[Captain Del]

It took nearly two months, but I finally finished it! Here you are mates, as I present to thee:

The Battle of Tortuga

Beneath the commonality of Tortuga laid a new blanket of distrust and deceit, having been woven just after Delmaria's conversation with Reverent had ended. They parted their separate ways for the time being, agreeing to follow through with their plans and contact one another on the evening before their advance was to be made. Both of them realized the urgency of the matter before them, and neither of them wasted any time in preparing for what would unfold before them.

That evening Delmaria made a stop around every tavern in Tortuga, approaching every bartender and demanding the name and location of every pirate captain who was patronizing the tavern on that particular evening. He made his way across every floor of every bar and made quick conversation with every pirate who wasn't too drunk or too disgruntled to speak with him. Each conversation started with the same statement that no pirate ever wanted to hear; "The Crow's Nest calls."

In technical pirate language, "The Crow's Nest calls" was a dreaded term used only during times of dire need, often enacted by a pirate of higher standing within a particular port. In the most basic of senses it "translated" to "The Brethren is in need of your assistance," a question that many pirates did not like hearing simply because it implied that they were being called forth by an organization many pirates did not take heed to. Even with war being declared against pirates through declaration of war against the Brethren Court, many pirates thought that the idea of a government leading freebooters was detrimental to the very cause of being a "free"-booter.

Delmaria was one of those pirates for many years, in fact. Only when Leanne had awarded her Piece of Eight to him did he feel a connection with the Court, and even then did he feel more obligation than honor. On numerous occasions he had even gotten in to bar fights, duels, and ship battles with Brethren recruiters and captains for passing along the phrase to him that he was now passing along to others, but now he actually understood the purpose of this call.

Unfortunately many others had still not grasped the concept. The reactions to his call often came within the first few seconds of the conversation, and ranged from spits of alcohol and repeated jeering towards Delmaria to full-on rants against the authority of the Brethren, many of which often garnered applause and cheers from the pirates that were in the vicinity of them. Even as Delmaria tried to call out his side of the argument, trying to spread awareness of what was to come, none would listen to him.

Only a small portion of the pirates who Delmaria approached listened to him, and luckily those who did often in majority agreed to come and aid the Brethren. In total, from the twelve taverns he visited and the four-dozen pirate captains he spoke to, only ten of them were prepared to fight for the Court; a sad number in perspective, but it would have to be made due.

Within that night a campaign was run across Tortuga just as before. Doctor Grogan worked tirelessly throughout the night (Delmaria had paid him a substantial amount of gold to close his shop early for the night) creating a myriad of fliers calling forth pirates to attend a meeting within the King's Arm tavern the next afternoon, and directly after he finished Delmaria himself went around Tortuga and nailed the posters to every corner of Tortuga; the faces of taverns, shops, streetlights, market stands, dockyards, and even resting a few against the torsos of pirates left drunk out in the middle of the streets to wallow in the mud with the pigs. Meanwhile, the King's Arm was flooded with pirate volunteers who worked furiously throughout the night to clean the destruction in the tavern as quickly as possible, so that it would look mildly presentable even for rag-tag scallywags.

That morning as the Navy patrols began to walk the streets, pirate patrols followed. Every time a poster was taken down, another almost immediately took its place. Every time a Navy soldier shot a glance, three were shot back at him. And every time a Navy soldier so much as came within twenty yards of the King's Arm, whose doors were guarded top and bottom by the burliest pirates Darkskull could get his hands on, every able gunman motioned towards his pistol. Even without any violence, the tension that grew throughout the day as each side became more and more aware of his enemies' movements grew.

In the Town Hall of Tortuga, which had been renovated in to the Navy's base of operations, (and still lacked an official Governor months after Anne's death) British soldiers ran each and every way across the floor scrambling to keep up with reports of "increased pirate activity" that had been flooding in to the hall since earlier than morning from peeved citizens, worrisome spies and traitorous pirates looking for a form of immunity. Navy investigators lined up every "eyewitness" and questioned them one by one, trying to see what they could gather to secretly stack up information against the Brethren forces conjugating throughout Tortuga. Little did the Navy know, however, that Delmaria had taken the initiative of sending fake informants to flood the information lines and pass along false information, from telling the Navy that the Brethren's hideout was in the middle of the jungle to saying the pirates were stacking up supplies of pastries in the cargo holds of British cargo ships.

