Blood of the Liberated

[The Stealthy Pirate]

Good thing I sped read that one. Good anyways, mate.

[Robert Ironcastle]

Wow, Del.The warning at the start really was necessary.

[AdmiralSavvy]

I could see why you said that this chapter was stressful for you to write, but the graphic and creepy natures made this one one of the best! Haha. :]

[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.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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!

[The Stealthy Pirate]

Great chapter mate!!!

[Tiberius Fireskull]

Finally caught up. Very good Del. Your writing style is very mature, with a good mixture of intense fighting and slower explanation scenes. And I can see some things starting to come out of it, especially the tattoo.

[Charlotte Truebonney]

Captain Del, I have to say you are a very talented writer! Your story drew me in from the first page and I read every chapter! It was if I had a good book in me hand and couldn't put it down. I am definitely a fan and will look for your previous stories. I am eagerly awaiting the next chapter. Thanks for sharing.

[Captain Del]

Thank you, mates!

Sorry this chapter took a little long, mates - it was mainly a build up chapter with not much substance, and in the end I made the decision to cut out a lot of useless filler that would have made the chapter very, very stale. So, without further adieu, I present to thee...

Wary Before the Storm

The weather became increasingly worse and worse as the crew finished and finalized all ties and preparations for departure, now starting to be daunted by the winds that whipped flurries of mist in to their face. The wooden floors began to become more wet as they went about, and a few dozen of the men assigned to make sure the deck stayed clean and orderly often found themselves slipping and sliding on their knees back and forth as the waves rocked the massive vessel from underneath. It came to the point that now, even in the afternoon, groups of large glass-enclosed candles had to be left hanging in order to supply some sort of light under the darkening sky.

Delmaria stood in the center of the ship, just in between the two main masts that stood in the ship's center. It was a massive ship, indeed - the hull was wide enough to accommodate a frontline of gunners marching down a battlefield, and the main deck was long enough to serve as a battlefield. The hundreds of men employed under him ran across the deck, mindful of the large open grates in the center column of the ship, where the barrels of ammunition were being passed back and forth. Back down by the helm, two curved staircases curved out and then to the second deck, which expanded for a little more before two more side staircases led up to the helm, where Delmaria's navigators stood panning over the maps given to them so they could chart course easily and efficiently.

Delmaria was still caught in a daze by the fact this monster of a ship had so quickly become his. He walked across the deck to the port where he stood forward over the banister, looking at the tower of a prison that had become the pirate's stronghold of Western Europe. It was the first time that he had seen the fortress in it's full glory, extending high in to the sky adjacent to the large cliff that extended up at it's side. The waves had become so high that they began lapping over the side of the stone dock and began washing sailors who hadn't yet boarded their ships back and forth, yet they still trudged on. The shape of the tower was odd - it was thick and strong, yet it jutted in and branched out in to space. From large, gap-like windows you could still make out the dim torch light that illuminated the dank hallways, which inside the remaining pirates twiddled their thumbs as they awaited war to spark.

Delmaria tapped his hands on the wooden railing, and then in response his shoulder was tapped from behind. He turned to see a group of roughly ten men, all dressed in tattered and torn wears of the French Navy stand there, staring at him with expectant expressions. They all seemed to be in their middle ages, yet they were roughly the same high and build as Darkskull, who kept his hand on the railing behind him so that he may not topple back from their overpowering presence. One of them, a darkly tanned man in the front, spoke to him in an accent reminiscent of a merchant from Paris he met once as a child. "You are our captain?" he raised a pointed eyebrow.

Delmaria cleared his throat, standing up straight. "Indeed I am. And I suppose you're my sailors?"

The man scoffed at the boy. "Your sailors? We only serve the ship, not some boy of a captain."

"As I recall this is my ship. If you serve the ship and the ship serves me than you either have a choice to be a servant to the master or a slave to the servant." Darkskull spat, getting tense by his denial of his own ship.

"Your ship?" one of them called from the back.

"YES, my ship. And you can either listen to your captain or I'll find a way to FORCE you to listen." Delmaria stepped forward, trying to loom over the men.

