Graywolf-ELM
Explorer
Now I'm encouraged. Looking forward to the update.
GW
GW
-
The VOIDRUNNER'S CODEX is coming! Explore new worlds, fight oppressive empires, fend off fearsome aliens, and wield deadly psionics with this comprehensive boxed set expansion for 5E and A5E!
Dead Man's Chest -- Spooky Pirate Fun -- COMPLETE! Nov 3/06
- Thread starter barsoomcore
- Start date
barsoomcore
Unattainable Ideal
"Sail ho! Sail away south-west! Dead ahead!"
The lookout's cry sparked a frenzy of activity on board the Defiance. Eager crewmembers rushed onto the deck, crowding each other in their haste to be ready to hear the call to action.
They'd spotted no sail since leaving Montserrat, and despite the efforts of Captain Black to keep the crew busy, boredom had begun to creep up on them. The promise of action cleared that away, and the crew muttered excitedly among themselves.
They watched as Black shaded his eyes and pulled out a telescope. The lean Englishman hollered up to the lookout.
"Flag? What colors, man?"
Dras had scrambled nimbly up the shrouds and hung at her ease far above the deck. Her own telescope was out, and she peered at the distant sail. A flash of yellow and red confirmed her hopes and she turned to grin down at Black.
"She's a Spaniard!"
The lookout confirmed this and added, "She's heading south-east, maybe a point or two south."
Black turned to Davis, the lieutenant. He kept his voice quiet and even.
"Bring her about, if you please, Mister Davis. We'll pursue. All hands, if you please."
The bos'un's whistle shrilled and feet pounded across the decks of the Defiance as the crew leapt into action. Pulleys screeched as strong hands hauled on cables, heaving the yards around in response to shouted commands. The ship heeled up on the right as she began a wide arc to the south-east, coming around to follow the strange sail.
It quickly became clear that the other ship could not hope to escape the privateer by speed. The Defiance gained steadily. The two ships were running with the wind off their stern quarters, all sail spread for speed, but the smaller, nimbler sloop was easily overhauling the thick-waisted merchantman. The gun crews stood at their carriages, poised and ready for action.
The past few days of Black's intense gunnery drills were about to be put to the test. The older hands grinned at each other, remembering their spectacular victory against the nameless sentry vessel of the pirates off Barbuda, and shouted out encouragements and warnings to their less-experienced fellows.
The distance between the two ships continued to close. Black had a stick of charcoal and made frantic calculations on the deck near the tiller, calling out course corrections as they neared their target.
The Spaniard was visible right down to her waterline now.
"Run 'em out!" Black shouted. From the gun deck the crew leaders responded.
"Run out your guns!"
The ship rumbled as the gun crews hauled on the blocks, heaving the massive guns forward. Some members of the gun crew stared out the ports, puzzled. The other vessel was nearly dead ahead of the Defiance, and so the gun ports stared off across empty ocean.
Black watched, his eyes darting back and forth between the Spaniard and the sails above him. The entire deck crew watched their captain in fascination. The deck of the Defiance seemed frozen as she soared across the clear, calm water of the Caribbean towards her prey.
Quinn, hefting a pistol and a cutlass, held himself at the starboard rail, ready to leap across to the enemy vessel as soon as they reached her. He could see that by the time they came alongside, the two ships would be near, and he knew the Defiance would have to receive a broadside from her foe even as she delivered one, but he was confident in their crew's superior marksmanship. He grinned and yanked out a dagger to grip it in his teeth. The boarding party around him began to yell and whistle.
The Defiance closed in. Only a few dozen yards separated the ships now, but there still had been no firing. None of the guns of either ship had been able to bear on their foe. Crews of both vessels stood tense and ready, awaiting the moment when the Defiance drew level with her prey and both ships could exchange broadsides.
Black had other ideas. He spoke so softly Davis had to strain to hear him.
"Mister Davis, if you please, starboard crews stand ready. Fire as she bears."
Davis acknowledged the order and raced to the companionway to shout down to the gun crews. Orders were shouted down the length of the ship as Black continued to divide his attention between his ship's sails and the position of the prey.
