Definately, this is not only my favorite chapter, but my longest ever. I'm talking 35,000 characters, 6,367 words, and 20 pages long in Word.
Trust me mates, it'll be worth the read. So, I present to you:
The Liberator
As Delmaria dreamed, his thoughts were plagued by terrible, horrible scenes, one after another, in a cycle of torturous nightmares. They were quick, sharp, the images flashing as though he could not stare directly at them. The sounds whirled around his mind, heard but unclear - screaming, crying, wailing, and sobbing, all in particular voices that he could just faintly remember. Yet one was clear - it was that same, high pitched, terrible cry from a pain-stricken woman, which had always been just out of his reach, always knowing who she was but never catching her identity. This night, it became clear.
Delmaria walked along a cobblestone path, as houses of wood and hay like that of old-styled homes in England was fashioned. They crumbled and collapsed, in no correct pattern, with each footstep he took. It was not too long before he notice a heap in the middle of his path - it was a woman, dirtied and hunched over in a fetal position, crying and gasping for air as she screamed "NO, NO!" over and over through exasperated breaths. He was weary, but his feet carried him to her, the sky darkening in a dark red haze above them. He knelt down, and tried to get her to look at him, her head hunched over. In her hands was the pair of rosary beads that Delmaria always kept with him, ever since the invasion of Port Royal - her hands shook violently. He finally brushed his hand lightly to bring her head up, to face him. The soft, elegant facial curves, the polite, small nose, the sparkling, blue eyes. He imagined it as he had always remembered. Their eyes met, and through an old, tired voice, she spoke. "Where is my baby?” his mother said to him.
Delmaria woke up abruptly in his bed, looking around the room. He was back in his cabin, the room still completely dark in the night. He got up and ran over to the plush, silver chair that sat at the head of the disheveled desk, where his dark long coat hung over. He hurried, digging in to the left pocket, and pulled out the same set of rosaries. The sight of them calmed, them, as he wrapped them around his neck, and dragged his feet back to his bed.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Delmaria woke up the next morning, New Year's Day, in the bed of his captain's quarters. His vision was blurred, unclear at first, but as he shook off the sleepy daze that filled his head, he sat up to look around the room. The sun was shining bright outside - how different his room looked with all the ratters open - giving him a view of crystal clear ocean waters of the Caribbean. He was lying there in only his linen shirt and his pants, now nice and dried. He had a few blacks-and-blues on his torso, mainly on his back, which whimpered in pain every time he moved his arms, but he ignored it as he walked to the center of his room. It took him a moment of fixating his senses before he realized the ship was in motion. He hurried over to the back wall of windows in his cabin, to watch Port Royal fade from view. He was disgruntled about not being able to say goodbye to Lawrence - but at least it saved him from tears.
Delmaria walked back to his desk, when a little shimmer caught his eye - on his desk, were a neatly folded pile of clothing - a gold, short jacket, goldish-brown pants buttoned at the sides, a black, gray, and brown pocketed vest, a black and yellow, shimmering linen shirt, and tall pair of black, gold-cuffed boots at the base of the base. He picked up a little note on top of them, which read:
Captain Darkskull,
By order of the Office of the Governorship of Port Royal, you have been presented with this attire, tailored by the Governor's Tailor himself at Governor Lawrence Prince's personal request. He also requested to tell you:
'A First Mate will always be loyal to his Captain, Delmaria. Goodbye - and please, don't sink my ship if you see it.'
Delmaria smiled as he put down the note. He quickly put on the soft, stylish outfit, remarked by its soft yet sturdy complexion and fit. He noticed that on the inside of the jacket, just directly on top of the heart, was a heavy, sewn in patch, the insignia of the Governor's office. He patted it lightly mindlessly as he patted down the outfit, fitted his hat, and walked down the room, out the door.
