[IC] Gold & Glory: AU thread

[POOHEAD189]

The engagement was over before it even began.

It was almost embarrassing had it not been so thunderously horrible. The clash of steel on steel and the roar of the cannons had died down after the brief struggle, dirty and callused hands grabbing those left alive and slipping sacks on their heads. Some of the pirates simply shot and pushed Tilean sailors overboard whereas others obediently escorted the survivors over the side to the sloop, now connected to the brigantine by grapple hooks. There was ne'er a cloud in the sky and the sun was so bright, even the black bags over the prisoner's heads only lightly muted the penetrating rays.

Being shoved onto their knees, one by one the captured passengers were unveiled. The blaring sun gleaming into their eyes like Sigmar's wrath, blurred vision slowly regaining focus as the reality of the situation sunk in. Behind them was the sound of booted feet and heavy grunts as the cargo was being heaved over to the sloop.

For a first prize, Markus Flintbrook was pleased. Though he knew it would get to the crew's head. The new captain would celebrate later that night with a bottle of Dwarf scotch, but as for now he'd oversee the capture and keep them on their toes. Sails could appear on the horizon at any time, and already the blood was attracting sharks. He hoped nothing bigger floated up from the depths and quench its thirst on human blood in the water.

A snaggle-toothed man named Brod approached him, wielding a heroic beer gut and donning a bandana over his bald head. Eckard and Frankfurt stood beside him, both good sailors with terrible looks and social skills. These three represented the diversity of the dozen personalities in his crew, though there was a norscan named Halfdan and an estalian pisolier called Fernando among them. They chuckled and nodded for one of the other lads to take the hoods off the prisoners, revealing their human catches of the day. A Tilean old man was first, a mustache drooping from the blood of his busted lip. The next was a scholar from the empire who seemed to have wet himself profusely, followed by a cook with a paunch like an ogre, and a buxom woman with lush, blonde hair.

"Finally, a cook." Markus mumbled as the three men beside him began to whistle suggestively, clearly oggling the woman. Her hands were bound like everyone's was.

"I'm taking that one." Eckard laughed, pointing at the woman. It took a moment for his grin to fade when he felt the bite of cold steel at his throat. Markus casually held an Imperial Backsword up, ready to cut his jugular at a moment's notice. The captain wasn't planning on doing it, but the bravado had to halt.

Markus cut an image of both a scoundrel and a dangerous swordsman. He had the coat of a Captain, but it was worn and smelled of the sea. The man was darkly handsome, his mane unkempt and his eyes piercing. He looked no older than twenty seven summers, and though he clearly was keeping his amusement and humor in reserve for his men, he played a grim demeanor as if he was born with it. A scar ran past his chin, the only crease in his 5 o'clock shadow. His skin was suntanned and his hair as black as the abyss. Along his ring finger, a silver and pewter ring of twin dragons banded around his finger.

"No one's taking any of them." Markus declared, cooling off their lecherous thoughts. "What did I say before we got this ship, eh?"

"This is work, not pleasure." Brod shakily said, answering for Eckard. Eckard seemed to have joined the scholar in wetting himself. Markus was disappointed. These men had been imperial sailors not a week ago so it didn't go past expectations that only a few had been in any engagement, but half the crew needed stronger backbones.

"What's pleasure for, then?" Markus asked.

"Pleasure's for the ports." Eckard answered.

"Aye." Markus grinned, and with a gesture of his head he motioned for them to go and help the others. "We don't take people, only cargo."

"B-but, you are taking us sir." The scholar pipped in, drawing the gaze of the dangerous captain and the men who would gut him if unleashed. He coward back, having lost his ability to speak. The captain sheathed his sword, but tossed a wicked knife to the fellow who had brought them here. The scholar no doubt thought he was about to feel his throat slashed, but instead his bonds were cut. Shakily, he brought them to his face in disbelief.

"We're about to sink your ship. You can go back if you like." The Captain remarked, letting it sink in. He tried keeping his eyes off the woman. He was a man of his word, at least in front of his men.

"Any of you who prove worthwhile can stay aboard. Any who have a ransom, speak up now and you'll be allowed to live. Any who can't do either, I suggest you hope we make berth soon. Else you'll find yourself floating in the sea or shot."

