nod, murmur agreements, and wipe their eyes dry. "We will leave this day today, not in a box, but on our feet! And we will walk across through the shadow of the valley of death, we will look the Devil himself in the eye, and we, will, LAUGH!" Delmaria shouted in a crescendo. A few men in the crowd stood up, yelling excitedly, willing to fight.
"We will slay those that wish to destroy our way of life, for they underestimate what it truly means to be free! We will no longer have to live in fear, unsure that we can not take a punch and deliver one back! We will make our stand today, and we will leave precedent our children, our children's children, and generations to come, showing them what it means to be unbound!"
The crowd instantly began to erupt, in a scream of challenging and triumphant roars and cries. They stood, jumped, and raised their arms as one, willing to take the fight to the aggressors. They rallied behind Delmaria, sending waves, nods, and other good gestures in his direction. "Good," he whispered to himself. "Now we're getting somewhere."
3
Within minutes, the elevated forest area of the island had been transformed in to a bustling hub, groups of ready-and-rough pirates and privateers running back and forth with anything that could be useful. A small tent had been furbished at the center, where the box Delmaria stood on had originally stood, now acting as the center of the revolution. A desk salvaged from the wreckage of the tower laid out an old map of the entire island, showing each and every feature, bend, curve, and structure. The table was surrounded by Delmaria, Lawrence, Andrew, John, and a few of Porc's former captains.
Delmaria pointed down to an area on the map, near the rising of the hill. "Set up a barricade that runs out from the brink of the hill, across to the tavern. Be sure to reinforce the area closest to the hill, so they can't climb up. Run a couple of gunpowder barrels embedded inside the length of the barricade, and take any of the alcohol you can salvage from the tavern, and stock it up next to the fireplace in a nice, big pile. We'll need somebody to stand at a distance from the tavern, with a musket. When I give the signal, that person will shoot in to the tavern, and in to the bottom barrel of the pile. If it goes as planned, the explosion caused by the bullet, mixed with the pile collapsing in to the fire, will cause a big enough explosion that ignites the rest of the barricade, causing a string of parallel explosions that will easily knock out the first dozen lines, and probably more, if he brings along his Keg runners."
"I'll be the shooter." Lawrence steps up, without a flinch. The crew looks at him, unsure if he is bluffing.
Delmaria turns to him. "Lawrence.. are you..."
"Captain. I was raised on this island. I'm prepared to die on it."
Delmaria nodded, motioning a nearby man to throw Lawrence over a musket. As he captures the glistening gun in his hands, he runs off, giving a nod to his captain.
"Alright. I want a row of sharpshooters here, here, and here. We'll line up our combatants behind the barricade, and they'll play cat and mouse until the undead can create a thick enough of a line that we can do some serious damage. Also, keep some gunpowder storage along the edge of the cliffs, in case they get.... ferocious."
"And if we fail?" One of the captains muttered.
"We won't."
4
The sky blackened overhead as the final crates were thrown on to the hill barricade, the wind kicking up high the waves, some five meters up on to the beach. The clouds swirled overhead ominously, the trees rocking violently back and forth, as the masses of makeshift soldiers readied themselves in their assigned positions. Groups of men lined behind the barricade, wielding weaponry from cutlasses, to shovels, to broadswords, to brooms. Along the sloping edges of the grassy cliff, the lesser of the fighters sat their quietly with guns in their laps, fiddling with how exactly they could pull the trigger. Andrew, who was leading that group, kicked one of them, who was prepared to shoot themselves in the leg.
Off in the distance on an adjacent cliff, far behind the tavern, Lawrence sat their quietly, and alone. He meditated there, looking back on his life. He wondered to himself if it was worth living, and what his impact would be on the world. He was determined that if could not have done something monumental in the past, he would do it here.
Delmaria stood under his tent, along, running his hand over the blade of his golden cutlass. He sighed heavily, taking in the world. The heavy shifting of the trees, the glazing of the wind, the crashing of the trees, the obedience of his new army. He reflected not only on the moment, but on himself. Was he prepared to do this? Was he ready?
Delmaria tugged on his usual black leather coat, slipping his hand comfortably in to his pocket. Yet, he felt something. It wasn't gold, it wasn't a trinket, but it was.. something. He pulled it out slowly, and looked over the old pair of rosary beads. The same rosaries that woman had left behind during the attack on Port Royal. He clenched them in his fist, and kissed his hand, placing it back delicately in to his pocket. He immediately swooped up his cutlass, and ran to his men.