The Parisian stepped forward as well, getting uncomfortably close to the boy and staring him down in to the eyes. Delmaria knew what he was trying to do - the officers of a ship were much like a pack of lions in the animal kingdom. The alpha male was left to watch his enemy and stand his ground, to prove that he was dominant. Even a sign of weakness and he and the ship would fall prey, which would lead him to being submitted, or even mutinied against.

But not in this case. The Frenchman stepped back, squinting his eyes at the boy and nodding agreeably. "You may be young, but your heart is of fire. You will lead us to either greatness or failure by it." the man looked up and down the boy once more, before motioning the rest of his group back over towards the helm, to get to work.

It wasn't long before the yelling ceased and all men watched as the glorious, magnificent sails dropped, jolting the ship forward with an oncoming gust of wind. The crowds of men across the three departing ships cheered uproariously as they set sail under a new heading, and in their heads a new dream and idea that they need not serve kings. Delmaria, who stood at the bow of the ship, tightened his grip on the cordage next to him, feeling the wave of mist spearhead his body. He felt like he was being exposed to a new world - this time, he was the captain of his own destiny. The world was his to explore, to thrive in, and to conquer.

The bow breached over an oncoming wave, and slammed down uneasily in to the waters as it glided out of the bay. Delmaria walked over to the side of the ship, and looked back out over the side, to look at the fortress which he spent the grueling summer months in. He watched as the mist swirled up it's spiral, coaxing over it's face and sealing it away from him as it faded off in to the distance. His hand, which was still on the edge of the ship, did a little wave goodbye, to which he creditted himself with a smile.

1

The voyage was a very easy one for the most part. They stayed just off of the coast of the Spain, and then France, just out of reach so that they couldn't be seen by any military installments on the shore, but still close enough to not get lost. The three ships moved like a pack, not going a certain distance from one another. The only time when they separated was when they had to make port, each going to a different one along the coastline so to not draw attention to themselves as a group.

Though still caught in the sense that he was now a pirate captain, Delmaria could not stop looking over the side of the ship to watch the ship that was captained by that bone shivering Renveil. He learned to study every single feature of that ship, because he looked at it so often to make sure nothing was going on. It was a ship larger than his in both hull and mast size, except with an odd shape. The back helm was almost drastically higher than the main deck, though the hull itself was pretty high. At the bow it gave down a little bit to a point where two forward cannons sat, which was not unusual. It was how the ship was decorated that offset him - it was painted a deep, dark black with dreary red sails, blending it in almost too well with the night. Skull charms and other trinkets littered the place, and you couldn't get beside the fact that no matter where you were, you could feel some of the skull masks plastered to the stern of the ship staring back at you.

But that wasn't the worst part of it. The man himself was all to mysterious in the first place for you to spend so much time in such close proximity, like he was almost forcing you to watch what he was like. Yet he did it in such a way that would make one feel like you were only catching him by circumstance, and by that you felt more secure jumping over the side of your ship than staying onboard to watch one of his shows.

Sometimes you could see him standing on the side of the ship, watching the two other ships that sailed near him, though it looked as though he was doing it discretely. At times you would make eye contact with him, and he would just stare back without a sense of emotion. Other times, in the dead of night, when all the crews had taken to rest and you walked across the dock to make final orderly checks, you could see him walk out on to the small balcony on the back of his ship, a small object in his hand - sometimes a piece of cloth, other times a small animal. In the case of the animal, often a small chicken, he would take out his dagger and cut off it's feet, then wings, and finally head before discarding in to the ocean reminiscent of a bittersweet farewell. He dare not let the Brown Man see him on those occasions - God only knows what would happen in such an event.

So on Hallow's Eve, when both Jaenada and Darkskull were invited over to Roger's ship for a poker game, it could only be imagined how nervous Delmaria was. As his crew maneuvered the Sea Dragon to park next to Roger's ship, Delmaria could only help himself from buckling under at the knees. But he knew that Jaenada would be with him, and in that little fraction of self-reassurance did he walk easily along the plank that connected the two ships, while all of Renveil's crew piled half and half on to the other ships to throw drunken parties and tell ghost stories.

