Pirate Ship Mafia III - information and summary thread

[GeneralHankerchief]

Post 1882 of main thread.

Night 7

He had been fairly quiet at the start of the voyage, keeping his head down and mostly blending in ("his head be all the way up in Norway," one crewman had said), but everybody knew that it was only a matter of time before he resumed his usual boisterousness. And so, on the seventh night of the Presence's sail to Nassau, it was clear that the attention would be focused on him at last. Tonight would be Askthepizzaguy's reckoning.

Part of him saw it coming, of course. He had had conversations with the leadership over the past few days, annoyed just the right amount of people - both publicly during the day and privately at night. He had made enemies. And on a ship like the Presence, with its rapidly-decreasing crew and few opportunities for escape, people with enemies didn't survive very long.

So it was no surprise at all to Askthepizzaguy that two sailors came upon him with their cutlasses drawn, ready for battle. Pizza, awake and alert, had made preparations of his own.

"Arr, insert witticism here!" he cried out, facing his attackers.

"General statement of intent to actively seek your death!" one of them called back.

"Acknowledgement of such and expression of desire to commence with combat action!" Pizza replied, and the fight was on. The three men whirled around each other, trading blows and verbal barbs both, for several minutes, making their way around different parts of the ship as they gained and lost momentum. Pizza, for all of his casualness and preparations, at some point realized that he was outnumbered and clearly on the defensive. As such he stopped speaking in tropes, and, gritting his remaining not-particularly-hygienic teeth, focused all of his energy on trying to find and exploit any advantage.

"Where be they, I shelled out enough of me bounty for 'em..." he muttered to himself, throwing himself to the ground to avoid a cutlass sweep that would have taken off his head had he remained upright. Using his new lower position, he tried to trip his attackers, but they were wary about this move and successfully countered it, leaving Pizza in even more danger than before.

Now the attackers started kicking, taking advantage of Pizza being on the ground. With even more attacks to defend against, Pizza found himself ineffective at stopping anything, and pretty soon he was flat on his back, wounded in multiple places, and his own cutlass kicked harmlessly away. It was to be the end, then.

"ARRRRRR!" No it wasn't! Finally, they had arrived, three men armed to the teeth and charging straight for Pizza's two attackers. Not bothering to exhibit any fancy tactics whatsoever, the new arrivals simply used momentum as their main force in separating the two attackers from Pizza. It worked, one man diving off to the side and the other being thrown in the air for several feat before crashing to the surface in a heap, out cold and no longer a threat to anyone. Pizza, safe for the time being, tipped his cap to his saviors, though he was sure to mention that he had everything under control and that the situation wasn't as bad as it looked.


Several hours later, after the excitement had died down, Askthepizzaguy was ready to make his true move. He had made sure to time this for very late on in the night, when the general mayhem aboard the Presence had subsided and he was ensured a quiet and undisturbed area in which to operate. He made his way above decks, cutlass drawn, looking this way and that... and proceeded towards the ship's remaining dinghies, aiming to commandeer one for himself. The attack earlier in the night had only served to confirm Pizza's suspicions: It was time to abandon ship.

Interrupting his progress roughly every two seconds to check around for further attackers, Pizza made slow work, but finally prepared his dinghy. Checking around one last time, taking the sights in, he mused that at least he had survived without incurring the ire of the Captain. Such men had been known to shoot people in the face, a fate that Pizza was glad to avoid.

After lowering the dinghy down into the water, Pizza finally climbed over the side of the ship and stepped in, for the first time actually looking at what was inside the dinghy. He jumped about three feet in the air and almost fell out of the boat when I saw El Barto in there beside him.

"You... what... when... HOW??!?!" he sputtered.

"I be here literally the entire time," Barto said, looking amused. "If ye be focused on yer actual work and not checkin' every which way for ghosts ye mighta seen me. Do appreciate you doin' all the legwork to get this boat down in the ocean, though." He tipped his cap at Pizza for that.

"But why you? Weren't ye to stay and sell yer vote even more times gettin' richer and richer?"

"A relative o' mine runs a bank in Nassau," Barto replied, "and he imparted some wisdom to me a while back. 'Buy low, sell high,' said he, and I be thinkin' the time has come to sell."

"Fair enough," Pizza said.

"Aye, so I thought. Now, about that outstandin' payment o' gold you owe me..."

