The calm before a storm...

With a heavy sigh, Seth shut his book shut, leaning back on his chair. The search for the Touch of Midas was fruitless so far, and despite the fact that they gained some information from an old fortune-teller, the crew of The Siren were nowhere closer to finding it. There were only echoes a legend left, and any information was mostly a dead end. But still, the pirates persisted, dodging every obstacle thrown at them. After all, what was life without a little danger? Chasing after wealth and power that might not even exist... Such was the way of a pirate, yet after so many unyielding leads, even they would begin to lose a little hope.

It was a calm day to be out in the sea, and with the sky was a brilliant shade of scarlet, with puffy white clouds drifting across the horizon. Their journey from place to place had been uneventful so far, which the ship's doctor was thankful for. Due to the recent lack of fights, there have been less injuries to take care of, less medicine and bandages used up. Peace was a rare instance in a pirate's life, and although people tended to get bored, Seth was determined to enjoy it as much as possible.

As soon as that thought crossed his mind, the ship lurched sideways, tossing many of Seth's books around. With a shout of surprise, Seth rushed out of his room to the deck, only to see a sudden storm brew up, the waves growing higher every second. Rain pelted down mercilessly as the winds picked up. The brilliant red sky was no more, instead replaced by a bleak gray of swirling clouds. The ship bobbed up and down upon the large waves as it threatened to overturn, nearly knocking the young man off of his feet.

"This storm... It's not normal." Seth muttered to himself as he ran off to alert the Captain, although no doubt everyone has already realized that something was up.

Red sky in morning, sailors take warning...

The tavern was crowded and stank of sweat, salt and tobacco smoke. An off-key violin, played by either an amateur filled the room with a noise that could barely be called music, but that did not stop the patrons of the tavern from trying to sing a shanty to the tune. The tables and chairs were little more than scraps of wood hastily nailed together and the floor looked like it needed to be replaced weeks ago. While the crowd was still as well-behaved as pirates could be - plenty of swearing, drinking and boasting but no fist fights yet - the free flow of drinks and occasional boasts of knowledge of treasure was bound to start a fight eventually.

None of this bothered Alexander Van Rooiakker. Well, the tobacco smoke did, but he just saw it as part of the job. He looked relaxed as he sat in his seat, his posture slouched and his left hand drumming a steady beat against the surface of the table. He wore a dark brown military style regimental coat which looked as if it had seen far better days, a pair of dark brown trousers and knee-high, buckled boots. His attire allowed him to blend in with the crowd, more or less. The weapons he carried on his person - two pistols at his hip with two more on his lower back, a sword sheathed at his right side and a carbine slung across his back - did not allow him to be the most unnoticeable person, but it did keep most people away.

Alexander pushed the rough-spun scarf wrapped around his neck and lower half of his face further up his nose. It was uncomfortable, but it did help to conceal his identity, and that was what he wanted to achieve. His line of work was dangerous, to say the least, and he wanted to take every precaution when meeting a contact. He was pretty sure a number of them were just a downsizing in the navy away from becoming a pirate, or were already pirates. Still, Alexander enjoyed his work. He was paid to drink, explore and do as much harm as he could to the French government. That was a dream job as far as Alexander was concerned.

Speaking of contacts, he furrowed his brow as he scanned the crowds for the person who was supposed to meet him. He did not like people being late.

"I hear plenty of pirates these days are searching for something called the Touch of Midas," A smooth voice said in English opposite him. Alexander pushed his wide-brimmed hat up slightly and saw a well-dressed man in a clean, sky-blue coat and wearing a tricorne on his head opposite him. The man took a seat and leaned forward. "A fool's errand, but at least it is of their own volition."

At the mention of his codename, Alexander leaned forward. "Where the hell were you?" He hissed. "This isn't exactly a good place to leave a man waiting on his own."

"Calm yourself, Red." The man said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "My ship was unexpectedly delayed by rough seas."

Alexander furrowed his brow, but decided to drop the subject. "Why are we meeting?" He asked bluntly.

"Two weeks ago, the French informed us that they would be using Curaçau as a stop for one of their trade fleets." The man said, took out a sealed envelope from his pocket and placed it on the table. He slid it across to Alexander. "Of course, if they were to be attacked, the blame would fall to the Dutch Government. However, if the information was to say, be leaked by an adventurer in the Caribbean..."

"It would be harder for the French to make any sort of accusation against the Dutch government." Alexander said.

