[Captain Del]

Thank you all for actually reading that chapter - it was a horror, I know, but we are past it!

This chapter isn't as long as some of the other's, but it's still about an average length by my standards. So, without further adieu, I present to you...

Dragons and Demons

September 29th, 1702
Somewhere off the coast of Spain
3:45 PM

Delmaria's eyes went in and out of focus as he felt his body being moved around. He could make out in blurs groups of men and woman running back and forth furiously, running up to him, around him, and back. His ears barely worked, but he could still hear noises faintly, like he was underwater, and the rest of the world was muffled by being above the surface. He could hear the clanging and crashing of chains, links shattering and falling to floor, followed by his exhausted body collapsing in something that caught him beneath the armpits. Then something grabbed his legs - another supporting his body. And through it all, he could not feel anything, as his body had become numb.

It hit him as he was carried out in to the now-lit hallways, the fire of the torches on the walls hitting his eyes like stones. He closed his eyes to avoid the pain, though even open they did him nothing. He began shifting back and forth between consciousness, until finally the weight of being awake caved in on him, and he fell back to the abyss.

By the time he awoke, he saw himself passing under the frame of a small door, and then felt his body slowly being flipped over and laid down on to a surface, that gently took him in with leeway - it was hay, he could tell as his body took in a deep, exasperated breath. He could make out the stampede of footsteps walking away from him, and slamming a small wooden door shut. Had he been forsaken again?

Suddenly, he heard something clearly - even though his environment was still blurred and muffled, he heard a voice that sounded too clear to be in the same realm. "Relax yourself, child...." the voice echoed softly. As soon as it spoke, he felt a soft hand run along his back, thought it was most notable he felt something. Everything she touched not only had feeling, but it felt fine.

As his back healed, he felt the hand touch his body at the side, flipping him over on to his back. He found himself staring at a ceiling - and by that, he meant his vision had become clear. It was almost as though he could not pinpoint when all of his aches and pains subsided, because they just vanished without him noticing. His headaches were gone, his stomach pains were relieved, and most of all, the torn and mangled flesh that once hung from his bare wrists had been cleansed and healed. The only thing that was still against him was his breathing, which was still heavy due to prevalent exhaustion, and his mindset.

It could not escape him the pain to which he had undergone, and why he had been brought there. Even though he knew his father's intentions, the back of his mind still repeated to him how he had been betrayed, exiled, and nearly killed, just so he could be taught a senseless lesson. If anything, he felt this event would traumatize him, despite anything his father believed.

And just as his anger for his father built up, now that his mind was once again fully functional, a calming essence came over him. It was as though a switch had been flipped, and a chill of relaxation ran up and down his spine. It was an embrace, going from a cold shiver to a warm layer of sunlight coating over him. From the side of his eye, a woman leaned in to his vision, looking at him from where she sat on his right. She was a middle-aged woman, her jet-black hair losing itself in a few streaks of white and gray. Her eyes sparkled quietly behind the bags that sat restlessly above her cheeks, which were sandpapered by time. She seemed as though she had been very tested for a woman of her age, though smile she gave off was comparable in warmth to a grandmother's.

Delmaria pushed his elbows to his sides to give himself a little uplift to give him a better angle. "How did you..."

The woman chuckles to herself. "It would take a very long time to explain, it would. Please, rest - there is still much to b-"

At that moment, the door to the room slowly creaked open. Delmaria looked just in time to see his father slowly move around the door, closing it behind him quietly. Delmaria receded back up the pile of hay, thinking that another "session" was about to begin. "Don't you come near me, you son of a-"

"Sshhh, shhh." Adam said, reaching out a calm hand to show he wasn't going to do anything. "I know you're upset, and -"

"UPSET!?" Delmaria protested, jumping to his feet and pointing an accusing hand out at the man. "You TORTURED me, beat me with your own hands until I nearly DIED! WHY SHOULD I TRUST YOU ANYMORE?"

Adam sighed. Without saying a word, he threw off his coat, and began taking off the shirts that he hid under it, bloodied and unwashed. He tossed them to the side of the room until he stood with his bare, hairy chest, and then turned around, so that his back may face his son. On the man's back was a field of faint, yet gruesome scars, oddly enough formated in to the shape of a shark, as though it were jumping out of the water in a victorious and vicious, yet at the same time graceful manner. One may not at a quick glance see it, but looking over it, one can make it out.

"Every one of us here has gone through the same trial that you have gone through, and from it we each have taken something. We all know the pain of this test - and one day, when you take the authority, you will do the same to your son." Adam said, pulling back on his coat.

"But why, then, is there a symbol?" Delmaria asked, more calm, but still in questioning.