Pizza gulped. It was going to be a very awkward boat ride, but at least neither of them were trying to kill each other. For now, anyway.


The next morning, Captain Double A, flanked by his officers - dcmort93 and a very angry-looking Visorslash - gathered the remaining crew. "Right lads," he started, "I be the bearer o' truly catastrophic news this morn. WE BE LOSIN' ANOTHER DINGHY OVERNIGHT! Such wanton thievery has to be stopped fer the good o' all of us! These things cost money to replace, you know! It's not like we can just magically summon more o' these dinghies! Nay, we be havin' to pay for the wood! And it has to be the right kind o' wood, none of that rubbish that doesn't do to well o'er water, or in salt, or is flimsy! And then it has to be shaped, and polished, and shipped to Nassau! And the labor, gah! Always with the labor fees, they be spiralin' out of control..."

As Double A continued his tirade about the cost of replacing so many dinghies, Visorslash assumed charge of the proceedings. "Right, casualty reports," he said, still glowering. "Only one today, but it's an odd one. TheFlax wasn't French, or in his pay, but he wasn't Presence either. It appears that he was a representative of the Dutch West India Company, aboard on semi-official business. No idea what that was about, but I guess it be their problem now. Anyway, you all know what to do, so let's get it done!"

OOC: It is now Day 8. Voting will last until Friday, October 16th, at 23:59 US Eastern Time.



Feedback PMs will go out shortly.

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

Attacked: spaceman98 (n1), Askthepizzaguy (n1, n3, n7), Csargo (n2), Andres (n3, n6), johnhughthom (n5), Gaius Scribonius Curio (n5, n6), autolycus (n5), Ishmael (n5, n6)

Killed: TFT (n1), seireikhaan (n2), Ice (n3), landlubber (n4), Lissa (n4), Gaius Scribonius Curio (n6)

Mutinied: Kagemusha (d2)

Abandoned Ship: Ironside (n2), Choxorn (n6), Askthepizzaguy (n7), El Barto (n7)

Walked the plank: Xiahou (d3), spaceman98 (d4), TheFlax (d5), johnhughthom (d6), Ishmael (d7)

Souls aboard: (12)
Andres
autolycus
BSmith
Csargo
dcmort93
Double A
Golden1Knight
Ituralde
Montmorency
Myrddraal
Visorslash
Zack

[GeneralHankerchief]

Due to Double A's resignation as Captain, you must elect a new Captain in addition to the usual voting duties.

Example:
Elect: GH
Vote: Beskar

Continue onwards, mateys!

[GeneralHankerchief]

Post 2068 of main thread.

Day 8

Anger at the continued situation and the perceived lack of progress aboard the Presence quickly turned to shock when Double A announced early on in the day that he was stepping down as Captain, effective immediately. The hopeful saw this as a chance to insert more active leadership aboard. The opportunistic saw this as a chance to increase their gold stashes a bit by gaining the position for themselves. The cynical were disappointed that Double A deprived them of a chance to mutiny and take his gold. Nonetheless, the voting went on, this time complicated by a new election for the Captaincy - the third in a week.

The election, unlike the previous ones, was not determined by who was going to be the most effective leader, or who handed out the most gold in bribes. Instead, it was determined by the person that the crew believed was least likely to be the Frenchman or in his pay. After some discussion and a minor challenge by BSmith, this person was determined to be Montmorency.

"Right then," said Montmorency, addressing the crew at sunset when his ascendancy had been confirmed. "We're going to be doing things a little differently aboard this time. I have, in my hands, a thoroughly crafted, 487-step plan entitled OPERATION BLENHEIM that, assuming proper implementation, is guaranteed to rid this good ship of all French influence once and for all! Now, let me carefully explain how this plan is to work. We are currently on step 6(f), which means that you, autolycus, are to take three steps to your left, while simultaneously Myrddraal is to take the helm in order to ensure that we stay on course. Now, as per Guideline R7, I need to be repeatedly jumping up and down while reading this next section..."

And Monty droned on and on, dcmort93 and Visorslash, who would be keeping their previous positions as First Mate and Quartermaster, respectively, took control of the proceedings, most notably reading the votes for execution. These had been splashed in a few different directions, most notably Golden1Knight and a very brief effort to take out Andres right before sunset, but at the end of the count Ituralde was in the clear lead.