Ezekiel Rott hung over the banister of the Town Hall's second floor, draped in none other than Anne Bonny's old Governor's coat. Originally the heavy, fiery gold coat was designed for a man; she would throw it over herself like a blanket and wrap it around her using a long piece of cloth that she would use as a belt. She always kept it in the finest condition as one of her proudest possessions - now it sat on the shoulders of the least deserving man in Tortuga, smeared in dirt and food stains and reeking like pigs blood.

He twirled in his right hand a single gold coin that he had been rubbing in between his fingers for hours on end. His eyes were cold, and moreover angry at what he saw before him. He had anticipated that by now the floor below him would be covered in legions of men bowing and tipping their hats before him, not running around in their own chaos because of a few men that he had spent the past year trying so desperately to swipe under the rug. Not only had Delmaria managed to destroy the highest form of order within Rott's army, but he had made a mockery of him over the course of that entire summer, constantly wiping away effort after effort of attempting to gain a footing. Rott knew he wasn't the only man in the Caribbean; and he didn't like it.

"Sir," the reporting Officer (the one who Delmaria had so kindly punched in the face, and now had a bandage wrapped around his nose to prove it) shuffled his way to Rott's side after running up the stairs, sweat breaking on his forehead, "we've gotten fifteen more reports of pirates putting up fliers up and down Main Street. Shall we send a battalion to the King's Arm?"

Rott turned as quickly as his blood rate shot up from sitting on a stack on unbridled anger. "I'd rather not given the fact I don't want another one of my group soldiers single-handedly having their asses handed to them." he stepped back and looked back down at the masses in the parlor of the hall, throwing his coin down to the first floor with a careless flick of the wrist. He turned around and began to walk down the hallway leading to the Governor's office, calling over his shoulder "Keep the reports flowing and keep those soldiers away from that tavern. If Delmaria's smart, we'll hear from him first."

And sure enough, they did; later that afternoon as dusk began to break over the horizon, a single messenger was sent to the Town Hall with a message from Delmaria in hand - the very boy who Delmaria had spoken to just before the battle at Raphael's Vineyard. The boy walked quickly through the main street, cautiously ignoring the turning of every heard in Tortuga as he went forward. Rott, much as he had anticipated, stood at the doors of the Town Hall and snatched the note out of the boys hand as he approached:

Mister Rott,

It appears that both of our paths have unfortunately converged not side-by-side, but head on, resulting in a collision course that perhaps both you and I have anticipated for quiet a while. We have both attempted to prolong this in as many ways possible - or perhaps just simply you have - but never the less it seems the time has come.

Perhaps you're anticipating that your forces will smother me as you had so desperately hoped only a week ago. And in good reason; your troops are well-trained, your munitions are plentiful, your swords are sharper, and essentially you control the ground we walk on. But unfortunately, I hate to note to you, 'Governor,' that you're sitting atop an empty thrown.

As you have before, you clearly underestimate the ability of such a 'unruly' port. What we have is something you will never be able to attain, nor understand; we hold the courage of thousands of legions, and the spirit of a million men. Your guns and your munitions are dangerous, yes; but there is nothing more dangerous than an idea whose time has come.

~ Delmaria Darkskull

At the very second he closed the letter Rott's fingers enveloped angrily around the parchment, squeezing it so hard in his palm it looked as though he was trying to wring the ink right out of it. He threw the letter to the ground and abruptly turned around to retreat back in to Town Hall, where he brought life back to the scene through loud, rampant yelling.

The King's Arm, on the contrary, needed no push to be energetic. It had been transformed in to a military headquarters overnight, with pirates flowing freely in and out of it's doors as they were sent out on different, individualized orders across Tortuga as Delmaria furiously threw his plans together. He sat at a table in the center of the tavern covered in a gigantic map of Tortuga with letterings and markings lining every inch of the street plan, and from there he would bark quick orders at every pirate who came to the table looking for work. The tables that circled around him were lined with all different sorts of weaponry, ranging from blunderbusses, to cutlasses, to bows and arrows. Once again, anything that could be used as a weapon was put to use, and the Brethren hurried to evade Navy patrols across town as they tried to gather weapons.

It seemed as though as the day progressed the shift towards battle became more and more apparent. The townspeople who were the most exposed to gossip (mainly store clerks and socialites) were the first to flood the general supply stores and strip them of all the wood they could get their hands on. Warehouses were broken in to and stripped, dockyards were left bare, and even pieces of driftwood washed away by the wrecks of old ships lining the outskirts of the swamp (unfortunate vessels that had drifted too far from the port) were salvaged for anything that could be used to board up windows, doors, and any easy gates to the havoc that would be unleashed.

