Saturday, July 28, 2012
Lupin Maro III
[on the outside of an old, crusty envelope]
To whom this may concern…
This may concern you...
My name is Lupin Maro III, also known as "Bronzecoat Lupin", also also known as (but less likely to be referred to) "Prince Lupin Maro III" OR what I like to call myself "Prince Bronzecoat Lupin Maro III", and I am an alcoholic.
This is… strange. I've never taken a journal before. I've never even really looked back at my life before. It's quite dull, you see. That's right - you! She who holds this letter, giving immortal voice to these withering words. I stress the word "she" as no man should read this. Why? Because I've probably met you, and like the Morridane are to law… I probably don't like you.
So, here is your last chance to stop reading. So go on. Go back to your wife and your kid and your cat named whiskers (by the Gods, why would you name your cat whiskers? If I were still alive I'd hit you…)
[Blank pages]
Is he gone? Good. Now that we're alone….
Ah who am I kidding? I've lost my touch. Back in the day, when I was young, when I was spry! Back in those days, I could bed any woman I wanted and not because of any stature, but because I could do one thing that even the most powerful wizard, the brainiest scientist, and the most Godly of Gods can not do… Talk to women. And not just talk to them, but to gain their admiration! Their respect! Their unconditional love with the one condition that I not ruin their unconditional love!
Which I often did! But my point remains valid!
Yes yes, me and the ladies go way back way waaaay back to… Gods, but I would venture to say I was 16 when I had found my first, and dipped my disgusting, useless bug of virginity into the fine acid pool of intercourse. Ahh and what a night it was yes. Yes yes I remember it clearly now.
I had seen this lady around at Fathers parties before. She had beautiful olive skin. Very fair skin. Sometimes us Tordoran's get a bit "ashy" in the dry salty air. But she.. she had some magic about her. Her big beautiful amber eyes angled slightly as they pointed to the bridge of he cute, sloping nose. Her succulent, yet unobtrusive lips balanced her long face in a way that not only solved the riddle of the perfect woman, but also created a new riddle in it's place: who could be more beautiful than Marco's mother?
I do feel bad for the boy. Marco was only 14 when me and Corrine had… relations. How was I to help myself? I still hold my firm belief that if it weren't for the incestial nature of the thought, Marco would have fallen in love just as I had. I remember it quite vividly, actually.
She was speaking some nonsense about the economy with a few of my Father's banking friends. Their argument seemed dull, so I decided to make it more interesting. Father had turned his attention to Adri's compliment on his military vest, so I took the opportunity to make a move. I straightened my coat, fixed my tie, adjusted my hair, and with an arm behind my back like a good little boy, I made my approach.
The three of them were a bit taller than I, in fact Dougal seemed to be quite handsome on this particular night as Corrine could not take her eyes off the pretentious banker. I had been standing there for 20 seconds, and they still had yet to acknowledge me. I had to find an "in"…
"I mean the Thurian border all three Central Kingdoms, so the whole thing was a mistake anyways." Dougal said with his stupid grin. Corrine smiled her beautiful smile.
"The Plebeians of that region are so stubborn," she remarked, stirring her drink, "It's as if they believe themselves to be in need of any Tordoran supplies."
"Or that they're equals." He said back with a laugh.
Now.
"Imagine that," I sarcastically spoke, "Other people being as great as the great number-wizard, Dougal!" They all had their attention on me now.
"Master Lupin." Dougal recognized. I gave him a glance, and returned my gaze to my madam.
"M'lady, do you grow tired of this man?" I felt bad putting her on the spot, as she didn't look to happy about it. I could do this though. I knew I could. Hundreds of times had I talked my way out of trouble with the law, with my father, with bullies. Women are just another challenge.
"Why.. no, not at all."
"Is that so?" Dougal was looking a bit annoying, hiding his frustration behind grinding teeth, "because I for one can't stand another minute of him. Really now, Dougal, banking talk? To a lady?"
Dougal shifted his weight. "I'll have you know that it was she who initiated the conversation."
"Only to be nice, Dougal. When she introduced herself to you, you just stood there. You were quite awkward." she giggled. Good, good, "Come now, do you honestly think that her favorite topic? Perhaps if you could talk about something other than your work you would be more fun to be around my friend."
"You've got quite the mouth there, Master Lupin." he said, harshly this time, "Perhaps your Father should wash it out."
"So the two topics you bring to a lovely party such as this are 'banking' and 'child abuse'?" I turned to Corrine, "Mmm, quite the life of the gathering isn't he?" She finally let out a bit of a laugh, lowering her head to conceal her amusement. At this point, her attention was on me. Now I just had to wheel this thing home.
"Master Lupin, your petty insults do not bother me." He leaned in, "For you see I am a man. A very rich, and powerful man. And as far as I am concerned, you are just a plebeian who knows not how to respect his elders, or his superiors."
He leaned back and smirked his stupid smirk, thinking he had won. That is, until he looked at Corrine. As it turns out, his disrespectful comments about the King's son did not go over very well for the lady, and in turn had given me more legitimacy.
"How mature." I quietly said, taking Corrines hand. She didn't reject it. "M'lady, how would you feel about having a nice, fun discussion elsewhere?"
She smiled her big, beautiful smile. "That sound lovely, Master Lupin."
"Please, it's just Lupin."
We left Dougal there a washed up hack. In a matter of seconds I had shown this lady that age, stature, and looks to not determine the legitimacy of a person. We ended up in the study, where we made love for the first and only time. What a night.
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I always hated my Father's teachings. He had this preconceived notion that because I was his first born son, that I should have all the desire to lead a country as he has. He took it upon himself to teach me the way of Kings. The way I should present myself, how to maintain a strong economical flow between the government and the people, how to solve property owners issues, how to command an army, how to spread the legacy of Mero and of Tordoran across the land and blah blah blah.
I swear, it was in every session up in that study (yes, the very same) that I stared out the tower window. I could see the Rohannor River. I would watch the loggers and boaters move down the river, laughing and drinking together. The free spirited Thurians had a life that I wanted. I knew I wanted that life, a nomadic life. Not this fake, tongue in cheek excuse for an existence that my father led that he expected me to live as well. Jean, my youngest sister, didn't want this life either. It would be her lot in life to be sold to some man to establish a treaty in some foreign land. A bargaining chip. It was quite disgusting, really.
She was my only friend through those times. My only real friend. Sure, I had met many other young men around the age of 18, and of course bedded a fair amount of ladies,but the only constant in my life was her. My dear sister and friend Jean. She is only a year younger than me. I wonder where she is now…
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You know who I miss? Frederick. The Thurian servant with his fake accent and his poorly tucked outfit. If I had anything as close to a friend as Jean it was Frederick. He waited on me hand and foot, always aiming to please me. Of course it was an act you fool! Doesn't mean it wasn't nice.
Frederick used to help get Father off my back. He would calm my father down when he was throwing one of his fits, and would always… ALWAYS, be there for me. Back when I needed people. Hey, I was young once too: don't judge me, Beautiful.
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Father used Rufio as a means to make me look bad. He tried to make me guilty, or jealous or something. Rufio was only 14 when I was 18, and yet he was thrust into the same life I had been stuck in. Lucky for me, I was pushed aside at this point.
When Rufio came of age, Father decided to throw the poor boy on a stick and parade him around. Rufio Maro was to be the next King! Lupin? Lupin who? I don't know who you're talking about because the only prince I know is Prince Rufio Maro!
Idiot.
I don't blame Rufio. In fact I tried to help the boy. However the extra attention was too much to pass up for my brother, and he remained ensnared within my Fathers obsessive grip. You see, this is one of those great instances which I look back on from time to time… and just really enjoy. It was my first victory over my father.
Father let slip one time that he cared not what I did anymore, now that he had Rufio. It was a sad, sad moment. I wept. Oh yes, I wept for days on end knowing that my dominating Father would no longer be dictating my existence.
Oh wait, forget I just wrote that. What I meant to write was that instead of loathing this, I embraced it!