"Oh come on!!!" Ituralde protested, upon hearing this. "I be giving a full account o' me actions time and time again! This is how I be repaid? First thrown in the brig, denied me treasure, and now being thrown off the ship? This be how you treat yer crewmen?"

"You can always appeal to the new Captain, if ye want," dcmort said, a smirk on his face. Ituralde looked up with the intent to do so, but Monty was now explaining the new dietary patterns the crew needed to follow if they were to stop the Frenchman. No luck there.

"Okay, now then, Step 23(j) requires Golden1Knight to close your eyes, turn around, walk four paces in a 45-degree angle to the left of his about-face, and then take his cutlass out and execute a wide diagonal slashing motion- Golden1Knight? Are you even paying attention? This is important!"

"Oh, uh, sorry boss. What be my instructions again?"

Sighing, Monty told him, and everybody watched as Golden closed his eyes, made an about-face, walked four paces in a 45-degree angle to the left of said turnaround, took his cutlass out, and executed a wide diagonal slashing motion... which caught Ituralde perfectly in the chest and had him staggering back in pain.

"What... but..." he murmured, and then toppled over the side of the ship from loss of blood. Everyone "ooh"ed and "ahh"d and starting applauding. Maybe this plan of Montmorency's would work out, after all.

Day 8 tally:
Ituralde: 6 (Montmorency, dcmort93, Golden1Knight, autolycus, BSmith, Visorslash)
Golden1Knight: 3 (Myrddraal, Csargo, Andres)
Csargo: 1 (Ituralde)
Double A: 1 (Double A)
Andres: 1 (Zack)

Captain election:
Montmorency: 6 (Visorslash, dcmort93, BSmith, Montmorency, Myrddraal, Golden1Knight)
BSmith: 3 (autolycus, Ituralde, Zack)
dcmort93: 1 (Double A)
Csargo: 1 (Csargo)
Andres: 1 (Andres)

It is now Night 8. Please send in your orders. Night 8 will conclude on Sunday, October 18th, at 11:00 US Eastern Time.



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

Attacked: spaceman98 (n1), Askthepizzaguy (n1, n3, n7), Csargo (n2), Andres (n3, n6), johnhughthom (n5), Gaius Scribonius Curio (n5, n6), autolycus (n5), Ishmael (n5, n6)

Killed: TFT (n1), seireikhaan (n2), Ice (n3), landlubber (n4), Lissa (n4), Gaius Scribonius Curio (n6)

Mutinied: Kagemusha (d2)

Abandoned Ship: Ironside (n2), Choxorn (n6), Askthepizzaguy (n7), El Barto (n7)

Walked the plank: Xiahou (d3), spaceman98 (d4), TheFlax (d5), johnhughthom (d6), Ishmael (d7), Ituralde (d8)

Souls aboard: (11)
Andres
autolycus
BSmith
Csargo
dcmort93
Double A
Golden1Knight
Montmorency
Myrddraal
Visorslash
Zack

[GeneralHankerchief]

Post 2089 of main thread.

Night 8

It was a cloudless night and the full moon was out, its reflection sparkling on the Atlantic's surface. The night promised madness and mayhem, and the remaining crew of the Presence certainly delivered.


Andres advanced forward, his steps uncertain. He had been perfectly content with robbing his way to success (with the occasional treasure protection, naturally) and helping his friends out of jams. That was what he had been doing, and that was what he was good at. Why change what worked? But earlier in the night he had received a direct order from his Captain as part of Operation Blenheim to go killing, and, well, it was crunch time. There weren't that many places left to hide, so Andres sucked it up and figured he'd do his duty. The fact that he had been thrown in the brig was only a minor inconvenience for an accomplished criminal like himself.

There was only one problem: Where was everybody? Andres was a pirate, but he wasn't talented enough to murder one of his own without backup. In addition, his target, Golden1Knight, was also missing. Andres had checked below decks, walked across the ship on multiple occasions, climbed the mast, even peered into the officers' cabin. No sign of anyone.

Stopping at the starboard side of the ship, right around the dinghies that so many people had commandeered for their own uses, Andres paused to consider his next move when he saw it: Three figures, cutlasses drawn, advancing towards him. The one off to the side, looking slightly confused at the makeup of the group, was his "quarry", Golden1Knight.