[Penny]

Emmaline von Morganstern knelt on the deck in the blistering heat, her rump resting on her calves. Sweat born of both fear and the sun tickled down her back. In the back of her mind she was thankful that the 'solar oil' she had applied to protect her pale skin was one of the few concotions that her disreputable master had taught here which actually seemed to work. Emmaline was an apprentice wizard of the Gold Order, unfortunately thanks to her indifferent instruction and her own disinclination to practice of generally exert herself, she couldn't summon up spell fire to burn the pirates to ash, or conjure golden wings to fly off into the sunset. Emmaline couldn't have been further from the popular conception of a witch, she was of middling height with volutopus curves which gave her a soft look favored by Tilean artists. Hailing from the Empire she had the round hips and impressive bust as well as the pale blond hair of that northern race. Her hair, which hung to her hips, was frazzled and wild as a result of the battle and the bag which had been tied over her head.

It was unusual to find a woman aboard a ship and the leecherous looks she got from the disreputable looking crew made it clear that this lot could hardly believe their luck. Stories of what befell women whom were captured by pirates were nothing if not lurid and Emmaline knew that even if she survived that attention, the best she could hope for was to be sold into the seraglio of some Araybian Sultan. They were an ugly looking bunch too, unwashed and stinking even before you added the reek of blood and powder smoke that currently clung to their filthy clothing. Emmaline was dressed in a traveling dress of pale cream silk with gold embroidery which she had stolen from the Duchess of Luccini's wardrobe before she fled. It wasn't the most practical choice for a sea voyage but after what had happened in Luccini she hadn't enjoyed the luxury of time. When she provided the potion to restore the Duke fading sexual prowess she hadn't thought she needed to be more explicit in her instructions. How was she to know that the Duchess would use ten times the amount Emmaline had suggested to decorate an apple. Apparently the golden apple had some kind of sentimental place in Tilean art, which was fine with Emmaline. The problem was the Duchess had accidentally set the apple down for a moment while she talked to her page. Long enough for her stallion to gobble it up. The resulting outrage would probably live in Tilean folklore for generations. It wasn't REALLY Emmaline's fault but she doubted she would have lived out the day if she hadn't taken ship at once.

Roberto Di Rimini and his ship The Poxed Whore had been first ship out of the harbor. Di Rimini had been in his 40s but with enough of the memory of swashbuckling gallantry to take Emmaline aboard for the few crowns and trinkets she could summon up. He had done everything he could to escape the pirates and then done his best to fight when they had finally run them down, but for all his swagger he had lasted only a few seconds in single combat with the chief of the pirates. He had gone over the side with the other dead, food now for the sharks which circled the ships, their fins drawing rippling Vs in the smooth water.

"I am Emmaline von Morganstern and Albrecht von Vissendorf will ransom me!" Emmaline declared as one of the pirates moved around behind her and cut her bonds. He gave her a pinch on the bottom as he did so which she did her best to ignore. Albrecht the Magnificent, as he styled himself, was her titular master. Calling him 'von Vissendorf' gave him the same illusion of nobility she cultivated with her 'von Morganstern' though in reality he probably would have been hanged as a pimp and a pickpocket if he hadn't displayed the mediocre magical ability which had taken him to the Imperial College of Magic. Far from reforming him, the College had introduced Albrecht to fertile new fields of petty larceny and fraud which kept him in wine and prevented his various debtors from cutting his fingers off. He had sent her to Tilea to get her out of sight for a few months after one particularly ill advised scam involving selling mining rights to the Prefect of Altdorf had gone wrong. It was vanishingly unlikely he had the money to ransom her, and even more unlikely that he would bother if he did, but there didn't seem any harm in pretending otherwise, if nothing else it might keep her off the slave block for a few weeks.

[POOHEAD189]

"Von Morganstern?" Markus asked the other pirates. A few shrugged, but the others that weren't busy were too busy drinking up the woman's figure or preemptively counting the gold for her supposed ransom. Markus eyed the expensive dress and the voluptuousness of the woman with a calculating gaze. He didn't doubt she was a nobleman's wife or mistress, likely the latter considering she wasn't a 'Vissendorf' herself. He chuckled at the thought of some posh jezebel going back inland and telling of her 'utterly dreadful' time amongst the pirates.

"Sure sounds like a fancy title." Frankfurt mused.

"Titles mean little enough unless they can pay." Markus warned, speaking to the woman more than anyone.

An aging privateer approached the Captain as he surveyed the prisoners like a butcher weighing meat. Markus turned and regarded Morgan, the only man on here who seemed about as competent in common sense and Markus liked to believe he was himself. In a lot of ways, Markus looked up to the man. Morgan had even refused the captaincy, replying he was too old for a younger man's job. He merely served as quartermaster for the time being before his 'retirement' as he often called it. He gave a pat on Markus' shoulder, and the dark swordsman gave a grin.