Taverns every night! Hanging around all day on the docks with the Thurians, going out to sea with them and fishing! Exploring the city, getting in fights! Running on rooftops! Oh the fun I had! And every detail of it ended up on my Father's doorstep. I was all in the tabloids.
Prince Gone Crazy?
King's Lack of Support Leads to Self-Destruction of Prince!
Sexy Former Prince Single!
Alright, so the last one was made up.
On one rare event when I was actually home, I heard a thunder storm roll in. A very violent thunder storm. Cows were thrown around, houses toppled, children killed and wives widowed! Then it just turned out to be my Father being angry with me.
He only struck me a few times, but the times he struck sure did sting. He really wasn't taking this well. The fact that I had absolutely no interest in his way of life drove him to what appeared to be the edge of sanity. To top it all off, I had ruined his reputation and the name Maro. I guess I didn't realize it mattered this much to him.
Or as much to him as it did my last night there.
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They say that a whisper is more likely to wake someone than a scream. There is truth in this.
I woke up, and there was a man and a dagger at my door. I fell out of bed, and scrambled to my feet as the man in black moved for me, attempting to stab me. I grabbed the arm of the man and twisted his wrist the way Father had taught me. A King's close quarters combat. I brought him to the ground, and hit him in the head as hard as I could. Funny story, I actually broke my hand with that punch.
The punch knocked the black hood loose, and the assassin was revealed.
Revealed to be King Lupin Maro II. Had it really come to this? Crazy man.
He grabbed my hair with his free hand, and thrashed my head around, then threw me at my end table. I stumbled a bit, but regained my composure, and out the window I went. My secret pathway that led to Jean's room.
On the outside of the 7th story of the palace, I shimmied across as I always did until I reached her room window. I knocked furiously until I saw movement. When she finally opened the window, I told her what had happened. She was shocked, but somehow well composed. I think we all suspected it would happen.
I was about to climb into her room when we saw the door burst open. It was daddy. As quickly as she could, Jean ripped off her locket and gave it to me. She forgot to give me the key. I could hear father screaming at her to stop me. He closed the locket in my hand and said "Find yourself!" I think. I honestly don't remember.
Then she pushed me. I fell seven stories into the hedges. I was lucky to have not been impaled by a fence or by, I dunno, missing the hedges? Apparently Jean hadn't thought it through very well.
Oh, right.
So she was left in there with him. I have no idea what happened to her. Once I regained my sense of self, and let out of the bushes and ran for the front gate, where I was met with Frederick. Before I could even consider him a threat, he opened the gate, yelling "Run, Master!".
Never got to say so, but thanks, Frederick.
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Captain Nolan Nalon. Now there's a name I haven't heard in a long time. I don't even hear it now, I'm just thinking about it. When I first met Nolan, I had been homeless for a few weeks, in hiding from my Father and his goonies. I was making a few coins here and there on the docks, cleaning boats or vomit outside the taverns.
When I had ran from my Father's insanity, I headed for the Rohannor River. I cast myself into the rapids as my fathers guards neared me. I had hoped they would assume I was dead. I drifted all the way down the river to Berck Harbor. That would be my home for a week. Or rather, the dumpster behind Irna's Bakery would be my home for a week.
I loved sweetroll night.
[Blank page]
One night while I try to sleep, I heard men and women speaking of the location of someone. I listened closer to the wall of the dumpster to easily decipher them as guards. My fathers guards. They had followed the river down to Berck, and they knew I would be in the city. Who knows how long they had been searching, but by the sound of one woman's frustrated voice - quite a while.
They moves right past the dumpster. A small bit of light from a torch shone through the cracks and holes in the old dumpster. I waited for them to round the corner before I decided relocation would be best. As I crawled from the dumpster, the blasted thing managed to make a loud enough noise for the guards to hear. I wouldn't say they sprung into action, but one of them looked back around the corner to see a disgusting former prince staring back at him.
I ran the other way, towards the Harbor. Hoped to do my "water trick" again and disappear for a few weeks. I hadn't realized my father wanted me dead so badly. Apparently the news was still spreading, and the only way to stop the great Maro name from being completely butchered, was to butcher one with the name.
I ran throughout the alleyway, luckily much more agile than the guards whose heavy armor encumbered them. Sharp turn to the left, right down a thinner alley. Jump to fire escape. Climb!
I put my climbing skills to the test, as I flew up the ladder, skipping every other step. Then there was a bang. Pardon the details but I thought I had soiled myself right there. I don't know where the bullet went, but I could hear the city spring to life. A few screams and a few cathartic yells.
When I made it to the roof, I could hear them close behind on the ladder. I ran towards the harbor. A small gap in between two buildings, no problem. What I wasn't expecting was of course what happened. As I ran to the gap, I was blindsided by someone I hadn't seen hiding behind a wooden structure on the roof. He clotheslines me, wrapped his arm around my head, and pulled me aside.
The man was large. Largest Thurian I had ever seen. Bald, with a big beard. Tattooed arms and a brutal scar across his disfigured nose. The man covered my mouth and spoke directly at me.
"If you want to stay alive, do exactly as I say, understood?" I nodded, and he took his hand off my mouth. He pointed towards the gap, "Don't jump over the gap, jump down it."
Terrified, I really didn't feel like that was the best plan. Being about two or three stories up (and having already used my first life from the 7 story fall) a fall like that could do some damage. Lethal damage. I looked back at him. He looked to be growing impatient. I could hear the guards behind me reach the top of the ladder.
"I'll be killed you idiot!" I exclaimed. No sense in being quiet now.
"No, you won't. Now JUMP!"
Looking over the edge, I took a big step off into the darkness of the alleyway below and began my plunge. I was an idiot. I didn't know this man. This man could have been a guard. He could have been a mercenary working for the guard. I was a wanted man!
So this was it. As I felt the wind swooping my hair above me, I plunged to my death…
…A whiteness enveloped me, though still diluted from the darkness. I could feel myself become wrapped up in it, and carried off to Urcaen. I wonder who would be there? Menoth? The Twins? I'd had lived a full life anyways. However, this process was noisy. I could hear so many stray souls around me, huffing and puffing as if working a rail-cart. At one point, I felt the hand of an angel touch mine. It was a bumpy ride, too! None too comfortable. I could feel myself slowly slipping into Unaen, then I could feel a hard wooden floor crack my back as I slammed hard into it. The whiteness pulled away - revealing the innards of a ship. A man an a woman leaned over me.
"You think he's alright?" The man asked.
"He made it all the was to Berck on his own. I think he can tough this out." The woman replied.
The man had a questioning look, before another guy walked in.
"Well look at that! The boy's fine." a man said out of my vision.
"How can you be so sure, Cronan?" The man said to this, Cronan.
He walked into my vision - his head only a little higher than the rest of my body. Morridane for sure.
"I guess I can't be so sure. You're right, he's dead. Throw him out!" He said with a smirk.
"Can you talk?" The woman asked.
"Yes. Yeah I'm fine. Where am I?"
"You're on Captain Nolan's ship, boy!" Cronan replied, "Welcome to the Lunar Moth!"
I sat up to find where I was. I was on a table in what appeared to be a dining quarters.
"You took a good fall back there. You got some spunk for sure!" The man said.
"I think he's got a little Morridane in him." Cronan remarked. I tried to wake myself up. I didn't want to look weak in front of these people. These pirates.
"The Lunar Moth, huh? Couldn't clean the place up for me at al, could you?"
"Not for a Prince such as yourself." It was the big man, the man who had told me to leap. He walked down the few steps that separated this area of the ship to the captains quarters (I would assume, the structure was very similar to a Tordoran ship), "Name's Captain Nolan. You can call me Nolan." He began introducing me to the crew that had gathered in the room, pointing at each as he spoke.