"Hellfire, I be betrayed!" Andres shouted, cursing Montmorency and his plan. "Right lads," he said, now trying to talk his way out of this before resorting to violence, "let's be reasonable about this. It be fairly obvious that the Captain just set me up. Is this a man whose orders ye want to faithfully follow? Truly? If he did this to one o' his loyal crewmen, where does it stop, says I? Who's to say that you won't be his next target? Lads? Lads? Oh, fine." Clearly seeing that his talk had no effect, Andres sighed and drew his own weapon. The battle was on.

*CRASH*

Five seconds later, the battle was off, as two separate people had barreled into the four fighters, leaving them all collapsed in a heap.

"Oh come on, just let us by!" the lead figure pleaded, looking absolutely terrified. "All we want to be doin' is using one of them dinghies! Then we'll be out of yer way forever!"

"autolycus? Csargo? Waitaminute, shouldn't the two of ye be attackin' Andres with us?" Zack, another one of the attackers said. The third, Myrddraal, nodded his head in agreement.

"Ah, about that," auto said. "Ordinarily I'd be happy to, ye know that, but when ye have a great fire-breathin' woman claiming something about lost property and swearing eternal vengeance and deaths so painful that no other human in history has even dreamed to conceive of them, I be takin' a rain check! Some other time, lads. Help us get this dinghy lowered!" He and Csargo frantically started to pull on the ropes, leaving the four original fighters to stand there, dumbfounded.

"You're not getting off that easy!" a feminine voice called out, a second later launching a harpoon from her location. Luckily for autolycus, the distance was long enough where he had the time to take his cutlass out and parry it, but BSmith, the figure in question, closed the distance fast. "I want my hat back!" she called out, drawing a familiar-looking fancy cutlass and swinging it at auto with fury.

"That be what this is about??!?" auto said, barely able to parry BSmith's blows. "I give it to ye and we be square?? Take the bloody thing, then!"

"There will be no negotiation!" BSmith yelled, only amping up the pressure further. "All of the New World shall know of me and tremble with fear at my actions!"

There were now seven people around the dinghies in total. Csargo was still preparing one for his and auto's escape, but was struggling to do so with the lack of a partner. BSmith, of course, was looking like a force of nature with her fancy cutlass, it taking autolycus every ounce of his effort just to stay alive. Finally, there were the four original attackers: Zack, Myrddraal, Golden1Knight, and Andres, just standing around openmouthed at this display. Eventually, this commotion brought the three officers to the scene: Visorslash, dcmort93, and Captain Montmorency.

"What in the name of Morgan and Drake is the meaning of this??!?!" Monty said, but everybody ignored him. "Andres, how did you escape the brig?" Everyone ignored that, too. "Dammit, pay attention to me!" Nobody did. "This is not part of the plan at all! You're ruining everything!!"

"*I'm* not, *he* is!" BSmith snarled, clearly indicating autolycus. "He must pay for his insolence! He has to!" At the same time, Csargo desperately tried to signal autolycus's attention, saying that the dinghy was finally ready.

"It is?" auto said, taking his attention off BSmith for a brief moment to see Csargo's work. This was all the time BSmith needed, as she wound up for a finishing strike. "Thank the Lord, not a moment too s-" SLICE! Where autolycus's head had been an instant ago, there was now a brief flash of silver and then a fountain of red. BSmith's fancy cutlass had managed to decapitate autolycus with a single stroke. His head landed and, lips still moving, rolled around until it eventually fell overboard into the dinghy.

"Everybody stop!" Monty called out, but he was once again ignored by everybody screaming in shock. None of these were louder than Csargo's, who had a significant amount of despair mixed in with his.

"Oh come on!" he cried. "What am I supposed to do now??!?"

"Silence yourself and listen!" Monty said, "Just follow my plan and all will be well!"

"Not that, you fool" Csargo wasn't having any of it. "I turned my back on the crew! First Ishmael promised me the moon and wove me sweet tales of justice, but he died. Then autolycus said not to worry, the Captain of the Maven had planned for this, but now *he* died! I stole from BSmith too, got a pair of boots out of it, so I imagine she's after me next! I've been trying to kill myself for the past week, with protection works that I know would fail, but Ishmael and autolycus talked me out of that now, and they're gone! I'm done, I'm just done!" And before anybody could stop him, Csargo drew his own cutlass, slit his throat, and purposely fell overboard into the ocean.

Pandemonium. Everybody started screaming and running around at once. People were shouting that the threat was over, people were moaning over Csargo's fate, people were yelling at BSmith at the top of their lungs if she really was a woman. Monty, getting progressively more agitated, called for silence several times, but continued to be ignored. Finally, incensed, he pulled out a blunderbuss.

