The Black Tempest IC

[Hunkat]

The city of Fort-de-France, capital of Martinique, under the sovereignty of the mighty nation of France



Port to the Caribbean it is called, due to its position on the edge of the Atlantic Ocean. It is a city with a blossoming trade, and a strong military presence to protect said trade. Spanish, British, Dutch and Portuguese, they all pass through here sooner or later. It is a well-kept city with clean streets and law abiding citizens. For the most part at least. Many sailors on leave and people of less... legal trades reside here too, spending most of their time in the bars in the less fancier districts of the city.

Earlier that day
The young woman, quietly sitting among the other church-goers, was more interested in looking around in the beautiful room than listen to the priest's sermon. The delicate paintings on the white walls were far more fascinating and since she was not there to save her own soul anyway, she did not see much of a point. In the background she heard the words 'pirates' being mentioned and it took an effort for her not to laugh. If only they knew that the young innocent woman was wanted, preferably dead, in most of the Caribbean. They would all tremble in fear if they knew her true identity as Captain Anne of the Tempest.
But right now she was incognito, in a dress, without her usual arsenal of cutlass and flintlock. It gave her the privacy she longed for whenever they came into port.
It was a ritual of hers. Whenever they lost part of the crew, they were given a burial at sea since no church would bury a dead pirate. Whenever they next came into port she would seek out a church and pray for their soul, even if it seemed redundant to most people.
Later tonight they would find a bar and drink in memory of their friends, and they would have to look for new recruits as well. Seven hands, lost at once. It was almost more than a ship of the Tempest's size could bear.


Later that same night
"To the damn finest ship to ever sail the cursed waters of the Caribbean!"
Anne Bonney suggested and raised her mug to the others at her table, namely the crew of the Tempest. Or rather, she yelled it, the noise in the room was unbearable, drunken men yelling and gambling and starting drunken fights. Ah, this was almost as good as home. They fitted right in here, in their rather unorthodox choice of clothes and accessories. It was easy to spot them as pirates, which meant that they were mostly left alone by the less brave patrons of the bar this evening.
"And to the damn best crew. Tonight's on me boys, knock yourselves out."

[Gelatinous Cube]

He removed his sweat-stained tunic and tossed it to one side.
Calling for water, he was handed a mug which he proceeded to upturn over his head. He shook fiercely, droplets flying off his black beard. A bleeding man was being hauled away by his upset compatriots.
In his right hand, Murdock held his sabre, which bore the blood of the loser that was being taken away.
"Come on then! Which one of you wine-drinking sons of hairy-pitted whores thinks you can best me!" He called out to the crowd, his once upright English accent mutated into something more crude. It had started out as a way to blend in with the pirate crews, an awkward charade. It had not taken long for it to stick, and Murdock had found his new voice.
The drunkards surrounding him looked at the man with his years of scars. The most hideous of which was the burn on his chest and back that made the flesh look like gravel, the type of thing that happens when a man is leaping off an exploding ship.

"I will have at you, monsieur!" Came a heavily accented voice of a cocky french man who strode forward with blade in hand. It had a jeweled pommel and a silver cross guard, an officers sabre.
Murdock nodded and urged the man forward. The french man lunged forward in a straight thrust, suddenly turning it into a feint.
It was swiped away by Murdock with an indignant grunt.
The french man changed his footing and came again, with a low jab, which Murdock side-stepped and smacked away with the flat of his sabre, leaving room to make a quick, small incision on the french man's wrist.
With a growl the french man came at him hard, Murdock parried and dodged deftly.
The french man came spinning back only for Murdock to meet him and charge his body weight into the french man's own mass. Murdock grinned before viciously butting his head into the french mans nose. The jarring crunch was heard above the immediate din and the french officer was sent sprawling onto his arse.