"Good job, lad." Morgan congratulated. "Eight barrels of spices and a few prisoners. Any valuable ones?"

"That remains to be seen." The Captain knelt down in front of the older Estalian, a man who looked devout of any sort of happiness left. Even unbound, he had merely rubbed his wrists and had yet to move or say anything. His mustache gave him the look of a particularly sad schnauzer. The linen shirt he wore was torn, with rolled up sleeves revealing olive skin and hairy arms.

"You know anyone on that boat?" Markus asked him. Even with the fellow's melancholy, his ire was something that most wouldn't wish to invoke, so the man replied with a nod.

"A friend of yours die?" Again, there was a nod. Markus leaned in closer. "You know the one who killed him?"

"Not you," the man said slowly, his riekspiel heavily accented. "the one eyed man."

"Holdman, aye." the Captain declared. He smiled. "You can't kill him, sorry. We're on a small ship with an even smaller crew. Your friend like as not didn't put up much of a fight. But you're lucky. You have the opportunity to join our crew. You prove yourself, you can challenge Holdman and kill him rightly. Your choice."

He didn't wait to respond, standing back up and moving to the scholar and the cook. With a few quick orders, he recruited the two on the spot. With the cutlasses of the pirates around them and Markus' dark gaze, they took no convincing. The scholar was sent below to calculate how much the spice was worth while the cook was sent to the kitchen below, both escorted by two watchful pirates. Finally, Markus arrived at the woman. As he did so, the last man leaped over the side of the Poxed Whore and tossed Markus a bag of doubloons. Effortlessly, the swordsman caught it with an audible jingle of the coins. He slid his hand in and produced a gilded tilean coin, looking at it appreciatively.

"As for lady Emmaline von Morganstern, you can rest assured no one's going to touch you since you're for ransom. Though now that you've announced yourself as valuable, it's your neck if you don't deliver. You need to find your own place to sleep and you won't get in the way of my men. Tonight the crew's going to celebrate its first victory, and you have a choice. The brig, the crew, or you can dine in my cabin and we can speak gold. Up to you, princess."

[Penny]

Emmaline resisted the urge to explain that she wasn't a lady. Her father had been a tanner and her mother a seamstress, both of whom had been very upset when the girl they had been hoping would marry well enough to lift them out of poverty had instead been plucked by fate and the witchfinders to attend the Colleges of Magic. The captain's, Markus judging by comments she had overheard, misapprehensions about her might help to keep her alive, at least long enough for her to escape. There was a general murmur of approval at the notion of her dining with the crew and for a moment she wondered if choosing the brig might not be the safest choice. Well as any con artist knew, the safest choice now and the safest choice later weren't always the same thing. If she was going to escape she needed to put this Markus at ease, something she wouldn't be able to do from the brig.

There was a whoop of delight as a pair of pirates came onto the deck with Emmaline's traveling case. They opened it by the simple expedient of smashing the latch with the hilt of a cutlass and the case sprang open to reveal several dresses and a selection of underwear. Half a dozen of the crew descended like seagulls each eager to snatch a souvenir. It was fortunate for her that the seemed to have mistaken the simple alchemical kit in a second case as belonging to the scholar. She had talked briefly with Klaus Metternick, a penniless exile trading on his education and hoped that if the matter was raised he would be wise enough to keep his mouth shut.

Emmaline stood up, rubbing her wrists together to restore the circulation that had been cut off by the bindings.

"I would be pleased to dine with you captain," she said ignoring the lewd shouts and cheers of the crew at the announcement. Ranald's balls, how did she ever manage to get herself into these situations!

[POOHEAD189]

The attack had happened a few hours past midday, so it was only a short time until the sun began to set. Of course, that was still a very long time for a prisoner on a pirate ship, even if one was allowed to walk freely. What the men had lacked in etiquette, they made up for in sailing ability. The ship moved like a Dwarf machine, every man a cog in the ever turning wheel. Even so, there was no shortage of leers and jeers at Emmaline as she moved about the ship. Only the other prisoners, the quartermaster, a bald man who one would have the sinking suspicion was a eunuch, and the captain who seemed more interested in seeing his ship make good time didn't gravitate towards her lewdly.