"We ourselves do not choose what totem is given to us, so much as we are told by something what it will be. The scars indicate something that will always be permanent, and with you always, and that is true to this, as each symbol represents that person and what they may aspire to be."

Delmaria finally began to understand, so he tried eagerly to look on his back to see his symbol, hoping for something less than humiliating. "And what am I?"

Balnette smiled, holding his son still as he walked behind him to investigate. From behind him, Delmaria could hear a lot of humming and investigating, before final speaking with a nearly awe-struck voice. "It seems as though you've been graced by a Lion, my dear son - the peak of strength, courage, and authority... Just like your grandfather...."

The gypsy nodded and smiled, climbing herself to her feet. "Yes, yes, what he speaks is true!" She nodded some more, looking the boy straight in the eyes and pointing a finger at his chest. "Yes... there is a touch of destiny in you...."

"Valentina, sit back down." Adam motioned back to the gypsy's chair, to which she did obediently. "Lay back down, son - there is one last thing that needs to be done."

Delmaria's eyes sunk to the back of his head, but Balnette chuckled to himself. "Don't worry, it's nothing like what you've already gone through, and I promise this."

Giving his father a wary eye, Delmaria laid back down on the hay facing up to the ceiling, as the woman named Valentina pulled out from behind her a small, black vial, and a needle-looking trinket. Without a word, she leaned over the boy's right arm, dipping the needle in to the vial of what seemed like ink, and began to work right at the side of his bicep, digging, pushing, and moving it around his skin.

Delmaria expected much pain from the experience, but he felt little to nothing - in fact, he had to struggle from not giggling from the tickling sensation it gave him. So he sat there, motionless, watching the woman slowly and calmly etch in to his skin a design, which seemed to be a skull over two crossed swords, a crown at it's head and two seahorses at it's side....

1

October 1st, 1702
Somewhere off the coast of Spain
9:30 AM

After being given a day and a half to rest in his room, Delmaria awoke that morning to find a small wooden chest sitting in the middle of his room, watching him eerily just a few feet from where he slept. Intrigued, the boy pushed himself to his feet, still in a tired haze, and walked up to the small container to investigate. A heavy, rusted lock sat at the front of the chest, with the end of a small key hanging tightly from the opening where it was meant to be, beckoning the pirate to open it. Delmaria bent down on to his knees, and gripped at they key's handle, having to give at it a very forceful tug before it gave way and turned with a click, causing the iron lock to fall to the hard stone floor with a loud crash.

Darkskull picked up the container and carried it back over to his cot of a bed, placing it down and then lifting up the wooden top to reveal a large, starch white brimmed hat pop up as though it's sides had been compressed against the chest, which it had been judging by it's large circumstance. Interested, he took the white-feathered hat and placed it upon his head, to reveal underneath it a bundle of clothing, white as a field of snow with a few outlines of black here and there. He pulled out first a long, heavy coat, white in color with black bands of fancy leather running along the front where the buttons should be all the way down to the bottom, which reached just above his ankles, and along the length of the arms. On the back, an emblem sat admits the beautiful white cloth in black stitching - of which was the same design tattooed in to his arm.

After this came a long, embroider merchant's vest with a twisting elegant design that layer over a tight shirt of the same light color, with a white V-neck collar that stuck out over the top of the vest. Underneath that sat a pair of grayed boots folded and turned so they would take up as little space as possible, yet slowing returning back to shape as they were removed from the box. Finally, at the bottom of the chest, was a pair of white pants as soft as silk, yet as thick and durable as though they were made out of leopard hide, which gave just enough room for his legs to breath a little as he tucked them in to the top of the tall shin-high boots, and two silver metal belts, which slanted in opposite directions to create a crisscross against the front of his body.

Delmaria had so much fun with the outfit that he had ignored a small crinkling noise that came from somewhere on his torso. He stopped his spinning and dancing and began patting down the outfit, trying to find the source of the noise, until he finally located it in one of the pockets that hid itself within the recesses of his jacket. He reached in and felt his hand his on to a piece of what seemed like parchment, and surely was as he pulled out the small note. He flipped it all around until he could make out a few water-stained scribbles in dark ink, which dully read "Down to the dock."

Stepping out of his stoic little room, his sword and pistol hanging at his side (and Marina's ring tucked neatly on his right ring finger) he walked quickly through the hallways of the prison, which were both bare, and yet giving off a sense of a buzz ringing just out of his reach. He could almost feel a bustling atmosphere from beyond him, just it was filled with emptiness in between him and the chaos. Not only that, but the emptiness was not that which one may feel after stepping in to an open field, but as a room that had just experienced a party with some of the energy in it being left over to muster and die. The cells that he passed by were bare, the doors flung open without a soul left for them to be opened for. His pace quickened just a little bit, the uneasy feeling of being trapped in a jail once again swimming in his gut.