He pointed to the elf woman, "This is Faeth. Quickest draw in all of Immoren!" now moving onto the other man, "This is Casanova, but we just call him Nova. Sounds much cooler, don't you think?" then finally on to the last of them, "And this-"
"This, is Cronan Cronan at your service. But, you can call me Cronan." he cut off. His name was Cronan… Cronan? How silly. I stood up, and straightened myself.
"My name-"
"Is Lupin Maro III or, better yet, Prince Lupin Maro III. How do you do, your highness?" Cronan said with a bow. The others laughed. I felt a little out of place, admittedly, but I stood my ground.
"You seem to have done your homework. May I ask, how did you get to the top of the bookshelf at your stature, Morridane?" I shot back. They all stopped laughing for a moment, then all looked at Cronan. They looked as if expecting something awful to happen. His head slowly rose from his faux-bow, revealing a face that was holding back laughter. Before I knew it, the whole crew was laughing together.
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Finally a life of adventure! I had been on the Lunar Moth for about 4 months up to this point. It was unbelievable how great the life of a pirate could be. We spent days on the high seas, boarding ships, recruiting crews, gathering more ships, finding the greatest riches, stopping by the docks, drinking until sunrise, blowing our money on wenches and mead. Truly, truly some of the best days of my life!
I learned many a song from that crew.
Keelhaul that filthy lad - we will send him down to the depths be-low!
Make that bastard walk the plank - with a bottle of rum and a yo-ho-ho!
Keelhaul was a fun one. In one instance on the deck of the ship early in the morning, I was so drunk I ended up trying to walk the plank as they all looked on, laughing. Of course, not one step onto it did I lose my balance and tumbled right into the sea. Looking back on it, being as drunk as I was could have easily rendered me incapable of swimming, but when you are as drunk as I had been, nothing is too dangerous.
Despite the fun I had, the lessons I had been learning about combat and sailing, and the mead I wolfed down, I was still curious. Where did these people come from? Why did they capture me? Why did they save me? What was all of this?
I asked Nolan on a few occasions, but he always found a way off of the topic. When I asked the others, they seemed to do the same thing. However with those folks, they made it even more obvious that something wasn't right. They had the look upon them that they had the answer just as Nolan had, but they had sworn not to tell. They all had iron wills, too. No matter how drunk they got would they tell.
When I finally got it out of Nolan….
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I walked into his quarters as he closed the door behind me.
"Take a seat, Bud." he directed, motioning for the chair that sat in front of his desk. He opened up a cabinet, and pulled out a wine I had not seen before. Looked Khardic. After retrieving the wine, he moved to his big, old seat. Popping off the cork, he began.
"'Bout 4 months ago now, I saw a bounty. It was for you. The bounty office was filled that day. Do you have any idea what your bounty is? Anyways… I grabbed the flyer, and was on my way. As I left the building, I was pulled aside by a monk girl clad in brown robes. She asked what bounty I had grabbed. When I showed her, she simply nodded, and pulled out a coin purse. It had double the bounty in it."
He took a swig of the wine.
"She simply said that if I decided to instead save you, that she would give me the gold. I brought it up to the others, and they all agreed that more gold is more gold. So, Cronan came up with the plan to wrap you in a sail, and bring you back here. We told her the plan, and she obliged to wait by the docks. When we retrieved you, she gave us the gold."
Nolan was silent for a moment after he was done talking.
"Why couldn't you tell me?" I inquired.
"She asked us not to. She said it would be best to keep it a mystery for now, as it could put you in danger. Oh, I almost forgot, she gave us this."
My heart skipped a beat. It was the key to Jean's locket. The locket I still wore around my neck. I took it from Nolan without realizing it. With the locket in my hand I unlocked it. Inside bore a picture drawn by Jean. Her beautiful artistic skills shown through here. At first glance, the picture was mush, but if you held your head back and squinted your eyes, you could see herself and I. I couldn't believe it.
"That girl…" was all I could muster. I smiled.
"I take it you knew her, huh?"
"Yeah. Yeah you could say that." I laughed at her nerve, "That crazy girl!" I could only imaging how annoyed father was. All that money gone, and his bounty tarnished by the most unsuspecting of people!
Jean!
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The affairs of my fathers officials, along with the Tordoran army was starting to become a problem. After 5 years on this ship and I was still being perused. Apparently someone had spilled the beans that I was now a pirate, in hiding from my father somewhere in the Sea of a Thousand Souls. We were boarded a few times by the Navy even, in which case I had to hide under the floorboards on the bottom of the ship with literally a board of wood separating me from the Sea's cold depths.
I grew tired of this charade, and the crew was getting fed up with all the encounters as well. I could feel their frustration. They were tired of housing me, and tired of me in general. I couldn't blame them. Besides, at age 23, I was ready to go on my own. Perhaps face my father again and finish the old man off?
So the next time we were all eating, I stood up and addressed them all.
"If I could just say something to you all." They wouldn't shut up, "Hey! I'm talkin' here!" they all gave me their undivided attention.
"For the past 5 years, you have all looked out for me. You have taught me, you have helped me, and most of all you have saved me." I could see on a few's expressions that they new where I was going. "It has been unfair - the amount of help I require of all of you, and the danger I put you all through. Which is why I am resigning as a member of the crew."
Faeth leapt to her feet. "Like storm you are!" I was a little take aback.
"Faeth, it's alright. I've come to terms with being a burden. I've been a burden my whole life, the only difference is I like you people, and I don't want to be a burden if I don't have to be. Which I don't."
"Oh shut it would you?" Cronan said, going back to his food.
"We don't need to hear this selfish crap, son." Nolan said.
"Selfish? I'm- I'm doing this for all of you!"
"How weak to you think we are?" Nova asked. I had no answer.
"Son, if I didn't want you around any more it would have been made perfectly clear a long, long time ago." Nolan pointed out.
"Now sit down and eat your food!" Faeth yelled. They all sat down and continued eating. So, this is what pirates were like when they showed affection?
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There was a crash in the night. The sound of cannons and splintering wood. We were under attack.
We had all known this day would be coming. Over the next four years we had pro-actively attacked my fathers navy. We meddled with their plans, stole from their trade, and generally messed with everything they did at sea. We had known they were preparing for a large attack soon - it was all about when.
Well, it was that night.
We all jumped into action. Waking up as quickly as possible. Grabbing our weapons and anything we had for armor which for me was none. Manning the cannons. I met of with Nolan and Faeth. Neither one of us knew quite what we were up against until we got to the deck.
Seven ships.
Seven ships plus a monstrous storm. And we were getting hit bad. We also managed to notice Nova leaving on a life boat, heading towards one of the ships. Traitorous dog.
I have no need to go into the details of the battle. Our ship was getting pummeled, but never took on any water. They weren't aiming to sink us. But why? Then our mast got hit. The entire thing, falling into the Sea. We fired back with what ranged weapons and cannons we had, but we couldn't make a dent. When we were finally boarded, we took the fight to them. Using the techniques taught to me by Nolan, I managed to kill a few of the Navy men. Nolan, on the other hand, controlled the battle with his grace.
Until he got shot. I don't know if they aimed particularly for him, or if it was just a stray bullet, but it hit him right in the chest. He toppled over. I made my way to him. He couldn't breath, or talk. Blood poured from his mouth. I took his ammo, and he smiled to me. My only real father was dead.
We did our best still, to fight off the attackers. One by one I witnessed my friends be killed. I took Nolans Bronze Greatcoat - the one I always wanted, off his corpse, and retreated into the ship along with a few others. Faeth was already dead at this point. Cronan closed the door behind us.
"The battle is lost, abandon ship!" he yelled to the crew. We all ran for the stern, where there was a port from which we could bail in secrecy. As we ran with Cronan leading the pack, a well placed cannon ball crashed through the side, swiping Cronan right out of the way, and tossed a limb of his into the air. No time to stop.
When we reached the stern, myself and another woman pulled open the sealed trap door. It was just above the water. Occasionally water would splash in, as the storm had worsened. I managed to slip out into the water, and I just swam. Hopefully in the storms fury, I would not be recognized in the water. I swam. I didn't know where I was swimming, I just needed to get away from the ship. Only a few seconds after I had left the ship, it was boarded by another naval ship, no doubt to look for survivors.