Markus on the otherhand had lifted spirits, smiling and congratulating his men while cracking down hard on any who were slacking off. He even walked with his sword out of its sheathe, though whether he was to stab anyone or simply look threatening, it was hard to tell. Though behind his back there were a few crewmembers who still joked about the Captain and the woman, even as a few others muttured over how the captain got the 'lions pick'. Markus was savvier than they gave him credit for, and only two of the dozen men held such sentiments. He was more interested in the ransom and making sure the woman was in one piece by the time she was put back on shore more than anything, though he was also curious. There was a glint in her eyes that made him want to question if she even was who she claimed she was. He'd find out tonight.

As the sun faded over the shimmering sea, the dinner bell tolled. Only two of the men were still on deck to keep the ship steady as the others swarmed down like a wave into the messhall for food. Markus had gotten his food brought up to his cabin before the bell had gone off, and now he finally let himself relax in the dim lighting of the lamps, a few sips of rum already down his throat.

The room was spartan for a Captain. In fact, it was small even for a room on the Poxed Whore. There was a desk and two chairs, each made of carved mahogany and richly colored in the lamplight. To the left was a cot, a horned norscan helmet hung above it. Behind the cot was a small chest of personal loot and items, and various paraphernalia from across the old world. Despite his fearsomeness, Markus was a sentimental sort.

Born in the Border Princes, a bastard of the ruler of a small hamlet. He grew up as a courtier and a household soldier until he was sixteen years of age, where he took all of the meager inheritance he was given and went south to Tilea, polishing the art of swordplay and even gaining the status as a student under the tutelage of a Brightwizard for a few months until he ran out of money. Joining a roving band of mercenaries, he fought in battles and laid siege to cities until the age of twenty two, going north to with a few lads and fighting across both Brettonia and the Empire before reaching Marienburg at the age of twenty five. Having spurned his wealth on both frivolous things and further sharpening his swordplay under different masters, he took to sailing. It is hardly surprising to say he took to it like a fish to water, and served two years on the Imperial scouting sloop The Hammer until just last week where he led a mutiny against the frugal and cruel captain 'Volstad Hammersbreadth.' Now he lounged in the dead man's cabin, atop the hammock that hung upon the right side of the room just beside a pistol hung on the wall and a small shelf of books. The Captain's had was on the back of the chair, and just as there was a knock on the door, he called.

"Come in."

She would have a good look at him sliding off the hammock and setting his rump on the mahogany chair, the smell of chicken, potatoes, apples, and alcohol wafted from the meal laid before them both.

[Penny]

Keeping a dress clean on the deck of a working ship was no easy task. Between the grease covered guns and the tar slicked ropes that crisscrossed the ship like the web of a particularly demented spider, not to mention the continued attempts to grope her by various filthy sailors, many of home still smeared with gun smoke and blood from the recent battle, Emmaline's work was cut out for her. With her possessions now loot for the crew however, several of them were wearing articles of underclothing as hats or bandannas, preserving her outfit was something of a priority. Ranald alone knew where she was going to sleep, though she tried to put that out of her mind for the moment. When the bell finally ran for dinner it was with considerable relief that she headed back, aft?, towards the Captain's Cabin.

Emmaline pushed the door open and stepped out of the dingy narrow hallway into Markus' cabin in time to see the tough looking captain slide out of his hammock and take his seat at a surprisingly ornate chair. It seemed the only item of any real comfort in the room save for a few books which sat on a shelf, netted with twine to stop them from pitching out onto the floor whenever the ship rocked on the waves. The water had been calm for the few days Emmaline had been at sea, but it was obvious even to a land lubber like her that the sea was beginning to rise as night fell.

Without speaking a word she crossed the room and took a seat in the other open chair, smoothing the cream silk of her dress before setting herself down. It was obvious from the repast that had been prepared that they were already getting good service out of the cook. A roast chicken and several baked potatoes, both spiced, lay on a plater surrounded by some fresh apples. A decanter of wine, a dark red vintage which Emmaline had come to associate with Tilea and almost certainly had been loot from the captured ship, sat beside the chicken along with two glasses with heavy leaded bottoms that gave them some stability at sea. They had left the Poxed Whore just before sundown, after the pirates had stripped the ship of anything of value, down to her cordage and powder. A fire had been set in the ships aft before they cast off the lines and the glow of the burning ship was still barely visible on the horizion.

"Thank you for inviting me Captain," Emmaline said with something of a strained formality. She reminded herself that she needed to make an ally of the pirate captain, or at least lull him into complacency. It didn't hurt that alone among the pirates he cut a rather handsome figure.

