A Pirate's Life: Chapter 7

>>The ship rocks to and fro with the motion of the waves...

The pirates close-in on the young Rakash, crawling over railings and crates as they attempt to choke any means of escape.

A strapping Gor'Tog covered in scars makes the first move, lunging his cutlass at the Captain. The Rakash leans to the left, stepping into the attack and placing himself under the Tog's arm. Driving his kaft directly upwards, he thrusts the knife directly through the muscles of the bicep and pulls it out again. The sailor drops his weapon and screams in agony.

The Rakash listens as footsteps echo across the deck board, approaching him from behind. He spins around, coming face-to-face with his opponent, grabbing him by the head and giving him a head butt directly to the bridge of the nose. The man falls to the floor, grasping his face with blood-strewn hands.

The sailors increase their assault, coming at the young Captain in pairs, though it gains them very little. The Rakash moves across the deck like a dancer performing, his steps both purposeful and executed with an understated grace.

"Bah! We got this!" one pirate says as he taps his friend on the shoulder. They break away from the group and close in on the Captain.

The two burly Humans attempt to flank the Rakash, approaching him from both sides with their swords in hand. One thrusting high, the other low, they time their attacks in an attempt to overwhelm the Captain's defenses. Twisting and turning, the Rakash parried every attack until he notices them starting to slow. Waiting for the right moment, he steps back, causing the attackers to run each other through in the confusion.

The Rakash snickers.

An Elf and Dwarf join the attempt to conquer the Captain, the Elf throwing a series of knives while the Dwarf closes in with a boarding axe. Picking up a lid from a nearby barrel, the Rakash blocks each of the oncoming knives, causing them to stick into the sun-bleached wood and not his limbs. He side-steps the charging Dwarf, kicking out his feet in the process and forcing him to fall directly on his own axe. Flinging the shield with deadly accuracy, the Captain manages to hit the Elf directly in the chest, knocking him over the railing and into the choppy water.

The Rakash sneers at the remaining sailors, displaying his defiance boldly across his face.

One of the men yells, "You lazy dogs! He's just a boy. Just one boy."

At the sound of this the Rakash finally launches his own offensive, lunging into an attack on the nearest opponent. He stabs his kaft through the stomach of a sailor, twice, leaving gaping holes in the man's abdomen. Before he can turn to face the next attack, he is smashed in his lower back by the Gor'Tog from earlier. Now brandishing a makeshift club, the Tog looms over the Rakash.

Slipping his hand into his quiver, the Rakash grabs his cuska, drawing it out with a fluid motion and gripping it in his left hand. Swinging the trio of weights around, the Rakash gains momentum before releasing it directly into the chest of the Tog. The weapon hits its mark, slamming into the opponent and breaking the bones surrounding the heart.

The Gor Tog falls, dead as can be.

A sneaky Halfling tip-toes down a banister and manages to get behind the Rakash, drawing his dagger in the process. Leaping from his poison, the Halfling sticks the Rakash in the back of his shoulder with his weapon and leaves it there. The Rakash turns, grabbing the little man by the hair of his head and drawing his own weapon cleanly across his throat.

The Rakash releases his grip on the corpse, letting it drop to the deck with a sick thud.

With swift motions, the Captain pulls the dagger from his shoulder and throws it at one of the sailors. The blade sticks directly into the right eye and causes the attacker to drop to his knees in pain.

Another Elf, who had been watching from high up on the yardarms, swings down on a line of rope with a rapier in hand. The Rakash steps back, leaving the sailor to whiff through the air and miss his attack. The Captain jumps up and grabs the rope, cutting it just below his grip. The Elf screams once before splashing into the water, while the Rakash swings back down to the deck with a deft grace.

The attacks continue, the Rakash taking more than a few wounds during the heated scrap. Bodies pile on the deck as the Captain counts each member of his wretched little crew. When they all lay dead or dying he finally drops his guard, taking a moment to assess his combat conditions.

::WHAM::

Everything goes black...


>Fin?

A Pirate's Life: Chapter 6

>>You are once again whisked away to...


[The Raw Deal, Fore Deck]

"We done as you said Cap'n." one of the scarred-sailors grumbles "Ain't nobody touched a briny little scale on him at all."

"Aye! But now the morn has come an he's got to live up to his bargain."

"Yar!" a few of the crew sound their support.

The Rakash speaks slowly, his eyes sweeping the gathered faces.

"You question me?" he asks. "I, who plucked you off that rock and set you on a path for fortune? I, whom accepted you into my crew when all others had shunned you?"

"Shame on you all." he says as he glares at them.

"This creature killed your friends, yes. But he also killed my crew, MY crew." he begins to walk towards the chained Merlew, glaring down at the captive.

"You know what your punishment will be, fish?" the Rakash muses.

"I do not care, simply be done with it." the Merlew snaps back.

"You will hang." the young captain says curtly. "You will see the waves below you, as the life leaves your body, and you will be unable to feel their embrace. You will know we, of the land, have given you the justice you have deserved."