The helmsman was watching him with such intensity that when the captain turned and spoke, the young man started and nearly yelped with surprise.
"We'll luff her up, Thomas. Bring her about to port, sharply."
"Aye, sir."
"Gun deck, fire as she bears!"
The Defiance suddenly veered away from the fleeing vessel, turning left and into the wind, nearly coming to a complete stop. As she turned, she presented her starboard side to the Spaniard and the ship shook with sudden impacts as the starboard guns began firing.
Smoke obscured the enemy vessel for a couple of seconds, but the stiff breeze cleared it away quickly and cheers went up aboard the privateer as the merchantman showed at least three impacts, gaping holes in her side.
The fight was knocked out of her. Her flag came down to even louder cheers and with a barely-restrained grin, Black nodded to the helmsman.
"Bring her alongside, Thomas. Well done."
"Aye, sir!"
*****
Quinn and his band went aboard, roaring and hollering, but to their dismay none of the Spaniard's crew seemed inclined to contest their captain's speedy surrender. Instead of bloodthirsty battle with terrified civilians, the Defiants found themselves facing a nervous crew and a cringing, plainly terrified captain.
"Noble English sirs, you have out-fought us indeed. Show us mercy, sirs, and I give you my word we will not betray you."
Quinn scowled. The captain, desperate to avoid the doom he imagined in the young Irishman's eyes, tried again.
"I give you my word as a Spaniard."
For a second Quinn stared at the man, confused. Then he shook his head.
"No good. I've never known a Spaniard."
*****
The capture of the Rosario convinced any holdouts among the crew of the Defiance. For many of the men, even the tiny portion of that prize that they were entitled to meant a fortune they'd never dreamed of. Lieutenant Davis and a small crew took the prize to the station at Barbadoes, while the Defiance carried on to Aruba, seeking word of Van Meertens and the crystal skulls.
Oranjestad, the main Aruba port, looked like a little bit of Holland dropped onto the dazzling Caribbean water. Charming white-washed housed with brightly tiled roofs formed neat rows from the waterfront, and beyond them, the richly forested spine of hills that divided the island lengthwise.
The Defiance sat at anchor on the shimmering surface of the harbour, every bit as neat and tidy as the houses on shore. Black looked back at his ship with satisfaction as the crew of the jolly-boat bent to their oars, carrying them across the waves and in to the docks. They'd sailed her half-way across the Caribbean, taking a rich prize on the way, and raised Aruba exactly when his calculations had predicted they would.
"I hope finding this Fawn character is as easy as finding Aruba was."
Black looked over at Dras' comment. The slim youth sprawled in the bow of the jolly-boat, rapier askew, boots propped up on the gunwales, with her eyes closed against the brilliant morning sun. Past her reclining form, another ship flying a Dutch flag swarmed with workers unloading bales and crates. From the stern of the jolly-boat Quinn's commands to the crew kept them pulling swiftly towards the dock. As they came in close and tied up, the lanky Irishman leapt onto the wharf and extended a hand to help Ana up.
Black looked back at Dras, who was watching the interplay between Quinn and Ana with a sour expression.
"Well, if you're as good a tracker as you are a chef, we should have no problem."
Dras chuckled and sprang up onto the dock, stretching out her stiffness.
"Let's find this guy. Maybe he can tell us everything we want to know."
*****
"I can't tell you everything you want to know, my dear friends. My apologies, but it is in fact the case."
Dras rolled her eyes at Black.
Fawn had been easy enough to find; only a few minutes' asking around led them to a hotel verandah where they found an immense man, rotund and sweating even in the shade. He wore an absurd little unbrimmed hat on his head, and despite his apparent discomfort was dressed in a formal suit.
Fawnd looked over his new acquaintances, reaching out with one hand to stroke the closely-trimmed hair of the dark-skinned boy sitting next to him.
"Very well, then, Mr. Fawn. Can you tell us about Van Meertens?"
The fat man chuckled.
"Ah yes, the infamous Van Meertens and their castle. Such a story. Such a story."
