Dead Man's Chest -- Spooky Pirate Fun -- COMPLETE! Nov 3/06

[barsoomcore]

Dras sneered at the cowled figures assembled around the strange, multi-tiered altar.

"If I ever start my own heathen religion, I'm choosing better uniforms."

Quinn only grunted as he drew his cutlass.

"Eight of them, four of us."

The interior of the chapel flickered with dank, guttering candle flames, shadows hiding the rough stonework and outlining the cowled figures Dras had found so contemptible. Each figure drew a hooked blade and stepped forward. Their dark robes swung above the marble slabs of the floor.

Dras wasted no further time on witticisms. She stepped to her right, beginning a quick circle around the nearest cultist, and flicked her rapier up to deflect the first attack.

Ana stepped back from the advancing figures.

"We just want the-"

The ringing of steel on steel announced mayhem. Dras laughed and plunged into the midst of her foes, spinning and twisting away from their attacks as her rapier flashed and stabbed and danced in all directions.

Black's pistols roared out, the flash of their muzzles blinding in the dark chapel. Bodies fell, tumbled back. Quinn's cutlass chopped down. Screams and splatter of blood on stone echoed from the walls.

Ana threw herself to the floor, crashing down and rolling behind the strange altar. She caught the reflection of candlelight on crystal and averted her eyes, terrified that if she looked upon the skull that sat grinning there she would lose her reason again.

Dras kicked the first cultist to fall, and lunged out to catch another in the side, halting his swing at Black as he clutched at the wound and collapsed. She grinned at Black, who caught her eye and shouted, "Behind you!"

Too late Dras turned as a strong arm wrapped around her throat and heaved her bodily into the air. She kicked and thrashed, but the man behind her refused to relax his choking grip. His other hand reached around to take hold of her, and to Dras' chagrin, grappled her right on the chest.

Evidently what he found there surprised the cultist, for he startled and dropped the slim young woman, who leapt up from where she landed, twisting and driving her blade up and under his ribs.

Quinn's cutlass shrieked as his opponent's blade slid along its edge, just missing the Irishman's right side. With a fierce roar Quinn thrust forward, slamming the copper hilt of his cutlass into the man's face. The terrible crunching noise thus produced brought a wicked smile to Quinn's mouth and he carried on forward, driving his opponent down to the stone flooring and delivering another terrific blow, this time with the edged part of his weapon.

Black, having discharged both his pistols in the early seconds of the fight, had drawn his own cutlass and was facing off against a knife-weilding cultist who, unlike his brothers, seemed to be considering the problem of using a knife to defeat a swordsman with some seriousness.

At last he decided on a feint high, followed by a half-hearted lunge for Black's midsection. The Englishman stepped back and whirled his cutlass up over his head and down, catching the cultist on the shoulder and not only delivering a terrible gaping wound but knocking the fellow sideways to the floor, where he was further subjected to the indignity of receiving Dras' boot in his face.

Only a few seconds had passed, and all the cultists lay on the floor dead or unable to continue fighting. The four companions studied each other for a second, establishing without speaking that they were all uninjured, and then turned to the altar.

Ana pointed.

"It's behind that upright. I saw it. Sort of."

Quinn stepped forward, holding open the canvas sack that carried the other two skulls.

"Put it in here. Carefully."

With a fallen knife, shielding her eyes from the terrible artifact, Ana levered it into the sack. The solid ring of its impact upon the other skulls sounded like no crystal Quinn had ever heard.

"That's three. I wonder how many there are."

*****

"ZIPAKNA! ZIPAKNA! ZIPAKNA!"

The entire town shook with the chanting. The thunderous roar echoed from the mountains and swamped the night air with endless reverberations. Ana, Black, Quinn and Dras made their way back towards the lights of Cap-Haitien, fearful of the massed vocalization but needing to pass through the town to get back to their ship. They emerged onto a narrow alley and, following Black's lead, crept up to the main street.

"ZIPAKNA! ZIPAKNA! ZIPAKNA!"

The street was thick with chanting humanity, surging and swaying in their delirium. The four pushed their way through the crowd, fighting to stay together as they made their way downhill.

"ZIPAKNA! ZIPAKNA! ZIPAKNA!"

The press of people suddenly parted and Black stumbled at the sudden receding of the human tide. His friends spilled out of the crowd behind him, but all four of them immediately backed away from the procession making its way up the hill towards the governor's mansion.

Four guards in Spanish colours came first, followed by two flagbearers, and then a small, wiry man in a resplendent uniform, gravely stroking his gleaming mustache.