Some also chose to take it up a notch. Tortuga's bay in the late afternoon was crowded with ships of all sizes fleeing towards the small channel that opened up to the sea. They were mainly merchant vessels, not too connected with any place in particular so that it was easy to flee and island if need, and smart enough to know what came from battle, no matter the outcome, was looting. Other vessels were simply family-owned ships as small as rowboats that hoped to seek refuge from the destruction, even if that meant spending the afternoon maneuvering around waking waters filled with war ships. Some would flee as far as the surrounding islands; some would simply sail to the other end of the bay and hope fires did not rip across the island; only the smart ones, often the pirates who had turned down the opportunity to fight, kept their ships in the middle of the bay and waited for after the battle when the spoils would be ripe for the picking.

Ironically that day was the first time in years the Tortuga jail was actually used. Even though Delmaria and Rott had both threatened the Navy to not enforce any violence against the Brethren who ran around the port, many back alley arrests occurred in hopes of enforcing the Navy's previous calls against Brethren propaganda. The jail was flooded with pirates, many who found themselves being in jail for the first time - and many whose anger only erupted as they were shoved behind bars. The screaming, violence, and riots the jail guards had to put up with allowed for Retavick to have enough time to toss all of his finery in to the sewers bellow his cell, and caking the trap door over with a layer of cement to tragically hide the evidence.

And in the City of Thieves itself, the mobilization of a war effort was just as notable, if not more. Reverent stood in his same post at the center of the city as he watched barrels of gunpowder, munitions, rum, and anything that could cause an explosion worthy of wiping out an entire island being rolled around as quickly as possible like giant boulders thundering down the side of a hill. He smoked a box of cigars that he held against his side, a giant grin on his face.

"You seem to be proud of the little operation you're running here." were the words that caused Delmaria to nearly topple out of his chair amidst his frustration and anxiety. He turned around to see Nayana making her way from the back door of the King's Arm, weaving her way through the pirates sprinting back and forth across the tavern.

Delmaria rose to his feet and greeted Nayana with a hug; she was one of the few people he ever greeted with such a manner. "And tell me that you enjoyed your few days travelling through the forests while I was here dealing with all of this?"

Nayana rolled her eyes and strolled past him back to the map. "Hardly. You would imagine that those out in the 'countryside' would take us in, but word travels quicker than we had anticipated. We headed back to Tortuga practically right after you did."

Delmaria joined her, looking back over the map. "And where's Maudie?"

"Enjoying her time getting herself settled on a ship far away from port." she turned to Delmaria. "Right now my Shark is making it's way out of port so it doesn't fall victim to the looting spree that will ensue shortly after all of this passes over, and suppose your ship should do the same."

Delmaria shook his head. "An open dockyard is all it would take for Rott to make a nice, clean exit. I'm not letting him leave Tortuga a free man, let alone an alive one."

Nayana sighed, taking a seat in the chair Delmaria had been sitting in. "Del, perhaps if you were not so bent on killing Ezekiel you could focus yourself without as much cloudiness in your mind."

Delmaria sighed. "There isn't a night that goes by where I don't regret killing Rott when I had the chance. All I had to do was just... push..."

"You didn't do it because it was the right thing to do, Delmaria. It's not your fault you have honor and he doesn't. He surrendered himself to the Brethren, and took advantage of it when you stepped down; at least you had the dignity to not kill him then and there, even if his parley was false."

"This time won't be so easy for him, I assure you." Delmaria ran his fingers over the map of Tortuga, and muttered under his breath "unfortunately this won't be as easy for us either..."


Delmaria turned his head and watched as the late afternoon began to envelope the town square just outside the large open doors to the Kings Arm. The dirt slowly became washed in a dull orange light that crept in from the bright blue sky slowly turning purple. It was like a satin curtain being closed over a stage before the theater opened before the show; and within a few hours, the stage would be set.

Nayana stood up from her chair and leaned up against the table right next to Delmaria. "I have the strangest feeling history is prepared to repeat itself, Nayana." Darkskull said as he stared out in to the fountain in the center of the town square. The sky grew a darker shade of red, and reflecting against the babbling waters of the fountain it almost seemed as though the basin was filled with blood.