"I WILL HAVE ORDER!" This quieted a few people down, but his next move got everybody to shut up. He raised the blunderbuss, aimed it, and fired a shot directly into Andres's face. He was dead before he hit the floor.

"I regret the need to do that," Monty calmly said, clearly not regretting anything about what he did, "but you people seriously need to listen to me. Now, let's look at this logically. autolycus is dead, thanks to BSmith. Clearly his death affected Csargo, who unfortunately - or perhaps very fortunately - killed himself immediately thereafter. Now, right before he did so, he started babbling on about how Ishmael promised him this and that and said everything would be better. We know that spaceman98 was in the Frenchman's pay, meaning that at most, there were three French-aligned sailors aboard. It stands to reason that their leader was Ishmael and autolycus was the other original agent, them having recruited Csargo to the cause at some point during the voyage home. I think we're finally safe, lads."

"Waitaminute," somebody said, trying to process all of this information. "Everyone's up here anyway! If the French were thinking, they could have just activated a grenade and blown us all to hell at any point in the last ten minutes and slipped off! Clearly, nobody's done that! Who's left to be unaccounted for, anyway?"

Everybody looked around. Double A, of course, was still below decks, snoring incredibly loudly. He had missed the entire thing.

"It doesn't matter," said Montmorency. "Look, the sun is coming up and Nassau is in sight. We're finally home, boys."

Day broke over the Presence. For the first time in over a week, all was quiet.

OOC: I couldn't think of a better way for Pirate Ship Mafia III to end: with a ridiculous amount of violence that probably could have been avoided. Thanks for playing, everyone! I'll get started on the postgame stuff later today.

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

Attacked: spaceman98 (n1), Askthepizzaguy (n1, n3, n7), Csargo (n2), Andres (n3, n6), johnhughthom (n5), Gaius Scribonius Curio (n5, n6), autolycus (n5), Ishmael (n5, n6), Andres (n8)

Killed: TFT (n1), seireikhaan (n2), Ice (n3), landlubber (n4), Lissa (n4), Gaius Scribonius Curio (n6), autolycus (Frenchman agent/Maven saboteur) (n8), Andres (n8)

Mutinied: Kagemusha (d2)

Committed suicide: Csargo (Frenchman/Maven Convert) (n8)

Abandoned Ship: Ironside (n2), Choxorn (n6), Askthepizzaguy (n7), El Barto (n7)

Walked the plank: Xiahou (d3), spaceman98 (Frenchman agent) (d4), TheFlax (Dutch Trader) (d5), johnhughthom (d6), Ishmael (The Frenchman) (d7), Ituralde (d8)

Survived: (8)
BSmith - Anne the Tavern Wench
dcmort93
Double A
Golden1Knight
Montmorency
Myrddraal
Visorslash
Zack

[GeneralHankerchief]

Post 2149 of main thread.

Epilogue

Yet Another Fine Morning in Nassau

Eight of them stepped off the Presence that morning, still looking a bit dazed at the turn of events that had taken them there, but overall they had varying looks of contentment on their faces. After all, despite their individual journeys to get there, each of them had two immutable things in common: One, that they were alive, and two, that they were rich. They looked to take advantage of both of these new facts of life in Nassau immediately.


Myrddraal, with 175 treasure to his name, made sure to set up camp in a bar far from the main district of town. The reason for this was that he had fabricated an entire backstory aboard the Presence about him being a well-known mercenary who required payment before he killed anyone at night. The rest of the crewmen had bought this and thus paid up pretty much every night aboard, giving him a sizeable total that would have been even larger had more of his murders gone through successfully.

While Myrddraal may not have had any mercenary talents whatsoever, one of the talents he *did* have was a sense of when to get out while he still could. He knew on the final day that the fabrication had been close to falling apart. He knew that greater scrutiny fell upon him, that his story would not hold up to it and the rest of the crew would assume the worst. He knew that it was time to bid his crewmates farewell. A very brief farewell, at that.

So Myrddraal sat in a relatively empty bar, sipping on his ale and ruminating over the events that had transpired for the past week-plus with a smile on his face in spite of everything. Yes, the crew would have figured out by now that he wasn't actually a mercenary. But really, who cared? He had enough treasure now to hire *real* mercenaries if anybody came after him. Life was good.