He took a sip of the unhealthy-looking concoction in front of him and favoured Quinn with a sudden predatory smile.
"Such a story, sir. You will no doubt refuse to believe it, but every word is true, I assure you.
"It is impossible to spend a day here on Aruba and not hear tales of Van Meertens and his castle. Bushiribana. Built by Spanish pirates, you know. Haunted, they say. But that's not what drove Van Meertens mad, my friends. Oh, no. He was mad when he bought the place. It was that skull. They say it whispered things to him. Terrible things, they say. Terrible things."
Ana frowned at the boy sitting attentively next to Fawn. She spoke quietly in Arawk.
"Who are you?"
"Ruicana. Of the Anicuri. We live in the mountains behind the town."
"What can you tell us about this Van Meertens man?"
The boy studied Ana carefully. He glanced over at Fawn, who, like everyone else at the table, was watching the incomprehensible conversation with interest. The boy spoke.
"Many ghosts. Hungry."
The lookout's cry sparked a frenzy of activity on board the Defiance. Eager crewmembers rushed onto the deck, crowding each other in their haste to be ready to hear the call to action.
They'd spotted no sail since leaving Montserrat, and despite the efforts of Captain Black to keep the crew busy, boredom had begun to creep up on them. The promise of action cleared that away, and the crew muttered excitedly among themselves.
They watched as Black shaded his eyes and pulled out a telescope. The lean Englishman hollered up to the lookout.
"Flag? What colors, man?"
Dras had scrambled nimbly up the shrouds and hung at her ease far above the deck. Her own telescope was out, and she peered at the distant sail. A flash of yellow and red confirmed her hopes and she turned to grin down at Black.
"She's a Spaniard!"
The lookout confirmed this and added, "She's heading south-east, maybe a point or two south."
Black turned to Davis, the lieutenant. He kept his voice quiet and even.
"Bring her about, if you please, Mister Davis. We'll pursue. All hands, if you please."
The bos'un's whistle shrilled and feet pounded across the decks of the Defiance as the crew leapt into action. Pulleys screeched as strong hands hauled on cables, heaving the yards around in response to shouted commands. The ship heeled up on the right as she began a wide arc to the south-east, coming around to follow the strange sail.
It quickly became clear that the other ship could not hope to escape the privateer by speed. The Defiance gained steadily. The two ships were running with the wind off their stern quarters, all sail spread for speed, but the smaller, nimbler sloop was easily overhauling the thick-waisted merchantman. The gun crews stood at their carriages, poised and ready for action.
The past few days of Black's intense gunnery drills were about to be put to the test. The older hands grinned at each other, remembering their spectacular victory against the nameless sentry vessel of the pirates off Barbuda, and shouted out encouragements and warnings to their less-experienced fellows.
The distance between the two ships continued to close. Black had a stick of charcoal and made frantic calculations on the deck near the tiller, calling out course corrections as they neared their target.
The Spaniard was visible right down to her waterline now.
"Run 'em out!" Black shouted. From the gun deck the crew leaders responded.
"Run out your guns!"
The ship rumbled as the gun crews hauled on the blocks, heaving the massive guns forward. Some members of the gun crew stared out the ports, puzzled. The other vessel was nearly dead ahead of the Defiance, and so the gun ports stared off across empty ocean.
Black watched, his eyes darting back and forth between the Spaniard and the sails above him. The entire deck crew watched their captain in fascination. The deck of the Defiance seemed frozen as she soared across the clear, calm water of the Caribbean towards her prey.
Quinn, hefting a pistol and a cutlass, held himself at the starboard rail, ready to leap across to the enemy vessel as soon as they reached her. He could see that by the time they came alongside, the two ships would be near, and he knew the Defiance would have to receive a broadside from her foe even as she delivered one, but he was confident in their crew's superior marksmanship. He grinned and yanked out a dagger to grip it in his teeth. The boarding party around him began to yell and whistle.
The Defiance closed in. Only a few dozen yards separated the ships now, but there still had been no firing. None of the guns of either ship had been able to bear on their foe. Crews of both vessels stood tense and ready, awaiting the moment when the Defiance drew level with her prey and both ships could exchange broadsides.