[POOHEAD189]

"And thank you for accepting it." He said, breaking off a chicken leg with a small snap. There was a sly grin as he joked. "I know you'd rather be anywhere else than here."

He was certain the men had given her a hard time, despite his warnings. Despite all of their earnings, most of the gold they would acquire would be after they made port on Sartosa or one of the islands off the west coast of Araby, so for now there was exultation with little to show for it. Markus took little time in consuming the chicken leg, and though he was a hard man, it was clear he had grown up in finer company. There was ne'er a mark on his cheek, and the rest was wiped away clean with one of the hand cloths he had at the ready. He downed an impressive amount of rum to wash down the meat, showing the scar that ran from his chin went clear down his neck. With a 'clink' he set the bottle down.

"Don't stand on ceremony here, miss Morganstern. I'm sure you're hungry and I'm not someone who's impressed with manners." He informed her, giving her some time to eat before he spoke next. "I'm impressed with skill, courage, and honesty, at least honesty to me. Which brings me to you..." He took a knife out, and though it clearly wasn't a kitchen implement, he let it sit in his hand for a moment before he took a potato and cut it in half, offering her one half with his left hand.

"If you're who you say you are, we'll have no problems. We can speak business, you can tell me your family history and how much they'd pay for you. Something I'm quite interested in. If you're not, I'll give you some advice. Tell me it now, and we can talk about who you really are. I'm sure you'd rather have me vouche for you than any of the other men, because they would want something in return. Frankly, the fact that you're sexy as all hell doesn't help you if you tell me there's money waiting for me when there's not."

It was clear Markus hadn't been this close to a beautiful woman in awhile, but he was like a dog on the hunt. He'd go after gold before anything else and there was little that could distract him from it. He also knew she was worried on where she'd find rest tonight, but truthfully he didn't trust her to sleep on the hammock while he slept in the cot, and he didn't think she'd want to share his bed. Not a lot of prisoners, particularly manhandled women had that on their minds after capture. He might kill her out of necessity but he wouldn't impugn her honor out of cruelty. He was cruel enough to those he'd killed today.

[Penny]

Emmaline picked at the chicken rather daintily. She knew the rudiments of fine dining having been required on occasion to woo various marks among the aristocracy. Even so she still didn't want to expose herself to the full scrutiny of a formal banquet. She drank somewhat more freely, though she didn't over indulge, being able to command the winds of magic and getting black out drunk didn't pair well as a general rule and even less so in this particular circumstance. For a moment she pondered attempting to kill the pirate captain with a spell. She could probably manage it even with her meagre skills, but it didn't solve the problem of exactly what she planned to do after killing him. There was no way for her to go and no way she could overcome the whole crew. Best to wait for an opportunity. Idly she picked up an apple and took a bite out of it chewing thoughtfully.

"I'm afraid I don't have much in the way of skill or courage to impress you with Captain," she confessed, gesturing with the apple to emphasize the point. She leaned forward slightly, the action pressing her full breasts together against the silken dress and making it cling. The dress had been tailored for the duchess who didn't enjoy the same endowments Emmaline's northen blood had bestowed upon her.

"My ... guardian," she said, stumbling slightly over the word to imply that Albrecht wasn't exactly kin to her, perhaps a nobleman to whom she was mistress, "will pay for me I hope." It wasn't much of a hope, while Albrecht would regret losing an apprentice who paid him guild dues, it wasn't like the disreputable old wizard had piles of gold laying around.

"I ..." she injected a slight tremble into her voice before continuing in a rush, "I dont know how much he will pay, he has money but I'm... well you know, not really family." There was a deliberate quaver in her voice which betrayed the unfairness of her situation. She tried not to imagine being stripped naked and paraded before a group of pirates who were putting her up for auction to some Araybian potentate. She made a show of avoiding looking at the knife in his hand as she took another bite out of her apple.

[POOHEAD189]

He honestly wasn't sure if this was an act or not, though if it was an act, he didn't know why she would admit to not being privvy to how much she would be worth. He finished another sip of the bottle and set it down as she spoke, and his dark eyes that usually were on point couldn't help but watch the fabric go taut over her enchanting bosom. He caught himself staring as if mesmerized by a spell, and blinked it away. He tried to think of what she continued with and caught back on like the crack of a whip.

"Interesting..." He mused, acting as if he had never slipped up at all. Reviewing her little speech, she had very little to give in words compared to what he had expected. He had thought she would gush out a confession or at least plead for her life, but instead she was either truly a damsel or playing on his soft heart, which actually lightened his mood a bit. So, she was purely innocent and being honest, or a scoundrel trying to get away with something. Both had endearing qualities to the young captain.