1

Captain Ezekiel Rott seemed so proud walking down a runway with nobody to watch him. He walked with a strut as the shimmering gold inscriptions on the coat danced like wisps of a wildfire, and he brushed his grimy finger nails against the sleeve of the coat to wash away any remainders of the pigs blood that he had tried so carelessly to rid of. His high wigged hat had been patched up with poorly matched tanned leather, and looked so aged as if it had been hidden in an old sea captain's footlocker at the bottom of the sea. His chest was bare, revealing a large tattoo that crossed his body; a skull snickering a wicked smile with a black tricorne tipped over it's head, and two scimitars crossed downward behind its head. His hands were covered in jewels that glimmered against the torchlight from the balconies. He felt as though he was dressed like a king; though nobody came to recognize his regality, for good reason.

Behind Ezekiel Rott marched the largest British parade of soldiers Tortuga had ever recognized. They spanned across the entire width of the street, moving like a brick sliding down a shoot with just barely enough space to slide down. Twelve men marched across divided in to two halves, one walking in a line to the left of Rott and the other to the right so an aisle stood behind him. The rows ran down eighteen fold, all of the uniformly-issued strapped boots clicking on the ground at a single rate. Two-hundred-sixteen well-trained British arms men, led by a glorified drunkard, and seen by none.

Every window and door in Tortuga, no matter the size of the structure or distance from the town square, was boarded and holed up with every piece of wood that was scavenged. It was one of the rare times Tortuga fell silent; smaller skirmishes and brawls were shrugged off, but true battles were a spectacle that made the world freeze. The only exception this evening was that this time, the Brethren was not expected to win by a favorable standard.

Delmaria sat at the edge of the fountain facing the approaching forces. The brim of his hat was tipped over his brow; his left leg was bent and planted on the fountain's rim, and the right hung just off the side. Her left arm kept him supported as he leaned back like an artist's doll, and in his right he toyed with the two interlinked rings he took out of his ear. He always kept his jewelry and ornaments off of his person during battle, but his most prized possession was never left behind for sentimental value.

The two bands though rusted still glimmered in the faintest of light, as they always had. "It's a sign," Delmaria would always reiterate to Mister McVane whenever Delmaria kept up conversation on sleepless nights in port, "as if she's trying to pass on that same message of 'hope' like she always did when she was alive." he scoffed. "She never did give up hope, even in the worst of times, you know."

"Or perhaps it's just of admirable make." Johnny would roll back, too tired or distracted to keep up mystic conversation.

"Nay!" he shook his head back in enthusiasm, not realizing he was running monologue. "Before I got these two bound this here one" he tapped his finger on his "coronation ring," "it wouldn’t shine in the light of the most brilliant of days. But ever since, the two have shined like the sun of the southern sea."

And even as much as he was assaulted by those who wished to back him out of the belief the fact his jewelry shined was divine intervention, it gave Delmaria a sense of hope. He wasn't a religious man, but to Delmaria religion was anything that gave him the feeling that everything would be alright at the end of the day; so to him, his wife was his religion.

"Captain Darkskull!" Rott called out across the square as his troops came to a halt. Rott looked around the square, examining the desolance of the space, and throwing his hands down at his sides. "I assume you've been anticipating defeat?"

"I never anticipate anything Captain Rott." Delmaria swung his leg around, turning himself to face him. "I either know or I don't. It would be foolish to throw my faith around."

Rott raised an eyebrow. "So then how does fate swing this evening, Mister Darkskull?"

Delmaria flipped up his hat to reveal his eyes. "If I told you it wouldn't be much of a surprise."

"Oh, I'm sure there are plenty of things that you don't know, you're just too scared to admit it."

"You have no idea." he smiled.

Rott rolled his neck, letting his hat roll back slightly on his scalp. "Captain Delmaria Darkskull, under the jurisdiction of His Maj-"

"Oh, I see how quickly one is willing to throw about his loyalties for power."

"-Majesty King George the First, I hereby place you, and all affiliated captains, privateers, and pirates under the name of the Brethren Court of Pirates, under arrest."

Delmaria clapped his hands together as loudly as possible, like a stubbornly smug audience member watching a theater performance. "Well done! How many times did you practice that in the mirror?"