Captain Renveil wanted the ship to be emptied, save the three captains.

2

October 31st, 1702
Aboard The Harkaway
10:47 PM

The dark wood of the hull seemed only darker in the pitch black darkness that filled the hull of the ship, which creaked and cracked in to the void as the ship moved back and forth in the seas. Delmaria looked around in to the shadows as he and the other two captains stepped down the stairs from the main deck in to the hull, which didn't allow him to see anything aside from the outline of a few crates, banisters, and cannons. Off in the distance, however, was a small spot illuminated by a single candle, sitting atop a small wooden table.

They made their way down the center of the hull, not touching a single thing as they made their way closer. Delmaria kept himself a comfortable length behind Renveil, who walked quietly in front of him and Jaenada as they were led through the abyss of the ship. The only noise they heard was the squeak of a few rats that ran around on the far sides of the room, sputtering around lightly on their feet without being seen. The table that they looked over too became more and more detailed - elevated up to about chest level while sitting by a square support, the boards carved and dug in by cuts and daggers. The candle in the center of the table had melted to look like a small mountain of yellowish wave, and besides it a perfectly stacked deck of cards sat just out of reach of the goo that began to spread. Three chairs sat around the table at equal distance from one another, as though this all had been perfectly pre-planned.

Delmaria took the chair directly across from where Renveil sat, with Jaenada sitting at both of their sides from the back of the small table. The Brown Man ran a heavy hand over the table, scooping up the cards and shuffling them. As he toyed with the cards, he turned his head up to look at Darkskull. "Have you ever played poker, Mr. Darkskull."

The question caught him off by surprise. It sounded like a friendly question, but resounded the echoes of a despicable challenge. He played it off comfortably. "Not directly, but I've learned by watching over shoulders."

Renveil chuckled. "Well, you'll find that poker is a game that isn't just based on knowledge, from experience. I doubt very much that you'll be able to hold a candle to Mr. Jaenada or myself."

"Well, as far as I see it, that isn't the case. Acting comes by at natural talent - I'm sure that I could best the most avid of theater members at any turn of the tongue."

Another chuckle, thought this one was quieter - more off-balance. "Don't get ahead of yourself just yet, my boy." Renveil began passing the two base cards around the table. "A simple game of Pirate's Double, gentlemen."

Delmaria's cards slide across to him, and he quickly, picked them up in his right hand to see them. Though, he was more interested in keeping an eye on Captain Renveil than he was on his hand - after all, they weren't playing for anything other than bragging rights just yet.

Renveil seemed to be like a machine, winning nearly every hand that came his way. Jaenada and he passed between them an uncomfortable joke or two, but Delmaria stayed silent, watching the Brown Man as he went about playing. He had noticed that the two cards that once sat in his big tipped hat were no longer there, though they always were when he was out and about. He wondered if he had something up his sleeve - literally.

After a few more rounds of Roger continuously winning, Delmaria spoke up. "I must say, you play like a man that has lost his soul."

"Who says I haven't?" Roger smiled, then bursting out in laughter. Jaenada and Darkskull followed suit, but only as a way to keep the tensions low.

"I'm only commenting on how you work the cards so well. You seem to be a very superstitious man, what with all the decor you surround yourself with."

"Ah, I see." Renveil nodded, putting his cards down on the table. He clasped his hands together, looked around, and then threw them outward. "Everything I surround myself is simply for show, my friends. Nothing here is supernatural, nor is it superstitious - after all, every pirate has his own unique touch to things."

"I suppose you're right. My apologies." Delmaria smiled. He raised his hand in a measure of good will, but he still knew that Renveil was lying - he could see right through the deceptive smile that he had pasted on to his face.

Just then he saw Renveil's face freeze, following his hand as it went up. He looked up to his hand, and there, in the light of the candle, shimmered the crowning jewel of the ring that Marina had given to him just the day after they had met. Renveil's eyes were as wide as a bat's in the moonlight, and slowly he straightened himself as Delmaria slowly retracted his hand down to his lap. Renveil reached out a hand and motioned it, meaning for Darkskull to lift his hand back up. "W-where did you get that?"