Closer to the center of town, in the main tavern, several of the crewmen gathered there to make their merriment, including Golden1Knight and Zack. The two had been allies for a short while, killing together on more than one occasion and Zack dissuading other groups from going after Golden at night, but like all things on the Presence, their alliance was fleeting, taking different approaches to finding the Frenchman during the day. However, gold and rum served to reignite all friendships, and soon the two of them were drinking and laughing again like nothing had happened. Double A would have joined in, but he was once again napping, having emptied out his entire sack of gold and used it as a very rough bed. Double A hadn't been the most active of Captains, but his steady leadership and refusal to change course in the heat of the moment certainly served the Presence well in the end, as even further chaos might have turned the tide in the Frenchman's favor. In his mind, Double A completely deserved the rest he was getting... his lavishly-displayed rest.

Elsewhere in the same same bar was Anne the Tavern Wench, BSmith, for once taking part in the festivities instead of seeing that they didn't get too rowdy. Anne, seizing an opportunity when she saw it back in New Tortuga, had made the most of her time aboard. And while she didn't quite succeed in her goal of becoming the most famous pirate in this part of the world, she certainly made a name for herself among the rest of the crewmen with her skills with a harpoon, fancy cutlass, and general proclivity to kill just for clothes. She would be treated with respect in certain circles from now on, and that, at least, was a start.

BSmith sat, drank, laughed, drank some more, and splashed ale (only the cheap kind, obviously) in the faces of anyone who tried to hit on her for the entire night, secure in her superiority. The Presence had been full of danger, but it was also a great start to her new life of adventuring.


The Officer's Club had always been the swankiest tavern in Nassau, the one bastion of Old World rationality and class superiority in the pirate haven. Reserved for the various captains and their lieutenants that called Nassau their main port-of-call, it provided a refuge for those who needed to step outside the boisterousness and raucous behavior of the main taverns and think. It was no surprise, then, to find Montmorency and dcmort93 make their way there at some point in the day after they got the initial partying vibe out of their systems.

At first, Monty wasn't sure if he was going to be allowed in. He was Captain upon the Presence's docking, yes, but he had also been somewhat poor. Being stolen from on multiple nights on board (including a staggering 33 gold on Night 6), not being entirely successful in his group killings, and spending lots of money in bribes in order to make his beloved Operation Blenheim go off without a hitch, Monty's gold had hovered around its starting total only one day before. But then, he struck some luck at last on the final day. First, he got elected Captain, with all of the salary benefits it provided. Secondly, he ended up being the sole benefactor of Csargo's will, receiving a cool 50 gold just because BSmith had chopped autolycus's head off with that fancy cutlass. As a result, Monty was sitting on a far more respectable 174 gold at the start of the day, definitely enough to enjoy the full benefits of the Officer's Club for quite some time.

dcmort, having been First Mate for a week, was much richer, but he didn't rub it in much. They were both in too contemplative of moods anyway. It had been a hectic ride for dcmort - a closely-contested Captaincy election, the mutiny which put him in as First Mate, trying to do good at night by figuring out who was French, trying to balance it with placating the town with his scans, a mild identity crisis in which he felt like he switched personalities about halfway through the voyage - yes, dcmort had had a heck of a trip, indeed. And now, as he returned the suggestive smiles of two buxom wenches, he figured he was going to have a heck of a night.


Elsewhere in the North Atlantic...


Ironside had found land fairly quickly, a deserted, medium-sized island that was clearly around the southernmost part of the Bahamas. At first, he was going to use it strictly as a resupply point before he continued his journey to civilization. But the more time he spent on that island, the more he realized two things. First, he really did not feel like rowing that cursed dinghy any further, especially not the night after that hurricane. Secondly, this island was actually not bad. Sure, it was deserted, but it had protection from the elements, a good source of fish nearby, and fertile farmland.

With time, this island could become a self-sustaining habitat for Ironside. The fish would sustain him until his first supply of crops were ready. In the meantime, the solitude would be good for him - he could reflect on his actions, and the fact that sometimes there were more important things than gold.


Choxorn, meanwhile, had found a good wind and followed it... and eventually found himself right back in New Tortuga, where the adventure of theirs had started. Cautiously making his way into the town and looking around, he find it to be more or less the same as it had been, although certainly a bit quieter than usual. Eventually Choxorn worked up the nerve to visit the tavern (alas, a certain favorite tavern wench of his wasn't working there when he walked in) and asked for some information.