Black had other ideas. He spoke so softly Davis had to strain to hear him.
"Mister Davis, if you please, starboard crews stand ready. Fire as she bears."
Davis acknowledged the order and raced to the companionway to shout down to the gun crews. Orders were shouted down the length of the ship as Black continued to divide his attention between his ship's sails and the position of the prey.
The helmsman was watching him with such intensity that when the captain turned and spoke, the young man started and nearly yelped with surprise.
"We'll luff her up, Thomas. Bring her about to port, sharply."
"Aye, sir."
"Gun deck, fire as she bears!"
The Defiance suddenly veered away from the fleeing vessel, turning left and into the wind, nearly coming to a complete stop. As she turned, she presented her starboard side to the Spaniard and the ship shook with sudden impacts as the starboard guns began firing.
Smoke obscured the enemy vessel for a couple of seconds, but the stiff breeze cleared it away quickly and cheers went up aboard the privateer as the merchantman showed at least three impacts, gaping holes in her side.
The fight was knocked out of her. Her flag came down to even louder cheers and with a barely-restrained grin, Black nodded to the helmsman.
"Bring her alongside, Thomas. Well done."
"Aye, sir!"
*****
Quinn and his band went aboard, roaring and hollering, but to their dismay none of the Spaniard's crew seemed inclined to contest their captain's speedy surrender. Instead of bloodthirsty battle with terrified civilians, the Defiants found themselves facing a nervous crew and a cringing, plainly terrified captain.
"Noble English sirs, you have out-fought us indeed. Show us mercy, sirs, and I give you my word we will not betray you."
Quinn scowled. The captain, desperate to avoid the doom he imagined in the young Irishman's eyes, tried again.
"I give you my word as a Spaniard."
For a second Quinn stared at the man, confused. Then he shook his head.
"No good. I've never known a Spaniard."
*****
The capture of the Rosario convinced any holdouts among the crew of the Defiance. For many of the men, even the tiny portion of that prize that they were entitled to meant a fortune they'd never dreamed of. Lieutenant Davis and a small crew took the prize to the station at Barbadoes, while the Defiance carried on to Aruba, seeking word of Van Meertens and the crystal skulls.
Oranjestad, the main Aruba port, looked like a little bit of Holland dropped onto the dazzling Caribbean water. Charming white-washed housed with brightly tiled roofs formed neat rows from the waterfront, and beyond them, the richly forested spine of hills that divided the island lengthwise.
The Defiance sat at anchor on the shimmering surface of the harbour, every bit as neat and tidy as the houses on shore. Black looked back at his ship with satisfaction as the crew of the jolly-boat bent to their oars, carrying them across the waves and in to the docks. They'd sailed her half-way across the Caribbean, taking a rich prize on the way, and raised Aruba exactly when his calculations had predicted they would.
"I hope finding this Fawn character is as easy as finding Aruba was."
Black looked over at Dras' comment. The slim youth sprawled in the bow of the jolly-boat, rapier askew, boots propped up on the gunwales, with her eyes closed against the brilliant morning sun. Past her reclining form, another ship flying a Dutch flag swarmed with workers unloading bales and crates. From the stern of the jolly-boat Quinn's commands to the crew kept them pulling swiftly towards the dock. As they came in close and tied up, the lanky Irishman leapt onto the wharf and extended a hand to help Ana up.
Black looked back at Dras, who was watching the interplay between Quinn and Ana with a sour expression.
"Well, if you're as good a tracker as you are a chef, we should have no problem."
Dras chuckled and sprang up onto the dock, stretching out her stiffness.
"Let's find this guy. Maybe he can tell us everything we want to know."
*****
"I can't tell you everything you want to know, my dear friends. My apologies, but it is in fact the case."
Dras rolled her eyes at Black.
Fawn had been easy enough to find; only a few minutes' asking around led them to a hotel verandah where they found an immense man, rotund and sweating even in the shade. He wore an absurd little unbrimmed hat on his head, and despite his apparent discomfort was dressed in a formal suit.