Delmaria refused, gripping his pants leg tightly as he held his ground against the stare of the Brown Man. "I reserve my right to not tell you."

Roger stiffened his stare, then tried to play it off easily. "Easy boy, we're among friends. Just give me the ring." His hand his the table, and he held it open, waiting.

Delmaria slowly began to raise his ring hand, but as he did he shot out his arm and grabbed the pistol that sat at the side of his belt, pointing it out across the table to his opposing captain. But just as he did, he was met with the same resistance, Renveil's pistol (which was much larger) pointing back at him. Jaenada stood his feet, backing away from the table in protest. "Damn it you two, put them down!"

Rneveil licked his lips, slowly standing up from his chair, as did Delmaria. "Unfortunately Mr. Darkskull finds us at odds, my friend. If he would simply learn to let go, this would not be happening."

Now in a complete standoff, Delmaria gripped the handle of his pistol tighter. "And it seems as though Mr. Renveil thinks just because I may not have as much experience under my belt as he means I'm corruptible. I may be young but I've learned a lot on these waters, Captain. A lot."

And there they stood, both holding their guns just feet away from each other's face. It was a funny feeling, Delmaria felt, the feeling of staring in to the eyes of a man that may either kill you, or have you kill him. He had to be strong in this situation, for the first man to collapse would be the first man to die, put in the mercy of his enemy. Renveil seemed offset - as the night progressed he had become more and more offset, especially since he saw the ring. He knew that Renveil would make an attempt to take it from him at his weakest moment, but why? What would be so special to a pirate of such wealth that a simple ring would be his crowning achievement in this life?

It was not simply that he wanted to keep the ring from Renveil either, nor protect his honor - it all went back to Marina. Even after sailing for a month with his fellow captains he was never once allowed to see Marina, but he still had her ring to remind him of the warmth that filled his heart every time he saw her. It was what kept him awake and alive during the day, because without it he would be truly alone - alone in a crowd of sailors. He would not let Renveil further corrupt his security.

And finally, after a few tense moments, Renveil made his move. He turned the pistol to his side and shot in to the darkness, echoing loudly in the abyss of the hull. Following the shot, a painful squeak could be heard, before the room fell silent - including the silence of a small patter along the floor. Renveil then tossed his pistol down on to the table, and began to walk towards the staircase off in the distance. "C'mon gentlemen, we have a city to burn."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Again, my apologies if this felt rushed. I made a lot of edits to this chapter mainly because I didn't want it to be twenty pages of endless psychology.

Not only that, but consider this your breather for what lies ahead. The next chapter is going to have lots of detail, story, and everything you've come to love in this story rolled up in to one. I'm considering it to be my Magnum Opus - but that's for you all to decide

Thanks for reading, mates! Be sure to comment!

[The Stealthy Pirate]

Good as always, Del!

[Charlotte Truebonney]

Very good, very much looking forward to the next!

[Captain Del]

Ahoy pirates.

After much contemplation, I have finally come to a very gripping decision. I feel that I do not want to continue Delmaria's past, because I do not want to risk the idea of ruining such an ideal character's past.

Delmaria to me represents something more than "just a character" - he represents something beyond what I can comprehend. He is supposed to represent not only myself, but my ideas, as well as all of yours. The good thing about Delmaria is that he is supposed to be that hero that you always wanted to have, to know about, and love; so venturing in to his past any further would just be doing an injustice against him. Delmaria's past is not for me to write so much as it is for you to invision, because I want him to be just as special to you as he is to me.

That being said, I am going to release a story in the upcoming weeks that will basically continue where "Those Condemned to Freedom" left off, and I intend it to be just as if not more epic than all of it's predecessors. It will not be of Delmaria's past, but of Delmaria's present, and I intend it to not so much be focused on developing, as it is being.

Will I go back and release a chapter from Delmaria's past now and again? Indeed, I will - but for now, I leave the ink and the quill to you, my dear reader, so that you may find something in Delmaria just like I have. Let him symbolize who you are, and how you have come to be - for that's how everybody's past should be.

~ Del