The crisp, cool morning winds met him in one of the beautiful early mornings the Windward Passage was famous for. The waters were very easy, hardly giving any sign of a splash, and the wind dipped right in to the sails - perfect sailing conditions. Paying no attention to Deadpool, who was more concentrated on laying down that patch of wood than anything, he walked along the right side of the second deck of the War Frigate, and made his way up the steps and over to the helm, where Andrew was carefully reading off of Delmaria's map on top of a barrel, conveniently to match his height. "Andrew, why in God's name did you dare leave port without my permission?!" Delmaria asked enraged as he approached Andrew, snatching up the map in a fist. "AND WHY did you take the map! Are we running an anarchic ship of-"
"Captain, relax." Andrew assured in the easiest voice possible, trying to focus on guiding the ship. "Firstly, you were much too intoxicated to even be remotely able to carry yourself back to the ship last night, much less give orders."
"When you deal with what I do every day, my friend, 'too intoxicated' isn't in your vocabulary."
"Still. Also, I guess the rum clogged your map reading abilities, as well. See for yourself." Andrew nodded at the general direction of the map.
Delmaria uncrumpled the map and gazed over it, beginning at Port Royal. Strangely enough, the image that represented Port Royal had changed - instead, it was replaced by a light, cherry forest, with glistening, brightly tanned trees, and a free, mystical wind blowing through. He shrugged off the eerie sight, and turned his attention to another development on the map - a new heading.
Off to the northwest of Port Royal was a small, half-circle of an island, with a little indented, leaving only a dull crescent. The drawings of waves in that section of the map seemed to have gone to a still - literally, flat-lining. Out of the sandbar, stuck out what appeared to be the handle of a sword, although it was too small to make out. Delmaria scratched his head, pondering, before he commented, "Ok, so how did you idle-minded pirates manage to figure this out?"
"You never heard the story?" A voice called from behind them. Darkskull turned to see John, wiping off the blotches of gunpowder from his brow as he made his way over. "I can retell it, if you like:
"It was in the summertime, many, many moons ago. Bloodskull was aboard his usual fleet of ships somewhere North of Jamaica, when a rag-tag group of rebel ships found and attacked his convoy. During combat, while Bloodskull and his crew went from ship to ship to repel - or, kill - the invaders, one of the rebel captain's snuck in to the captain's quarters of
The Fortunato and swiped Bloodskull's cutlass, him and his crew making off with it.
"Unfortunately, as they made their escape, the rebel captain was fatally injured, leaving him on the brink of death. As soon as they lost the last of the ships that were chasing them, they stopped at a remote, unknown island, where they would try and bring their captain back to health.
"That night, however, the captain somehow got up from his resting place, and walked off, around the island. The next morning, when the crew went searching for him, they found his body lying on the ground, a small pool of blood coming from his mouth. They were unsure why he got up, and whatever happened that killed him.
"Regardless, they felt that they best pay tribute to their fallen captain. They took his body, and buried him in the exact same spot they found him - with Bloodskull's cutlass in his hands, of course. They set off to Tortuga, where their crew parted separate ways - only to be rounded up and tortured by Bloodskull and his mercenaries. Yet as much as he tortured them, he couldn't get them to give away the whereabouts of their captain's grave, and his cutlass. And up until now, nobody knew, either."
Delmaria paused, staring blankly at John for a minute. Not the kind of face that would show awe, or understanding, or intrigue. No, this face was more of disbelief, and flat out ignorance. "Where in God's name did you learn all that?"
"Avery's B- erm, Raven's Cove wasn't just a fishing port my friend. When you're isolated from the world, you tend to be able to thrive off of any information that comes your way. Books were our 'lost treasure.'"
Darkskull had a slew of questions to ask, particular directed towards John's slip of the tongue, but he was too minded on where exactly they were going to even bother to continue. He wiped his head in a frustrated manner for no reason, and shooed John back to what he was doing. He then turned back to Andrew, asking, "Well, Mr. Navigator, what exactly did you expect our heading to be?"
Instead of answering right then, Andrew got on his tippy-toes and squinted, looking further over the bow of the ship. When he became excited, a smile of surprise streaking across his face, he tied the rope that hung from the masts at his side to the top of the wheel, keeping it in position, and ran off to the side of the ship, Delmaria in tow. He leaned over with Andrew, looking out to where he pointed. "Rumrunner's!"
1
The little dinghy cut smoothly through the calm, bright blue waters of the Caribbean Sea. Delmaria and his crew pulled away from the massive War Frigate ported far out from the small island, and began the long, tedious push towards it. The incline of the sandy ocean floor leading up to Rumrunner's was very shallow, so one would have to park their ship a sizable distance if they wanted to prevent a crash.