He looked at the desk in thought for a moment, his practicality warring against his conscience, and he was certainly his anatomy was in there somewhere messing up his better judgement. He chuckled and shook his head.

"Well," He began easily, sliding out of his chair to lean over the table, both hands on the lapels of the mahogany desk. His nose nearly touched hers as his dark eyes bored into her own. "I really can't tell if you're being honest or not, but if you're not, you're playing a dangerous game. Luckily I'm a dangerous man, so I can appreciate that."

[Penny]

Emmaline crunched the mouthful of apple particularly noisily then blushed slightly. That wasn't exactly what a fearful damsel in her position was supposed to do which deepened her blush. Markus' eyes were unusually penetrating and she had a momentary and irrational flash of fear that he could somehow see through all the layers of lies to the core of her being, whatever that was. It occurred to her somewhere deep in her lizard brain that Markus was a very attractive man, for all he smelled of salt and gunpowder.

"I am completely honest," Emmaline assured him, waiting a heartbeat for Sigmar to strike her dead for such an insane assertion. She reached out and touched the scar on his face in a considering fashion. Moistening her lips as she did so and swallowing her mouthful.

"You certainly appear a dangerous man captain, I saw you cut down poor Roberto," she remarked, then realising he didn't know who she was talking about, amplifed the statement.

"He was the captain of our ship," she clarified. Realising she hadn't broken eye contact with Markus for an uncomfortabley long time, she reached for the bottle of rum but managed to snag the sleeve of her dress on the edge of the table and knock the bottle over with a splash of sweet smelling anger fluid.

"Shiz!" she snapped in a rather unladly like fashion, snatching her sleeve back before it could be stained by the spreading mess.

[POOHEAD189]

Markus felt her finger along his scar and was momentarily confused as to how to continue. Two years ago he was in hearty taverns and flirting up women on campaign, and many of them flirted in return by touching his scars. But he was a captain now...of pirates. She was confusing him now more than any decision he'd had to make with his new command. He grabbed her hand as she commented on how he slew the captain of the Poxed Whore, about to question her on what she was getting at when she spilled the wine all along the table!

"Sigmar's balls!" he cursed, too distracted to catch the bottle but with enough frame of mind to grab the neck of it and set it down rightly before the entire contents of it had emptied onto the mahogany desk and the floor. He snapped his gaze away from her, surprised he let himself be distracted by such a clumsy woman like he was the boy back on Helmsfurt a decade ago. "What the hell, woman?" Luckily he had some cloth and a flagon of water to dilute the liquid, wiping it off the table. It didn't seem to have stained anything on the table, but he'd need to see it in daylight to be sure.

"This is mahogany! And this is expensive Tilean wine for Ranald's sake!" He didn't sound murderously mad like one might expect, more annoyed. With a grunt he opened the back window and tossed the wine soaked rag out into the sea, slamming the window shut. With that he sat down again, shaking his head. Gone was the man who looked like he was going to murder her after the next word, replaced by the young traveler he tried to hide.

Still, he cut the figure of a captain as he pinched the bridge of his nose, lounging on the big chair across from her like a hunting cat.

[Penny]

"Apologies captain, I suppose we may add grace to the list with courage and skill," she said quickly.

"Perhaps the next dinner guest you kidnap will make less of a mess," she added a trifle tartly. That wasn't the most politic thing to say but the rum and wine she had consumed were beginning to go to her head. Probably for the best that she had knocked the wine over if it were effecting her to that degree.

There was a knock at the door and Markus grunted in acknowledgement. A sailor came in carrying a wooden platter which he set on the floor before clearing the remains of the meal from the table with practiced ease. Once the carcass of the chicken had been cleared away he set the platter on the table and removed the cover with a theatrical flourish. Inside was a steaming plum pudding covered in a sauce of brandy and raisins. Beside it stood two small bowls of custard which had been sprinkled with sugar.

"Cook's trying to earn his keep I reckon," the sailor said casting an envious look at the meal and at Emmaline who, while quickly regaining her composure still had the rosy glow of alcohol and recent embarrassment to her cheeks.

"He made us a stew like I ain't had since ma'mum's," the sailor added enthusiastically.

"What is his name?" Markus asked, eying the dessert approvingly.

"Capocuoco, didn't catch his first name," the sailor replied. Emmaline snorted in amusement drawing the eyes of both Markus and the unknown crewman.