The sailors cheer at the sound of this foreboding message.

The Rakash eye's a pile of rope, looking for one in particular. Spotting it, he hand it to some of the crew and says with a sneer, "Use this, make me a noose and climb up on that yardarm. We'll string our catch from there."

The men do as their captain commands, tying the line into a noose and draping it over the yardarm, leaving it to dangle just above the deck boards.

As the Rakash leans over to wrap the rope around the Merlew's neck, he slips something into his hand. Speaking softly the Rakash asks him, "Are you ready for this?" The Merlew nods slightly.

Stepping back from his captive, the Captain loudly proclaims his judgment on the poor creature.

"For crimes against this crew, for the killing of my men, and for your skullduggery... I demand that you will hang. This is my right as Captain, and I will have my justice!"

The sailors cheer.

"Hoist up this barnacle, so that we may scrape him from our hull and continue the journey we set out to accomplish."

As the sailors hoist up the line, the Merlew beings to choke and gasp for air. He struggles, but the chains binding his arms budge only in the slightest. He hangs there over the waves, squirming and wiggling like a fresh catch from the sea. Suddenly the rope breaks...

::SNAP::

The Merlew is dropped into the crashing waves pounding at the sides of the vessel, disappearing into the ocean blackness.

The men turn toward their Captain, suspicion in their eyes as they finger the hilts of their cutlass' and daggers. The Rakash slowly backs away, a look of pure confusion worn across his face.

"Whoa, there." He says nervously, "What is on your minds, lads? Why do you look at me with such devilish intent in your brow?"

"Don't play coy with us, Rakash!" one of the sailors says in a menacing tone.

"We knew we shouldn't trust you.." another says,"we heard the stories about your other "crews" and how they never made it back to shore."

"We thought you were like us, but it seems that your honor is nowhere to be found."

"Yes, you even helped the fish-man who killed my brother..."

"You are no Captain of us. You are a traitor!"

"A traitor and a liar."

"Perhaps there will be a hanging today..."

The men advance on the Rakash, backing him into the handrail and threatening to stampede him over the side of the ship.

"Please..." The Rakash says slowly, "Please, do not do this. You will not get the outcome you seek. In fact, I expect these actions will lead to your very demise."

"We've had enough of your silver tongue and smooth talk. Now it is time for your blood, sea-dog."

The Rakash narrows his eyes at the gathered faces. With swift movements, he produces a kaft and cuska made out of dark glaes from inside the folds of his clothing.

"So be it..."


>>Fin?

A Pirate's Life: Chapter 5

>>The story continues....


[The Raw Deal, Captain's Cabin]

The Rakash eyes his captive carefully.

"What will you do with me, pirate?" the Merlew struggles to ask though his sobbing.

"First, I will give you a moment to gather yourself. You are a wreck, and we cannot have that." he replies.

The Merlew takes a few quick breaths, attempting to steady himself.

The Rakash nods.

"Secondly, I am no pirate. If I were in your place I would choose any further words carefully. It is you who would seem to be the guilty party on this vessel." the Rakash says with a smirk.

The Merlew glares at the young Rakash, obviously not impressed.

The Rakash sneers.

"I could always carve out your eyes..." the Rakash says as he pulls a fillet knife from his nauda.

"Perhaps the crew outside my door would like to hear you scream." he muses to his captive.

In a quick motion, the Rakash tackles the Merlew, holding his face against the deck while the other holds the fillet knife a hairs width from his eye. The Rakash holds it there for a moment, considering his options and weighing the outcomes.

He breaks his hold on the Merlew, pulling him to his knees as he stands and then dismissively flinging him to the floor again. Fear creeps back across the face of the aquatic hunter. Perhaps he realizes that his situation is not one that can be improved by posturing. He lowers his head, gazing at the ground.

"What do you want to know..." the Merlew says slowly with a tone of defeat.

Victory. The Rakash thinks to himself as a smirk crosses his face.

"How long have you been following me?" the Rakash points his fillet knife at the Merlew as he asks, as if to enforce his words.

"For two summers." the Merlew says.

The Rakash asks, "Why?"

"We came across your last 'crew' of pirates, poisoned on the ocean floor. We knew their faces and we had seen you before, but you were no concern. All you and your scavengers did was swoop in and loot others victories." the Merlew says, smiling at the insult.

"We?" the young Captain asks with a frank stare.

"Yes." the Merlew replies. "I am one of many. A clan of our people dedicated to fighting your ilk."

The Merlew adds, "When we didn't see your face among the others, we thought perhaps you had been taken hostage. Imagine our surprise when we found you out again with another crew."

"And why did you not come for me first?" the Rakash asks.

"Like your last crew, this one you picked up has some in it that have done far worse things than you. Some of these rouges we've spent a long time looking for, little Rakash. I could not pass the chance." the Merlew replies.

"I have no love for pirates..." the Rakash begins to say.

"But you are one!" the Merlew cuts him off.