Fawnd looked over his new acquaintances, reaching out with one hand to stroke the closely-trimmed hair of the dark-skinned boy sitting next to him.
"Very well, then, Mr. Fawn. Can you tell us about Van Meertens?"
The fat man chuckled.
"Ah yes, the infamous Van Meertens and their castle. Such a story. Such a story."
He took a sip of the unhealthy-looking concoction in front of him and favoured Quinn with a sudden predatory smile.
"Such a story, sir. You will no doubt refuse to believe it, but every word is true, I assure you.
"It is impossible to spend a day here on Aruba and not hear tales of Van Meertens and his castle. Bushiribana. Built by Spanish pirates, you know. Haunted, they say. But that's not what drove Van Meertens mad, my friends. Oh, no. He was mad when he bought the place. It was that skull. They say it whispered things to him. Terrible things, they say. Terrible things."
Ana frowned at the boy sitting attentively next to Fawn. She spoke quietly in Arawk.
"Who are you?"
"Ruicana. Of the Anicuri. We live in the mountains behind the town."
"What can you tell us about this Van Meertens man?"
The boy studied Ana carefully. He glanced over at Fawn, who, like everyone else at the table, was watching the incomprehensible conversation with interest. The boy spoke.
"Many ghosts. Hungry."
Graywolf-ELM
Explorer
My luck has turned. Multiple of my favorites updated in the last couple of weeks.
Now I must get my Pirates Play by Post game going again.
GW
Now I must get my Pirates Play by Post game going again.
GW
barsoomcore
Unattainable Ideal
"Johann."
Dras tugged at the little cord around her wrist, looking up as Black called to the team and the wagon slowed.
They came to a halt on a broad gravel driveway where another wagon sat, empty. The horses of that wagon whickered to the newcomers. All four horses tossed their heads and stamped, shying away from the house.
The house had once been brightly whitewashed and neatly trimmed. It had not been kept in good order for some time. Paint peeled from the clapboard siding in long, waving fans. Most of the windows showed jagged teeth of glass, others gaped black and empty. Weeds grew up at the base, and vines had curled up around the railings of the verandah.
Dras, Quinn, Ana and Black descended from the wagon and stared.
"Johann."
"Did you hear that?"
Quinn shrugged.
"Hear what?"
"Nothing."
They moved as a group towards the verandah steps, boots crunching on gravel. The house sat at the base of a steep hill, nestled under straggly trees and with its rear facing a wide expanse of high grass, beyond which breakers crashed onto black rock.
Black peered into the bed of the other wagon. He shrugged.
"It's empty."
Quinn and Ana exchanged a glance.
"We heard in town that a big African gentleman with a walking-stick had hired a wagon and headed out this way. Could be Monsignor Domino, just ahead of us."
"Great. So he's around here right now."
The four looked around themselves. The house, the two wagons, the gravel drive, the sea beyond and the mountains behind. Away down the shore, to their right, rose a distant mound of stone that could only be the ruined castle of Bushiribana.
"Johann."
"That, I heard."
The high-pitched cry had come from within the house. Dras, Ana, Quinn and Black moved that way, only to stop at Dras' gasp.
The front door of the house was smeared with a dark brown substance, drawing a crude cross in a circle. Stuck into the smears were black feathers, weather-beaten and half-stripped. A bottle of rum sat on the verandah floorboards in front of the door, next to a battered and torn top hat.
Black could see Dras shaking. The young woman stared at the display, her dark eyes wide with terror.
"Proteje-nou, Papa Agwe, silvouple. Baron Samedi, nou ne gen lentansyon pas derespe. Souple bayez-nou ton benediksyon et pemet-nous kontinye. Proteje-nou silvouple."
"What is it, lad? You're not afraid of a couple of gew-gaws, are you?"
Dras started at Black's touch. She shook herself and pointed.
"I'm not walking through that door. Baron Samedi has been here. This house is full of death."
"Johann."
"Well, there's somebody in there who's not yet dead. Maybe we can find a back door or some such thing."
Black led the way around the corner of the house and towards the rear. On their right rose tall island grass, a wide field of the waving stalks between the house and the sea.