The mast that had been shot off floated in the water nearby. I swam to it, and climbed on top. I think the bronze coat blended in with the wood in the storm. I laid there, trying not to fall off in the crazy waves, though this was not always possible. I just had to wait out the Navy.
After what felt like an eternity, the storm began to clear, and the ships left, one passing right by me. The storms calming gave me just enough tim to swim back to the Lunar Moth. I could see no survivors. I swam with what little energy I had left back to the boat. It took longer than you would expect to get back. Many waves seemed to keep me away forever. I thought for sure I'd drown.
And why not? What was keeping me alive? Why was I always a survivor? Why did I feel the need to consistently survive? What had I to live for?
I put it in the back of my mind and thought about Jean. I felt for her locket, but it had been lost. That's alright, I only needed memories to remember her by. She'd understand. When I got to the side of the ship, I quickly treaded water with my legs, and stabbed my sword into the side. Pulling myself up, I pulled out a knife and dug that in with my right hand. Sword by knife, I climbed to the top of the ship with only a few close calls. If I had fallen, it would have been over.
I rolled myself over the edge looking like a wet rat, slopping onto the deck. I could barely breathe, I was tired. So tired. I simply lay there for what only felt like a few minutes, but ended up being a few hours. I never slept. Just laid in a puddle of my own dignity.
With no wind or to speak of and the ship possibly sinking, what was the point?
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I washed up somewhere. The ship had amazingly not sunk. I found out to be in Port Vladovar in Khador. Apparently, it just happens to be home to the biggest Khadoric naval fleet in the world. They had seen my ship drift in, but knew it couldn't be a threat. if anything, they were just curious.
I had a meeting with the military advisor at Vladovar. I had to explain to him that this was not a threat, nor an act of war. That I was of no importance. After a few days there, I was told to leave, and go back to Ord. However my ship could not sail. I had to get it fixed, which of course required money, and lots of it. I went to a small port within Kulvorn Bay, where I worked like I had when I was young.
I'm not going to lie, the memories of my cremates never went away. I couldn't help but think about them. I watched them all die. Those who gave me a chance, who gave me purpose. I knew I had to live on in their name, if anything. I would be a fool to throw it away now.
I stand here alone on the bow of my ship - counting the hours 'til I die!
Abandoned to fate, with no chance of return - I raise up my fist to the sky!
I know that these days were the best of our lives - and nothing can take that away!
So when we are dead, we will all meet again - and fight 'til the end of our days!
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I spent a good 6 months in the Khardic Sea. I had recruited my own crew, and was doing a good job pirating there. I had a good crew, all very loyal and young. THey all had the same thirst for adventure as I always had. I enticed them to join through my cunning words. Easy, as all I had to do was appeal to myself.
Before I even knew it, I had been given the nickname "Bronzecoat Lupin". I actually forgot I had Nolan's coat. I had gained a good amount of infamy within Khador, but thanks to the war, their sights were not so much focused on the sea to the West as they were to the East.
Other pirates had taken heed to the Lunar Moth and it's crew. According to some tabloid we saw, I was ranked #7 in a list of Most Powerful Pirates in Western Immoren just above Stormhook Ghord and just below Blackhand. It felt kind of cool. At only 29 years of age, I had become a feared pirate. I guess this is when my ego exploded. It's not a bad thing! Just an observation.
The Lunar Moth had a few encounters with other pirates - the jealous ones, and the ones who wanted our beautiful ship. We never backed down, and only had a few casualties in total, at that time. Yesss we sailed all the way from Helvongen Bay down to The Wailing Sea, to the Gulf of Middlebank, to… the Sea of a Thousand Souls.
But we didn't stay there very long.
We made a good living this way. Adventure, excitement, killing, wenches, mead. All the ingredients to a fun life, full of fun people. I must say, I did grow a bit attached to this new crew.
[…]
I noticed something on the list. The number 1 most Powerful Pirate was Nova Turncoat…
Well, it turned out to be exactly who I thought it was. Casanova. So in my time since the death of all our friends, Nova had been making a name for himself as the most devious, backstabbing piece of garbage in the sea? He wanted to be the best, which is why he did what he did.
It wasn't over. I had found a brilliant flaw in his plan. He believed me to be dead. Unless he had read the tabloid, in his eyes I was killed almost a year ago. I would use this to my advantage. I would take the necessary steps, I would raise the finest crew, I would make the Lunar Moth as strong as it could be…
And I would kill Nova.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Three months of intense training. More training in my life than I had ever done. I taught more than I ever thought I would. For the first time in my life I truly, truly wasn't having fun. I was angry. To think that that stupid piece of shit betray us… had everyone KILLED, and then have the nerve to assume we all died? No. I wouldn't stand for that. I never will.
I had to calm down. Nolan always said that the quickest way to lose something is to want it too much. Advice I needed to take. So I slowed down. I decided to research - decided to figure out where he would be. Why. When. Become a cerebral assassin instead of an adventurous pirate.
Through networks, paying spies, bribing guards and the like, I slowly gathered the pieces to what ended up being a huge puzzle. A syndicate of lies, all stemming from my Father; King Lupin Maro II. I was getting all kinds of information, but I couldn't get it all to make sense together.
Odd trade patterns, increased crime rate in certain areas, lack of reported crimes in others. It all finally came together. My father, the King of Ord had used his power to seize control of an entire crime syndicate. Nova wasn't a pirate, he was just a criminal. Part of a much larger project. Ord had remained one of the only lands to not be engulfed in one war or another - the war on pirating was all they had. Instead they had this.
Pirates, thieves, assassins - it was all part of a conspiracy created by my father. He was fueling the war. He had been stealing supplies from other nations, blockading trade routes and such, all for the purpose of fueling Ords economy - forcing the neighboring territories to trade more frequently with Ord. It also caused the other territories to spark more conflicts between each other, thus continuing the pattern of war, and bringing more money to Ord.
On top of that, he had been supplying and feeding the pirating, to keep the people of Ord or anyone else discovering his plan. They were all worried about pirating, not about conflicts outside our border -because they didn't know they we'e our conflicts. Give the pirates adequate space, equipment and freedom. Let them steal and pillage as much as they want. Ord gets what they want under a false banner.
And I was just another cog in the gears.
For the first time in my life… I was proud of my father.
A simply brilliant plan. Cold hearted, brutal, calculated. But it was about time all of that changed. Now I had the information I needed. After studying the patterns of Nova's pirating, I knew where to head. A small alcove on the outskirts of the Blue Sands of Ceryl. We would hide the Lunar Moth behind there. When they would pass to intercept the Cygnar trade caravan, we would spring into action.
And I would have his head!
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It was the big day. We set sail just before sunset. The winds were strong in our favor - bringing us good luck. We anchored behind the alcove, where we waited. My fine crew, all behind me every step of the way. I couldn't have been more proud of them. They had turned into fine, gnarly, disgusting dogs just like a true pirate. I guess I was never a TRUE pirate in that case.
Long after the sun set and a full Calder rose, we saw our target. Raise the anchor, the sails, and move port to starboard! It was time for revenge. I never took my eyes off the target. They had yet to spot us. Good. We slowly bridged the gap between the ships. I felt a tugging on my coat. Finally I entertained the annoyance.
"What?!" I yelled.
"Captain, look!"
Gods…
Behind us sat 15- no 17 Ord ships. Practically the entire navy. Lova that son of a bitch. He outsmarted me again. This time, I wouldn't survive. I looked to my crew who were all expecting deaths embrace soon.
"Gentlemen, it has truly been a pleasure to work with you, laugh with you, live with you…" I trailed off.
"And die with you, captain!" Jonas proclaimed. The whole crew yelled a loud yell, as we saw the ships move into formation. All I could do was smile. That is, until adrenaline kicked in.