"I did to those men what they would have gladly done to me given the chance. Each one of them was a crook and a scoundrel. The sea is better without their sort." the Rakash attempts to explain.

"And you are just like them. A pirate who preys on pirates." the Merlew says coldly.

"What of you, killer? Are you so pure and your intentions so righteous?" the Rakash asks.

The Merlew pauses. He opens his mouth to speak but is unable to come up with anything valid. Acknowledging his defeat, he hangs his head once more and gazes at the ground.

"As I thought." the Rakash answers his own question.

The Rakash says, "It would seem we have more in common than you might like to admit. Perhaps in my own way, I too am a 'pirate hunter' and just doing my job as it were."

He pauses, looking carefully at his hapless victim. The bindings are knotted tight, he could not simply claim the fish-man slipped his grasp. No. It seems they will have to come up with something clever.

"What to do? What to do?" the Rakash muses as he walks in lazy circles around the bound Merlew.

* * *

Day 20:

I think we may have our solution. It took some time and we were interrupted more than once. I had to rough up the Merlew a bit to keep up appearances. However, to be honest, I found it rather easy after all the trading of insults during our conversation. I have him chained to the mast for the night, hopefully nobody cuts his throat before the sun rises.

Luck be with us, him and I, for on the morrow we will see how sharp I have become over the years.

~K

>>Fin?

A Pirate's Life: Chapter 4

>>The story continues....


[The Raw Deal, Captain's Cabin]

Day 4:

We have been at sea for a few days now, I think I have a good handle on those who have answered my call to serve as crew. They are the same ilk as always, half of them vagabonds and the other half miserable sailors. It's really no wonder why they were all stuck on 'Kresh for so long. Any Captain with a need for 'good' hands would skip over each of these sorry excuses. Some of them seem more suited for a river ferry and not this sea-faring vessel.

Perhaps I do judge them harshly, but as their superior I must. Each of them is my senior in age if not experience though my knowledge does make theirs seem childish in comparison. I suppose this, if nothing else, keeps them subservient to me. I have come a long way from my simple dreams sitting alone on a beach, I guess it is more of an outward change than I thought.

One or two of them I recognize from my younger days. Strange how four years could seem like an eternity.

~K

* * *

Day 7:

A storm has rolled over our course, it is like many I have seen out on these waters and I have given the command that we will ride through it. As the clouds rolled in, I stood on deck an absorbed the majesty that is the tempest. Storms like this would frequently roll onto the beach, often bringing with them treasures from shores far removed from the one I was edging out my living on.

I suppose life would have been easier if I had let that smelly hermit take me in, but I did not trust him. I never could. He seemed like he was hiding from something, though I could never discern what it was. He was a hard man to broker a deal with also, such a greedy old man. Good riddance. However, if he had been my warden then maybe I would not have been found by those miserable pirates. Thus, I would not be where I am now.

The old man was good for very few things. He did, however, teach me the ways of the knife and he gave many useful lessons which I still practice to this day. I suppose I will always owe him that bit of favor. And in the end, if it were not for his greedy ways, I would probably not have the needed charts to pursue this adventure I have given my savings to pay for.

~K

* * *

Day 8:

The storm continues. What I thought was just a simple squall has grown into a chaotic mess. In the midst of it all, one of the men spot something bobbing on the waves off the port bow. A curious sailor asked if he could have permission to throw a hook out for it. I didn't care much for the man so I said yes, hoping he would be pulled off the deck and I could be free of him.

To my surprise, he was able to not only catch the item on the first throw but also pull it in on his own. I should remember that. I might have need of it in the future. However, I was further surprised when we found that what was hauled in was not a piece of sea trash or ship wreckage... it was a man. Well, sort of.

It was one of the reclusive Merlew, it would seem that while following some pirates he allowed his guard to drop and was attacked by a hunting shark. Now wounded, he is unable to dive to the deeper depths to escape the storm raging in the shallows. I have always found them to be a curious sort and given him a portion of my cabin to rest in.

As he sleeps I wonder what sort of secrets I might be able to wrench out of him before he parts with my company.

~K

* * *

Day 11:

One of the crew has been killed. I find myself angry though I cannot reason why. Perhaps it is because I was not the one to take his life, or perhaps it was because I still don't know who I will or won't need in order to finish my tasks. The knife wound was clean, the line deep across his throat would have prevented any sort of struggle or scream. I can tell just from this one detail that we are dealing with an accomplished killer on this boat. I shall have to increase my vigilance among these vagabonds.

The Merlew sleeps all the time, he has woken only a few times to request water from me. I have yet to learn anything more about him. I wonder what it would be like to have hands like his. I wonder, does he wonder what it would be like to have hands like mine?

~K

* * *

Day 14:

Another of the crew killed. Same manner. I suspect everyone. The storm still rages. I don't sleep well during times like this...