Rott's frustration had remained quelled up until then. Realizing Delmaria would continue this game for as long as possible, he moved directly to drawing his sword, hoping to add the intimidation factor. His deep black broadsword almost reflected like ebony against the strip of torchlight that beamed down the cut in the black that ran from the tip down to the hilt, which basketed around the hand in heavy morphs of metal that almost resembled twisted pieces of bone wrapped around the hand. The sword was in pale darkness against even the bright streets of Tortuga - it was as if the sword consumed itself in the night, taking darkness from the sky and enveloping it around it. It gave off a sense of dread even if it were simply in your presence; an uneasy feeling that led men to step off their balance, no matter how strong.

Unbeknownst to Rott, however, he had just triggered "the signal." Delmaria slipped the two conjoined rings in to his boot as he stood himself off, prompting the pirate who watched with a close eye from the corridors of the King's Arm to abruptly turn around and begin sprinting out of Delmaria's room and down the stairs, pushing his way through the masses of pirates that flooded the floor as they waited for the battle to transpire. Delmaria had seemed to be alone in his fight, but it was quite the contrary - across the town's square dozens of pirates holed themselves up in the buildings, watching from the windows and balconies in secret with their guns and swords propped up against their chests. Each of them watched the courtyard with intensity, praying to themselves that Rott's men did not shoot down Delmaria; they only hoped that Darkskull knew what he was doing, for in their minds if not, Tortuga had already been damned.

The messenger, a scrawny, young-hearted pirate with legs faster and more agile than many of the rusted pirates on the island, sprinted out the back entrance of the King's Arm and through the courtyard where Delmaria and Rott had fought, cutting up through the entrance with the building overhang that led further in to the city. Unlike the main streets of Tortuga, which were illuminated by dozens of lanterns and torches placed in every dark corner, the further one progressed in to Tortuga the less lighting there was. Only if you progressed in to the southwestern part of town far behind the Governor's Mansion - where many of the port's most profitable businesses took hold and the streets were lined with cobblestone instead of dirt - was there substantial lighting to give the eerie feeling of a walk through London in a much more tropical climate.

He cut a right at the break in the road and waved down to the next pirate who stood at the end of the short road, who was equally fast as he, which prompted him to turn on his heel up further south. Gathered just near him by the small wooden walkway that hung over the main street was a small brigade of roughly seven pirates, led by Lady Nayana. As she watched the messenger run by her, she commanded the pirates to begin slowly and carefully positioning large crates of gunpowder just before the bridge, while she waved her hat at the passing pirate. She stared off with both anxiety and eagerness as the palm of her hand slowly rubbed against her gun. She could feel the tension in the air building.

"Have you any idea what you have done to me, Delmaria? Do you know the torment you have caused me? I have been made a mockery of by you and the Brethren, and I'll be damned if I'm forced to walk this earth with your noses hanging over me!" Rott screamed, pointing the edge of his sword with a hand shaken by fury.

"You've brought this all upon yourself, Ezekiel. You turned your back on the Court the day you signed with Rott's side, and you alone are responsible for that treachery. You've only escalated that by bringing the Navy in to this - and you dare call yourself a pirate.." Delmaria tried his best to remain collected, even though the nature of Rott's argument boiled his blood. His fingers slowly unfurled from his fist, edging against the pommel of his sword.

The second pirate ran up through the courtyard that housed the Faithful Bride, run quiet by the war-like activity to come outside. He passed through the archway to it's left and ran in to the enclosure lined with a few small stone buildings, waving through the grounds to the third messenger, who then darted up the cobblestone streets that the heel of his heel clicked against.

"Roger would have made a damn fine Pirate Lord, and you know that better than you'll ever be willing to admit!"

"Is that what this is all about? All Renveil ever cared about was himself Ezekiel, but you were so driven by your need to be in a seat that you let him corrupt you." Delmaria drew back, belittling. "His lies have become your reality."

"I AM my own reality! Perhaps then I was weak, perhaps then I did not understand my potential, but now" Rott turned around with a misstep, waving his hands out to the crowd of soldiers behind him as his stomach buckled like an unstrapped boot, "I'M the one who controls my fate! And if I can control myself, I can control anybody!"

"No." Delmaria shook his head. "Men themselves are weak, Rott. They see overcoming themselves as a sign of strength, but it is only them striding over a fence of their own inability. We must first rule ourselves before we may rule others; but I'm afraid many men find by the time they reign over the hearts of others that they do not reign over their own."

