Those Condemned to Freedom

[Captain Del]

You wouldn't believe the number of times I revised this chapter.

Well, here be the last chapter of build up in the story - and look, it's pretty short, too! Hope you enjoy it, mates! So, I present to you:

The Language of Freedom

The large War Frigate cut in between the two large cliffs that acted as a natural barrier to the cove. They rose far above them, at least triple the height of the tallest mast, commandingly tall and strong in their stature. From over them peaked the dark night, fogged by the clouds that sat before it. The waters that the ship's hull cut through the calm waters below them, carefully washing over the wood and rocks that protruded out of the shallow waters. The air was hot, yet the spines of the crew shivered as, through the fog, their target pierced through in the darkness. The tall figure rose in to the air like the Tower of Babel, but this was not what it was - this place was a convergence of people from across the globe, who spoke but one language - the language of freedom.

"Easy now, mate." Delmaria whispered to John as he gripped to the wheel tighter and tighter. The bay around them only allowed passage to the most agile and worthy of pirates, but Delmaria assured himself his crew would be let through by the sea, for the sole purpose of preserving this city of injustice. He eyed every single fiber of the waters that they passed, locked solely on the moment. He reached his hand up his neck, and gripped it around the small silver cross that hung there. His thick, grizzled hands were shaking, but the thought of Leanne soothed his mind.

Their ship slowly reached the fragmented wooden dock, the full mass of the town now in its full glory. The twisted and mangled wooden homes, buildings, and remnants spiraled up magically in a stout yet strong fortress, cut in to the sky. It was a wonder that could not be appreciated solely in words, which such a stunning sight still resided on this Earth. Delmaria could feel the stirrings of this magic place vibrate down his spine, as though the spirits of the ancient pirates who resided here were greeting him to their home. He could not tell if this was a good thing.

Delmaria walked to the right side of the ship, where he looked down on the now parallel dock. It was a shambled, tilted dock that stuck out of the water, and then led down in to a small tunnel that dipped in to the water just a little, and then rose up like a hill, in to the rest of the city. Guards lined the entire area, wielding weaponry that was born by the hands of only the more refined masters of war. They stared sternly at the ship, and amazingly persistent, for the pirate type of person. Delmaria found himself in a trance of sorts, before snapping to, and shouting out to nobody in particular, "Lower down the boards!"

He pounded down the steps quickly as his crew hurriedly assembled on the main deck, bringing up the boards that connected the ship to the dock, and leaning them down the side. Just as they got in to position, still rocking slightly, Darkskull abruptly jumped on top of it, and walked down it quickly, his boots splashing on the water that covered the dock. He looked around him, waiting for somebody to greet him, as his crew followed behind him.

Finally, from his left, a man walked forward, swaying slightly in his own drunken dance. His loose linen clothes hung down from his body, as did his drouping mustache and beard, intertwined in beads, did from his dark brown face. Atop his head, sat a large, black tricorn, under which his head of decorated dreadlocks hung. He poked his vision under them, with a questioning look, before nodding in assurance and continuing forward with a smile. The smart-faced man reached out a hand and shook Delmaria's.

"Jack, pleasure to see you again - even under his circumstances." Darkskull huffed.

"Pleasure to see you, Mr. Darkskull... to say the least. Welcome to Shipwreck Cove, mate."

"So are we just going to stand here, or shall we be on our way?" Delmaria asked as he began to walk around Jack.

Sparrow turned about and walked along side him, running his hand on Delmaria's shoulder and saying "The meeting's already started, mate."

1

The two pirates pushed open a heavy set of eccentric double wooden doors, glazed by time and carved in a sort of maze, describing a story of sorts. It featured ships, people, monsters, and the ocean, all mixing an acting in reaction to each other, each both angered and fighting with the other, but showing no clear winner.

Beyond it, was a long hall, previously the hull of a ship, with curved spars rising up at the side in images of mermaids and skeletons to support the ceiling. From the ceiling, hung a large chandelier, which was draped over the top with a blanket of stark-white cob webs, thick and unmoving. And under the light, sat a large, long table, with nine chairs lining around the sides, each deriving of its own origin. The table was surrounded by a large crowd, which silently turned to the two as they and their crews entered.

Delmaria found himself the center of attention, the eyes of men and women of every race and ethnicity staring down at him. They were cloaked from rags to riches, and each little group huddled in their own area of the room. They stood anxiously, but controlled, waiting eagerly to see what the new Pirate Lord would do. Some smiled, some glared, and others stood stoic and unwavering. Delmaria could feel the attention upon him, as he was the man who had called for this meeting only days after his "choosing." He could feel the room torn.