~K

* * *

Day 17:

After seven days, the storm has finally ceased. There have been no more murders, however tension on the ship is thick enough to break steel. I expect I will have to do something about this, some of the sailors have already begun to lash out at each other. If it continues like this I could potentially have either a riot or a mob on my hands. Both of which are not something you want on a ship in the middle of the ocean.

The Merlew has begun to talk more, however, it seems to be him with all the questions that need answering. I tell him very little, or at least attempt to be as vague as possible. I expect that he can see me side-stepping in our conversation, as they are less like chats and more like duels with words.

He has told me that he is a pirate hunter, and that encourages my suspicions that it is him who is killing members of my crew. Though I can not openly accuse him, not just yet. I have to think of a way to get him to trust me so that I can learn what he knows, after that... who knows?

~K

* * *

Day 19:

Well, it would seem my hand will be forced in the end. The Merlew made an attempt on a crewman's life and it backfired on him. It appears that several of the crew set-up the target so that he would be in an enticing position for the pirate hunter. As he moved in for the kill, other members of the crew surrounded him and caught him in a net. Luckily, I was able to stop them before they could enact their idea of punishment.

After some talking, I was able to convince them that we should hold the Merlew and find out what he knows about us. The crew was eager to torture the creature, but I told them that it was my place as the Captain to extract whatever information I could. I also said that if I was unable to glean anything of worth, that they would be free to pursue whatever justice they felt fit.

The Merlew was sobbing. I felt sympathy for it, having been caught in the act. Maybe he was not nearly as skilled as I had originally thought. Regardless, I cannot let the crew kill him. Perhaps if I could use this to my advantage and befriend the Merlew, then he would tell me what he knows.

I'll have to think up a plan.

~K


>>Fin?

A Pirate's Life: Chapter 3

We return once more to...


[M'Riss, Secluded Beach]

The Rakash makes his way down the isolated beach, finally arriving at a battered leather tent. The young man casually pulls aside the flap, as if the owner of the structure were expecting him.

Inside the cramped tent are several scavenged pieces of shipwrecks and refuse from fishing boats. A horribly mended net is strung up in the corner as a makeshift hammock, anchored to splintered oars which are repurposed to serve as tentpoles. Stacked in one corner of the room is a pile of faded and worn navigation charts.

The Rakash barely registers the sound, but does so with enough time to pull his own blade to meet the one already in motion towards his back.

CLANG!

Metal meets metal as the hermit's strike is deflected by the dark glaes blade the Rakash carries. Both quickly shake off the initial skirmish and ready themselves once more for the face-off.

Charging at each other, their blades meet again, this time locked against one another with the force of their wielder driving them away. Neither seems willing to give in the slightest as their faces twist in a grimace of exertion and force. They stare deeply into each other's eyes, searching for a sign of weakness or situation to exploit. They find none.

The scavenger is the first to break. Quickly taking a step back he asks, "Still got the fire in you, boy?"

"Yes, drifter. I've got all that and more." the Rakash replies. "Still not willing to join on to my crew?"

The rag-covered hermit laughs.

"I see," the Rakash says sharply, obviously not comfortable with being mocked."Well then, how about you do something else useful for me."

The hermit tilts his head curiously at the young man standing in his home. The last time their paths crossed he was a scavenger too, scrounging the beaches looking for sailcloth and rope. They had traded from time to time, and he always made for a good sparring partner. However, the status seems to have changed of late. His manner and dress are... different. Perhaps it is his time at sea that has changed the boy into a young man. Perhaps.

"Well..." the Rakash says impatiently.

"I'm just waiting for you to tell me your situation, boy. I'm all ears." the scavenger replies.

"You have nothing but ears, Elf." the Rakash says with a grin," And since you will not accompany me, I have need of your knowledge."

"I have come into possession of a map, though I do not know the area it depicts. I was hoping you, or those..." he says as he points a thumb over at the pile of navigation charts. "Might be able to help me."

"Well, well. What kinda map you have there, boy?" the scavenger says as he starts tossing his oyster knife from hand to hand. "Is it a treasure map?"

The young Rakash smiles widely. "That's what I'm hoping to find out."

The hermit pulls up two rotting crates, obviously used as chairs when needed, and the pair begin to discuss the scrap of fabric. They pour over various charts and logbooks in the tent, comparing the coastlines to the lines stitched on the cloth.

"Wait..." the hermit says, "Look at this."

The scavenger opens a long chart that depicts the coastline of Therengia, north of the Zaulfung. Inked in the lower right corner is the same symbol on the scrap of fabric, the screaming skull atop spears with music notes. There had to be some connection here.

"Do you know this symbol, old man?" the Rakash asks pointing at the crest in the corner.

"Yes. Actually I do." the hermit says with a smirk. "But it would seem you already owe me some money..."

The Rakash groans loudly in protest, yet still he produces several gold coins and drops them into the wrinkled hand of the scavenger. Turning them over one-by-one the old man inspects them for authenticity.

"Yes..." he finally says. "That symbol is the one used by a clan of pirates that used to be active in the Northern waters before the Red Sash muscled in. They were gypsies mostly, who grew tired of the land and set their sights on the seas."