As he walked in to the tower-like area with the metal grated floor, he saw the first few signs of life - a few men were walking back and forth around the room, picking up crates and barrels and hurrying them up the stone staircase that huged the tall wall, and then out of sight, obviously taking them towards the gigantic stone door that led out to the dock. From the distance whispered to him the promise of the sea, washing and waving around against the background, with a hum of the misty winds swirling around under a cloudy sky. He hurried across the room, nearly bumping in to one of the crew men (who went out of his way to make sure Delmaria passed before he, bowing his head almost in respect as the pirate went by) and flying up the stairs as his boots slammed their tips on to the stone steps.

He turned off the steps and looked out to where the tremendous thirty-foot tall wooden doors were to be on the other side of the short plateau, but instead the sides of the door were opened outward to the sea. The long stone dock seemed like it went on for miles, going off in the distance and then far out making a short angle to the right. The grey sky hung over choppy waters that rocked an armada of ships in the background, some near and some far, in sizes of small to colossal as their sails flapped in the misted wind. Armies of men ran all over the dock, nearly covering every square foot as they flurried in between every vessel and thing that floated on the seas.

He stepped out in to the misty, cool air, his two long, white feathers flying graciously in the wind atop his huge hat. Although the floods of men were running around him as he stepped out further, not one dared to come near him as they all too bowed their heads. Delmaria looked at all of them strangely, but not even then did anybody look at him - they tried to stay away from him, as though to not get in his way.

A loud whistle echoed to him from his right, and Delmaria snapped to the left to see a group of men standing around a large crate. They each were dressed eerily similar to he - the same coat, the same hat, the same vest, shirt, etc. - aside from a few personal touches to the outfit, and a color change. Each man's outfit was in a different color, one wearing red, another wearing blue, another wearing brown, and then, on the far side of the crate, a man in black. Delmaria's father had a bright smile on his face as he looked up and down his son, almost like a father watching his son graduate from elementary school. At his side, Edward (the man dressed in red, to which was the outfit he'd been wearing all along) clasped a firm hand down on the boy's back, and patted it in approval.

"Glad you could join us, son." The man in black tipped his hat. "Welcome aboard."

"What's going on? What is all of this?" Delmaria motioned a hand out to the armies and fleets that worked their way around the massive dock.

"Preparing for war, of course." Teague heaved as though he were about to explain something, tapping two fingers lazily on top of a map on the crate that brought their attention downward. It was a very large, very detailed map of a city, tightly packed together down narrow streets and a few broad intersections. A snake-like river curled up from the left side of the map and then flattened out roughly in the middle of the map, dividing the area in question to two open sides.

"You came at just the proper moment - we were afraid we were going to have to start planning without you." Balnette chuckled. "I'm sure you're familiar with this by now." Adam held up the old water-logged journal, the initials still carved in to the front.

It took Delmaria a minute to realize what it was, having not seen it in a while, before nodding yes.

"Well, as you know, this here object of affection seems to be the prize for Mr. Avaricia - what we have reason to believe, however, is that he is not working alone in this all. As far as we can tell, there seems to be somebody he's working with, if not under."

"Which is why we're going to try to deal with the problem to the best of our abilities." A deep Spanish tone gruffed from his side. Delmaria turned to once again be met by that suave, sharp Spanish face, hidden under the cloak of the elegant blue hat that sat atop his head.

Without going any further in to detail, Delmaria lunged a bit forward and grabbed the man by the collar of his shirt. "Where's Maria?!" he stomped.

As he gripped the man, Jaenada stepped back a little, to which echoed of all things a clunk of wood. Delmaria looked down and nearly gasped in horror, as he saw that the noble's left leg had been replaced with a narrow beam of wood to support him. He looked back up at the man, who had an almost stern look birthing in his eyes. As the boy left go, the man answered. "Not all of us can exit battle unscathed, my friend."

"I'm sorry." Delmaria apologized, sighing. "Where is she?"

"I hope you'll be happy to know she's alive and well - she's safe aboard my ship for the moment, though much against the protest's of my advisers."

Darkskull's eyes widened as quickly as his heart sank. He immediately spun around, preparing to run down the dock aimlessly until he found the ship where the girl stayed, but instead he was caught at the back of his arm by a thick pirate hand. "I don't think so, mate." Teague bellowed. "You can see her after we finish up our deeds in London."

"London?" Delmaria turned back to his spot, intrigued. "Why London?"

Jaenada answered again. "Avaricia has made a very intricate plan out of everything. On the night when the city will be celebrating and rioting in the streets, he'll be taking advantage by meeting in the darkest alleys to plan out his next moves in gaining the upper hand in this war. We need to make sure that whatever goes on that night, we not only intercept, but squash and destroy beneath our boots."