Black turned to the others.

"That's got to be this new captain."

Quinn stared, gaping and slack.

Black frowned.

"He not an admiral or anything, Quinn. No cause to be so impressed."

Quinn made no response. He just kept staring.

"Damnit, man, stop staring at him."

Dras grabbed Black's sleeve.

"I don't think he's staring at the captain, Captain."

"What?"

"ZIPAKNA! ZIPAKNA! ZIPAKNA!"

Black turned back to the procession. Behind the Spanish captain strode a woman. An Indian woman, tall and with a strong jawline, her proud stance haughty as she stalked up the street, smirking to either side. She gleamed in the torchlight of the street, her skin polished mahogany, plenty of it on display in her bare-shouldered gown. She was beautiful and noble and Black stared for a second just as Quinn was doing.

Dras scowled.

"I guess that's Zipakna. Now what?"

The Indian woman turned and smiled directly at Quinn. Their eyes locked and he took half a step forward.

Black's hand dropped onto Quinn's shoulder and he steered his friend into the crowd.

"This way. That's just trouble."

"ZIPAKNA! ZIPAKNA! ZIPAKNA!"

*****

"Hey, Quinn, are you okay? Been too long at sea or what?"

Dras shook her friend's arm. Quinn had been behaving strangely ever since their encounter with that Zipakna woman.

Or rather, Dras corrected herself, that Zipakna slut. Or even possibly, she thought, remembering Ana's words, that Zipakna demon.

Whatever she was, she'd certainly croggled Quinn with her beauty and her sinister smile. Dras sighed inwardly and hoped Ana wouldn't be too upset.

Quinn just shrugged and continued on through the night market, following Black as their captain led them through the much quieter crowds down here nearer the wharfs. Dras was about to ask her friend again when a hooked finger tugged at her sleeve.

"Child. Bearer of chains. Come with me now."

"What?"

Dras turned to find the elderly mambo, the woman who'd spouted blasphemy about Xibalba and Papa Agwe.

"You? Aren't you. One of them?"

"They cannot ride me for long, child. I am beloved of Legba and no djab of the mainland can take hold of me for long."

Dras' friends gathered around.

"What's this about, Dras? Do you know this lady?"

The old woman creaked her head around to smile, toothless and squinting, at Black.

"We show you. Much to show you, yes. Come. We show."

"A show? Damn me if that doesn't sound like a good idea. We could use some entertainment."

"Uh, Black?"

"Yes?"

"Never mind."

 

[barsoomcore]

A five on Quinn's Will save, right there. Well done.

 

[Henry]

Boy, am I glad to see this return - after PotC2, I was jonesin' for some piratey action.

Let me get this straight -- they just WALTZED right into a gathering of cultists and ASKED? And it WORKED???

Also, what was up with Black, and the agitation and the sudden directness? Did the player do this, or was there a behind-the-scenes reason? Just strikes me as way outta previous character.

 

[barsoomcore]

They were really freaked out. And when they asked, and actually got the information they wanted, it freaked them out even more. Heh.

 

[barsoomcore]

Drums pounded. Voices howled. The night, sweltering and sweaty, rang with dark echoes and the rhythmic thunder of the slaves in their frenzied worship.

Black watched the goings-on with curiousity and some measure of alarm. Not the most devout Christian ever, he was nonetheless disturbed by the heathen ritual spilling throughout the dark cemetery around them.

Sitting in a cemetery in the middle of the night, surrounded by savages, was bad enough. But on top of the freakish displays they'd witnessed earlier, the whole spectacle was calculated to put any normal Englishman on edge. Bare feet shuffled in the dusty earth as the dancers stomped and whirled, arms out and heads thrown back. Strange cries echoed on all sides, the torchlight rippling with each burst of music and noise. Knots of gaily-dressed slaves gathered together on all sides, sharing drinks and cigars and strange articles, their laughter and shouting rising up over the music. It all seemed very disorganized.

With a sigh, reflecting back on evenings spent listening to his sister at the piano, Black settled down on the dirt mound he'd selected as his seat and watched the show.

Ana squatted near Dras, listening to her friend talk in a high-speed gibberish with the old woman who'd invited them to this ritual. All around them swirled the chaos and frenzy of the vodou gathering. These rituals were not a complete mystery to Ana; she'd witnessed such events before, but only from the outside, watching from a distance without comprehension. From her new vantage point in the thick of the swirling, chanting, pounding rhythm she understood the communal energy as she never had. They were praising and welcoming their gods, much as her people would. Compared to what the white savages had been doing up at their ruler's house, this festival seemed humane and comforting.