The crowd - mainly french - booed and hissed, while a small amount of Martinique natives smiled their discreet approval.
"I've bedded wenches who can suck harder than you swing that toy, you donkey layer. Pay up. I'm hungry and my mouth is dry."
"You cheated! It was a duel of swords, and you struck him down like some bloody pirate," the officers friend spat with disgust.
Murdock raised his sabre to the impertinent man's throat, "Pay up, I tell you, or I'll bloody run you through and be stowed away before you can call a single Gendarme."
The french man scowled, but reached into his coat and tossed a small purse of money to Murdock.
Murdock retrieved his tunic and put his sword away in its scabbard. Unless anyone felt mighty keen to bleed, he would oblige no more duels tonight. He was feeling the first few ales start to wear off and he was eager to re-imbibe himself until he could no longer stand.

[Torack]

Brian was sitting down across the table from Anne watching Murdock beat a French-man with slight amusement. He turned away from the fight as soon as it was over and looked down at his mug of ale toying with the rim. He didn't want to drink just yet it was too soon. He just came up to the surface and if he drank again he knew he would no longer be control over his body. Who in the hell said it was your body?

I was born first, so I said so.

He heard Bruce raging in his head, yelling and taunting him with profanities that would make fine ladies feint from such foul language. Sighing he blocked out Bruce's rant with some humming and knew sooner or later he would come out. Better later, he thought. With another sigh he took a large gulp of the ale in front of him and looked around the plain bar in boredom. Everything went black.

~~~

Bruce took a deep breath and let it out with a satisfied sigh. To celebrate his freedom he took his mug and threw it across the bar hitting a man who looked like he hadn't showered in years talking to a wench. It took the fellow Bruce had targeted too late to realize what was going on, when he did realize all he was able to see was Bruce's fist flying towards his face which hit him square in the jaw disorienting him further. By the time the poor fellow wanted to stand Bruce kicked him in the face throwing him off of his chair. Sniffing he looked around the room. "Anyone else ballsy enough to come at me?" he said to the people in the bar

"If you call bashing a fool unawares a fight, I'll show you a real fight and make you eat your cock!"

Bruce turned to the man who had spoken with a satisfied smirk. He quickly examined the him, about five foot ten or even six feet with bulky, hairy arms and a prominent chest. His face was a horror, however. It looked as if it was trampled by a stampede of horses that shit on face as they ran past. "What're you gonna do, you scrotum-chewing bedwetter? Poke me with your womanly tits and have me suck at them?" The bulky man charged at Bruce with a red face, who slipped out of the way at the last second and kicked the man's arse straight into a table, toppling it over as well as the people around it.

The man stood, his two front teeth now missing and charged at Bruce again. With a devious smile, Bruce feigned out of the way, the man easily taking the bate, and rammed his face into his nose. The fellow stumbled backwards holding his nose in a bloody mess. Bruce's opponent's eyes widened as he approached the fellow, screaming 'I yield, I yield' as Bruce came ever closer. But the fun just started, and the man was sure that he'd make Bruce blow himself so he wanted to see it done, or at least tried.

Seeing as the man was no longer willing to fight, Bruce took out his cutlass and sliced across the guy's gut; he fell to his knees with a noise that was an eerie mix of a scream, choke, and a howl before being kicked in the face and sent sprawling across the floor. Dissatisfied with the outcome of the fight, Bruce looked down upon the man and waked away as he insulted him with outrageously profane words.

As he was about to take a seat his gaze caught a sight which he fancied. Grinning he sat next to a lady who looked as if she was in the wrong part of town and started sweet talking in her ear. Not long after he was seen being dragged out of the bar by his arm and left with a childish grin and high thumbs up to his crew.

[Gormul]

Babash sat on a crate against a wall outside the church and waited for his captain. Even though he knew she could more than handle herself against trouble he didn't like her walking around alone in this city, so whenever she indulged in this little ritual of hers he had developed his own little ritual. There was a small market outside the church and Babash had bought himself an apple, he was peeling it with his dagger and eating the flesh, it was refreshing in the early afternoon sun.