The messenger bolted his way From West to East across the Southern part of town, the back of the Governors Mansion looming in silence in the distance behind a canopy of palm trees that stuck out from the sides of buildings. Wary eyes of children peeped out of the boarded windows of their homes only to be pulled back forcefully in defense by the hands of their fathers and mothers. The music that once lined the streets had fallen silent, leaving only the prickle of a torch's flame against wood and a hollow whisper of wind to echo through the streets.

The pirate darted in to the entrance of the Faithful Bride, for once thrown open in to the dank night air instead of being closed shut. "Carver" ushered the boy across the floor of the tavern, past the bar, and in to the back storage room, from where underneath a crate of old, dusty boxes an aged latch appeared, descending in to the sewers below.

"You act as though the path you have chosen in life has been more righteous than mine, Delmaria. How many lives have you ended? How many shortfalls have you caused? Would Maria still be alive if you had-"

Delmaria drew his cutlass, aiming it straight at Rott's gullet. "Do not bring Maria in to this, Ezekiel."

"The 'fairest maiden in all the Caribbean,' shot down in cold blood because a hardened sea veteran couldn't maintain his composure." Rott edged his way closer to Delmaria, tilting his head with slight premonition to slowly destroy his adversary from inside. "Oh but how men allow their tempers to light such destructive flames."

"Speak for yourself."

"Oh, but I do! I take full accord for every crime and wrong I have committed, but at least I have the self-satisfaction of doing so! Who do you think you are, Delmaria? A general? A king? A crusader? None fit the suit you hold - you're a filthy, mongrelling pirate, and no matter how much you glorify yourself, no matter how much you try to right the wrongs of your past, your time will remain clear to all; you are a harbinger of death, just as I."

"I never chose to go down this path. But if I am stuck on it for eternity I may as well do what I can to alleviate the pain of walking it for myself."

"Then how can you stand there and choose to never understand the pain I seath in? Are you that selfish?"

"I'm not the one who betrayed his brethren for power."

The pirate nearly slid in to the hole in the ground as he clambered down the small set of wooden stairs in to one of the more immediate tunnels of the rat's city. For a change the underground channels of Tortuga were lit by a single path of torches that illuminated the way to where Reverent waited, smoking a cigar in between his front teeth.

Delmaria's eyes drifted discretely to the foot of a Navy soldier in the very middle of the crowd that blocked the main street. He stood uneven on top of a copper metal plate partially unexposed from the dirt that always hid it from the knowledge of the outside world. It led down a steep tunnel that poked in to a chamber that sat in the heart of the City of Thieves; the very chamber where Delmaria's hidden weapon waited.

The last crate of gunpowder was thrown on top of the giant cascade of containers, leaving what Reverent described as a "majestic weapon of destruction;" dozens upon dozens of barrels and crates of gunpowder, rum (unfortunately) and any other highly volatile substance that was smuggled out of the warehouses across Tortuga in a manner of mere hours. It was enough gunpowder to make a general of an army drool, and it sat in discord in a dank cistern beneath the streets of Tortuga.

"It's a good thing we never put this room to good use," Reverent said as he examined his surroundings, "or else somebody would be quite upset."

The last of his servants (the last one to run madly out of the room) tapped Reverent on the shoulder out of curiosity. "How much gunpowder do you think we,ve got here?"

Just then they turned to the splatter of water against the weathered stone floor, where the messenger turned himself through the cracked archway. He was breathing heavily, unable to spit out a word, but he nodded to relay a single message; "Now!"

"Enough to blow a hole in the map." Reverent clasped his hand on the shoulder of his portly servant, who nodded as he took out his pistol.

Rott chuckled. He kicked the wingtip of his shoes on the dirt, turning the point of his sword around and around as it followed his foot. Rott now had moved himself to a distance of ten feet from Delmaria, but instead of raising his guard, Darkskull lowered his cutlass. His eyes drifted as Rott drew closer to the right end of the overhang that sat above the street, where he caught eye of the tiniest sliver of a wooden barrel transposed just before the curve of the building.

"Easy..." Nayana whispered over the shoulder of the quickly sweating pirate that sat just before the edge of the bridge. He rolled his palm over the head of a barrel of East India Trading Company industrial hand-grenades, though all of his senses were fixed on the heads of the Navy soldiers that stood just beneath the curved walkway. Nayana's ears almost twitched as she waited in the silence for the sharp, piercing signal that would cause all of Tortuga to turn inside out.