And yet, her people had vanished from so many of the lands they'd once lived across. It had been many generations since the coming of the strangers, the people from out of the sea, but she knew the ancient traditions, and knew that things had changed beyond all recognition, and that somewhere far below, her people's gods laboured vainly to oust the foreigners and their profane rituals.

But what had to be would be. And if to banish Xibalba and its demons, Ana's people would have to give up their homelands and even their gods, she knew the sacrifice was worth it.

"Favoured of Agwe. Come, bring your friends. Speak with the Baron."

Dras nodded at the old woman's words and motioned for Ana and Black and Quinn to join her.

Quinn scarcely noticed Dras's gesture. He scarcely noticed the drums, or the dancers, or the ululating voices rising up around him. As he shuffled to his feet, he couldn't shake the image of that woman's eyes from his mind. Her dark, limitless eyes, expanding like whirling pools of liquid emotion, ancient and knowing and inescapable. She would swallow him whole. And he craved that. His desire for her blurred all else around him. Only when Ana reached over and tugged at his arm did he manage to focus long enough to get to his feet and follow.

The four outsiders sat in a semi-circle facing an open grave, at the far end of which rose a simple whitewashed cross. A weathered black hat hung lopsidedly from the top of the cross.

"Samedi! Samedi!"

Thronging, stamping crowds pushed inwards around them, smoke coiling and dancing through the bare legs and bright skirts. The pungent spiciness of burning fronds filled the air, reverberating with the pounding drums.

Black blinked as the cross seemed to swim in his vision, blurring and rippling.

"What was in that drink they gave us?"

Dras just shook her head and continued staring at the cross, her heart thundering in her chest. The air suddenly thickened around them and she gasped as an heavy-set young man stepped in front of the cross, shaking and glistening with sweat. His lips peeled back in a savage grin and Dras heard herself whispering long-forgotten prayers as his eyes seemed to pool with black radiance.

He laughed, his voice impossibly deep and resonant.

"My child. My Stepping Razor. Step forth, Razor, and strike down the unrighteous."

Enthralled worshippers on all sides whispered in hushed tones, throwing themselves into the dirt and writhing.

"Old Every hid that skull. The Hunter's skull. You see mad John Dann, he tell you. You take his map, Razor, and you find that skull old Every hid. The skull of the Hunter. Carisona."

Dras couldn't speak. She shook her head, once, violently, a tremor of resistance. Ana squeezed her friend's arm and leaned forward.

"What do we do with the skulls, Baron?"

Another terrible, booming laugh.

"She will open the gate atop the Sun Tower. The gate to the realm of Night. The blood of the sacrifice will seal the gate. Cast the skulls within and seal it tight, old one."

Ana frowned. Old one?

She opened her mouth to ask another question, but the young man speaking with the deep, hollow voice twitched and screamed and plunged face-first into the open grave. Dras convulsed and stumbled backwards, still shaking her head helplessly.

On all sides, the worshippers leapt up to shriek and howl. Black started and sat up.

"What, what? I must have dozed off there for a moment."

Noting that the performance appeared to be over, he applauded.

"Good show. Excellent. Say," he frowned, looking over at Dras and Ana, "Where's Quinn gotten to?"

The two women blinked. Their Irish friend was nowhere to be seen.

Dras shrugged.

"Perhaps he was drinking. Let's find this mad John Dann."

"Who?"

"John Dann. He knows where the other skull is. He has a map."

Ana lagged a little behind her friends as they made their way through the still-frenetic crowds, looking around for Quinn's lanky figure. There was no sign of him.

"It seems strange that he'd just disappear like that."

"Maybe he was drinking. Come on, we'll start down on the docks."

*****

Quinn made his way through the town, slowly working his way back towards the mansion from which they'd fled hours before, overwhelmed by horrific sights. And wondered at his desire to return.

But she was there. Zipakna. And she would be pleased by his offering, he was sure.

*****

"Old John Dann's smarter than they thinks, isn't he? Yes. On the Fancy, we was, with Long Ben hisself. Y'doubt me, I can see it, but I swear she's the truth. Now there's only us as knows where old Every buried the loot, we isn't telling, my loves, no sir."

Ana coughed and held a hand to her face. The stench the old Englishman gave off was quite appalling. Even over the reek of rotting fish cast under the wharf where they sat, it was hard to take.

Black growled and grabbed hold of the old man's collar. Dann spluttered and waved his arms, protesting, but Black hung on.