Two local guards came around the corner and started walking past the market stalls, people looked away and scurried past without making eye contact. In a city full of thieves and pirates some of the worst robbers were the ones who were officially sanctioned. When the guardsmen got to Babash one of them looked at him and let out a snort "What's a dirty Arab doing here in our beautiful city? Port control should be more careful who they let in!" The other guard laughed, so he continued "What's your business here foreigner? I should throw you in the jail just for spoiling the place with your stink!" It was obvious to Babash that this was a very young guardsman, probably hadn't served for even a few months yet, and he wanted to show off to his older officer. However, Babash was not one to take insults lightly so he slowly got to his feet, the officer stopped laughing and paled noticably when he was at his full 6"6. "You could try to take me to jail little pig, but I think you will find that my smell is not the most powerful thing about me" He sneered at the guardsmen, resting his hand on the hilt of his giant scimitar.

The guardsmen were obviously having a dilemma, they weren't used to being spoken to in this way and wouldn't usually stand for it, but they were genuinely afraid of the big Iranian and didn't want the argument to turn physical. Eventually the older guard spoke up "Y-yes well obviously w-we were just having a bit of fun with you, didn't mean no offence of course, s-so if you'll just be on your way we can forget this happened."

Babash didn't move for a long time, just stared down at them, then very slowly he sat down again on his crate. The guards didn't know what to do and he just stared back at them. Then after what seemed like the longest pause ever he jumped forwards and shouted "BOO!" to which the guardsmen promptly turned around and legged it back the way they came. Babash carried on eating his apple, chuckling to himself.

[jimi]

"Ah, FUCK!"

A couple of mugs of ale leap to their sides and spill across the table top as One-Eyed Jack slams his fist in anger. He'd just lost another round of gambling against some skinny bloke. "I swear on me muvva's grave, if me finds out yuh rigged this bloody deck of cards, I'll cut'cha innards out and strangle yuh widd'em." He picks up one of the overturned mugs and gulps the last of its contents, then carelessly tosses it over his shoulder. "Oh, piss off yuh knob. Me beat'cha fair and square, so pay up wha'cha owe me." The man rises to his feet and leans over the table in a feeble attempt to be intimidating. One-Eyed Jack silently rises to his feet as well, towering over the man. "I believe ye still owe me from the last time me was here. So you better pay ME, yuh wank!" He jabs his index finger into the man's chest as the last word rolls off his lips with a crude tone.
The man retrieves a small bag of coins hanging from his belt and grudgingly tosses it onto the tabletop. Jack stares him down with a deadly eye as his hand rests on the hilt of his cutlass. "What me thought," he spits a loogie off to his left as he watches the man slowly back away, "bloody wankjob." Jack snatches the bag of coins from the table and heads to the main bar area to order another drink.

(( kind of short...I know, but I will make longer posts in the future though, I promise. ))

[Hunkat]

With observant black eyes, Anne took in everything going on in the crowded bar over the brim of her mug. It was lively tonight and her crew was having fun. One-eye was collection some playing debt from a poor fool, Brian was... being Brian or Bruce or whatever he fancied calling himself when he was in that mood. Those mood swings could be a right pain in the ass, but it made him one hell of a navigator and a fighter like hell had never seen.
One man especially had caught her eye, a big fella with an apparent death-wish and a sword to keep it at bay. Whatever was going on in that head of his, he was making a lot of enemies like that. She instantly liked him.
"Excuse me. Is he part of your crew?"
Asked one of the working girls of the place, referring to Brian. Anne sent the poor fella on the floor a pitiful and casually shrugged.
"Yup."
"He is making a bloody mess of the place!"
"Yup."
"....Well... are you going to stop him?"
"Nope."
Anne took a healthy swig of her ale as the poor lady searched for an appropriate answer.
"And if you like living in this hellhole, you won't try either. Besides, he'll find something else to do soon enough."
She knew her crew, inside-out almost and Brian liked to live hard when on dry land. A cask of ale, a good fight and a good wench was all he needed. The lady backed away as Brian headed for the table, as if she feared he could have heard what she had said. He barely made it all the way into his seat this time, Anne noted and gave him the thumps-up when he left the place with a rather nice-looking one of the girls sitting in the bar.
With another swig of the ale she sadly discovered that her mug was empty and she pushed it away.

[RedxXxDawn]

