Thank you mates!
I was really eager to write this chapter, so I banged it out quickly, as I foretold. Enjoy
Breaking the Chains
The crew escaped the battle at Havana just barely, squeezing in between a battle between two of the War Ships and fleeing out of there at top speed. They found themselves being followed by one of Leanne's tracker ships - a small, barely sail worthy schooner - but they were able to lose it in a small rock formation about fifty miles east of the Spanish port. Along the way back towards Antilles, they tipped off a few Freebooting ships and French Naval Ships that there was a little skirmish going on in Havana, hoping they would head along and slow any of those ships heading towards Port Royal.
When New Spain finally faded in the background and Cuba rose along the horizon before them, Delmaria began to survey everything. All of the knaves that they had used in the battle against the Corsairs were either captured by the Spanish Guard or ran off back in Havana, but Darkskull always felt it was better to have a small, trusted crew aboard his ship than an army of bilge rats. It was vital to take count of everything, as when they ported, they didn't want the Navy slowing them down over suspicious cargo. It was when the ship came within a hundred miles of Port Royal did trouble arise.
Darkskull awoke that morning to find his ship surrounded by a group of British Navy War Ships. He barked at his crew to quickly ready the cannons, until he realized they were tied on the main deck of the ship. Running down to them, he was faced by a stern, croaking Navy Officer, encircled by a group of his crew mates. Instead of saying anything, he stepped aside to very official looking many dressed in black and white, ruffles and heavy cloak covering him all over the place. He was crowned by a white, powdered wig. He rolled out a scroll of paper, and began reading aloud.
"I am here today, Mr. Darkskull, to present to you your respects from the written will and testimony of Lord Ambrose Royles, who-"
"Will and testimony?" Delmaria cut him off. "What happened to him?"
The Navy Officer interjected. "A bullet that had shot him in the shoulder ensued a very lethal infection, which has left him in a very sickly state. He's not dead, but will be soon."
The man in black continued, "-who has left among his titles and possessions to you, Mr. Delmaria Darkskull, the office of the Governorship of Port Royal."
Before Darkskull could respond in his overwhelming wave of shock and surprise, the man continued. "However, it is by the will and influence of His Majesty the King that this motion is challenged in its current status by Commodore of the British Royal Navy, Sir William Teller, who is seated to my right, which shall result in a duel between opposing forces at James’s Cay, Jamaica."
1
Delmaria slammed his hands down on the table in authority as he looked over who stood in his cabin. Before him stood four captains of the Brethren Court, called in by Delmaria to aid in the upcoming battle. Captains Engrad McRoberts, Margaret Helkins, Jack Landon, and Martel Killings bowed as they entered the cabin, as a sign of respect to the Minor Pirate Lord. Basically, in the event of the Pirate Lord of that region dying or resigning, and none of his crew have the ability to claim Lordship, the Minor Lords of that region will fight for his/her seat.
Before them was an overview of James’s Cay - a large, wide expanse that ran at the side of the massive island. The coat ran straight, north to south, until it cut out west at its farthest southern point, slowly progressing off. Four large rocks were scattered in the battlefield - the first and largest, roughly the size of Devil's Anvil, sat about a mile off of the coast. A few miles south of that was another, smaller rock, almost acting as the centerpiece, with its nearly identical sister sitting directly east, hugging the coastline with only about a ship's length of space to spare. At the south of the area, where the coastline ran horizontal, a rock roughly smaller than that of the Northern one hugged where the coast began to curve, with a space that could fit a Frigate, at most. Delmaria stared at the map for a minute, wondering how to plan.
"Tell me, what are our capabilities and ships?" Delmaria asked to no person in particular.
Landon responded in his offbeat, English accent "Alongside our five warships, ten Frigates, three Galleons, two Schooners, and... a Sloop. A Lighter Sloop, to be exact."
"As opposed to...?" responded Darkskull, still not lifting his vision from the map.
Helkins butted in, in her usual know-it-all Americanized voice, "Three British Ship of the Lines, three Men Of War, ten Frigates, eight Galleons, and five Schooners. No Light Sloops, unfortunately."
"Brilliant. Twenty-six Pirate Ships against Twenty-nine highly trained, well-equipped ships of the British Royal Navy." Darkskull sighed, as he straightened up, looking down at the map. "We'll work with it.