The scavenger strokes his beard as if to jog his memory further.

"If words are true, they got themselves into a heap of trouble when they started raiding in Zoluren waters. The Therengians decided they had enough and sent their navy up along the coast. Them gypsies had no chance to get their cutters out to water, the navy galleons decimated them."

"Gypsies of the Northern Sea! That's what they called themselves." the scavenger says suddenly with triumphant glee.

"Yeah..." he continues. "Rumor had it that they intercepted something from Zoluren to Therengia, or maybe it was the other way around. Anyways, this thing was some kind of magic thing or whatever. Nobody really knew what it was, and you know how that makes everyone want it that much more."

Leaning forward over the chart, the two begin to compare the coastline to the cloth. Having found a match, the scavenger then begins copy the location and details from the scrap of fabric to the chart with a piece of charcoal from the small campfire inside the tent.

Looking up suddenly, the old elf gets a pained expression on his face. He drops the chart on the ground and reaches up with both hands to touch the front of his throat. Feeling the trickle of warm blood running down the point of the kaft tells him all he needs to know. The Rakash has taken advantage of his dropped guard and dealt him a killing blow. He struggles for air, but nothing makes it past the dark glaes puncturing his neck.

Blood soaks into the front of his shirt, spreading through the threadbare cloth quickly. The old hermit looks at the young Rakash, not with sadness but with pride as he falls over and leaves this mortal coil. The face of his attacker, however, is completely devoid of any emotion at all.

Not one to waste anything, the young man gathers up the contents of the small tent, being sure to pack away the charts and logbooks. Placing all the items of value or curiosity into a large crate, he proceeds to knock out all the battered oars causing the tent to collapse. In mere seconds, the small fire inside grows into a large inferno as it feeds on the dry wood and sailcloth.

Placing the crate on a makeshift sled of shattered deck boards, the Rakash begins the grueling task of dragging the junk all the way back to his vessel at Wharf's End.

"I suppose it's time to see about getting a crew..." the Rakash says with a grin, thinking of the last sordid lot to serve under his captaincy.

He'll have to put up with this one for awhile at least, no telling what they might encounter on the journey. Better to keep a watchful eye to what the future might hold.

* * *

The following day this notice is posted in a few of the taverns that sailors are known to frequent:

"Looking for a few good men (or women) to serve aboard the Raw Deal, a schooner serving as courier and escort for the private citizens of the islands. Experience at sea is a requirement and only those with sufficient knowledge of their trade will be accepted. This job may or may not involve combat, so please take that into consideration when applying."

A small gathering of sailors stands beside the sun-bleached schooner, they are obviously unimpressed by the rotting bucket of a ship that they are expected to serve upon.

"Look, people," the Captain says to the gathered faces. "I know she doesn't look like much, but trust me when I tell you that this is one of the finest vessels in the water. She's light, she's quick, and she cuts through waves like a bolt from a crossbow. Yes, she is a bit of an eyesore. I know. However, if you can manage to improve that I can make it worth your while."

The talk of money amongst a gathering like this always seems to change a dour mood into a jovial one. The Rakash has become skilled at speaking to crews like this, he entices them with wealth but reminds them of its cost. A precarious tightrope to walk, worse when out at sea. Talk of work and wages can be deadly when far removed from the shore. Mutinies can happen this way. It is best to get this sort of business on the table quickly so there are no surprises.

"My current orders are to go to Northern Therengia to pick up a package for a client living here on Mer'Kresh. I only have vague details available, so don't bother with asking allot of questions. Just follow my command and do your job. You will be paid handsomely."

"I expect there will be some shore time, as we locate and acquire the requested item. Though I am sad to say we will not make port anywhere near a town or city. We will be in uncivilized areas, and danger is definitely a possibility there. I personally doubt we'll have any problems at all and am highly confident this will be some of the easiest money any of us will ever make."

The Captain finishes with a question, "So who among you are ready to serve?"

A Pirate's Life: Chapter 2

The story continues...


[Mer'Kresh, Alley]

Dumping out the contents of the coinpurse in one hand, the Rakash notices several silver and gold coins which he quickly pockets. Aside from those few Lirums, there is nothing else of obvious value here.

The Rakash stops for a moment and arranges his clothing, he must be sure to present himself as an upstanding member of the citizenry. His clothing is spotless, the rich hide a far throw away from the simple canvas he once shrouded his frame in. He has worked hard to have these people see him as an honest businessman and able captain. Nobody must know the lengths he had to go to in order to secure enough funds to solidfy the upcoming transaction. These extra coins might be the few that give him his next meal tonight.

Stepping through the tavern door the young Rakash captain is waved down by a gaut-looking man sitting at a solitary table in the back. He approaches, standing at the edge of the table and waiting to be offered a seat.

"Yer, a little younger than I thought ya would be."

"My apologies, sir. I did not see the need to inform you of my age. Will this be a problem for you? If you would like I can take my leave..."