The man smirked. "I have already arranged for one of our own ships to be attacked by pirates. A small sloop, nothing too important, but exactly what we might use to transport information quickly. Of course, my own vessel will come to the rescue and chase the pirates away, but not before they have boarded the sloop and gathered whatever loot they could carry." He said and leaned back, looking absolutely pleased with himself. "Anyone who catches the pirates will find an unsealed copy of the letter I have handed you in their possession."

Alexander took the letter and tore it open. Indeed, the hand-written message inside was a request from the French government to use the port of Curaçao as a rest stop for one of their trade fleets. It seemed small, consisting of only two frigates and two galleons. Easy pickings for a skilled pirate, or a group of unskilled ones. "Why not have your pirates spread the information, or just have them attack the fleet without coming to me?"

The man laughed. "Their only vessel is a brig and I don't trust them. They speak of fighting for freedom, but all it takes to make them work for me is the promise of a large payment. You, on the other hand, are someone the Dutch government trusts." He said. Then, as if he had just remembered something, he reached for his pockets again, this time taking out a small bag of coins and tossing it onto the table. "I believe gold is the universal currency. Use it for bribes and such."

Alexander nodded and stood up, stuffing the letter into one of his coat pockets. He picked up the bag of coins and weighed it in his hand. Finding it satisfactory, he stuffed it into another one of his pockets. "I'll see what I can do." He said and turned around, walking towards the crowd. This was a simple enough job, all he had to do was just spread information. He could always just pin up the letter, but that would probably lead to chaos as various pirates fought among themselves to be the one to catch the French trade fleet.

No, he had to be discreet. He already had a person in mind, someone who would do anything for a bit of money. Someone who would be able to speak to various pirates in private.

Alexander walked over to the bar and shouted for the bartender. He waited until the man was directly in front of him before speaking. "Bring me Loosey Lucy. I've got a proposition for her."

The pig snuffled in the mud, rolling it's pink carcass around inside its pen, disturbing its brethren. The wooden houses could have been in any town in Europe, the same mortared wood, some of them even sporting the white plaster. If it were not for the bird cawing loudly in the jungle a ship's keel away the pirate port could well have been a thousand miles away. The darkness between the buildings was near absolute, the stars blinded by the wide fronds of the jungle canopy overhead. Only a small lamp, hung from the beam overhead delivered any light.

Beneath the lamp, Lucy's copper hair echoed the flickering glimmer of the lamplight. She had pinned it up, keeping it out of the way as she lifted the bucket of water and poured it over her shoulders. The water sluiced over her naked body and splattered upon the hard packed earth outside of the tavern's rear door and Lucy closed her eyes. There were few small pleasures afforded one of her position and simple bathing was one of them.

"Loose!" the tavern keeper bellowed from inside, rudely breaking Lucy from her reverie, "Loose, yer wanted up front!"

"Shut yer hole," Lucy suddenly hollered back in cockney fashion, "I ain't done washin' the last man off me."

The barkeep simply shrugged in Alexander's direction.

"Just git yer skanky arse out here ya slut."

Outside Lucy sighed and quickly toweled off, grabbing her dress and pulling it over head before unpinning her hair and adding the black pirate styled cap with it's downy orange feather. She took a deep breath, settled herself and altered her bearing to make herself more attractive before stepping out with her most radiant smile.

"Salut monsier," she greeted Alexander, extending her hand as she gracefully circled the end of the bar, "It is a great pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"Goedendag," Alexander said in his native tongue and gently took Lucy's hand. The words that came out of her mouth sounded French to his ears, and if there was one race he did not want to be confused for, it was French. He pulled down his scarf with his other hand and planted a quick kiss on the back of Lucy's hand. It had nothing to do with chivalry or good manners; the move had allowed him to sneak in a quick sniff of Lucy's scent. From the damp feel of her hand and slight scent of mud and pigs still clinging to her, Alexander knew that she had only just cleaned herself off and thus was still working. He did not need to guess; he had spent the better part of the past two weeks carrying out surveillance on the tavern. It had nothing to do with a job; he just wanted to make sure he knew everything about the place that would be his base of operations for the foreseeable future.