"You know Delmaria, you seem to be under the misconception that you and I are two opposite evils. In truth, there is no such thing as a 'shade of gray' in the spectrum; there is only black and white - good, and evil." Rott walked side to side, shifting his weight between his legs as he drew closer to Delmaria. Darkskull didn't move.

Reverent's assistant positioned himself just underneath a hole that came down from the ceiling of the room in which one of the few beams of light that illuminated the room came down from. It led up a short stone shaft to a weathered copper sewer top that sat right in the middle of the road where the group of soldiers stood, unbeknownst to what was going on directly beneath their noises - literally.

"As much as you will try to justify yourself, Delmaria, there will always be that beating in the back of your head that reminds you you will always lie on the opposite side of the spectrum from the light - my side."

Rott has transgressed the space between himself and Delmaria, reducing to only a matter of a few feet. They now stood face to face for the first time in months, if not years; they may had seen each other's presence or even crossed swords, but for such a long time they had never been as close to each other as they were now. Delmaria could feel the musk of Rott's skin still emanating under his coat - the smell of blood, rotted flesh, and uncooked meat.

Their blades now were inches from touching one another - the tips of their swords, hanging at their sides, scrapped pieces of dirt and dust in one another's direction. The surmount of Delmaria's misery lied before him, and all it would take to end it all was to raise his blade and strike him down. Doing so would be a dishonor to the Code - but in this moment, Delmaria felt disregarding the Code would be the honorable thing to do.

Reverent took a final puff of his cigar and nodded to his assistant, backing slowly towards the archway that led out of the room. The red tip of his cigar vibrated a low hum as he stuck it out of his mouth and waved it through the air, and as his shoulder hit the doorway he extended his arm.

"And no matter what reconciliations you try to admit, Delmaria, it will always remain clear;"

Nayana leaned her hand on the back of her crewmate and took a heavy breath.

Reverent flicked his wrist, sending the cigar like a fiery arrow on to the trail of gunpowder that ignited itself across the floor.

The pistol clicked with a soft, preemptive warning, before charging the gunpowder in it's barrel to explode with all the force it's soul could muster.

Delmaria clenched his fist with all the muscle in his arm concentrated on the knuckles of his right hand.

And Rott leaned in, whispering slightly in to Delmaria's ear, "You're just like me."

The gunshot that blasted through Tortuga that day was the loudest noise that had ever rippled through the Caribbean. It did not only echo within the ears of every pirate in the city, whether of the utmost attention or relaxed in the deepest slumber, but within the heart and soul of every living being in the Southern Sea; on that day, at that very moment, the final weight was tipped on to a table prepared to collapse, and the second that it was shot was as if Lucifer himself had plunged a fist upon the Earth.

The bullet shot up through the sewer plate in to the boot of the Navy soldier who stood on top of it, sending a shockwave through his body that would only last for a few moments. "NOW!" the Lady of Tortuga roared, as with all of her crew's might their barrels of East India Industrially Smuggled gunpowder trampled across the walkway that sat over the main street of Tortuga. Rott only had a few seconds to turn around and look at the sliver of hysteria that was to come, as Delmaria grabbed him by the shoulder, whipped him around, and rocketed his fist straight for Rott's nose.

The only proper description that you could acquire from somebody who was anywhere within a four-hundred foot radius of the blast was a complete whitewash of deafening, overwhelming energy, before an immediate plunge in to indescribable mayhem. An explosion of black smoke ripped up from the opposite sides of the main street from where the Navy soldiers stood, shaking the ground as though the Titan Atlas dropped the Earth from his palms. In a matter of seconds a gigantic fire ravaged the enormous hole that had formed in the middle of Tortuga, plunging dozens of British soldiers in to its fiery, gluttonous mouth, while dividing the remaining battalion on to two sides of the city.

For those who stood near but had not been engulfed by the ravine, the explosion was enough to send all the men nearby back off their feet ten, twenty, even thirty feet from where they once had stood. The force from the explosion propelled Delmaria and Rott back in to the waters of the fountain, where the blood dripping from Ezekiel's nose pooled around him as his face slammed in to the cool waters.

The barrels that had floated across the walkway ignited a second yet immediate explosion that nearly disintegrated the bridge upon contact with the flames from below, sending up ashes, stone, brick, and even barrels that had failed to ignited stories of feet above Tortuga before they crashed back to the Earth upon nearby stores, unsuspecting soldiers, and even in to the center of the square. Nayana and her crew scampered to their feet and made a run from their spot to desperately escape the debris that feel down upon them as the buildings near the impact site shook and crumbled, quaking from a lack of support beneath the ground and toppling in to the pit.