As they paddled towards, the details of Rumrunner's became clearer and clearer - the thin, subtle line of trees, the soft, silky sand, mixed with the smooth glisten of the sun on the little crescent of land. They swayed lightly in to the bay, the ends of the island sticking out at their sides like guards. There was no wind - the island was nothing but a still peace and calm, as though nothing could possibly disturb the utter balance between tranquility and serene beauty. It was a paradise, with no strings attached - the first time Delmaria felt safe.
As the small dinghy finally hit ground, they got out and dragged the boat through the shin-high waters, then up their ankles, and finally the bottoms of their feet, on to the beach. The sand shined like the rays of the sun, yet it was still easy enough that it didn't harm your eyes, nor create any sort of uncomfortable scene. It was just an aura, which shined over the land. Darkskull located around the island, smiling blissfully, like a huge weight had been lifted off his shoulders. He usually at this point thought if his depression and sorrows were really over, but not now - the only thing that filled his mind was gratitude.
"Captain!" he heard over his shoulder. He turned to see Buck beckoning him to the small circle they had formed. Delmaria turned away from his content to join them, whipping out the map, and unfolding it before them. "Ok mates, we're looking for, according to Mr. Philosopher over here, a blood splatter on the ground. Let's just hope it hasn't been washed away by now, eye?" Delmaria half joked as he smirked at John, showing signs of doubt in his crew mate. John just crossed his arms and smirked back. He must have taken it as a challenge, as that's how his eyes began to glaze.
They chose their search parties and began to break up. John, Andrew, Corsaire, and Sierra would sweep along the East end of the island, while Dead, Buck, Grace, and Firesteel would go across the center, and the back ends. Delmaria wanted the West to himself, for obvious reasons. Sparrow wasn't just an old sparring mate of his, but also, a fellow "collector" of fine wines and other delicate drinks from across the known world. The two of them maintained a small keepsake, a little hidden rum room that sat hidden in the trees of the island, that only the two of them knew about, and had the key to. Darkskull felt that if he unintelligible last night to read the map, he would be able to read it like a Socrates if he went twice as hard.
He did a little dance as he walked along the beach, towards the vegetation waiting for him on the West branch of the island. He felt an insignificant pounding in the back of mind, through his enjoyment - something tells him to stop. The death of his son and the lost of a dear friend had occurred in only a short time span, but he felt the only way to continue his life normally was to learn how to cope. In the life of a pirate, there was no time to waste when even a slice of heaven came your way.
His feet met the plush, bouncy grass that supported the nicely spaced out trees, bushes, and other neat, slender greenery. He took a few steps, and stopped. He turned to his left, then to his right, and watched the world around him. The soft creaking of a few insects, the chirping of a few native birds off in the distance. He closed his eyes and rolled his head back, taking in the warm embrace of the day. Is home defined by an enclosure, or something much more special?
Finally, after a minute or two, Delmaria made the slow transition back in to walking. He wanted to find that cellar - if only he could. He looked around, but saw nothing. "Damn it Jack, probably put a bush over the door... knave..."
The captain began walking around the small treed area, lightly lifting up the bushes that he crossed as he went. He moved all, starting from the very tip of the West end, and cutting down. To no avail did he find anything of interest, until he finally made it to the center of the area, where it began to broaden and a small space was left. He spotted an untouched shrub, and slowly dragged his feet to it. He grabbed it at the bottom and yanked up.
Before him, where the bush had sat, was a stain. A deep red, dark stain. It was in huge contrast to the bright green grass, and was in perfect shape - as if it was almost confined to a single area. Delmaria stood there for a minute, staring at it. That is, before he began screaming wildly.
"Crew... Cre, CREW! CREW! GET OVER HERE!" Delmaria began yelling, running just to the edge of the line of trees. "HURRY PIRATES, MOVE!" He barked, as one by one he watched his crew come sprinting from across every little area of the rest of the island. They were frantic and startled, as though they were rushing in like a militia of minute men. When they began to get close, Delmaria ran back to where the blood stain was, drew his cutlass, and quickly chopped away the bush that covered it, to leave it open to vision. As he tossed the shrub aside, the crew arrived, forming a circle around what they looked at.