"His last name means Cook in Tilean," she explained, "it's like meeting a smith named Smith." Markus and the sailor exchanged glances, neither apparently finding coincidence as amusing as Emmaline did in her slightly inebriated state.

"That will be all Reeve," Markus said in dismissal before turning back to the dessert.

[POOHEAD189]

Markus looked at her long and hard after her little quip, a look that would send most of his men running even if they caught him on the privvy when he made it. He'd been blessed with a penetrating gaze ever since he was a boy, and he merely grew into the man that could back up any silent threat from his look. He was about to tell her to go and find 'berth' elsewhere, meaning she was dismissed to sleep on the deck or jump overboard, but Reeve with the dessert interrupted his thoughts.

He wasn't entirely sure if she could speak Tilean or if she just knew that from having been aboard the same man's ship, but she was here for another few days if not a week, depending on the weather. He'd find out. Gingerly he reached down and picked up a spoon that was embedded into his custard and decided to taste the dish. It certainly smelled good. He had a bit of custard and then the pudding, the sugar sticking to his taste buds warmly after having his fair share alcohol.

"The attack on the ship was worth it for this cook." He commented, letting it slide down his throat. As he continued to eat, he began with. "So, Lady Von Morganstern. Since this man...Vissendorf? Isn't guaranteed to pay any sizeable ransom, I need to figure out what to do with you. Maybe the cook's assistant. As good as this is I'm sure he's doing this to stay alive and he won't have this kind of energy forever. If you're not up to the task, we could sell you or at least the dress."

While all were viable options, he mostly wanted to see how she reacted. She'd given him very little in the way of options or promises so far.

[Penny]

Emmaline opened her mouth to object. Work of any kind was antithetical to her but an idea began to form in her mind as soon as he spoke. She deliberately closed her mouth before she said anything foolish and took a moment to examine the notion as it developed. It was vanishingly unlikely that Albrecht would pay any sizable ransom for her, but there didn't seem to be any advantage in admitting that. She reached out and seized one of the candied raisons between her long fingers and popped the morsel into her mouth.

"If you allow me to write to my beloved Vissendorf," she said, failing despite her efforts to inject much warmth into the the sentence.

"I shall tell him I am being held captive by the most vile pirates and beg for my swift relief," she continued. With the wine knocked over she took the bottle of rum and took a slug from the neck, nostrils flaring as the strong liquor burned the back of her throat.

"As for the other matter, if you insist I work my passage..." she glanced meaningfully out to the deck where the crew were cheering to some raucus entertainment or another.

"I can think of worse ways to pass the time than as the assistant to our gallant cook."

[POOHEAD189]

Markus smirked at her manner. He could guess she wasn't telling him everything, but how much or what he couldn't tell. Still, he wasn't used to executing prisoners unless they were chaos spawn and he found her endearing in an odd sort of way, even past her looks. He'd spent so much time trying to keep up appearances, watching her do the same made him feel a certain irony about his current station in life.

"Well Miss Von Morganstern, we have ourselves an accord." The attractive man remarked, pushing his chair back, scraping the floor audibly. Almost casually, he began to unhook his hammock as she continued to eat her fill. "Once we make berth at Sartosa, you can send your beloved a letter by bird and you can wait while me and the lads conduct our business." Sliding the bits of rope over his arm, he tossed the fabric over his shoulder and stepped over to her, grabbing her dainty forearm. The ship rocked sleepily as the woman was hauled out of the chair, rum bottle still in her hand.

"What-?" He heard the woman stammer, stumbling over her words just as much as she stumbled with her feet, being dragged if need be out of the Captain's cabin and down the hall. The lights were warm and inviting. If she wasn't being dragged by a pirate captain, it almost looked romantic.

"Trust me, you'll want me to make this announcement." He told her, within moments kicking open the door to the mess hall like he owned the ship. Which he did. The men were gathered round laughing and playing a Tilean cardgame and knucklebones While Morgan stood watch beside the door to the kitchen, no doubt making sure the cook was doing his job. All at once the men turned, eyes widening at the sudden appearance of their captain and the lovely Emmaline being held by the arm, both with flushed faces from all the alcohol they had downed.

"How'd she treat you, Captain?" Frankfurt called.

"Bit of a handful, but nothing I haven't dealt with before." Markus joked, grinning like he was a cat toying with a mouse. He thrust her arm in the air with his own as he declared. "I'm not here about that. I'm here about how she'll treat you!"