Darkskull slowly stepped forward, his boots creaking on the wood floor. Right at his side, before the table, was a large globe, out of it sticking eight long swords. These swords represented the pirate's freedom to plunder from whatever the world he chose - and, that the captains wouldn't fight each other in the hall. They each gutted in to the area of the globe which it's owner came from - each ocean was filled with metal, except for the Atlantic. Delmaria walked up to the globe, placing a hand on it, and spinning it. As the area of England cut across his gaze, he felt a sharp pain of sadness inside, but he ignored it. As the world slowed down, he pulled The Liberator from its sheath, and cut it in to the globe, slicing right in to Atlantic, and stopping the globe. The rest of the room clapped in approval, as he walked around it and followed Jack to the right side of the table, where their chairs were.

Delmaria was guided to the middle chair on the right side of the table, in between Jack's, to his right, and the Spanish Pirate Lord, a tall, burly, and hairy man by the name of Eduardo Villanueva. The two took their place in front of the chair, while they stared at Delmaria, who looked down at his. It was a tall, throne-like chair, dark in color and carved in twists and turns to represent the swirling of the ocean. It's seat consisted of a tattered, stained cushion, drops of blood giving it it's character. And at the top, a Kraken sat, it's tentacles reaching slightly out over the chair, as to embrace the head of its member. Delmaria took note the chair was by far the tallest in the room, wondering whether it was just a coincidence, or something higher than that.

Darkskull slowly walked to the front of the chair, and took a huff of air. The rest of the room still stared at him, awaiting his next move. Cautiously, Delmaria slowly lowered himself in to the seat, his back resting slightly and upright against the wood work. He rubbed his hands on the arm of the chair as he settled himself, taking in to detail every cut and curve. When he was finally ready, he looked straight out on to the table, commencing the rest of the Pirate Lords to simultaneously take their seats.

As the room fell silent from the Pirate Lords' motion, they once again shifted their attention back to Delmaria. As he looked around, unsure of what to do, Sparrow stuck out an elbow and nudged Darkskull, bringing him to a realization. Slowly, Delmaria rose to his feet, the center point of everybody's focus. He tilted his head up confidently for a moment, cleared his throat, and began to speak.

"Good evening, my Brethren. Welcome to the Fifth Meeting of the Brethren Court of Pirates." Delmaria nodded. "You have been ushered here so hastily because we have fallen under a dark time, my friends. No longer are the free ports that we mingle in safe, no longer are the waters we sail free from persecution. We find ourselves facing a global threat, that is not focused on trade, or wealth, but ourselves."

The crowd buzzed in concern, Pirate Lords twisting back and forth in their seats. One of them, a funny-looking French man by the name of Chevalle on the far side of the table, asked "And what exactly do you mean by this?"

"It appears... that one of our foes, Captain Roger Renveil, has returned to us... from death." As the room started to cry and shout in outrage, Delmaria shouted out, "SILENCE!" As the room hushed, he smiled in victory, and continued. "Bickering and disputing between us will get us nowhere. Renveil may not have been such an enemy in the past, but he is now. He demonstrated that to all of us when he sacked and nearly destroyed Tortuga. And I'm sure that if he could damage Tortuga to such an extent, then God only knows what he could do to Shipwreck Cove in his fullest stature."

"Do we know what he is going after?" A Chinese sailor said directly across from Delmaria, the translator for Ching.

"Yes, he's going after something called, 'The Headstone.'"

As he said those words, the room’s ears perked up to a thundering sound of heavy boots clamping down on the floor, on the far end of the room. The pirates turned to the head of the table, where there approached a thin, scraggly looking figure, cloaked in a thick black beard and a long red coat. His face was angry after withstanding the test of time, grunted and wrinkled in a sharp manner, ready to snap at anybody who went against his word. The room instantly stood up at his presence, and removed their hats.

The man stepped forward, placing his hands down on the head of the table. "The Headstone, you say? My, he surely is reaching farther than any of us could hope."

"What do you mean, Mr. Te... Captain?" Delmaria quivered a little.

"The Headstone is more elusive than the Fountain of Youth itself.... it grants it's wielder the power to control death itself, and as such, it is always found somewhere in history... wars have been decided by that stone, crusades have been led. It is constantly switching hands, so much so by the time you catch it's trail, it's already gone."

"And do you know where it is, Captain?"

"Yes.... here."

In the distance, far behind the room, the crack of cannon balls raged and flared down. They could hear crashing, screaming, and a calling of arms. The guards in the room instantly ran to the doors and locked them tight, placing huge panels before them, to let nobody in, or out.

The war for the Caribbean had begun.

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And so, we near the arrival of the final chapter. I kept this one as short as possible so I can really bulk up the last chapter.

Comments? Reviews? You better get them out while you can, mates - our story has neared it's end!