Delmaria was gasping for breath in excitement, proceeding to his crew, "Well mates? Start digging!" Dead, Corsaire, and Firesteel, who carried the three shovels they had, began piercing in to the soft grass and soil, throwing it away at a race-like pace.
As the rest of the crew watched and waited eagerly, John came up from behind his captain and whispered in his ear, "Sorry Captain, but doesn't this mean you lose?" He smiled a large, childish gleam, but Delmaria chided him off. He was too concentrated on watching his crewmen dig deeper and deeper in to the earth, the pile next to them growing larger and larger. The strange thing, was that the blood was not just at the surface - it was on every single piece of soil they hit that was below where the stain was, as though it had trickled down through the dirt. Was this an odd coincidence, or a majestic signal?
Nearly an hour had passed for a great, sizable hole in the earth had been formed, roughly the size of a freshly dug grave, if not a little larger. The rest of the crew was sitting around, waiting, talking, while Delmaria stood in that one position, stoic, waiting. It was then when he heard one of the shovels plunge an inch in to the dirt, but go no further. It thudded hard against something, then again with persistence. "Captain, we've hit something!" Dead called up to him.
Delmaria instantly snapped to attention, jumping down in to the pit, and getting on his knees. He began wildly scrapping away the last layer of dirt with his hands, until a patch of dirtied, browned wood began to poke through. He went from that and pushed away the sides of the small hole he dug, until his hands hit an engraving on the wood. He turned to face it, and cleaned it up a bit to see what it said. Despite being nearly blended in to the rest of the wood, he could read it clear:
Here Lies the Grave of Captain Kinos Libertant, Brave Captain of "The Libertist" and Her Crew. 1529 - 1550.
Delmaria, in a soft voice, closed his eyes, as they almost began to water. His speculation was true.
Before him was Captain Kinos Alexander Libertant, leader of the rebel movement against Baron "Drake Bloodskull" from 1543 to 1550. He was responsible for uncountable attacks against the warlord of the Caribbean and his ruthless army, from damaging supply lines to all out raids on some of the Baron's most vital institutions. He was famed among pirates and his fellow rebels for supreme skills of leadership, freedom, and idealism, and infamous amongst political leaders for his unwillingness to negotiate what he desired. A modern iconoclast for his time.
One of the main principles of Libertant's lifestyle was his strong belief in freedom, and liberty, as suggested by his convenient last name. Immediately after his death, his crew formed a secret organization known as The Libertists, which was dedicated to hiding the whereabouts of their captain's remains, and Bloodskull's cutlass, a secret. To them, having their captain forever hold the sword of a tyrant with him was a symbol that in the end, the spirit of freedom would drag tyranny to it's grave. And they reserved this secret well - no matter if they continued to be freebooters, or assimilated in to society, the original Libertists never told even their children of the captain's grave.
As one by one the original Libertists died, their children stepped up to the plate to assume their positions. Henceforth, why the bloodline of the Libertists runs in to everyone from government officials, to bakers and tailors. And as time moved on and the Caribbean became a more corrupted place, the secret organization assumed the role of essentially "tearing down" the platforms of tyranny in these waters - by assassinating the tyrants, and filling their place with a Libertist. Delmaria's own actions could exemplify this.
Yet it was also a main goal of the Libertists to locate and retrieve the remains of Captain Kinos before anybody - including grave robbers, and even cults that worshipped Bloodskull - could do so. And, indirectly, Delmaria had been chosen by fate to be the Libertist's representative in this fight.
"Raise it up!" Delmaria shouted to his crew, ordered the coffin be dug up from the ground and placed on the surface. He watched from above as all his crew pushed with all their might to lift the coffin out from the earth, above their heads, and then easily slide it on to the grass. It was a large coffin, seven feet long, in the traditional six-sided "elongated house" style. It was covered it dried soil and dirt from the earth, but other than that, it was in good condition. Strange, for a coffin nearly two hundred years old.
Delmaria stood near the coffin staring down at it. As he crew climbed out from the grave, his expression was blank, his motion still. Before him sat history, and he was not only shell-shocked, but afraid. Was he prepared to open the coffin of one of the Caribbean's oldest heroes? Was he ready to make history himself? Was history ready for him.