They came around to the back of the house and found a door hanging open.
"Johann."
Quinn led the way inside, one hand gripping the bell hilt of his cutlass. Dras followed close behind with her rapier out, eyes wide, and Ana came behind her, an arrow nocked on the string of her bow. Last of all was Black, more unnerved by Dras' panic and the strange totem at the front door than he'd let on. He looked around at the sky, the tall grass and the far-off ocean before stepping into the dark house.
The foursome crept along disused hallways where dust and cobwebs lay thick. They found a narrow staircase leading up and followed Quinn to the second floor.
"Johann."
The voice came from an open doorway before them. Quinn and Dras moved silently to the doorway and peered in. Dras managed to stifle a shriek at the sight, but her obvious distress brought Ana and Black forward.
The room beyond was bare except for a single straight-backed chair upon the blood-washed floorboards. In the chair sat what had once been a young man, now mutilated with dozens of deep slashes all over his naked body. He stared at them, senseless but alive, his dull eyes filled with horror.
As they watched, rooted with fear, he lifted his right hand, brandishing the razor it held and then slashed himself across the chest.
"Johann."
Blood spattered on the floorboards. The pool of red was wide and thick and viscous.
"That's enough."
Quinn raised his pistol and blew the unfortunate man's head apart. His body slumped and slid wetly to the floor. The razor skittered across the gruesome scene to lie at Dras' feet. Slowly, as if uncertain of herself, the young woman sank down and picked up the implement. Tied to the handle with a leather strap was a black feather.
"Lord Samedi."
Black looked around.
"Well, that seems to be all there is to see. Perhaps we should be on our way?"
"You don't want to search the house for the skull?"
"If it were here, my dear Ana, I'm sure that Monsignor Domino would have found it and already left. He's not here, so neither is the skull."
Quinn nodded. "What about the castle?"
"Yes, exactly. No doubt our heavy-set nemesis is there. Now, Dras, lad, let's have no more of this superstitious talk, shall we? We'll need you alert, lad."
Dras shook herself and, still holding the razor, nodded.
"The castle. Let's go."
It became obvious the castle had been designed to loom. Ruined and decrepit as the ancient structure was, it continued to perform its primary function well enough. Its sightless windows leaned out over the beach where the four approached.
Dras stared up at the massive pile and muttered, "Why are we doing this again? Do we owe somebody something?"
Quinn did not look over as he responded.
"A little late for questions. We don't really have time to get into a discussion right now."
"Are you cognizant of the fact that we know nothing about what's in there, or who, or why they might want to cut us into pieces?"
"I'm cognizant of this: the sun is going to set in half an hour, and I don't want to be here when it does. Moving faster now."
"Actually, I think I'll move slower. The guards have seen us."
"Guards? There can't be anyone left alive here."
Dras' response was a little higher-pitched than normal.
"I don't think they are. Left alive."
The other slowed to match their pace to Dras', studying the leering apparitions in the gateway. Black frowned.
"What are they holding?"
"Rakes, I think. Perhaps they used to be gardeners."
"I wish they wouldn't look at us like that."
Dras laughed.
"Like how? They don't have any eyes, just empty, gory sockets where -- "
"That's what I mean. I wish they wouldn't look at us like that."
"Well, I think we can safely say Mister Domino is likely to be about. Let us dispatch these two and be on our guard."
Quinn scowled but stepped forward, clutching his heavy cutlass with both hands. Black came up beside him with a pistol in each hand and took careful aim.
The guards shambled forward. One collapsed at the impact of a pistol ball against its fragile skull while Quinn advanced towards the other, brandishing his cutlass. He spent a little too much time brandishing, however, for just as he prepared to swing, opening his mouth for a battle cry, the guard reached out with its rake and struck him solidly on the head.
"Ouch."
Quinn stumbled back, clutching at his head. Black fired his second pistol and both undead guards lay stretched out beneath the crumbling stone towers.