Alexander released her hand and stepped back slightly. The rumours he had heard were quite accurate, Lucy was indeed a very attractive lady. Now if she was as money-minded as what the other men in the tavern say, she would be perfect for Alexander's purposes. The way he saw it, the richer the pirate, the more experience they had. He did not want some amateur going after the French trade fleet lest he alert them to the possibility of an attack. He was quite certain that the French had enough resources in the region to reinforce the fleet with at least a couple of frigates or even men-of-war.

"Shall we retreat to somewhere more private?" Alexander asked. He had conversed with his contact in Dutch previously and thus had no fears of being overheard. However, with Lucy, he would be forced to use English, a language even the dumbest of pirates could understand. "So that we may discuss payment?"

Matt stepped out of his cabin, and was nearly blown back in by the strong winds. The crew were scrambling to get things tied down, and the sails were creaking dangerously. The young man clasped his free hand to his hat, and struggled onto the deck. The First Mate, Seth, came by, and Matt hailed him. "I'm sorry, sir! I'm afraid I couldn't see this one coming! These things usually give at least some warning!" He was forced to yell, and even then, the words were nearly lost in the gale. Rain pelted down, making it hard to see anything. Matt gestured towards the captain's cabin with the papers clutched in his right hand. "I've got something to show you and the captain!"

Lucy wasn't used to gallant behaviour, feigned or otherwise, and she blossomed beneath Alexander's gaze. Her green eyes began to sparkle with veritable delight. Was this then her prince, her saviour who would win her away from this dreary and empty existence? A small inner voice chided her naivety. Such men, the voice told her, did not exist but she could not resist harboring some small hope deep within her. While expected, she currently had no inkling that Alexander was using her, that he had even been in the same room with her a few times in the past.

Then he propositioned her and much of his luster faded. She didn't let it show, such disappointments were common in her trade, nearly perpetual.

Tittering and batting her long eyelashes she delivered her best smile. Having exhausted almost the entirety of her glossary of French words Lucy continued in the King's English.

"My palace lay yonder my prince," she proclaimed with a vague gesture in the general direction of the small house, "Shall we away?"

"Very well, miss." Alexander said with a nod and followed her to the small house. As he followed close behind Lucy, he noted that she was indeed a very attractive person, if only from the exterior. From the rumours he had heard, there was little good to be said about her as a person, but Alexander was going to wait to see for himself before passing any judgement. After all, everything that came out of the mouth of a inebriated sailor had to be taken with a pinch of salt. Alexander found it hard to look away from Lucy's swaying hips and a small part of him, for a moment, considered paying a little extra to get some of his needs satisfied.

Discipline. There is much to be done. He quickly chided himself. There was a time for work and a time for play, and this was certainly no time for him to go around having his fun. Once he was done convincing Lucy to work for him - there was no doubts in his mind that she would not - he had to keep an eye and ear out for pirates capable enough to attack the French fleet. Not only that, he also needed to start working on getting himself off the island. It was highly possible that someone with a big mouth would eventually lead the French to him and Alexander wanted to be as far away as possible from the town before they even start the investigation process.

Alexander followed Lucy into the house and shut the door behind him. Almost as soon as it was flush with the walls beside it, he turned around and began to speak in a serious tone. "Right, time to be honest." He said and pulled out the bag of coins, dangling it from his fingers. "I am not here for your usual services. Rather, I need you to help me with a task." This was something he had done plenty of times, but he still needed to tread carefully. Not everyone was the same. "I understand you are the...How should I say, popular choice in this part of town? I have information I would like you to spread around to pirates. Good, capable pirates."

He grinned at her and shook the bag of coins. "I am not asking you to do much, just to do your job and perhaps whisper a few words of my choice to the stronger pirates." He said. "So, are you interested?"

Aboard The Siren

The day started out peaceful. The waters were calm, the waves sending a pleasantly cool spray into the air. The Siren glided lazily on it's way, only occasionally rocked by a stronger wave. The sky was painted a stunning scarlet color, interrupted by a few large, fluffy clouds.

The wind blew Aiden's blonde hair back out of his face as he leaned over the rail of the ship. He stared out over the water, a feeling of anxiety settling in his chest. He had expressed his concern to a few of his crew mates. The men laughed at the youth's proposal that something dreadful was awaiting them. They told him to relax and enjoy the calm while it lasted.

Just a short while later, Aiden screamed over the howling wind. “Told you so!” The winds had picked up suddenly, bringing with them a storm like no other. The beautiful sky had been plagued by dark clouds. The waves reached up the hull of the ship, spilling cold, salty water onto the deck.