"Where is it? Tell us, man, or by God I'll--"

"Manjack Cay."

"What?"

Dann stared across the pier, his rheumy eyes sad and distant.

"I'm never going back. I see Long Ben now and again, the old man tells me I'm not long for this world. I'll never see Manjack Cay again. And I never want to, neither."

He creaked forward and focused carefully on the floor. He took a deep breath. With great deliberation, he spat onto the weathered planks.

"Nope. Ben Gunn's still there, ain't he? And old Ben won't be too happy to see his friend John Dann, now will he? No, lad, we're not going back to Manjack Cay."

Greasy hair flopped as he raised his head and smiled with ghastly humour.

"Old Every's dead, but I'm seeing him each night. You take this map with you, lad, and you go to Manjack Cay. My mates are calling to me. One of these nights I'll be joining them."

Confused, frowning, Black took the creased and tattered sheet of paper from the old man's trembling hand.

"You go to Manjack Cay. Mind old Ben Gunn, now. Mind him well."

The old man grunted and wheezed as he ratched himself upright and tottered away.

Black, Dras and Ana stared after him.

"Well. A treasure map. I never."

"What do you suppose Quinn's been up to all this time?"

Black looked down at the map in his hands, sure that they were forgetting something important.

"We ought to look for him. Dras, can you and Ana handle that? I'll track down the lads and get the old Defiant ready to put out to sea. Something tells me we're going to be in a hurry."

The two women nodded and left in the opposite direction to that which John Dann had gone, hurrying along the ramshackle warehouses of the docks. Black watched them go and shook his head. He was sure they were forgetting something.

*****

The mansion glowed in the night. Even at this late hour, golden light spilled out of the open windows where muslin hung in billowing sheets. Quinn paused at the curving driveway, momentarily baffled.

What was he doing here? This house held nothing but terror for him. Those people at that party. The strange, terrible voices. The sign. And her.

Her.

Dark eyes watched him approach. Gleaming lips would smile when he arrived. Quinn's feet crunched on the gravel.

She would smile when she saw what he brought. For her.

*****

The town seemed less creepy now, as though that woman's arrival had released some of the building tension. As though she'd taken the creepiness into herself, mused Dras.

In any event, there were no more voices asking them about yellow signs. And people answered questions without strange, hooded stares.

Quinn had been seen, heading up towards the governor's mansion.

"Why would he go up there? Is he trying to be a hero? Going to fight that demon woman?"

Ana growled in exasperation.

Dras considered her friend sourly.

"Ana, I don't know if he wants to fight her. Did you see the look she gave him? He hasn't been himself since."

"What are you--? No. Quinn wouldn't betray us. Not for... that. Would he?"

"I just can't figure out why she'd want him. What's so... "

Dras stopped in the middle of the street. Ana walked on a few paces before realising the girl wasn't keeping up.

"Dras? What is it?"

"The skulls. Quinn's got all the skulls. He's going up there to hand them over."

 

[shilsen]

Dras stopped in the middle of the street. Ana walked on a few paces before realising the girl wasn't keeping up.

"Dras? What is it?"

"The skulls. Quinn's got all the skulls. He's going up there to hand them over."

Hoo boy - this should be fun!

I just checked out this thread for the first time and went through it in one sitting. Damn good work, Corey! Who says you need stewardesses or dinosaurs for a ripping yarn?

 

[barsoomcore]

Yeah, that was a great moment. Quinn had failed his Will Save against Zipakna's uber charm power, and then when she contacted him telepathically and asked him to come visit her, he failed another save.

And it played out much like it did above -- it wasn't until after he was gone on his way that anyone (including Quinn's player) remembered that he had all the skulls.

Heh.

 

[ledded]

Just got caught up and, man...

you really make me want to play in this game Corey.

Just when I'm all excited about doing a fun short campaign of 1920s/1930's pulp with low-powered supers, I see Dead Man's Chest and then catch up on this and my brain is all Pirates-Pirates-Magic-Magic-Sword-and-Sorcery-Pirates.

Yar. What's a man to do?

Keep up the good work, I'm still diggin' this story. It rocks. On toast.

Ledded

 

[barsoomcore]

Thanks, led. We're heading towards the wild finish now, but I'm pretty sure I will run another Dead Man's Chest game at some point. It was just too much fun to leave behind.

 

[trilobite]

Wow! I didn't even think about pulling Cthulhu mythos stuff into the story! Great Job BC! And the apperance of the MVC, just wonderful!


Hey did you ever do anything with that 60's spy/ninja girls idea that you had?