"Wait just a roi there..." the gaunt man says with hushed breath. "Ya's got the money right?"

The Rakash nods.

"Well then sit, boy. We'll talk 'bout this here map I've got."

As the Rakash captain takes his seat, a barmaid comes to offer him a drink. He buys two flagons of the house ale, offering one to the man sitting opposite.

"Now, good sir. I am just an honest businessman, I make my living doing simple deeds for the people of the islands. I tire of this and seek some adventure to brighten my life. An associate of mine told me that he heard talk of an item in your possession...."

"And here we are." the gaunt man finishes his sentence. "Well, yer pal there didn't lie. I've got somthin' of interest. If it'll lead to adventure... who knows?"

"What have we here?" the young captain muses.

Flattening the crumpled cloth shows what appears to be a map, stained with grime and spilled drinks. Despite the wretched condition of the material, the embroidery is still very much readable. The Rakash's mind begins to race with thoughts of hidden treasure and pirated spoils.

A curious symbol is stitched into the top corner of the fabric, it's heavy threads becoming frayed and slightly unraveled. A skull rests atop a pair of crossed spears with a wavy string of music notes spilling out of its screaming mouth.

"Okay, okay." the gaunt-looking man says. "Ya seen enough of it. So, whatcha say? Ya wants it?"

"First, I would like the story of how this came into your hands." the Rakash says. "This will decide if I will purchase it."

"Okay, that seems fair." the gaunt man says before taking a drink.

"Well, I was walkin 'round in the 'bandoned neighborhood. Doin' my civic duty fighting off them buggers. Theys got all 'round me and I had to duck into a rundown house jes ta get away."

"It started gettin' dark, so I had'ta make the palce safe. I checked all the doors and winders, they was good. I knew the best thing to scare them caracals away is a good fire. I started searching the area for anything that would burn."

"I was digging through this old desk for some papers to use as tinder when I found it." the man pauses to take another drink. "As you can tell it's rather unique so I put it in mah pocket and not the fireplace."

"That all sounds reasonable to me." the Rakash says. "And the price, although steep, is still a fair price for a mystery. Alright, sir. You have a deal."

Producing a single bank note, the Rakash offers it to the gaunt-man for inspection.

"As you see, this note is good for the agreed amount. Do you accept?" he asks.

"Aye. Seems genuine." he says as he hands over his fabric in trade for the note.

Tucking the fabric into his boat cloak, the Rakash makes a motion to stand. The gaunt man stops him before he can even rise.

"For another drink, I can tell ya what I have been able to find out 'bout that there cloth." he says.

The Rakash is already quite tired of the man's stench and slurred speech, however, drunkards make for loose talkers and right now any information at all is a valuable asset.

"It would be my pleasure, sir." the Rakash says with a forced smile.

Ordering another round of drinks, the young Rakash says a silent thanks for the coin purse he snatched earlier. Therengian Lirums are still Lirums in the end and worth the small amount of effort it took to acquire them. He doesn't feel anything towards the off-islanders, he only cares about the money they bring with them.

The man begins to talk, speaking of times when there were many pirate clans instead of the few. How each would keep a secret cove, or haven, where they would hoard their most valuable goods and items. Rumors circulated of entire rooms dedicated to treasure as you would see in any of the royal depositories.

He said it was common for the Captain of the vessel and him only to have the map to the secret cove, so that he may meet with his brotherhood and divide their spoils. From each meeting, a small amount would be set aside for future endeavors. Over time, that amount would continue to grow until it would cause the need for said treasure rooms.

He thinks that this map, may lead to such a place.

"But, it's pretty old to have been back there. Who knows what's become of the pirates that used'ta use that symbol." he finishes with a hiccup.

"Say, yer a nice kid." the man says as he pinches the Rakash's cheek in a manner unfitting of strangers.

The Rakash takes a sharp breath, resisting the urge to grab the man's hands and cut each offending finger off one-by-one. The idea of a treasure so large that it could set him up for life is far more important than protecting his personal space at this juncture.

"Ya remind me of mah' own son." the man says with sorrow in his voice. "He used ta come down here and fetch me when the wife would be sore of me not comin home."

He downs the last of the drink, wobbling slightly as he attempts to maintain his composure.

"Hey!" he says loudly. "Yer think yas can help an old man to his home?"

"You are not old, you are drunk." the Rakash says.

"So what if I am?" the man asks accusingly." Yer was the one who gots me the extra drinks. I'm partly yer respon... spon... ponsiblity. Ya gonna take me or not?"

"Oh.." the Rakash says, suddenly inspired by a wicked thought. "Yes. I will take you. Yes."

"Hey!" someone shouts from the back of the bar. "I thought I told you not to show your face around here until you can pay up what you owe me!"

The gaunt man turns around quick, "Oh!"

He glances nervously at the exit then at the Rakash." I'll be right... there." He finally says.