“Shut yer trap, kid!” Someone shouted, shoving a bundle of rope into Aiden's arms. “And git those scrawny legs moving!”

“I'm not scrawny!” He retorted, accepting the rope anyway. The wind tore at his hair and clothes. He pulled his lucky bandana off his head for fear it might be stolen by the storm and shoved it in a pocket. He moved across the deck to where two men were struggling to tie down some loose barrels. The barrels rocked back and forth unsteadily, threatening to roll away and crush an unsuspecting pirate.

The three pirates hastily tied the barrels together, then to the rail. It wasn't their best work, but it'd have to do. The Siren creaked and moaned underneath them, and Aiden worried about her stability.

He noticed as Seth, the captain's First Mate, stumbled onto the deck. The man looked around briefly before he rushed past, probably on his way to find the captain.

Aiden's attention was ripped away from the man when a chunk of debris grazed his shoulder. It sliced through his sleeve and left a thin line of red on his skin. “She's comin apart!” He cried, pointing to a section of deck where the wood planks were loose and being slowly torn away from the frame of the ship. A few men gathered to help secure the wood, but they were feeling short handed in the midst of the storm. Rain had yet to break the clouds, but they were sure it wouldn't be long before it did.

Cyril Bernard, the captain of The Siren looked down at a pile of papers on his desk with frustration in his eyes. The crew had hit yet another dead end for the search of the Touch of Midas. He silently cursed as he crumpled up a piece of parchment into a ball and threw it across his cabin. The old fortune-teller was no good nor were any of the leads he was able to pick up from land locals and other pirates alike. It was like trying to find a penny in an ocean. Although the chances of ever finding the Touch of Midas was slim; Cyril himself was adamant on continuing the search until the day he died.

It had been surprisingly calm the last few weeks out in sea. It wasn't normal at all; since a pirates' life was spotted with dashing adventures and daring fights. Yet, the tranquility was somewhat soothing to Cyril despite the fact that he lived for such danger. A sigh floated out of his mouth; and he slammed his head against the desk as his eyes closed. The Captain drifted off into a dreamless dream, until the ship jerked him into consciousness.

He stood up, struggling to keep his balance as he flung open his door to be met with an angry storm. His crew scrambled to keep the Siren together as the unrelenting gales and water bashed against her. The sea had finally decided to have her way of breaking the peaceful silence. He grabbed on to a rail, his eyes fixated past the rain and the gray clouds; he would have to find a way out of this, and fast.

"Keep her holding, boys! We'll get through this one," he shouted.

Information? Lucy wasn't sure what to make of that. One thing she was certain of was that information was both dangerous and profitable. It could make a woman wealthy but it could also make her quite dead. The copper haired whore found herself caught between two extremes. If she listened to what he had to say and he was not pleased with her answer would he simply kill her? Then again, where they past that point already?

The copper haired harlot looked down at the presented pouch. It looked hefty. It didn't look to be a fortune but it was substantial. She slipped forward, bare feet slipping across the rough wooden planks that likely had been stripped off of some ship that had run aground and would never sail again. She gently caressed this man's forearm with both of hers, keeping all of her long slender fingers clearly within the confines of his gaze so as not to make him nervous.

"I think I can do that," she agreed, drawing her crimson nails across his skin, "Yes. I definitely think so."

"Good," Alexander replied with a grin. It always made him happy to hear that things were going according to his plan. He freed his arm from Lucy's grip and loosened the drawstrings of the pouch, pouring out roughly half the coins it contained and shoving them into his pocket. He closed the pouch and tossed it to Lucy. "You will get the other half when you finish the job. Do not worry, I have ways of knowing when that is achieved." He said. If his short experience in the tavern taught him anything, it was that pirates as a whole liked to brag about knowing about some kind of special loot hidden away somewhere. Alexander reckoned that any pirate who knew about the fleet would either start telling it to people around him or her, or would use it as a way to recruit more crewmen.

Of course, if that did not work, Alexander always had his contacts at the piers. It was always useful to know people at the place where everyone has to pass if they wish to leave or arrive on the island. Curaçau was quite a ways away; far enough for any ship to require resupply, but not far enough to make the journey not worth the potential loot. Alexander did not even know what the French fleet was transporting, but he guessed that it had to be something important if they were willing to resort to using a Dutch port rather than going the extra distance to French Guiana.