"The British will be entering down at the Southwest, and spread along the Southern Coast before making an advance. Killings, Landon, you will take about two-thirds of the ships and wait to the West of the large rock at the North. McRoberts, Helkins and I, along with the rest of the lot, will wait at the East, between the coast and the little island.
"When you see the British have spread themselves and begin to make their advance, I want your left flank to break Southwest, and your right to head down Southeast. When their Western division moves up, have the ships in the center move directly south, while the rest of you head around and circle them. If we're lucky, we won't end up sinking ourselves.
"Our Eastern Division will wait until their East responds to the Western attacks. Knowing Teller, his ship is going to stay away from the battle, guarded by a few guard ships. We'll maneuver our attacks and sneak up on them with full force. The rest, we'll take from that. Any questions?"
"What of the Light Sloop?" McRoberts asked, smiling.
"Ah, yes. I have plans for that."
2
The sky was clear and the seas were calm, as the wind blew at their backs. All of the pirate ships were in position, hushed and quieted, keeping their eyes at the other end of the waters, waiting for the British to make their arrival. Delmaria's division was comprised of eleven ships - at the front, four of the ships guarded the light sloop, which looked laughable compared to the size of it's protectors. McRoberts and Helkins's War Frigates say right off of Delmaria's bow, while two other pirate ships sat about half a mile each off the opposite sides of the Victory Shark. He couldn't see what was going on on the other side of the larger rock that divided the northern waters, but he was hoping that everything was out of the usual, and nice and organized.
It was roughly half an hour of tense waiting before the British armada finally rounded the Southern Coast. The daunting red and white war paint that covered their ships seemed to cause doubt amongst the crew, but Delmaria stood at his wheel, firm, proud, and confident. As he predicted, the Navy began to spread along the Southern Coast, the majority of them staying in the West. Delmaria could see Teller's large Ship of the Line pull in and take a hiding spot behind a minor rock at the very far end of the waters, escorted by two guard ships. The rest of the ships took in front of him, lead by another of the Ship of the Lines.
And there they sat. The two forces rocked in their respected spots, staring at each other. Their sails still, their voices hushed. Silently, Darkskull closed his eyes and whispered to himself "Go, Landon, go..."
His eyes were locked near the center of the battlefield, just at the end of the large rock that separated the Pirate forces. His hopes that Landon and Killings would pull through almost faded, until he saw the beautiful black pirate sails of their ships pull from behind the rock, barreling down towards the Navy. The two ends of them split, creating a V-shape that soon engulfed and circled the British's Western division, with the center ships cutting right in to their middle. At the first shot of a cannon, chaos erupted.
Delmaria watched as the fleets of the two forces rained down on each other, the British trying desperately to turn their ships to keep up with the Pirates. The British constantly kept knocking in to and firing at each other, almost as if they were doing more damage to themselves than the pirates. Fires ripped, sails and masts toppled on to other ships, and explosions cracked. Darkskull restrained himself from cheering for his allies, until the rest of his crew started to. Then, he started screaming.
It was about ten minutes of fierce fighting before the first of the Navy ships had an explosion in the interior of their hull, bursting out and tearing it in half, splints and panels flying each way. It was a beautiful sight, Delmaria thought to himself, as his forces slowly began to pick up the pace in the fighting. Rapidly, ship after ship, whether British or Pirate, began to explode, sink, topple, and overall, destruct.
Suddenly, the Navy's Eastern division began to respond, beginning to sail towards the fighting. "Go go go!" yelled Delmaria, motioning to all the ships in his area to begin their assault. At the front lines, the guard ships hugged the small Light Sloop, rogue cannon balls nailing them instead of it as they neared the South. When it seemed the British realized the rest of the Pirates were invading, they begin to circle wilding, trying to turn about to face the Brethren.
But it was too late. Delmaria, McRoberts, and Helkins turned first, sending out a shockwave of lead, fire, and even cannonballs coated in napalm, which broke right in to the scattered British ships. They tried to retaliate, but they were too distracted to prevent crashing in to each other, and the rocks, to fire effectively. Delmaria cut in to the middle of them, came directly up to the Ship of the Line that lead the offensives, and had his crew release a fury of destruction that tore a gaping hole in to the center of the hull. For a moment, Darkskull had an eerie flashback to the Ship of the Line he boarded, where he found Victorio, but he brushed it off, his excitement overpowering it. Port Royal was almost free.