Reya had been there drinking for more time than she remembered. She remembered downing at least eight glasses, at least. Probably twelve or more, given that her head was starting to swoon now. She was however more interested in the fights that were happening in the bar. This new crew of hers would certainly be good entertainment. Bruce, for one, certainly. ...Or was it Brian? Reya was better at remembering faces than names anyway. That was how she remembered her old crew, for names meant little to nothing to her. The faces, personalities, skill levels with a sword or whatever they specialized in and lot of other things were how she identified her crew. Some of them found it annoying that she rarely called any of them by their names, but knowing what she was capable of no one dared confront her about it.

But that was her old crew. That was a thing of the past. She did not like having to suddenly let them all go and move on, but it had to be done. They were gone, every one of them. And she had a new crew to tend to now. Well they were not hers, to be technical. They were led by their captain, that woman two seats away from Reya. Anne, was her name. Reya liked her. She was the only other pirate captain who seemed to actually care about the lives of her crew. Many other pirate captains would not even have burials at sea for fallen crewmates, but would simply sweep their bodies off the decks like yesterday's trash, and mop up what was left from the poop deck. Reya was no longer a captain now, which was a little depressing in a sense but nothing she would not get used to again. She had followed another as a crew mate before. And perhaps one day she could eventually work her way up to becoming the next captain. Not that she was plotting mutiny, even if she felt she could take Anne anyway. That was not her way of gaining a title. It just felt right to earn it the hard way. Even if it took years.

Reya put that thought aside and for now, ordered another drink. She guzzled it all in one generous swig, then put it down with a content sigh. Which seemed to arouse a nearby man. Not a pirate, but another of the french men who booed earlier at one of the brawls. "Heya, toots!" the man said, abruptly coming and sitting next to her. "What'za pretty li'l lamb like yerself doing in a plaze like zees? Hm? O-hohohoho!" Reya took one glance at him, and shook her head. "Put a bloody sock in it, you oaf," she put simply. The man took offense to that, and grabbed her arm to try and pull her out off her stool.
A big mistake. Reya snapped to her feet instantly, quicker than the french fool could have pulled her up anyway, slapped him, then planted a hard, black boot into his face. All in a single motion. The man's eyes only caught a blur of the reflexive action before he was sent sprawling to the floor. Now leaning against a wall, his vision was blurred, and his nose was broken flat. Part of his face looked smeared in where Reya had kicked him. His friends looked at him, then at Reya.
Reya simply let her foot down, then sat back at her stool. That man got off cheaply. The last idiotic drunken slob who had put a hand on her had his arm broken, then had been thrown hard into a barrel of black powder. The barrel exploded all around him, letting loose black powder into the air where he lay broken. It got into his eyes and blinded him for three days. Reya could have taken the lamp that was nearby at the time and thrown it at him. That would have made a good example of him. But then again the whole tavern would have erupted, and it would have meant no more drinks. Not worth it.
Instead, Reya simply sat, ordered another glass, and drank it.

[Gormul]

As he watched the ships navigator laying into yet another poor sap Babash smirked to himself. He didn't really like being around the man when at sea, he was unpredictable and could be difficult to control. In a bar like this on a night like tonight however he was pure entertainment. He looked around at the rest of the people gathered here, a gang of outcasts, drunkards and criminals and decided that this was the best crew he'd sailed with yet.

Babash gulped at this sixth or seventh mug of ale and noticed he was feeling a slight tingling in his extremities, one disadvantage of his great size was that he could handle a lot of ale before feeling the effects. He saw a group of drunkards in the corner looking in their direction, there were maybe five of them whispering to each other and looking furtively. He put down his ale and watched as one of them walked towards them, he watched even more closely as the man moved towards the captain and looked like he was going to make a grab for her. The man stopped with a jerk as his arm was caught in a giant fist which was slowly tightening around him like a vice "EY, GEROFF ME!" He squeaked, his friends looked alarmed. "What is your meaning coming over here" Babash didn't stop tightening his grip. "AAAAH. ME AND ME MATES JUST WONDERED IF THE WENCH WOULD COME FOR A BIT OF FUN IS ALL" he said with tears in her eyes. "I'm afraid I do not like that answer" Babash sneered and squeezed so hard there was an audible crunch and pop as the man's bones shattered, he let out a very high pitched squeal and Babash hoisted him above his head and hurled him towards his compatriots.