"This is what I want you to pass on. Tell no one that you heard it from me. If they ask, say that you got it from one of your customers, or that you overheard it." Alexander said and moved closer to Lucy so that he could speak in a quiet whisper. "A French trade fleet will be approaching Curaçao. Two Galleons, two frigates. They are due in..." He paused and took out the letter from his pocket, scanning through it quickly. "A week. Ten days at most. I do not know what the cargo is, but if it is important enough for the French to start using Dutch ports, then it has to be something worth plundering."

He stepped back and lifted his hat off his head for a brief moment in goodbye. "Well then, that concludes that. I shall not hold you any longer." He said, turned and walked towards the door. Just as he was about to open it and step back out onto the street, he said over his shoulder, "Oh, and don't try to betray me. I take care of the people who work for me but I will end those who cross me without hesitation."

With that, he opened the door and stepped out, shutting it behind him. He adjusted his coat and pulled his scarf back up to cover his face. There was not much left for him to do tonight; everything that he had planned could wait, at least until the next morning. He decided to return to the tavern and start planning his eventual escape from the island.

Lucy was shocked. That much money for such a small thing? Whoever he was he certainly must dislike the French. Unless, of course, he was some form of agent. Still, none of that was her concern. ALl she knew was that she wanted the other half of that money and she wasn't going to jeopardize anything by thinking too hard.

"A French trade fleet will be approaching from Currawcow," Lucy repeated, mangling the name, "Week to ten days. Only to those pirates that would be strong enough to take it. May I ask for a cut of the loot, or sell the information for a little coin?"

After she had her answer she let him go with a batting of eyelashes, curtseying as if she were the lady she certainly wasn't Lucy watched the man retreat into the darkness.

Seth nodded at Matt, only just managing to hear him over the fierce gales. "I know!" He bellowed back, "There's something strange about this! It's not normal!"

Pushing his wet hair away from his face, Seth glared at the sky, turning his face towards the rain. It was indeed strange, the rain was pouring down at an intense rate, something beyond normal storms. There had to be some sort of cause. Although Seth's skills didn't lie in meteorology or navigation, his years at sea told him to be alert and wary. The storm wasn't their only enemy at the moment. At least, that's what his gut instinct told him.

Noticing Cyril emerge from his quarters, Seth waved a hand at Matt, conveying to him to join him to talk to the Captain. If he had something to say, it would be much more efficient if he spoke to both the Captain and the first mate at the same time. Making his way over, Seth was forced to duck under some flailing ropes, and catch himself from slipping a few times. Even with seasoned sea legs, Seth found it difficult to get from point A to point B.

"Captain!" Seth shouted over the wind, his voice nearly getting swept away. "There's something--"

At that moment, the ship suddenly tilted, threatening to capsize completely. The tilt was probably about 30 degrees, enough to send objects and people flying. Instinctively, Seth grabbed onto the rope that he had ducked under moments ago to keep him from falling into the frigid waters. Using his arms, he clung to the rope as his feet left the deck. Gritting his teeth, he began climbing the rope, hoping that his hands won't slip.

For a moment, he allowed himself a glance down, seeing how the rest of the crew was faring...

His Majesty’s Ship Lyme, of 28 guns, heaved heavily in the Atlantic seas. She was barely turned into the waves and her topgallants had just come off at a hasty order; it would be no surprise to a discerning observer that the vessel had been caught unawares by a sudden squall. It was a surprise to all on board, for nobody had expected such a storm a mere day out of Deptford. On deck, the vessel was in a near state of panic as the crew scrambled to secure the small frigate against the storm. There were several top men scrambling to secure a sail that had come loose in the howling wind; a midshipman and two hands at a forward carronade to further secure it from the ship’s heavy rolls; two seamen were hastily bringing the commander’s folding reading chair below decks.

Tate Merritt-Lynwood observed all of this with a watchful eye, taking down the mannerisms of the captain, the speed and finesse of the officers and crew, and the handling of the old vessel, which creaked and groaned under the stress of the swelling sea. Tate had originally not intended to scrutinize the captain’s treatment of the situation; she hardly wanted to stay on deck as a torrential downpour soaked her coat and good shirt, but to retire below after being requested to observe a now canceled exercise would look bad on her part. She hardly wished to be remembered as the Officer of the navy that was afraid to her get her boots wet. She had resolved to only go below when the captain, out of courtesy, would insist for his very important passenger to take shelter from the rain.