"Right! You're damn right you are going to die with me tonight! We all got here together. I gave you all the option to leave in the past, you knew the dangers of this life! Now if theres anyone who wants to run home crying, do so now!"
Nobody budged.
"Then get your asses on those cannons you dirt lickers, it's time to have the fight of our lives!"
They roared and moved into position. If I was gunna die, damnit I was taking Nova with me.
I stood up on the bow of the ship. I could see Nova doing the same. He had that smirk on his face. Yet he looked scared. I think he knew what I could do. Knew that I had escaped death so many times. I yelled out to him.
"Nova! This is the end! It ends here tonight, beneath Calders ominous glow, in an ocean who cares not for the dead! Whoever dies here tonight will not rest! Their soul, forever tortured as punishment due to his crimes! Do you hear me?!"
He was silent a moment.
"You've come along way from that weak piece of garbage I met ten years ago, Lupin! I'm proud of you!"
The ships drifted closer.
"That means a lot coming from a back stabbing piece of shit like you, Nova!"
"I suppose you want a motive then?!"
The ships drifted closer, to where we didn't have to yell, we just needed to be loud.
"A motive? No no, Nova, I don't need a motive! Don't you remember anything from Nolan's teachings?"
"I forgot everything that man said the moment I shot him in the chest! You must be an idiot to think his teachings were valid! Look at you! Look at me!"
"All I can see from here is a big nobody, Nova."
"Is that so? A nobody who tops the list of most powerful pirates? I am the most powerful man in Meredius! I am a hero to the poor!"
Was that it? He thought he was some stupid martyr or something? A complete fool was Nova.
"You don't know what your talking about, Nova."
"Don't I? Times have changed, Lupin. If you keep listening to what that old idiot said all those years ago, you'll be dead in a heartbeat."
"Honor never dies Nova, but fools do!" I fired at him with my musket pistol. Dumb move but the anger finally came out of me. Hey we can't all be spot on all the time, can we? He ducked and jumped back down onto the boat. All my men started firing, and ll of their men started firing. No hits yet, but cannonballs flew.
We narrowed the gap some more. I hid behind the lip on the edge of the ship, reloading my gun. This was the moment. We crept closer and closer to the ship. I could almost feel Nova only a few hundred feet away. I looked to the crew. A few men had done as I had, preparing to board the ship, while others continued firing. Some were unseen by me as they were manning the lower cannons. We took a hit from a cannon. Nothing the Lunar Moth couldn't take. I peeked over the edge. We were just about in position.
"On my signal!" I yelled. They nodded. Three, two, one.
Jean.
"GO!"
We got up and leapt over the lip, drawing our swords and knives as I had shown them. We dug them into the wood of their ship. Just as I had thought. The ship was poorly maintained. The blades went deep enough in to hold us. We climbed through the nearest window. The people hadn't expected us! Ha! Slaughterd the fools easy. Now we had to figure how to get to the deck.
The ship was much bigger than ours, of a foreign design. I picked the large door to my right to find the cannoneers. We crept in and managed to slit a throat or two before the others noticed. Lost one guy. I was fine. Where was Nova?
Checked another door. Captains quarters. Nobody inside, but there was a window open that led to a deck. I readied my gun, and leaned out the window. I could see him climbing up the ship on a ladder to the far left of the deck. I followed after.
When I reached the top of the deck, I was hit hard in the face. I fought back without hesitation. Fists flew. He attempted to throw me over the edge, I stopped him. My gun had fallen from my hand. We fought back and forth while the battle raged on. When new had a moment to breathe, we exchanged a few pleasantries.
"So this is how our fates were decided the moment we met each other, aye Nova?"
"My fate is in my hands, Lupin!"
We both shielded ourselves from a stray cannonball hitting near us.
"Not any more!"
We drew our swords. A duel that last far too long ensued, me trying to reach my gun. If I could just get my hands on it…
It wasn't so, however, as I was bested. My wrist was slit as I screamed in agony. Damn it hurt. I was on the ground with his sword to my face. He spoke, still tired.
"Now, Lupin, we end this!" and as he drew back his sword, I remember the promise I made. To live in the honor of my friends; of my sister. I was giving up, and that was just as much a traitorous thing to do as what Nova had done. In a flash, I saw a weakness. He had bad footing. It was as if I had a whole minute to evaluate the situation. I stomped into his knee. It knocked him right off balance.
He swung a few times, but gave me enough time to reach the pistol, to which I prepared to aim right at his ugly face. Before I could, I felt a sharp pain in my back. It was a burning, followed my muscle spasms.
Gods, I had been shot.
I tumbled off the edge to the deck below near his quarters. Son of a bitch, he was going to get away! I couldn't die there! I pulled myself to my feet, but I could feel a lot of blood being lost. I looked to the Lunar Moth. Smart fellows had move the ship on the other side of Nova's ship, putting it in-between them and the Tordoran fleet. They were smart alright.
I had two options, go up again with a shot back (literally) and die, or leave again, in hopes that I don't get blown up on my way back, or keelhauled by one of the ships.
I decided to make my own option. We had cleared out the ship before, so the ammunitions deck was empty. I stumbled towards it. Might as well go out with a bang. When I made it to the room, I knew what had to be done, it was simple really. Light her up.
In a brilliant explosion, the whole center of the ship was gone, along with me. The force behind the explosion stopped the battle in its tracks. It had flown me to the other edge of the ship. I think. I thought.
When I came to, I found myself on some driftwood, some ways aways from the battle. I had completely destroyed the ship. Ha! The dog was dead. The battle was coming to an end as a Tordoran ship boarded the Lunar Moth., no doubt killing all my brothers and sisters.
And as I lay on the driftwood I could only think about all the people I had used to get my revenge… and how I'd do it again in an instant. I felt an amount of closure, ending this chapter of my life. Ending the book of my life as I waited for deaths embrace.
Passing to my left was a Tordoran ship. And aboard it was Nova. Perfectly fine.
What?
He looked at me with his smile. A different smile.
Wait a second. THAT is Nova. Not that other guy I fought. What the hell…
"Damn, you've killed my double!" he yelled to me with a smirk. No. Damnit, no.
"You should have taught your little school kids there how to hold a sword. it was a little sad to be honest."
I tried to yell, but I had no strength. How they hell did he get so cunning? Unbelievable.
And there I lay for who knows how long. The clear skies clouded up, masking Calder's glow. It began to cry. No, I had fought him. This had to be a trick of some sort. How could he have known all I was saying? Was I so stupid? There was more to this than I knew.
But why worry about that now. The Lunar Moth was on fire, only diluted by the rain. In fact, the rain came down so hard, I could see the flames struggling. They roared and fought, dancing in the sky in an attempt to defeat their demons. All in vein, as the flames slowly burned out.
And myself with them.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I couldn't tell you what happened to me after that. I remember none of it. I simply remember waking on a shore. Who knows how long I had lay there. I was covered in seaweed and crabs. I crawled up the beach. My back. I felt my back to find the wound. How had I not been killed? I found the bullet… lodged in the armor of the coat.
Unbelievable.
Nolan always said the place to fear the most is your back.
That crazy son of a bitch. His paranoia had just saved me. I pulled the bullet out. Wherever the bullet came from, it was far enough away that it didn't go all the way through. That shooting pain was all bruise. Perhaps broken rib. Either way, it was not my time for Urcaen yet. So be it.
I stumbled to my feet. So I may not be the perfect pirate. I may not be the most cunning man, the most decorated war hero, or the most intelligent man in the world. But you know what I am? One good looking guy. I would be damned if I was just going to lay there and die. Clearly the Gods have purpose for me.
I vow now to find this purpose. To get revenge when I have grown enough. I swear this on the lives of the fallen, on Nolan's life.
On Jean's life.
This is only the beginning of Captain Prince Bronzecoat Lupin Maro III
Sunday, January 29, 2012
Journey: Prologue I
The Elder Scrolls
Journey
Written by Alex Claybourne
Disclaimer:
This
is entirely a work of fiction - obviously. Though I have done my best
to line it up with true Elder Scrolls canon, I can only do so much
without the help of Bethesda telling me what works and what doesn’t.