The foursome pressed nervously into the ancient courtyard. Ruined walls lay in piles on all sides. Across from them stood a decrepit structure, long and high-roofed. Beyond, the setting sun bled into the sea, casting long shadows across the courtyard. A low moaning that wasn't quite the wind nor the surf seemed to roll outwards from the building's tall windows.
All four started as one of the now-inanimate guardians creaked and turned what remained of its shattered head towards them.
"The will of Six Thousand Men contests you. Six Thousand Men knows what you have come for and you will never defeat it. Six Thousand Men awaits you."
The hideous thing crumbled into dust. Ana gestured towards the elderly building.
"In the chapel?"
Dras repeated her friend's gesture.
"After you."
Dras tugged at the little cord around her wrist, looking up as Black called to the team and the wagon slowed.
They came to a halt on a broad gravel driveway where another wagon sat, empty. The horses of that wagon whickered to the newcomers. All four horses tossed their heads and stamped, shying away from the house.
The house had once been brightly whitewashed and neatly trimmed. It had not been kept in good order for some time. Paint peeled from the clapboard siding in long, waving fans. Most of the windows showed jagged teeth of glass, others gaped black and empty. Weeds grew up at the base, and vines had curled up around the railings of the verandah.
Dras, Quinn, Ana and Black descended from the wagon and stared.
"Johann."
"Did you hear that?"
Quinn shrugged.
"Hear what?"
"Nothing."
They moved as a group towards the verandah steps, boots crunching on gravel. The house sat at the base of a steep hill, nestled under straggly trees and with its rear facing a wide expanse of high grass, beyond which breakers crashed onto black rock.
Black peered into the bed of the other wagon. He shrugged.
"It's empty."
Quinn and Ana exchanged a glance.
"We heard in town that a big African gentleman with a walking-stick had hired a wagon and headed out this way. Could be Monsignor Domino, just ahead of us."
"Great. So he's around here right now."
The four looked around themselves. The house, the two wagons, the gravel drive, the sea beyond and the mountains behind. Away down the shore, to their right, rose a distant mound of stone that could only be the ruined castle of Bushiribana.
"Johann."
"That, I heard."
The high-pitched cry had come from within the house. Dras, Ana, Quinn and Black moved that way, only to stop at Dras' gasp.
The front door of the house was smeared with a dark brown substance, drawing a crude cross in a circle. Stuck into the smears were black feathers, weather-beaten and half-stripped. A bottle of rum sat on the verandah floorboards in front of the door, next to a battered and torn top hat.
Black could see Dras shaking. The young woman stared at the display, her dark eyes wide with terror.
"Proteje-nou, Papa Agwe, silvouple. Baron Samedi, nou ne gen lentansyon pas derespe. Souple bayez-nou ton benediksyon et pemet-nous kontinye. Proteje-nou silvouple."
"What is it, lad? You're not afraid of a couple of gew-gaws, are you?"
Dras started at Black's touch. She shook herself and pointed.
"I'm not walking through that door. Baron Samedi has been here. This house is full of death."
"Johann."
"Well, there's somebody in there who's not yet dead. Maybe we can find a back door or some such thing."
Black led the way around the corner of the house and towards the rear. On their right rose tall island grass, a wide field of the waving stalks between the house and the sea.
They came around to the back of the house and found a door hanging open.
"Johann."
Quinn led the way inside, one hand gripping the bell hilt of his cutlass. Dras followed close behind with her rapier out, eyes wide, and Ana came behind her, an arrow nocked on the string of her bow. Last of all was Black, more unnerved by Dras' panic and the strange totem at the front door than he'd let on. He looked around at the sky, the tall grass and the far-off ocean before stepping into the dark house.
The foursome crept along disused hallways where dust and cobwebs lay thick. They found a narrow staircase leading up and followed Quinn to the second floor.
"Johann."
The voice came from an open doorway before them. Quinn and Dras moved silently to the doorway and peered in. Dras managed to stifle a shriek at the sight, but her obvious distress brought Ana and Black forward.
The room beyond was bare except for a single straight-backed chair upon the blood-washed floorboards. In the chair sat what had once been a young man, now mutilated with dozens of deep slashes all over his naked body. He stared at them, senseless but alive, his dull eyes filled with horror.