That moment never came, for the gale had stepped up in its ferocity. The frigate’s captain once again barked out a new set of orders, thoroughly distracted enough to forget that he’d invited his senior on deck. This activity –the storm, the ship, everything—struck Tate as something strange. She could not remember a time where a storm such as this struck with such fury, not on this part of the English coast. Something had happened to change the normal pattern of weather here –Did those crackpot environmental theories actually have merit? – and Tate was fully aware it was not a force to be trifled with. She knew for certain their present course was taking the Lyme further and further out to sea and from the safe anchorage of a nearby harbor, where she knew that help would come should the vessel come afoul of the weather. She’d rather have a few days delay in getting to their destination than an eternity’s delay at the bottom of the sea, no matter how good this ship’s captain might be with dealing with a storm.

A large wave crested over the ship as the frigate plowed forward into the storm. “Captain Coolridge.” Tate had found the commander forward of the ship, overseeing the repair of a tangled tackle.

“Continuing on our present course is an unnecessary risk. With such an unusual storm brewing, it would be more sensible to make for safe anchorage than to brave this storm.”

The captain’s momentary surprise at seeing Tate quickly turned to hesitation. Tate was an entire rank his senior, despite being several years younger. Even though she was only a passenger and technically had no jurisdiction over the actions aboard the vessel, both of them knew full well that her words still held weight on board the ship; the words Mr. Coolridge could say to Tate could potentially have consequences that could affect the entire course of his career should scrutiny of his actions go up the chain of command.

Mr. Coolridge finally relented with an exasperated sigh, agreeing with a curt “very well,” before turning to his crew to shout another order. “Prepare to wear ship! Ms. Lynwood, if it would be more comfortable, you could take use of my cabin for the time being.”

Tate stifled a snicker. The captain had finally offered for her to go back below, but it was no longer out of politeness, but a thinly veiled attempt to get her out of the way. It didn’t matter to her any way; since they were returning to anchor to ride out the storm, there was little to worry about regarding the captain's actions. Satisfied, she turned on her heel to go below. Perhaps she could finish that novel she had picked up earlier in the week…

“Sail ho!”

Matt stumbled over a loose keg, rolling across the deck, and grabbed onto the rail for balance. This turned out to be fortuitous, because just at that moment, the ship lurched and heeled sharply to port, and the lad's legs were suddenly dangling over the ocean. He opened his mouth to cry out, and it was suddenly filled with water, cascading off the side of the ship. He was nearly washed away, but managed to cling to the rail while the water rushed past. Matt coughed, his eyes and mouth coated with brine, and one of the sailors pulled him back onto the boat. Everything was at an angle, the sailors all clinging to ropes and rails, trying to get things right. Matt's rescuer smiled at him, and reached down to help him up. At that moment, the Siren fell back to her original position, and the kindly sailor disappeared over the side.

Matt, mid thanks, stared numbly at the stormy seas, horrified by the twisted turn of fate. He tried to call, "Man Overboard," but all that came out was a weak sob.

H.M.S. Strumpet

From the deck came the sounds of singing, the able-bodied men and women that made this vessel glide were celebrating as they went about squaring away their duties, be it climbing to the crow's nest or minding the rigging. And what better time to celebrate than now, as the H.M.S. Strumpet took to the seas, leaving a smoking wreckage in its wake. Not an hour previous the Strumpet had engaged with a pirate ship, one captained by a freshly made man, no doubt following some sort of mutiny. The crew was inexperienced, a trait unbecoming of any pirate who claims to be worth their salt, but it worked out well for the Strumpet and her captain.

Maebh Brannagh stepped onto the deck, the wind blowing her hair and her coat as she stepped through the doors of her cabin. In her hand was a small, tattered map, barely legible and about as useful as a sailor who got seasick. The map, or rather the scrap, had been handed over, after a cold barrel of Maebh's flintlocks had been pressed right up against the forehead, by the generous newly crowned pirate captain. He and his crew, deceased now God save 'em, had gotten a bit fiesty over the rumors of a treasure. Easily duped into foolish pursuits, pirates. Easily duped.