The cool, turning waters of the fountain provided an eerily cool sanctuary for Delmaria in the seconds he submerged himself to avoid the flames that blistered the night sky. It was in these waters that Roger had stood, where Anne was slayed in the very coat Ezekiel wore now. He considered, perhaps, that it was fate that had brought those who had killed the coat's rightful owner back to the land where the crime was committed - he figured now it was telling him to right the wrong.

Every window and door around the square of Tortuga bursted open, with each building revealing a concealed group of soldiers from both of the opposing sides. Brethren pirates, British soldiers, and a fresh batch of Rott's newest recruits, draped in the signature torn and meshed rags, flooded out in to the grounds and balconies, firing off crossfire from every point on the circle of buildings that created a frenzy of bloodshed. The smoke from the explosion now only acted as a dark, sickening backdrop to the white plumes of smoke and sparks of sword strikes that coated the battleground at the center of Tortuga.

Delmaria submersed himself out of the water and in to the powerful chaos of Tortuga just as Rott did, his coat now dripping wet and his face smeared with the undertone of blood. Both of them had managed to keep a hold on their swords, and while Rott heaved over to pick his up, Delmaria overshadowed the formality of swordplay for a stern punch with his left hand right in to Ezekiel's forehead, tumbling him back in to the waters.

Delmaria took a few steps forward to follow up, but he felt a hand latch around his arm. He was slinked back in to a crouch and turned to face Nayana, who had quickly dove in to the fountain to retrieve Delmaria from being caught immediately in the center of the battle. "Come with me!"

"NO!" Delmaria wrestled his arm in her grasp, but Nayana's hands had become so strong over the years that she could have been equally as strong as him. She restrained him even as he turned his head to watch Rott slither out of the edge on the other side and run to a group of his crew mates waiting for him at a doorway across the courtyard.

Nayana took another tug at the reluctant Delmaria as he fought the urge to break away across the field of fire after him, instead grunting as Nayana pulled him out of the fountain. The two hit the ground running as they dashed towards the open doors of the King's Arm, guarded by two pirates with blunderbusses who fired them off in the general direction of the enemy as they guided the two pirates inward. Around them Tortuga had been transformed in to a plain of iron and fire, the normally jovial town square now consumed by clusters of soldiers and pirates falling left and right to one another's swords. Even though it was early on in the battle, there seemed to be no decisive notion as to who would be gaining an advantage - though many of the Navy were savaged by the explosion and the Brethren held the higher ground aboard the balconies, Rott's men worked with a rabid efficiency despite their gloomy appearance. They seemed almost awakened by the sight of blood on their skin, as though with each drop that fell upon the ground they waked they gained a larger stride.

A last pitch of fire nipped at the bottom of Delmaria's coat as he tripped his way in to the King's Arm, just behind Nayana. Three more pirates, refreshed and washed with a determined glare that reflected in the light of their blades, pushed Delmaria further in to the tavern as they passed. They paused at the foot of the balcony, surveying the field, before the one at the head of the group - the shortest and smallest of the three - let out a roaring battle cry, bursting in to the field with the other two closing the door to the tavern behind them. In the split between the doors as they watched them closed, Delmaria could see a bullet clip right through the valiant boy's collarbone.

Even with the door closed the feel of the battle did not escape them. The windows at the front of the tavern had been busted through, and the heat from the fighting outside radiated in through them. Johnny McVane was helping Doctor Grogan ferry medicine in to the basement to set up a small hospital that would be run beneath the tavern, while the guards positioned themselves near the backdoor and on the upper level near the balcony. Ever so often they would fire down at the enemies who came close to the building, but they were instructed not to waste their ammunition on picking off men in the courtyard with such a risk of taking out their allies.

"God damn Delmaria," Nayana panted as she leaned herself again a table. "Now is not the time to try and settle a rivalry!"

Delmaria got to his feet and walked forcefully towards Nayana, bringing a heavy air with him. "It's more than a rivalry, I could have killed the whole damn war in its first battle if it wasn't for your need to play the heroin and save me!"

Nayana was going to protest, but she was too overcome by her shortness of breath, and wavered under the idea of sparking Delmaria's shortening temper. "You could have been killed out there before you landed your third punch. You'll get your chance before the night is dead, trust me."