"Ah yeah, the French scare about a week or two back?" the bartender said. "Aye, that was a bit o' a weird one, but all fer nothin' really. The bit of news that got all them pirates scurrying around and taking our stuff turned out to be a complete fake - there wasn't no French navy in sight. Methinks somebody used it as a big diversion or cover fer somethin' else, certainly someone more crafty than me anyway. Can't imagine what for, though. Anyways, we be takin' it in stride and spreadin' the world that New Tortuga still be open for business! We'll recover, laddie, don't you worry about that."

Choxorn nodded his thanks and stepped outside to take this news in. The French attack on New Tortuga a fabrication? Cover for something else? What on earth was going on around here?

The world was a weird and complicated place, he decided, and then went back inside to partake in the activity that usually made everything simpler for him. He ordered a drink.


After some hard rowing, Askthepizzaguy and El Barto reached Nassau about 15 hours after the Presence did, truly an accomplishment considering they had abandoned ship more than 24 hours before docking and only were in a dinghy as opposed to a sloop or any sort of real ship. It was the dead of night, but this had never stopped the people of Nassau from getting their party on in the past, and judging by the sounds emanating from the main district of the town, it wasn't stopping them tonight, either. They looked at each other and grinned.

"Party be windin' down, boys," said a dockworker who passed them by. "All the taverns in the area just ran completely out o' everything. Most of the revelers be nursin' what's left and then nodding off."

"Ah, hellfire!" Pizza said, clearly annoyed. "We up and missed the party! I told you you should have taken more turns rowing, ye had me totally exhausted by the end! Why'd I have to do most of the rowing, anyway?"

"Because, my lad," said El Barto, "I have more gold than ye! Money talks, aye? Ye should have learned that from me if nothing else. Anyways, no matter. My cousin's got a bank around here but I wanna keep you sober for another idea o' mine. It's guaranteed to make us even richer than me cousin and more popular with the locals. All we need is a bit o' capital investment, supplied mostly by you of course."

"What be this idea of yours?"

"Simple: A casino!"

A casino! In a pirate haven like Nassau, that would work almost too well. Pizza was instantly enamored. "I'm in," he said.

"Great! I'll be the owner an' big idea man, and ye can be the manager overseeing the mundane day-to-day affairs!"

"Waitaminute, why do you get to have the cool title while you leave me to be stuck with all the grunt work?" They paused for a bit, admiring the inanity of the question, before Pizza supplied the answer to his own question. "Because you have more gold than me, right."


Visorslash had eventually left all the taverns - including the Officer's Club - behind, saying his goodbyes and taking in the sights of the town, passing Pizza and El Barto by and nodding his greeting. His eight days and nights aboard the Presence had certainly been eventful, and he appreciated the need for solitude. It was fair to see that Visor had gotten the full Presence experience - having engineered a mutiny, becoming Quartermaster, working hard to find the Frenchman, having a bounty openly placed on his head, getting in an hours-long argument about the semantics of rounding, experiencing the joy of finding out that one of his targets was indeed working for the Frenchman, and now feeling utter relief that it was finally over, that they were all safe.

Visor had definitely made some enemies aboard, but a lot of them were dead. And he had made some friends too, especially the kind that left him money in their wills. Despite being stolen from on multiple occasions, these wills had left him the leader in terms of treasure among the survivors, to a cool total of 336.

He would spend it, obviously, but eventually. For now, this evening, he was content to walk around and take it all in. It was 1723 and piracy was clearly on the downswing, but for at least one night it remained alive and well. Regardless of the Presence's fate, that alone was cause for celebration. With this fact in mind, Visor walked back into the tavern, loudly greeted everyone hello, and called for a round of ale on him.





Coda



Ishmael, the Frenchman, was in parts unknown, starving, dehydrated, and bleeding from multiple wounds. The number of slashes he had taken meant that his initial dip in the Atlantic after being tossed overboard was extraordinarily painful, but even that had numbed over the next several days. He vaguely remembered a cannon going off an instant he went over, depositing a large chunk of wood into the ocean next to him. Ishmael had been clinging to this piece for dear life for several days now.

Floating in the ocean, too weak to attempt to paddle or steer to any particular destination, gave Ishmael quite a lot of time to think. This entire adventure had started eight years ago, shortly after Louis XIV died, when it became clear that life at Versailles would no longer be the same. Seeking fulfillment from other sources, the Frenchman acquired a brand new ship, the Presence, and sailed it to the New World to experience life on the frontier.