A click sounded off from behind him, opening his eyes. "Step away," the soft feminine voice ushered to him. His eyes widened, as he turned about, hands in the air, to stare at Leanne.
"I should have expected you would follow us here." Delmaria sighed, half-comical, half pitiful in himself.
"You should have indeed. So are we going to have to do this the hard way, or....?"
"Wait, Leanne." Delmaria put up his hand, causing the pirate to tighten her grip on the pistol. "What exactly could you have any gain from this? Are you going to shoot me just so my crew can shoot you in return?" In nearly an instant, the rest of the crew drew out their worst and most devastating fire arm, ranging from heavy multi-barreled pistols, to even a blunderbuss or two. The exception was Deadpool, who picked up a few blades of grass from the ground.
Leanne seemed flustered. She began to move her gun quickly, pointing it at each of the crew, before pointing it back at Delmaria. Then, she reached her free hand in to her pocket, and drew out a small firecracker from it. She held it above her head, to make it apparent she had it. "Lower your guns or I'll set the damn casket on fire! MOVE!" she yelled.
"I apologize, but I can't let you do that." A smooth, sly voice spoke from behind her. They all turned their vision to see yet another figure walking towards them, much less than familiar. He was tall, about the same size as Delmaria, with roughly the same slender, athletic build. He had a darkly tanned, handsome, sharp face, with a small mustache that sat right at the top of the lip, and a small, pointed beard on his chin. An eye patch covered over his right eye, which, judging by scarring that poked out from around it, was more than likely severely mutated. Atop his head was a large, brownish-black brimmed hat, with a thick yet disorientated feather sticking out. He wore a long coat that ran all the way to his knees, until the rest became just small sticking-outs that reached to his ankle, badly burnt and tattered. The rest of his dark, bleak attire was rather luxurious and frilled, although it looked as though he had just come out of the grave. He had an evil grin on his face, his hands behind his back, stepping forward.
"And may I ask who you are?" Leanne said, now pointing her pistol at him. He stopped.
"Ah, yes, forgiveness for not giving myself an introduction. My name is Captain Brone Crassus, the one and only.", doing a little bow. "And perhaps you've heard of my employer - a one Jolly Roger?"
The entire group became uneasy at the name, tightening their grip on their weapons. Crassus continued, "Now, how is about that you all step aside?", then drawing a broadsword at the completion of the sentence.
Delmaria took a deep breath, and slowly slid his hand down the side of his body. He reached his right foot silently back, until it touched the coffin, as a base weight. "Crew.... RUN!" He suddenly kicked off the coffin as the rest of the crew leaped at the coffin to carry it away, he grabbing his shining, glistening cutlass in the process.
Leanne spun around to try and catch him, but Delmaria caught her arm with his, throwing it away as she fired it off in to the distance, a plume of smoke bursting with the shot. He tugged her towards him, and whiplashed her backwards, sending her running against her will, and tripping down in to the grave. He then brandished his cutlass and met the broadsword that came down on him, as Crassus made his move. His blade clashed against Delmaria's, pushing Delmaria off balance backwards. He came forward with a hurricane slash, but Delmaria whirled off to the side to avoid him. As his assailant moved on him, he looked out of the corner of his eye, seeing his crew hurry the coffin through the trees, and out of sight along the back stretch of the island. However, Leanne had pulled herself out of the pit, and began charging after them in a full sprint. Delmaria turned away from Brone at the last second to run after her, buzzing by the slender trees, along the soft, wet grass.
He rounded the little plateau that acted as a dividing wall on the island to see O'Malley on about thirty meters ahead, but encroaching dangerously on the crew. Darkskull kept booking, his feet splash on the water as it creeped up on the sandy, narrow shore. His speed was quicker than hers, and he had caught up to her by the time an area of the forest had broken out a path on to the back, making a nice space. He tackled her from behind, shoving her face in the sand. She struggled, kicking up her legs and knocking the pirate off of her forward. The two then hurried to their feet, and locked blades, one pushing up and against the other. Leanne jumped to the side, sending Delmaria in his own momentum, he spun around and hit her blade with his. She spun her around in a circle and tried to thrust upward in to his ribs, but he swiped the blade at his feet, following up with it, and then commencing to spin it in a circle in between them. Went she lost control of how fast her blade spun, he pulled back, and then hit it the other way in a slash, sending her in a jolt towards the water. She caught herself, and kicked her leg back like a horse, throwing wet send up in his face. He ducked and turned away to prevent it from blinding him, when he was rammed through by yet another body that hit him.