"Well..." hic "Buddy. Thanks fer the offer, but I think..." he says slowly, trying to fight the occasional wobble in his stance. "I think the nights not over fer me yet."

As he leaves the belligerent man to his drinks the Rakash scowls at the missed opportunity to regain his spent fortune. Though perhaps it is for the better, his presence here was noticed and someone would surely remember the two of them leaving together. Better to sacrifice the coin on this one.

Only if this map pays out. Otherwise....

The wicked thought returns to his mind and a broad smile chases the scowl from his face.

"I suppose I'll have to speak with my old friend again..." he says quietly to himself.

A Pirate's Life: Chapter 1

[Aboard a Vessel, Below Deck]

The crew sat, barely touching the plates of food which rock to and fro with the motion of the sleek two-masted schooner. The conversation was far too intense for them to take a break just to feed their own empty gullets. A Rakash wearing a black tricorne hat sits at the head of the table, calmly looking from one energetic speaker to the next with his piercing blue eyes...

"The hold is full, we've got no reason to still be out 'ere. I says we head back for some land and get us some gals!"

"Some gals and good food!"

A few of the men bang their cups on the table and yell "Hear! Hear!"

"Wait, are we really done so soon?"

"That ain't too much of a take when ya split it up."

The lads mumble and groan.

"I think we should find a nice spot to tuck this here loot away, and go back out and get some more. We've had good luck this run, we are all still fit and there be plenty 'o supplies."

The men quietly look around at each other.

The speaker continues, "... then when we get more loot, we can get more women! Better women!"

The sailors erupt in a cheer once more.

"But ... Where would we hide all this here? It ain't like the shores are welcoming of 'tourists' such as us." A man says as he holds back a chuckle.

A voice from the back of the table shouts out, "Heck! Even M'Riss aint to welcoming at the moment."

The sailors grumble their agreements.

"Some of us ain't got a citizenship and I hears that them locals, well they've been having the run of the place."

The young Rakash finally speaks, "I will not take you to M'Riss. Or Mer'Kresh for that matter."

The crowd is silent for a moment.

Someone finally says with a smirk, "What about Taisidon?"

A reply comes swiftly, "And what? Get lost in the jungle and end up eaten by tribal S'Kra Mur? Not I."

"Wimp." is the only snappy retort needed to send the whole group into a row of laughter.

Buffoons. This sorry lot has to be the worst of them all. Some of them are knowledgeable when it concerns the mast and sails. Most, however, are like blunt tools for breaking skulls and rocks. The schooner had seen many crews just like this one, and the Captain doubts this one will be the last on its deck.

"Well it seems like the Capt'n has a plan in his head already."

"Do ya, Capt'n?" One of the sailors asks inquisitively.

The Rakash leans back in his chair, sipping his spiced apple brandy.

"Please, everyone calm down for a moment and enjoy your food. I will tell you of my plan." He says to the gathered faces.

The men settle into their positions on the long benches which flank the table, finally digging into the stew-like dish and hardtack. Like most meals on the vessel, this one is rather unidentifiable, its texture like that of a thick gravy or batter with chunks of meat and stringy bits of greens in it. The saving grace is the watery grog that washes the whole mess down. The light hint of lime sweetening the beer and rum mixture, making for a wonderful drink. Maybe it's the talk of making for land or the meager amount of goods they've sized in the short time sailing, but this time the grog tastes even sweeter.

"Good. Eat up, you'll need your strength for our next task." The Rakash says. "We've got a lot to do an I'm going to need each and every one of you to do this for me before we can make port."

The men continue to eat and drink, their eyes fixated on the Rakash as he works his charms on the group.

He continues, "We will need to gather a full inventory of what we have now, that way we are sure of what we have. Including what we have used this very day..."

He prattles on for a time about food, fresh water, and mundane toiletries. Expounding upon each subject to great lengths.

"Also, we need to see about finishing repairs to this vessel. You lads have done great work for me since I picked ya up, and she's looking in far better shape than when I pulled ya aboard. Yet, there is still more to do..." The Rakash pauses and takes a drink of his brandy.

As the Captain recites a list of rather minor items to attend to several of the crewmen seem to be blinking sleepily, as if falling asleep in their seats. Fingers lose their grip as the arms drop lifelessly to their side.

He continues, " Following that, we will have to once again take inventory. This time we will have to factor in any expenses gained while we are making said repairs. Including: Any supplies which we do not currently have on board, stocking up on any supplies used during the repair, the amount of food that we will be using during this time frame...."

He continues to drone on.

A few of the men are laying face down of the table while others are crumpled on the floor, having fallen out of their seats. Spilled cups litter the table and utensils are stuck firmly into the cold stew. The visible faces are grotesque, the features contorted and frozen as the crewmen struggled for their last breath. Bulging, bloodshot eyes and a sickly blue tone designate these men as no longer among the living.

"It would seem that I am boring you..." the Rakash muses as he glances at his fingernails.