The times he had on the voyage over as well as the first year in the Americas were nothing short of amazing. Many of the Frenchman's greatest memories were formed on that boat. From experiencing sunrise in the Crow's Nest the morning after a bad storm, from feeling the spray of the sea on him after the ship was rocked by a wave, to sailing out into the unknown on *his* ship with the possibilities stretched out on the horizon before him, the Frenchman felt that he was truly making the most of all that life had to offer.

And then, it ended. He made port in some town he couldn't quite remember now, possibly Nassau itself, and went down to one of the local taverns. He got caught up in a game of chance, got drunker than he was expecting, and lost a wager he wasn't willing to part with: the Presence itself. Just like that, the good times were over. Keeping those good memories in mind were what sustained him for the next year, as he formulated a plan to get his beloved ship back. In 1717, he snuck aboard in the aftermath of the ship's sack of Charleston and made a play for the Captaincy. He failed, but he would make two important connections during that voyage. The first was the man who would eventually become the Captain of the Maven, a competing pirate ship whose crew was always up for sticking it to their more famous brethren. The second was the love of his life.

The Frenchman and his consort spent the next three years in bliss, married in all but name, as they taught each other the ways of the world. These were the happiest years of his life, with memories that even now worked to take his current pains away, but something was missing. It wasn't quite perfect yet. The two of them had a built a life for themselves, but they both agreed that the only way to make it better is if they sailed the world together on the Presence. Never settling for "great" when "perfect" was in sight, the Frenchman once again worked to smuggle himself on board, this time with his consort.

In 1720 he did so in the confusion of the attack on the Spanish Treasure Fleet. They were both capable fighters and cunning planners, ready to take on all comers... but on the second night, his consort died. It wasn't an ultimate sacrifice for the cause, it wasn't a final act of defiance before the inevitable, it was just a random killing from the ship's First Mate at the time. He didn't even get to say goodbye. The Frenchman got his revenge, but emotionally spent, his heart wasn't in the takeover. His better half had departed him, and though he tried to reclaim the ship, he fell short once again, ultimately paraded around by the current Captain as his ultimate act of triumph.

Grief led to anger. Anger led to a plan. He tracked down his old friend, the Captain of the Maven, and sought out his help. He hired out two of the Maven's best crewmen and waited for the time to be right. He had always wanted his ship back, but this time it was personal.

But for a third and final time, things didn't go to plan. He had survived for far longer than he had any right to, continuing to display a trait he had shown on the previous two occasions he had tried to reclaim the ship, but eventually even he had to succumb to the inevitable. And thus the events on the seventh day happened, leading to his current situation.

Still... it had been a good life. It hadn't been as long as he had liked, but it had definitely been full. Better this than some of his peers in the Old World, getting fat off the taxes of their subjects and endlessly scheming against each other. He had learned, he had loved, and he had lived.

And now he could feel the darkness about to overtake him. Sparing one last glance down at the chunk of wood that was holding him up, he murmured the softest of gasps. Staring back at him was something that had not caught his eye until now: A minor piece of vandalism, carved into the wood: a love declaration between the Frenchman and his consort, dated 1720, the first night they were aboard the Presence together in his second attempt to retake the ship, the last night before she died. How fitting.

Clinging to the two great loves of his life, the Frenchman passed into the great beyond.

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

The victorious crewmen:
Visorslash - 336 (first place)
Double A - 248
dcmort93 - 229
Zack - 199
Golden1Knight - 186
Myrddraal - 175
Montmorency - 174
Xiahou - 152
Ituralde - 149
Andres - 142
Gaius Scribonius Curio - 137
johnhughthom - 102
seireikhaan - 101
landlubber - 98
Lissa - 83
Ice - 62
TFT - 30
Kagemusha - 0

Would have scored higher, if not for those meddling thieves:
BSmith - 163

Abandoned ship, for better or for worse:
El Barto - 218
Askthepizzaguy - 198
Choxorn - 160
Ironside - 96

Would have made it off alive, if not for those meddling clothes:
autolycus - 337
Csargo - 134

Died in the line of duty:
spaceman98 - 93

Absent from next year's AGM of shareholders:
TheFlax - 79

Adieu, mon amour:
Ishmael - 76