The gentle lapping of the nighttime waves was soothing for John, even though he was lying down on an uncomfortably hard floor. It was ironic, actually. Gills Reef had long been a safe-haven for pirates... for pirates... so who the hell decided to build a prison? And now this prison was holding some of the most notorious pirates in Carolis. John smiled at the thought, but shook his head and stood up, dismissing it. He yawned, stretched, and looked out of the small window. He could just barely see the shore, but to many buildings were in the way. Still, seeing that ocean on the horizon in the dark of night was a comfortable view.
How did it all happen? They were celebrating just two days ago, and suddenly dozens of British warships popped up through the fog, laying waste to everything in their way. They barged in, took the shore, and before you know had everyone on the island outmatched, outgunned, and completely surrounded. It happened so fast. They locked them up in this dirty prison, probably planned to have them all shipped up to England so the King himself could watch them hang. A life of piracy... all ended in one night. and not just John, they had a lot of other good names in here as well; William Pritchett, Captain Mary, even Lady Corsair. A lot of other good people had been lost, unfortunately.
"Hey, are the prisoners still in here?" A loud British voice boomed into the holding cells.
"Yeah, why?" answered another British man; he had been guarding the doorway all night, musket in hand.
"Just making sure... I think the watchmen spotted some rogues out in the woods," the other man replied, "guess we didn't get them all."
He waited for the guardsman to reply, but he never did. John tried pressing his face against the bars and looking over at the door but couldn't see anything. "You okay? You look a bit flushed," the messenger said. Not long after John could hear the man's body fall flat on the ground. "Christ!" yelled the messenger before fleeing down the hall to warn others.
A shadow cast itself across the moonlight on the floor. John looked in the direction and could make out several figures. they were whispering something, and one sighed and nodded his head. "Libertad a los prisioneros," another said. John didn't know any other language than English, but he knew how Spanish sounded. "Tenemos que avanzar," he said again. A dark-skinned man, no doubt Spanish rummaged around on the guard, took some keys and quickly threw them at the nearest cell, which happened to be John's. "Vamos!" they yelled, "Vamos!" and then all four of them took off out of the holding block.
John jumped for the keys as soon as he saw them. He scrambled them in his hands, almost to excited to hold onto them. He quickly began trying to shove it into the hole but missed a few times before finally succeeding. He laughed in ironic joy and threw the door open. He looked at the dead man on the ground; he had a dart sticking out of his neck, probably of Native make. What the hell was the Hrolas attacking a pisshole like Gills Reef for? He picked up the guardsman's musket, but discarded it, and instead took his sword.
After picking up the sword he began quickly unlocking the doors on everyone's cell. They were yelling, cheering, and clumping up next to the door. "Go! Go! Run'em down, we'll be comin' right behind ya!" John yelled. Upon looking in the last cell he saw the worried face of a man he never wanted to see again. After a brief pause he simply said "Bastard," and threw the keys down the hall before turning around and fleeing with the others, leaving him behind.