Balnette nodded. "Now, as I was saying. We'll all be passing up through London at separate points and areas, as a way to not draw any attention to ourselves, though still keeping a relative distance to keep sight of one another. All colors and flags are to be replaced with a Union Jack. Your crews are expected to stay low and act like nothing is commencing, and should mainly be concerned with not hitting any other ships.

"We'll be docking somewhere in the relative area of Westminster, on the opposite side of the river from the palace. You are to dock quietly, and pay all fees and taxes necessary when entering the port - if they ask you why you have so much gunpowder aboard your ship, slip them a few extra fees or take them aboard for a talk.

"We'll be meeting in the 'Sailor's Bride' to finalize any and all plans before we head out. As for fleet arrangements, Jaenada and I will head out of here a few days after you all to give you a head start - given the respectable speed of all of our ships, we should be able to meet up without any red confrontations not too far off from the city. You three will be heading out as soon as possible."

"Question: How will I be getting to London when my ship is still docked in Cadiz?" Delmaria raised a hand, insisting subtly that he planned to sail his own ship. He had tasted the helm before, and it was too much of an addiction to be denied.

"Oh, don't worry, your ship was destroyed during the battle." Jaenada chortled, flapping a hand to put the boy at ease. "Rest assure, we did salvage a few things, though we do believe that it's time for an upgrade from that dinghy of a ship." Jaenada pointed outward to the bay, and there, in the distance, stood his ship.

It towered high in to the sky with it's colossal masts, two three-sailed ships with a third sitting behind them with just two, and two triangle sails coming down from the first body mast to connect with the two-sailed bow mast. It's body was tall, wide, and thick, daunting in size as though it were a floating fortress waiting to come down on top of you and smite you, with shiny coat of wood that covered it. It glazed even with the lack of sunlight as you could make out the outlines of large groups of men running back and forth across the deck, preparing the monster of a ship - for him, of all people.

"A custom-built Defiant, made with only the most superior crafts and materials. Twenty-six sixteen pound gundeckers with sixteen nine-pounders upon on the top deck, with the addition of two eighteen-pound aft gunners. She peaks at seventeen knots on the broad reach, manned by a crew of just about four-hundred men." Teague patted the boy on the back, who was caught in a daze by his massive warship. "And she's all yours."

Delmaria felt light-headed at the sight, his knees quaking ever-slightly. He had only dreamed of ships like these, and now he his childhood dream of captaining one was a reality, though a bleak war-plagued one at that. "N-n-name?" he stammered.

"We call her the Sea Dragon - though I suggest you keep the name Delmaria. Delsea doesn't exactly have the same ring to it." Jaenada joked from behind him, but the boy completely ignored the giggles behind him as his eyes focused in on his prize.

Just as he began to step forward to head towards his ship, his attention was called back once again. "I believe you've been ignoring one of your fellow journeymen this entire time. Give him the dignities of at least acknowledging him." His father called. Delmaria turned and was met with the deviled glare of the man-in-brown.

Over him, stood a towering man, at least seven feet tall. His face was heavily tanned, drapped in a huge, frizzled mustache, which ran around the corners of his mouth, down to his chin. There, it dropped off in to a long, thick, frizzled beard, which reached down to the middle of his chest. His body was cloaked in a heavy leather coat, which was decorated in all sorts of military finery. His clothing was messy and tangled in all sorts of trinkets, shirts, and heavy metal belts, which might have weighted him down; if not for the fact he was burley. He had one heavy black boot, and where the other foot should have been, was a peg led. Atop his head, where his dread locks hung, was a large, brown admiral hat, with two playing cards hiding over the brim. He smiled, revealing a mouth full of dirty teeth, and a single shining gold one, as he said in an intimidating, scratchy voice, "'Ello, Delmaria."

"And hello to you to, Mr.....?"

"The name's Renveil. Captain Roger Renveil, thank you very much." The man gurgled when he spoke, and in one quick motion the man scooped up the boy's hand and shook it with a firm greeting. "No need to be so tense, boy! We'll be working together, aye?" The man smiled again, the same disgusting, black smile.

But Delmaria did feel offset. The man gave off a strange, eccentric presence, and the deep overtones that hung over him were too strong to ignore. He kept his distance from the Captain even as they all bid each other a safe journey and carried on towards their ships - and even as Delmaria marveled at his ship from aboard it's own dock, and meet and greeted all of his crewmen, did he feel that something brewed in the brown man's soul that was not at all pure.

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Lots of development in this chapter - and if you've read my other stories and paid attention, some of you may recognize one of the characters

Keep those reviews coming, mates!