Still, Maebh wasn't an idiot, and any man who would cling so hopelessly to a worthless scrap of paper either believes that the rumors are true and worth dying for, or they have fooled themselves into thinking their cause wasn't a lost one. "The Touch of Midas, was it?" Maebh spoke, heavily accented, aloud the name of the treasure the pirate captain had spoke. "Mister Hatcher," Maebh called to her First Officer, a good lad, Irish - which went a long way in Maebh's eyes, bit brutish in the heart of sieging, but what good Irishman or Irishwoman didn't get a bit rowdy in a conflict? "You an educated man, Mister Hatcher?" Maebh asked, stepping up the stairs towards the wheel, "Don't respond to that, of course you ain't, not if you're hunting pirates with me." Maebh gave a chuckle, and she silenced some of the crew who took that as their cue to laugh as well, "What's your take on this Touch of Midas thing? Worth pursuing?"

Maebh had already made up her mind, but giving the illusion that her First Officer has an input - and he did, on several issues - worked wonders for the idea of consulting a sharper mind. Maebh had no need for treasure, if it even existed, but her goal wasn't in riches. If this no name pirate had been obsessing with the Touch of Midas, enough to rally a crew, there had to be something to it. And that would mean more pirates, and that would mean no end to the prizes that mark the Strumpet's history.

"Your input, Mister Hatcher, before I take silence as agreement and we embark on a fool's errand." Maebh crossed her arms, but not before handing the tattered scrap to Mister Hatcher. He was probably better at reading maps than she, though she'd never admit that. While sober.

The ship tilted dangerously. Water rushed across the surface of the deck. The bodies of sailors washed overboard, and he couldn't tell if he was one of them. Under the surface of the wild waters, a dark shape circled the ship....

Aiden blinked and the vision ended. He shouted out a warning, but his voice was snatched away by the wind. Just a few seconds later, the ship was buffeted by a huge wave. It set it off balance and the ship tilted. Cold, salty water washed over the deck, knocking Aiden and many of the crew off their feet. He flailed about, managing to grab onto something before he slid overboard. Water rushed over him, making him cough and choke. His head broke the surface and he took a greedy breath, noticing someone was screaming at him.

“Leggo, you fool! You're gonna drag us both overboard!”

Aiden was latched onto another pirate. Aiden held on tightly, both of his arms wrapped around the pirate's leg. The man clung desperately to a rope attached to the barrels he had tied down just moments before. “Uh-uh!” Aiden shook his head fiercely, holding onto the man even tighter.

The water stopped and the ship started to level itself when it was hit from the opposite side. The wave crashed on top of them, knocking what little air he had out of Aiden's lungs. The other pirate kicked frantically, knocking his younger companion off.

Aiden cried out, swallowing mouthfuls of water. His heart throbbed in his ears. His lungs were on fire. He crashed into the rail, jarring to a halt. He wrapped both his legs and arms around the wooden rail and managed to lift his head for a breath. He dared to glance over the edge at the raging sea. Like in his vision, he saw a shape slithering around under the water.

He didn't have time to wonder what it was. He felt the rail cracking under him, and it wouldn't be long before it would give out. The water had drained off the surface of the deck, but The Siren was still tilted at a dangerous angle. It was to steep of an angle for him to lessen his weight on the rail or to regain his feet. He noticed quite a few other were also facing this problem.

'Come on!' Aiden prayed, 'Straighten out already!'

HMS Strumpet

Hatcher was at the helm, a crew member tying off a bandage on his arm. He laughed and joked with members of the crew. Everyone was in high spirits after the latest success of the Strumpet. Just as he was about to make a joke about the type of dresses that those “pirates” were wearing before they were all killed, the Captain came up the stairs and started Hatcher. Hatcher listened intently to the captain, a little taken back by Maebh’s questions about the “Touch of Midas.” Hatcher hesitated before taking the scrap from her. After some pushing, he took the map and began to study it closely.

It wasn’t too far away, maybe a week or two, and the detail put into the map was clear. “Well Captain, someone took a hell of a long of time to make this map. In fact I’m pretty impressed with it.” He smiled a little, then looked up at Maebh’s face, she was not interested in the detail of the map. He wiped the smile off his face and looked back down at the map in his hand, “It doesn’t look like it’s more than a week or two away.” He paused thinking about what the “Touch of Midas” could be. “Frankly Ma’am I’d say it’s a wild goose chase, but there could be something to it. Either way I’d say we’re bound to find more pirates along the way and that guarantees us some action, and some loot.” He began to smile thinking about the adventure that lay ahead, and killing some more pirates, “In my humble opinion, ma’am, I say we go for it!”