Take everything you read with a grain of salt, and don’t believe it all
to be consistent with The Elder Scrolls universe. Oh and don’t tell
Bethesda I’m using their names and world lest I get in trouble.
And yes, that is a pen name.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Prologue I
“Easy now...”
he thought to himself slowly clasping the small Dwarven cog with his
tweezers. Carefully he directed it to the exposed side of the strange
bronze cube, making sure to not cast too much of his own shadow on the
exposed area. With a notable amount of precision that can only be
developed from seven and a half years on the sea, he eased the cog into
it’s proper place; near the center of the device, until he heard the
reassuring click which signified it’s unique connection within. “So precise... so reliable were the Dwemer...”
he thought, setting down his tweezers to enjoy another swig of his
Nordic mead he had been so fortunate to snag on the last boarding.
Marco put what little was left of the mead back onto the workbench, making sure it was in the shadow of the dwarven artifact, so as to not get warm from the torch that lit the room. Luckily for Marco and for the cold mead, it was a cool night on the seas, and Marco did not much care for warmth. The warmth of the Sun, that is. It was much more a simple task to wear more layers, to start up a fire, or to purchase a potion of warmth when you were chilly, then it was to keelhaul yourself just to provide some cool relief on an hot Sun’s Height afternoon; and much safer. It didn’t matter how much rope you tied to yourself - one rough current, hidden undertow, or gods-forbid a school of slaughterfish could easily, and probably end you - and the Redguards were not one to help a man who threw themself into the sea. Hence the old Redguard proverb, “Don’t help the man who casts himself into the sea, for they will only live to do it again.”
There was a thud, and a crash.
Perhaps the proverb didn’t actually exist. Unless of course Marco and the other’s on the Maria-Boiche had made it up themselves, but this didn’t resonate too much with Marco. The Maria-Boiche had a fine crew, but they were no poets. In fact not one member of the crew owned a journal or even parchment. They did not even have scrolls from which to cast spells, for none could read. They would agree that journals are for the weak; that reading was for Altmer and structure. Though clearly an attempt to rationalize their education; or lack thereof, it was an unspoken rule not to crush the morale of any crew-mates no matter how irrational they may be.
There was a thud, a crash, and a yell - or two.
After a brief moment to breathe, Marco took hold of his tweezers once more, this time clamping down on the larger, heavier cog and begun carefully moving it into place, which happened to be on the outside of the smaller cog. This cog required even more patience, and precision than the former, being heavier, and clunkier. It was especially hard on the small tweezers, which were not designed by a Dwemer, but by what seemed like a small Bosmer. In his other hand, Marco grabbed the pin he had fashioned out of a lockpick, and readied it along with the cog, threading it through it’s center and soon the center of the former cog. How such technology as this had lasted so many a century was beyond him. In his dealings with Dwemer technology, the construction of each piece was crafted so finely it was mind-blowing. Most of it was incomprehensible or impossible to open up, which led Marco to believe that not only were the Dwemer genius builders and designers, but they were also the best planners Tamriel had ever seen. Not even the Eight Divines had such a foresight to know how to build something so perfectly the first time that you could seal off the innards with complete confidence - never needing to worry about maintenance or it just simply not working.
There was a thud, a crash, a yell - or two, and a the clanging of steel and iron.
This was all just speculation, though. Who was to say the Dwemer had such foresight? Marco had never read anything about how good they were at predicting outcomes, not that he had read much at all. But if they had such foresight, they probably wouldn’t have all vanished at the height of their power - but that wasn’t the point. For all he knew; for all anybody knew, the Dwemer were a reckless race who prided themselves on building what they simply hoped would work, and cast what didn’t work into the sea. For all he knew; for all anybody knew, they were sailing above a massive underwater graveyard of Dwemer technology. Marco thought of how he could pay off some Argonian working a dock to swim down to the sea floor to find anything of the sort. He quickly concluded, however, that he would much rather just rob the lizard-man blind and not give him any ideas as to where some hidden treasure could be. Perhaps with enough water-breathing potions he could get to the bottom - or perhaps an enchanted ring. However, enchanted rings didn’t protect you from giant slaughterfish and any other deep-sea terrors.
There was a thud, a crash, a yell - or two, the clanging of steel and iron, and then a click.
The cog had clicked into place with ease, and the makeshift pin along with it, which came as a shock to Marco having forgotten he was reconstructing a Dwarven cube on this cold, damp morning. It was a technique Marco liked to think he came up with on his own - distracted focus. The idea behind this was that if you were attempting to do anything that required precise actions and enough patience to rot a skeleton, keeping your mind pre-occupied with other thoughts would actually benefit your work. That his mind was always bogged down due to the hectic life of his, and that sorting out his thoughts while he worked relieved stress. Without stress - focus. And so Marco did his best not to focus, whenever it was needed. Life was like Dwemer technology. It wasn’t about forcing anything to work, for everything has it’s own place. Life was much simpler than the common man made it out to be. Always worrying about money, food, danger, and worst of all, family. Marco hardly knew the meaning of worry. Marco hardly knew the meaning of family.
Marco set his tweezers down, and sat back in his chair to look at the cube’s innards for a moment. Sucking up the last few drops of mead, he placed the empty bottle down right next to the broken window from which the mead - along with a few other bottles and jars (each filled with one poison or another) - had crashed through only minutes ago. It wasn’t the first time he had seen bottles thrown through windows like this - or the second time - or the third, fourth, or fifth. Sixth maybe? It was a desperate act of stupidity. Dumb sailors who assumed that poison will just explode in a puff of magic on impact, and infect the whole crew. And judging by the Nord mead they had chucked through the window it was safe for Marco to assume this was not an entirely pre-meditated siege of the Maria-Boiche - it was much more likely an act of desperation. Perhaps not sailors, but certainly not anybody prepared to attack the Maria-Boiche or Marco himself. The element of fear is what got Marco his mead, which was exactly why it was Marco’s personal favorite emotion despite having not known fear for seven and a half years.
Marco crossed the creaky room, stepping over the dead sailor who’s legs were sticking out from under the small end table which housed Marco’s last meal of rice, and the final piece to the Dwarven cube. Taking a handful of rice in one hand, and the final piece in the other, he stuffed as much of the grain as he could into his mouth. He hummed an old Bard’s song to himself, using the continued clanking of metal, the sticking of arrows, and the thuds of bodies from upstairs as a rhythm.
“One
Hun--dred men-- she had laid-- in bed,” Marco sang, “Not worried-- of
the feelings-- of the tears-- he’d shed, so it came-- to no surprise--
that when-- she fled, she was met - with - a - claymore that took off
her head...”
He
stepped back over the dead legs and navigated himself to his workbench.
The best part about wooden floors - especially the wooden floors of a
ship - was the blood seeping through the cracks, and the steady rocking
of the boat gently guiding it in. So much less to clean up; and Marco
didn’t clean anyways, so it was more-or-less the ship’s
self-maintenance. Marco wasn’t a fan of messes, and the innards of a
person were not exactly appetising. So, he always aimed for the neck,
and made sure to wedge a sword in between his floorboards every Loreday
to make sure they were nice and spaced. It may seem impractical to prep
one single room on a ship in this way, but when you were Marco
“Coldblood” it wasn’t exactly uncommon for an Imperial Scout Party to
try and catch him in his sleep - nor was it too shocking to wake up to
the creaking of some fool with an invisibility spell stepping on the
intentionally loosened floorboards.
The
final piece, which had two sides to it - the outside which looked
identical to the other sides of the cube, and the inside which had what
looked like a spire in every corner, with two smaller spire-like pieces
bordering each ‘father’ spire - was carefully held over the opening of
the cube with Marco’s two hands. After taking a moment to line up all
the Dwemer symbols with each corresponding symbol, he lowered the final
piece. With each father-spire entering it’s proper insertion point, the
gears begun to spin. Not too long after, Marco was able to release the
piece, allowing the cube itself to latch on to the father spires and
pull them in. Then, with the gasping sound of all the air within the
cube becoming sealed off from the rest of Nirn, the device was prepped.