As they watched, rooted with fear, he lifted his right hand, brandishing the razor it held and then slashed himself across the chest.
"Johann."
Blood spattered on the floorboards. The pool of red was wide and thick and viscous.
"That's enough."
Quinn raised his pistol and blew the unfortunate man's head apart. His body slumped and slid wetly to the floor. The razor skittered across the gruesome scene to lie at Dras' feet. Slowly, as if uncertain of herself, the young woman sank down and picked up the implement. Tied to the handle with a leather strap was a black feather.
"Lord Samedi."
Black looked around.
"Well, that seems to be all there is to see. Perhaps we should be on our way?"
"You don't want to search the house for the skull?"
"If it were here, my dear Ana, I'm sure that Monsignor Domino would have found it and already left. He's not here, so neither is the skull."
Quinn nodded. "What about the castle?"
"Yes, exactly. No doubt our heavy-set nemesis is there. Now, Dras, lad, let's have no more of this superstitious talk, shall we? We'll need you alert, lad."
Dras shook herself and, still holding the razor, nodded.
"The castle. Let's go."
It became obvious the castle had been designed to loom. Ruined and decrepit as the ancient structure was, it continued to perform its primary function well enough. Its sightless windows leaned out over the beach where the four approached.
Dras stared up at the massive pile and muttered, "Why are we doing this again? Do we owe somebody something?"
Quinn did not look over as he responded.
"A little late for questions. We don't really have time to get into a discussion right now."
"Are you cognizant of the fact that we know nothing about what's in there, or who, or why they might want to cut us into pieces?"
"I'm cognizant of this: the sun is going to set in half an hour, and I don't want to be here when it does. Moving faster now."
"Actually, I think I'll move slower. The guards have seen us."
"Guards? There can't be anyone left alive here."
Dras' response was a little higher-pitched than normal.
"I don't think they are. Left alive."
The other slowed to match their pace to Dras', studying the leering apparitions in the gateway. Black frowned.
"What are they holding?"
"Rakes, I think. Perhaps they used to be gardeners."
"I wish they wouldn't look at us like that."
Dras laughed.
"Like how? They don't have any eyes, just empty, gory sockets where -- "
"That's what I mean. I wish they wouldn't look at us like that."
"Well, I think we can safely say Mister Domino is likely to be about. Let us dispatch these two and be on our guard."
Quinn scowled but stepped forward, clutching his heavy cutlass with both hands. Black came up beside him with a pistol in each hand and took careful aim.
The guards shambled forward. One collapsed at the impact of a pistol ball against its fragile skull while Quinn advanced towards the other, brandishing his cutlass. He spent a little too much time brandishing, however, for just as he prepared to swing, opening his mouth for a battle cry, the guard reached out with its rake and struck him solidly on the head.
"Ouch."
Quinn stumbled back, clutching at his head. Black fired his second pistol and both undead guards lay stretched out beneath the crumbling stone towers.
The foursome pressed nervously into the ancient courtyard. Ruined walls lay in piles on all sides. Across from them stood a decrepit structure, long and high-roofed. Beyond, the setting sun bled into the sea, casting long shadows across the courtyard. A low moaning that wasn't quite the wind nor the surf seemed to roll outwards from the building's tall windows.
All four started as one of the now-inanimate guardians creaked and turned what remained of its shattered head towards them.
"The will of Six Thousand Men contests you. Six Thousand Men knows what you have come for and you will never defeat it. Six Thousand Men awaits you."
The hideous thing crumbled into dust. Ana gestured towards the elderly building.
"In the chapel?"
Dras repeated her friend's gesture.
"After you."
Graywolf-ELM
Explorer
excellent.
GW
GW
barsoomcore
Unattainable Ideal
Thanks for the props! Still ticking!
barsoomcore
Unattainable Ideal
About to get gorier and (we hope) creepier. And we're closing on the first official playtest session for Hot Pursuit!
Seems like a long time ago.
Seems like a long time ago.
Zaruthustran
The tingling means it’s working!
Heck yeah! More piratey goodness, please!
-z
-z