While the pirates had a field day destroying the Navy Ships, Delmaria ordered John to grab the helm while he ran off to the side of the ship, to watch his master plan unfold. He watched as the Frigates, escorting the light sloop, neared up to Teller's Ship, who hadn't yet noticed the presence of the little fleet. The crew of the Light Sloop began to jump, one by one, off the ship, on to the Frigates. When the Light Sloop was fully abandoned, the Frigates pulled away from it, the little ship still going at top speed. Darkskull cheered as he pushed one of his crew mates off a cannon, loading in a single lead cannon ball.
He readied his aim for the Light Sloop, and took a moment to say a little prayer. He only had one shot to take. The one shot that would decide the fate of piracy in the Caribbean. He got in to position, and waited as the Light Sloop neared the Commodore's ship of the line. Four-hundred meters. Three-hundred. Two-hundred. One.
Darkskull fired his cannon, the lead shot flying through the air with mighty speed, whirling through the air. It hit the peak of its arch, and turned downward, descending at astonishing speed. It would be a close one, Delmaria thought. He closed his eyes, and prayed once more. He prayed for his crew, for his brethren, and for himself. But more than anything, he prayed that damned cannonball would make its mark.
At last, he heard it. It turned his head up, and saw he had hit his target. The Light Sloop ignited in a gargantuan, dazzling explosion of fire and might, just meters from the Ship of the Line, setting fire to Teller's ship and his guard ships. Just hours before the battle, the pirates had stripped the little ship, and filled its entire hull and deck with barrels of gunpowder, napalm, and fireworks. The perfect formula for destruction.
The hull of Teller's ship was in full blaze, as the fire ran up the masts and snapped them. A giant plum of smoke ran up to the heavens as the ship spun around slowly in shock and devastation, before finally exploding itself, toppling it's remains in to the warm Caribbean waters. They had won.
3
Delmaria walked up through the hallways of the Governor's Mansion, all by himself. Cheers and roars echoed the empty halls from outside, where the new Governor of Port Royal, Lawrence Xavier Prince, was making his Inauguration Speech. Delmaria had told the officials of the port he felt the seat would be better held by Lawrence, who was shocked by his captain's choice. Nevertheless, he accepted, with his captain giving him a final piece of advice before they parted ways: "Don't let politics block you from getting what you need to get done, done." He urged.
Darkskull had a full blown smile on his face, knowing he had done well to assure free trade in the port. Still, he felt heartbroken - his most trustworthy crew mate was leaving his ship. Memories that he had with Prince flashed through his head - the raid of Fort Dundee, their charades in New Orleans, their little "Wine Escapade" in Tortuga - he felt as though a piece of him was gone. He would surely visit his mate whenever they were in port - but things wouldn't be the same.
Delmaria finally ascended the stairs, and reached the doors of the Governor's room. He brushed himself off, and went in, shutting the white doors behind him. He was once again in the same familiar office, only it was now accommodated to work as a bedroom. The fireplace blazed off in the left, across from the large king-sized bed, its intricate carvings of royalty and "justice" dancing around the boarding. In the middle of it, was Ambrose - sickly, defeated. His skin was pale and his eyes were blank. He had no emotion - only a small sign of pain, and depression. Sorrow, almost.
"Father..." he called out in a croaked voice, raising his hand.
"Hush, Delpadros." Darkskull said as he neared him. "Did you honestly think you could win me over by sending me to my doom, again?"
"I didn't know...." Delpadros tried to assure, as Delmaria walked around the room. He stopped in front of the mantle over the fireplace, which was decorated in honors and awards. They were either weapons, medals; anything that could be considered valuable. He ran his fingers over them, but stopped when his son said to him, "I'm sorry...."
Darkskull paused, before turning around slowly, his hands behind his back, slowly walking over. A smile was on his face, as he approached the side of the bed, looking down on his son. He flashed one more smile, and said, almost giggling, "I'm not."
Out from behind his back, Delmaria pulled out a shining, gold dagger, and came down with it, stabbing Delpadros right through the neck. He instantly turned away, walking out of the room triumphantly, as his son sat there, motionless. The dagger gleamed as a ray of light glistened on it.
"AN EXPRESSION OF GRADTITUDE, FOR ALL YOUR SERVICES," it read.
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