The gears had stopped turning within, and the makeshift pin was sticking
only a finger’s length out of the top.
The sounds from above grew louder the closer he moved down the creaky hallway to the wooden stairs that led to the second deck. The door at the top of the stairs had been completely smashed, leaving only a frame. This didn’t stop Marco from opening what was left of the door as he would any other time, despite the sound of battle growing stronger. Just because the door had been destroyed didn’t mean he had to abandon all sense of class. Besides, the second deck had already been the host of a skirmish, and it had the trophies to prove it. Roughly five bodies-worth of limbs carpeted the floor, while two bodies remained pinned to the walls by abandoned swords, left to slowly kill the victim with tedious suffering. One of these ornaments happened to still be alive, and coincidentally enough, was Marco’s curly-haired crewmate, Devon, pinned to the wall at the gut. Odd as Marco thought it, he had never before seen a sword as thick as a scimitar protruding from someone like some spear. He would have thought it far to messy a task to do something like that. As Marco headed for the blood spattered stairs that would lead him to the top deck, Devon called out after coughing up some crude, fresh black blood.
“M...Marc-co!
Marc-” Devon struggled to get out as his eyes started to lose color,
and his face grew pale - even for the dark-skinned Redguard. Marco just
ignored the noise, knowing quite well that despite what was written in a
children’s novel, a mans last words were never truly worth hearing, and
usually quite difficult to understand. However, Marco reminded himself
what a loyal crewmate Devon had been. They had lived on the Maria-Boiche
concurrently for a little over three years. Though they had never
shared much of what you would call ‘trust’ to any degree, Marco knew he
could count on Devon to a certain extent, since Devon was always looking
to prove himself to be second best on the ship. Second only to his
idle; Marco Coldblood. Marco stopped on his way to the stairs, and
instead decided to pay his old colleague a final visit. “May as well,” he thought, stopping before some poor sap trying to drag himself up the stairs, “There’s still some poor sap trying to drag himself up the stairs...”
“It’s.. just like you...” He managed, “...to not give.. care about-” His statement was interrupted with more of his incessant coughing, each one moving his sword-bound body enough to make even Marco Coldblood wince. When the coughing subsided, Devon’s head hung down, breathing heavy as if he were about to let out a Nord’s battle cry. Devon lifted his head, looking at Marco for a moment, and just then his eyes crunched up and his mouth opened wide as if he had just got impaled all over again. Shock had just worn off, and the true soul-biting pain had begun. Marco prayed to the Eight that his own death would be swift, even by means of beheading. At least getting beheaded would end you fairly quickly, and you would only spend a few seconds staring at your body from a basket. In Devon’s case, not only was he experiencing a slow and painful death, but he had to do so in front of the man whom he looked up to most; Marco Coldblood.
Devon let out a few disgusting cries, partially gurgling on the blood settling in the back of his throat. Marco took a step back. The pinned man shook his head and let out what started as a hardy growl... but soon turned into no more than a whimper. Mustering up the courage to speak through the pain, Devon shouted.
“It was mutiny, Marco! That bastard Dremmin-” He coughed hard enough to shut up, “... Dremmin... was working... the Imperial Legion... the whole-” He coughed once more, only this cough led to a series blood-curdling coughs that almost made Marco hurt to watch. Almost.
“I know.” Marco replied, in a dry tone.
Devons
head snapped up, looking into the wincing eyes of the disgusted
Redguard. While he sorted out what Marco had just said, Devon dropped
his head and squeezed his eyes, as another wave of pain crashed upon
him. His hands gripped the sword in his stomach, trying to steady that
which had torn him in two. How could Marco know about Dremmin? Was Marco working with the Imperial Legion too? No.
Something was telling Devon two things: It said that Marco didn’t
defect, and said that these would be his last few seconds alive. And in
that moment all Devon cared for was to know that his dying wish would be
heard. Marco would have to do as the recipient.
“Kill
him Marco! Kill Dremmin!” Devon shouted with the last of his strength.
Marco never had the honor of a dying wish before, let alone one he could
fulfill so quickly.
“I
already did.” replied Marco, and only seconds later, Devon lost the
strength to hold himself up any longer. His knees buckled, his body fell
forward only to get caught on the hilt of the scimitar that had him
staked to the wall. His lungs filled with blood, as could be heard in
his final breaths which became deeper, and thicker with each ounce.
Soon, the body went entirely dead-weight, leading to Devon’s corpse, to
hang ‘ragdoll’ while his curly hair brushed up against Marco’s knee.
Marco was thankful he had backed up earlier. Leaving the scene, he made
his way up the blood spattered stairs where the body of a crawler now
lay, and by the time he reached the top of the stairs, Devon’s body
weight had finally pulled the sword out of the knot in the wall, and
joined the carpet of dead on the floor.
The
sounds grew louder as he ascended the stairs, and were only slightly
muffled by the door at the top. Marco kicked open the door with the cube
under his left arm, and was greeted by the starless, deep blue sky of
the early morning along with the view of two dozen Redguard and Imperial
in the skirmish Marco had heard so much about. He picked out about 5 or
6 duels going on amongst the battle, and a few archers on either side. A
little disappointed in the battle skills of his crewmates - knowing
they could do better, Marco took a few steps out the door. As the battle
continued, Marco remained invisible to the gladiators at war, who were
focused on their target. Marco breathed in the salty morning air of the
sea, and took a stroll into the crowd.
A
short extension of walls created an arch around the doorway. As Marco
walked he gently ran his hand across the surface of the wood - feeling
the artwork carved into it. He could feel the flowers in the woodwork;
the vines that winded and twist around the buds, and was reminded of
seven and a half years ago when he didn’t need to imagine what they felt
like, he could simply reach out and take hold of the thorny vines. He
never loved flowers by any means, but just the thought of something so
grounded, so ‘Nirn’ gave him a luxurious amount of nostalgia to swim in.
Ironically, most of his memories of flowers were quite negative, and
spawned from a much more innocent time - when he was just a boy in his
second life. Marco could recall one particular time as a boy, picking a
red mountain flower. The flower passively told him to back off when he
pricked his finger on the thorn. He could see the small trickle of blood
run down his index finger so vividly that he actually began to bleed
from that very finger.
Despite
Marco slightly flinching from the splinter, none of the pirates, nor
Imperials so much as glanced in his direction - still in the heat of
battle. Shouts of the Empire’s glory and the laughing of the confident
pirates reflected off the wooden sides of the ship. Steel and iron
clashing, the roar of the small battle engulfed Marco’s ears in a wave
of pain and torment. As Marco neared the center mast, a few confused
glances were shot in his direction followed by a loud whistle, which
brought a swift end to the conflict - the Imperials collectively going
on the defensive, until the pirates were curious enough to see what all
the fuss was about. A man whom Marco assumed to be the Commander of the
Imperials stepped forward from the bow. The tall light-skinned Imperial
wore a face of anger and frustration as he looked down at the man he
assumed to be dead; Marco.
“Damnit, what’s he still doing alive?!” the Commander asked to nobody in particular.
“You can’t kill ‘im, he’s Coldblood!” yelled a pirate from behind Marco, directing his exclamation at the crash Imperial.
“So
Dremmin is...” The Commander said, leaving his sentence unfinished. He
turned his back to the battle, staring off into the sea gritting his
teeth, swallowing his emotion.