Lying on his back, Delmaria looked up to see Brone, who had run right through him, get to Leanne and engage her in combat. Meanwhile, Darkskull steadied his vision, and reached for the throwing knives that he had scavenged from Mercer. He took out the bundle from his coat and unwrapped them while on his knees, taking a minute to run his finger along one of the magnificent sharp blades. As much as he wanted to observe the golden lining and carving in the silvery blade and the black hilt, he snapped to, throwing one towards the two with the flick of a wrist. One of the projectiles hit Leanne in the top of her arm, making her screech in pain. For a moment, he paused in horror - had he just done that? He felt so dirty, so putrid, so... evil, having hurt her. But he had no time to think of this, as she pulled the bloodied knife from her arm and threw it back at Delmaria, pushing Brone in to the water bluntly with her free hand.
He rolled out of the way, grabbed another knife, and blindly threw it in her general direction, to at least slow her down, as he ran through the other, larger clearing that was at the middle of the island. He tucked the rest of the knives away in his jacket, running up the inclining side of the little hill to get to the side of the small patch of trees that blocked his view of the bay. He was glad to see his crew at the shore, putting the coffin down for a brief moment to rest their tiring arms. He was about to go down to join them on their retreat from the island, but he then turned off to his right, to see his two enemies in a race towards him. He quickly sprung off in a run away from them, in to the forest that hugged the small dividing wall on that curve of the island.
He ran for about twenty meters before he caught himself running in between two bushes and trees paired together, tripping over a hidden rock in the mix, and hurtling forward. He landed face forward on the ground, and flipped over just in time to catch Brone running up to him. Delmaria put his legs up, caught Crassus's chest, and threw him over the pirate, as Leanne jumped through the vegetation. Darkskull leaped up, and taking his cutlass struck hers, ensuing a back and forth between the two. They moved their blades coming from opposite directions, each time hitting and sliding off the other. Back and forth, back and forth, until Brone got up and added himself in the mix. Delmaria found himself sandwiched between the two, so he used a mixture of quick return slashes and agility to keep from taking too many cuts. Delmaria finally leaped back to break the pattern, now forming a triangle. The three began wildly bouncing their swords in between their two enemies, like a show of fancy moves and techniques. They fought hard, and with everything they could muster, sweat beating on their necks under the hot sun poking through the trees.
The battle soon began to drift through the rest of the forest, to where the island ended. They dodged in between trees, rocks, and bushes as they reached the final end of the eastern end of the island - a small, open space of sand that sat about five meters off the water, the highest point on the island aside from the tree tops. Although it was a small height, it was daunting when looking in comparison to the rest of the low island.
They got in to the center of the spot and began fighting in a circle, moving side alongside as the blades connected in the middle. Brone delivered a heavy spin cut that knocked Leanne and Delmaria back just a little, and there they all stood. Still, distanced only a few meters apart. They waited silently for their enemy to make the first move, but nothing happened.
Then, out of the corner of his eye, Delmaria watched as Crassus slowly reached in to his jacket by his waist, trying to not cause attention. Delmaria made his motion quick; he plunged in to his coat and pulled out one of the knives just as Crassus prepared to fire his pistol at Leanne. He aimed, and threw the knife, sending it spinning in the air. Time seemed to slow down as Crassus outreached his arm, preparing to shoot O'Malley squarely in the forehead. The blade rolled through the air, and then found lodged itself right in to Brone's outreached inner elbow, sending a shockwave of pain through his arm. Crassus stared as he dropped the pistol, the point of the knife jutting out just at the side of the bone on the other side of the arm, blood trickling down in a stream. Darkskull took the advantage, ran up, and hit Crassus in the chest with a stern, quick, powerful kick, knocking him rolling back, down the steep decline of the shore, and splashing in to the waters.