The other men collapsed under the sudden weight then scurried off out of the door like dogs who had felt their master's boot. Babash returned to his seat and noticed that nobody was looking their way now, infact many had gone out of their way to make sure their backs were turned away from the group. The innkeeper seemingly took no notice of a man flying across his bar room, almost as if it were a regular occurence. That is the price one must pay owning a tavern frequented by pirates, but any damages done to the property must surely be outweighed by the amount of rum and ale the average pirate drinks in a night!

[Torack]

Bruce was making his way back into the tavern when a group of men went rushing out of the door. He side stepped them and watched with condescending amusement as they ran past him. He walked into the building and grabbed a fresh rum that was being served to another guy and took jug of it, taking it back to his original seat. "Oi, bub! Dat wos my drink!" he said looking at Bruce with surprise and rage.

"You're free to come and try to take it back," Bruce said with his ever present arrogant smile etched into his face. He knew the scrawny man saw what he did to the bulk of a beast a few hours back before he left with his prize for probably killing the poor fool. "I'll even give you the advantage of using a single arm." The man looked at Bruce for a while longer before turning his back and ordering another drink. Bruce sneered. This guy was no fun, he should've stood up and fought Bruce for his drink. You know, not everything is about fighting.

You're right. There's also fucking.

Bruce heard Brian sigh within his mind and couldn't help but smile. He loved messing with the little weakling and making everything oh, so difficult. He's always loved trying to destroy Brian's strange code of moral ethics and making him end up in strange and sticky situations just to see the little man squirm and beg for his life. Of course, he'd always come back out if his life was in real danger, this was also his vessel after all. Why not go into politics? You're devious, cunning, and you have a knack at pissing people off with your words.

No thanks, mom. You were the smartass who joined the pirate crew. If you want to go into politics I'll follow, but you'd get eaten alive faster than you can blink.

And you won't?

No, honey, and I'll tell you why. Because if I did become a politician I'd become the King of the World.

Said every politician, ever.

Rolling his eyes, he blocked out Brian and took a large gulp of the rum he stole and threw it at the guy he took it from, hitting him in the head. The man looked at him with what seemed to be raging fury, but from such a scrawny guy, Bruce couldn't help but laugh. "Save your dignity, girl. Don't come up here or I'll do you the same as I did the other two. You won't stand a chance, I guarantee you that." The man's stare could melt metal from the amount of hatred within them. Not long after he got tired of staring and looked back to his new drink. "That's right, princess. You don't want to start any trouble."

[Gelatinous Cube]

Off to one corner of the bar, Murdock sat down with his meal and tore into it like a man who was experiencing his last meal.
After not too long, a dark-skinned man with a hairless head came and sat across from him. Murdock nodded to him, clearly the two knew each other.
"So I'm guessing you have bad news for me, judging by that dopey look on your face."
"Things are not good for you, Murdock," the Martinique local said gravely, "The gendarme have heard word of your presence here in Martinique and the wanted posters are starting to go up. Theft, murder, piracy and desertion."
Murdock almost smiled as the man listed off his crimes.
"Anything else?" Murdock asked, seemingly very bored by the encounter.
"Do you see that woman over there? The one in red sitting at that table."
Murdock leaned over and looked, seeing her immediately. She was certainly no regular, and from the confident airs she put on Murdock imagined she could even give his blade a run for its money.
"That's Captain Anne of The Black Tempest. Her ship lost several hands recently, and the word is that she's looking to replace them, though time is limited."
"What else do you know about her?" Murdock asked, raising an eyebrow, half skeptic, half intrigued.
"Well, there are worse Captains to serve under, they say. I must leave now, I cannot risk being seen talking to you for too long."

Murdock waved him away, and at the same time called for a wench to take his plate away and bring him a new mug.
"Do us a favour, would you love? Take this here gold and buy that table a round, not of the best, but better than whatever swill they might be drinking. Understood?"
The wench nodded and scurried off to her task.
If the gendarme were onto him, he would prefer to leave sooner rather than later.