“Dead.”
he continued, “Well, so be it then. If Dremmin couldn’t finish the job I
suppose I will.” he finished, turning around only to find Marco holding
the bronze cube above his head. In a rare occurrence, both the Imperial
Legion and Marco’s Crewmates took aim at Marco. Swords, axes, bows and
spears all pointed towards their new enemy - a common enemy. A small
smile grew on Marco’s scarred face just before he dropped to one knee,
and slammed the cube down to the wooden deck subsequently. The tension
grew to a staggering amount, and only by the orders of the Imperial
Commander did the archers not fire upon Marco. Confidently, the Imperial
Commander, arm still outstretched commanding his archers to cease fire,
walked down the couple stairs that led down from the Bow. He approached
the mast that Marco had managed to position himself behind. The
Imperial cautiously halted a few paces before it, making certain to not
fall into any trap that the legendary pirate was planning.
Marco
remained hunched over on one knee, expecting a round of arrows to
pierce him. The amount of restraint in his opponents intrigued Marco,
which led him to believe they would not only be smart enough not challenge him in close combat, but would also be dumb enough to provoke him in an act of over-confidence - the Imperial Commander did both.
“I
don’t know malarkey you’re planning, Marco, but I ain’t buying it.” he
said intensely, attempting to intimidate the Redguard. He did not expect
any results, but confidence was his only weapon.
“Don’t
go provoking him ya’ idiot you’ll get us all killed! Don’t y’know what
that is?!” another Pirate yelled at the Commander. The Imperial quickly
glanced at the pirate, making sure not to lose track of the slippery
Marco, who was still shielded by the mast.
“Yeah,
it’s a ‘mysterious’ golden box. We’re supposed to be ‘scared’ right?”
the Commander said with a most condescending tone, “I’ve dealt with the
likes of you before, Marco, your little tricks won’t work on me. What do
you fancy yourself a Master of Illusion or something?” Marco rose, his
head still held down, finally speaking to the confused men and women.
“Look
around where you stand.” he directed. Nobody complied. Marco continued,
“I’ll bet all my coin none of you looked. Far too afraid of one man I
see.”
“Not
afraid of ‘ou, Marco, afraid of one’a those ‘tings!” one of the pirates
yelled, pointing at the cube with his scimitar. “Now by the Eight
Marco, what are ya’ doing?” he asked. To much of the pirate’s annoyance,
Marco didn’t give much of an answer.
“You
all switched sides. Moments ago you all fought along side your friends
and spilled the blood of your enemies. Now your enemies have become your
friends, and you all face me - your enemy.” The crowd listened, growing
increasingly aware that many Imperials stood next to a Redguard, and
many Redguards stood next to an Imperial. The Imperial Commander slowly
fascinated his hand around the handle of his sheathed blade.
“How
can one befriend your enemy - even for an instant - when any given
second...” Marco paused for effect, “...they might just turn on YOU?” he
said with much emphasis. At almost the exact moment, the men and woman
of the Imperial Legion and the Maria-Boiche turned to face each other
with their blades once more. It ended in a stale-mate, with most
instances one person holding their weapon to the throat of their enemy,
while their enemy did the same to them. The Commander, having nobody but
Marco to match him, only drew his steel sword. With a mast in his path,
there was no sensible route to Marco. He began to conjure up a few
plans of attack, shifting his eyes, but he was interrupted by the Legend
once more.
“And
in the beat of a heart, you are all enemies again. You have no honer;
none of you. The proud Nords of Skyrim would shun you all for your
cowardice.” Marco scolded. The men and women of the battle found
themselves more confused than ever, and the Commander had enough.
“We?
The cowards? It is you who fights with mere words hiding behind the
safety of a mast, rather than with his sword! YOU are the coward!” He
yelled at Marco, now holding his sword up high, and his shield readied
in defence. He awaited some support from his men - or at this point even
the pirates. None spoke up, though. All stayed at a stand-still,
considering what Marco had pointed out. In a quick instant, Marco had
entirely taken control away from the Commander, and this only made the
Commander more furious.
“Mistake
one: You sent the low-life Dremmin to assassinate me.” Marco directed
towards the Commander,” “Mistake two: You actually believed he got the
job done,” The Commander’s face grew red with embarrassment and anger,
“Mistake three and worst of all: You were confident. Face it Commander,
this battle was lost the moment you thought you could win.”
“Silence
you rotten bastard!” The commander yelled. With one big step to the
right of the mast, the Commander swung at Marco’s unprotected neck with
all of his force, only to have Marco crouch beneath it. The sword
traveled through the air with enough force, to get it stuck in the mast.
When the Commander failed to pull the sword out from the wooden mast,
the shocking realization of what just happened hit the Commander. Marco
had tricked him; had used his emotions to ensnare him in his trap -
exactly what the Commander told himself to avoid. Now it was finished.
With only the slightest effort would Marco be able to plunge a sword
directly through the exposed side of him, and so, in the wake of his own
disappointment, he awaited such a fate. But the fate never came. Marco,
who still remained crouched down, had only one thing to say to the
Imperial.
“In
the beat of a heart...” and Marco kicked off the Dwarven Box, his toes
pushing the pin into the device with more than enough force to start the
mechanism. The gears inside began to spin. The color in the faces of
just about every man and woman on the ship grew three shades saturated.
The pirates knew what this device was, and couldn’t believe Marco had
betray them too. The Imperials only knew only to be as afraid as the
knowledgable pirates, whose stomachs just about fell out of their
mouths. As the gears continued to spin, a gyrating mechanism on the
inside of the artifact began to glow, and spin. As the pace of the gyro
grew faster, the top of the cube raised itself and fell off to the side
of the cube. The gyro floated out of the device and began to hover above
the mysterious contraption.
The
Commander, let go of the blasted sword, and begun to back away from the
gizmo towards the bow of the Maria-Boiche. One Imperial charged the
gyro and swung as hard as he could, only to have his steel fly out of
his hands, and far back into the distant ocean. Once the shocked Pirates
came to their senses, they quickly looked around the ship for an escape
route that would avoid the water, of course, as it would provide little
protection from what terror was to come. By the time one Pirate had the
idea to jump to the Imperial ship stationed next to the Maria-Boiche,
it was too late. He turned only to find that Marco had cut the ropes
that held the ships together, and had used the cool morning wind to sail
far enough away to be a hopeless consideration.
In
an act of desperation, the Commander, along with several of the Pirates
and Imperials alike, ran to the edges of the ship to take a leap of
faith into the murky ocean. In the few seconds they ran, the hovering
gyro began to shake and crack, letting a red light shoot out from every
open orifice on it. The few Imperials that got to see this were
hypnotized by the brilliant light. A red glow so powerful it consumed
their vision until all they could see was a black silhouette of the
gyro, ripping itself apart in a sea of red. Those who ran for the edges
lost their way once the light consumed their vision, leaving the rest of
the path to their imagination. Many tripped on themselves and fell
before they reached the edges, while some ran until their legs were
swept out from under them by the lips of the ship, sending them tumbling
overboard towards the sea. None would actually fall far enough to make a
splash.
Marco,
who now commanded a new ship, looked back at the chaos to admire his,
and the Dwemer’s, handy work. He was greeted by a familiar sight, as
everything within a large, red sphere of light about 5 ships large, was
consumed. There would be no ship, no survivors, no artifact. Even the
water that had been caught in the red light would be completely gone.
Once the brilliant crimson light had faded away to leave behind an empty
void in the realm of Mundas, Marco could only smile. The crimson
morning sun was beginning to rise over the empty horizon. “A fitting sight.” Marco thought, as he put the last seven and a half years behind him.
Marco
checked the on-board compass to find his way to the nearest dock, and
took a swig of the Nordic Mead sitting next to the wheel. “It’s about time for a change of scenery.”
he thought to himself. Too long had he spent on that gods-forsaken
ship. The boring, dull times greatly outweighed any excitement. Knowing
only that he was somewhere South of Hammerfell and West of Cyrodiil, he
set a course for Rihad, the nearest city of Hammerfell. There he could
dock his new ship he dubbed “Son of Light” an end his campaign. A
successful seven and a half year campaign though it may have been,
thirteen ‘voided’ ships and the impressive nickname ‘Coldblood’ was
enough for this Redguard’s lifetime, and Marco had already lived twice
before.
End Prologue I
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