"Capt'n..." the burly man sitting next to the Rakash struggles to say. The able sailor, with heavy battle scars to prove it, is reduced to a whimpering and wheezing child. His one hand grasps the boat cloak draping the Captain's shoulders, while his other clutches his own throat violently.

"Well now, that is quite uncalled for." The Captain says as he peels the large fingers open one-by-one and releases the crewman's grip on his clothing.

Coughing and sputtering, the last of the crew finally slams to the floor. His legs unable to support the weight of his frame, crumbling in a mess beneath him. His large and calloused hands finally becoming still in the comforts of death.

"Paralyzing poison," the Rakash says. "Targets the lungs. Quick and clean. Although, someone of your size..."

Finishing off his brandy the young Captain drops the glass on the floor and crushes it under one of his nauda.

"...probably coulda used some more."

He calmly walks up the short stairs leading to the deck, all the lines are tied and the patchwork sails are open full. The pilot is the only soul around, as he steers the medium-sized vessel through the violent Reshal Sea. A thin man, his only saving grace is his knowledge of the various routes and trading lanes. But things such as this come at a price, he has grown old in the years at the mast and his movements are sluggish.

"We're clear of any naval ships, sir. We've also got the neutral colors up anyways, so they're not likely to want to stop us." The pilot shouts over the chopping waves.

The Rakash asks, "What are we flying right now?"

"We've got private vessel cloth up, the Zoluren standards." the pilot replies.

The Rakash asks, "What is our current heading?"

"Well, Sir. I didn't know where you wanted to go. You went down below with the crew and you gave me no course so I aimed for Rathan coasts." the pilot says with a apologetic tone.

"That is good." the Rakash assures him with a casual smile. "And would you like to join the others down below and get some food? I believe there is still plenty left. Also, there is much of the grog still available."

"Boy, would I? I'm starving." the pilot says with glee.

"Okay, just let me come over there and grab the wheel from you..."

The elderly man hobbles to the side allowing the young Rakash to take the handles of the wheel. Giving him an appreciative nod, the white-haired sailor begins the tedious journey of crossing the short deck with his old bones. Shuffling down the steps of the stairs, the movement suddenly stops as even eyes as aged as those could see the gruesome scene spread out before them.

He turns sharply on his heels and races up the short set of stairs, slipping on the final one he falls and smashes his nose on the deck of the ship. A sickening crack can be heard as it breaks, probably not for the first time. Tears swell in his eyes as he wipes the blood from his face. He slowly picks himself up, his joints creaking in protest.

The glint of cold metal is stopped short by the splash of deep red blood on the blade. Retracting his arm, and his weapon, allows a large spurt of lateral spray to shoot from the gaping hole in the pilot's side which the Rakash swiftly dodges. The pilot stumbles around in a delirious attempt to flee, with arms outstretched and wrinkled hands clawing the air for some invisible Empath or protector.

The elderly pilot pulls one hand back and grabs his side, a vain attempt to stop the gushing fountain of blood. As he pours his life out over the deck, his eyes glaze over.

He is gone now.

In a quick movement the Rakash charges at his opponent, grabbing him violently by the back of his shirt and shoving him over the railing. The frail man, weakened by the immense blood loss, providing little resistance to the aggressive Captain. As the body sinks into the open ocean the Rakash dusts his hands off with a devilish sneer.

Grabbing the wheel he moves the vessel to its new heading before tying it off with a rope. He heads below deck and proceeds to fetch the corpses of the mercenary crew whom he hired his last time in port. Pulling each body by their legs causes a haunting thump to echo through the ship as the crewman's heads smash and bang against the solid wood steps. Several prove to be a challenge and he makes a mental note to perhaps feed the next lot a little less.

After tossing the last one overboard, he sets about to cleaning the mess. He despises the task but he knows that he would do best not to arouse any suspicion. There is no telling who is looking through a spyglass and the pilot made sure to leave his mark all over the weather-beaten deck boards. Finally done, he returns to the wheel with an exhausted sigh.

"I wonder what I will name the vessel this time..." he ponders out loud.

* * *

The Raw Deal pulls into the Wharf's End.

It was a difficult task for a single man to accomplish, luckily there were a few dockworkers available to catch and pitch lines which made the whole process less of a hassle. Changing the Zoluren colors for his native Rissan ones helped but still the Rakash paid them well for their service, and for their silence. Captains don't often come to port without a crew, and he intends to ensure that this one goes unnoticed. Most will drink the coin and forget the day ever happened anyways.

He makes a swift journey to the bank where he speaks with the teller...

The Rakash says, "I'd like to make a deposit please and I have some 'cargo' that needs to be 'inspected' at the pier."

"Certainly," the Teller replies. "Good to see you again, citizen."

Below the shadow of his tricorne the Rakash grins widely as he thinks about his next adventure aboard the salvaged schooner. Making his way through the crowded streets, the coinpurse seems to drop right into his hand. Well, not exactly. Regardless, its former owner wont miss it and the Rakash knows every little bit counts.

He opens the purse to see his spoils and inside was...