As Delmaria tried to calm from the excitement, he felt a streak of pain run across his right arm. He cringed, grabbing at the deep, bloody cut that ran across his upper arm, hitting his knees on the sand. He watched as Leanne walked around, to stand in front of him, his blood on her cutlass. She looked down at him, victorious, as he looked up at her. "Well?" He asked her.
"I just wanted one last look at you alive, before I run you through." She said, lifting her blade at her side to have the end of the blade just under his chin. "You know, I really did think you were special. You seemed like you could get somewhere."
He tilted his head back slightly, so when he spoke his throat would not press on the sword. "I've done enough, wouldn't you say?"
"Nothing compared to what I've done, my darling." She began to chuckle evilly. She stepped back a little, lowering her cutlass. "Before you go, bow before your Queen." She laughed, raising her head regally to the sky.
Delmaria slowly bent over on his knees, putting his arms before him and his head on the ground. He closed his eyes, braced his body, and whispered, "Sorry."
He rolled forward, sending his spinning legs in a powerful swing right square in to her jaw. She shrieked in pain and surprise as she dropped her sword to grab her bleeding mouth, as Delmaria rushed to a standing up position, and punched her square in the neck. The force knocked all the wind out of her, and as she spat out a tooth, she fell to the ground, gasping for breath through the blood.
Delmaria ran in a sprint back down the hill, along the shore, back to the bay. As he reached the top of the crescent, he looked back where he was to see a soaking wet Captain Crassus dragged himself to the top of the hill, before beginning in a run down after Delmaria.
Darkskull looked back at his resources, but saw no dinghy - only the coffin. He swore under his breath, and in the flash of a moment, jumped to action. He got to the base of the coffin, and with all his might, pushed it out, off the beach, in to the water, where it began to float. He then jumped on top of it, and used the flat of his cutlass to begin paddling like a mad man to his War Frigate out in the bay.
2
Delmaria panted as the crew cheered at his arrival, collapsing on to the deck for air. As they lowered down the ropes to pull the coffin up, he choked at them "Da-damn it, didn't.... I tell you to... not leave it... there?! We came here for... it.."
Buck commented as he tugged at one of the ropes. "Couldn't pop the lock in time, captain. You know those scorpions." He smirked.
Delmaria rolled his eyes as he sat up, watching them pull the wet wooden coffin over the side of the ship. Easily, he stood up, and walked over to it, helping pulling it on to the dock. When his crew was completely assembled, he drew his cutlass, and drove it in to the top of the side of the casket, cutting it open like a piece of meat. When the cut was sizable, he rolled his linen sleeve on to his hand and used that to cautiously yank off the top. The rancid smell of death poured through the air, as they all looked within.
In there, was a skeleton, perfectly and neatly in the correct burial position - legs straight, head tilted back, arms on the chest. The skeleton seemed unlike others - it was at peace, undisturbed, yet still there, as if a spirit resided within. Yet Delmaria paid no attention to the face. What he cared about was the blade. He carefully lifted the hands off the hilt, and pulled it out.
The hilt was a piece of art in itself. At the base, a small crown of gold that spiraled collectively and sharply in to a point. The hilt itself was black, with gold spiraling easily up it to where the rest of it curved in. From the base, a single strand of gold curved out to broaden out in to an array of chaotic gold that acted as a knuckle guard. It branched separately from a ruby that sat in the center of the guard, in a magnificent effect, like rays of golden light reaching around the hilt. The knuckle guard then lead to the guard between the hilt and the blade, like a flow of sharp, estatic gold. The blade itself ran out evenly, until the bottom curved up like Delmaria's cutlass to an astoundingly sharp point. The blade looked as though it was made of platinum, sharp, slender, yet rugged and extremely shark along the blade. The top of the blade had a strand of gold that, instead of part of the blade, ran along it, like a long, slender, shining flame. It was just a little longer than Delmaria's current, yet lighter and swifter.
Delmaria chopped it through the air a few times, feeling the mystifying power that went with the cutlass. For its weight it was stronger than any other. Delmaria stared at it, before commenting, "Bloodskull had taste, hm?"
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I loved this chapter.
I would really like comments on this one, seeing as how it was... HUGE!
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