"Get ready me hearties! Today be the day that we show the world what we are - free!" The word gave them another strong, prominent rally cry, waving their weapons above their heads. But they were silenced by the crack off lightning on the horizon. Delmaria turned to see that eerie green fog roll in to the harbor. It was time.
The Undead stormed up the beach heavily, and quickly. Dozens, then hundreds swarmed up to the barricade, as the sharpshooters on the cliff fired down one by one at the invaders. They were picked off, but it wasn't enough to slow the process of the gruesome creatures that trenched up the beach. They moved across from both sides of the shipwright building, which was now set aflame by a few skeletons who carried along with them a few pieces of witchcraft.
The first direct blow was laid on a skeleton as he approached the barricade. This initiated the outbreak of war, both sides swarming from different sides of the barricade to take a knock at each other. They ducked, dodged, jumped, and lunged, trying to swing their way in to the enemy. The humans were far more resilient than the skeletons - but the skeletons had numbers.
They came again and again. When one fell, two rose out of the waters. They had flocked the entire side of the beach, pushing with a great, sweeping motion to try and break through the barricade. Delmaria ran up to the top of the hill, and screamed out "LAWRENCE, SHOOT!", right as the barricade toppled over.
Prince readied his gun as he watched the hundreds of undead pour on to the humans, mixing the battle in to a soup of violence and war. He pointed his gun straight down, a clear shot through the open back door, at the bottom barrel of the tavern pile. As he clicked the trigger, he realized that the gun was jammed. A no go.
It took him no time, no hesitation. Prince immediately stood up and ran in the direction he faced, down the slight slope, towards the tavern. Delmaria, who fought off a rogue skeleton as he scanned for Lawrence, saw his first mate dash in to the tavern. "No..." he whispered.
Lawrence slid to the base of the pile, and began to push with all his might. But the weight was far too overwhelming for him, and he rocked back in to a sitting position. He turned to a loud banging noise at the front of the tavern; the undead were attempting to bust down the door.
Prince jumped up, and walked casually over to the bar. He took a deep swig of a bottle of rum that layed out on the counter, taking a heavy breath. He turned around, the bottle in his hand. And faced the door. He took a final gasp of air, and let it out with a smile, as the skeletons burst through the door. As he looked in their eyes, he smiled, and said "Go back to hell, you dog." He took up the rum bottle in his hand, and threw it out, across the room - in to the fireplace.
Delmaria fell back on to his back as the initial explosion rocked. All he saw was a fireball rocket in to the sky, followed by a string of rapid, strong explosions that ran across the barricade. Fire and shrapnel ran widely, scattering across the entire battlefield. Screams of terror and pain rang out through the island, but to the humans, this was good - they were coming from the undead.
It was a sight to see. Thousands of bags of bones, screaming, running, writhing in pain, set aflame by the explosion. Some slanked to the floor in a heap, others tried to kill themselves with their weapons. And the rest, ran back, back across the hill, the beach, the sand, to the ocean.
They had won.
The pirates threw up all they had, screaming and crying in joy, dancing over the destruction and rubble. Husbands hugged their wives, mothers hugged their sons, brothers embraced their brothers. For the first time of that day, there was a new hope - a hope of freedom, not from government, not from dictators, or tyrants, but a freedom from fear. They reveled, not caring what the future held for them. All they knew is that they survived, and that the future was bright.
Delmaria paid no attention to the celebration - he ran to the fiery remains if the tavern, a simple pile of ash and rubble set at a blaze. He threw away whatever he could - tables, scraps, chairs, anything that could be moved. He went in to the middle of the chaos, searching wildly. This victory to them would be a loss to him.
Finally, he gave up. He feel back on to his heels, his head down. He took off his hat, and laid it down on the floor in front of him. As he fought back his tears, he pulled out the rosaries from his pocket, and put them out before his hat. He took a deep sigh, and questioned not God, but himself. Why had he let this happen?
And then, a tap. A tap on the shoulder. Delmaria turned slowly and reluctantly, to a bruised, burnt, soot-covered face. "Captain, did you honestly doubt my speed?"
And that was the one time Delmaria Darkskull cried in front of somebody. His first mate.