Cheers erupted from the men, the cards and knucklebones forgotten almost immediately. Showcased by Eckard moving a few of the pieces while the others concentrated on Markus. Only a single crew member, a balled man, eyed him.

"Seems we've a new cooking assistant! I have a feeling she won't be that good at it, but a woman's got to make her way in the world, eh? Though that brings me to my fine crew. Within a fortnight, we'll find out if she's worth anything. That means that until we hear otherwise, she's worth her weight in gold. That also means, until I say she's otherwise, she's part of the crew. She gets all the same privileges you lot get." He grew more sober as he spoke. "That also means you're not to touch her. And when I say that-" His free hand took one of his pistols out of the baldric on his breast, cocking it and pointing it at the crew's direction. Their mirth subsided quickly. "-I mean it. Any man what touches her, I cut off what you used to touch her. Any man do more than that, and you owe me and the crew her weight in gold, or I'll carve it out of you."

"H-her weight in gold?" A man asked.

Markus eyed Emmaline and grinned, not lecherously, but with more than a hint of mischief. It was clear he had the crew hanging on his every word. He certainly had the personality of a charismatic captain. It was clear Markus simply said his next phrase to mess with Emmaline. "I'd say that's about two hundred pounds, yeah?"

"Her tits are half the weight!" One man laughed and the others roared in approval. Markus motioned for a bald man to approach him. It was the Eunuch, Eugene. The men had made more than their share of jokes on the alliteration, but he was respected by being the only man trusted watching the loot save Morgan and Markus himself. As Eugene stepped over, Markus whispered in Emmaline's ear. "I'll have that dress by tomorrow. Be happy I'm not having you take it off now."

"Aye Captain?" Eugene said with a salute.

"Take our new crew member to her quarters and show her how to set up the hammock." He ordered, tossing the man the hammock. Eugene caught it with an 'oof', confusion marring his face.

"Her quarters?" He remarked incredulously.

"The closet in the cargo deck."
@Penny

[Penny]

2 Days Later

"Give us a bit more Golden Tits!" one of the pirates shouted as he leaned over the wooden bar which served as the table in the main mess. He was an older man forty if he was a day and with blackened teeth beside. His companions howled with laughter at the joke, variations of which had been going around since Markus 'presented' her to the crew. Emmaline smiled sweetly and the rapped the pirates knuckes with the wooden serving ladle with which she had just dispensed the stew of bully beef and old biscuit that she had helped prepare. The pirate yowled and hopped back, clutching his bruised knuckles which were were burned by the hot stew beside.

"One ration per man," she said with a bland expression.

"You bitch!" the pirate snapped and started to make a lunge for her, but his messmates, still laughing at his embarrassment, hustled him onwards to keep the line moving. The pirates ate on the gun deck, using the twelve pounder cannons as improvised tables. The deck reeked of unwashed men and burned powder, but one did get used to it. The next pirate thrust out a battered pewter dish into which Emmaline obdiently ladled a scoop of steaming stew and then handed out a bottle of beer and a piece of hard tack. This pirate forgo to make any comment though he gave her an appreciative look. True to his word Markus had taken her silk dress from her and she now wore a shapeless white shirt and a pair of brown pants along with an ill fitting boots. Well all the clothing was ill fitting, but it was what the crew had and so she had made do. After some asking around she located a needle and thread and performed some basic tailoring. She had hoped that her current shapeless garb, in addition to the rather severe braid into which she had coiled her hair, might serve to lessen the amount of attention she raised, but it didn't seem like a ship full of men who had been weeks or months at sea were that easily put off.

Work as the cooks assistant had proven as congenial as she had hoped. The cook had been pleased with the company and with the help, in exchange she had been able to convince him to do her a few favors. It turned out that access to the rum ration, opened many doors, and with a little cajoling, the cook had been able to secure the small case of alchemical equipment which had been cast aside by the pirates as worthless. Most of it was hidden behind a crate of pickled herring, but a few select items, concealed amidst the various cooking paraphernalia had been put to use. A kitchen wasn't a bad place for a Gold Wizard to work discretely, and the kitchen of a ship of war was an even better one. When asked by the cook what she was doing, she had made a few vague noises about wanting to experiment with sauces, something he had dismissed as the worthless efforts of an amateur, but soon they would begin to yield results.

Of Markus she saw little, desiring to stay out of his sight as much as possible, though on a ship this size it was impossible to avoid him completely. She had a measure of respect for him, despite his piratical ways, he certainly could have taken advantage of her if he wished, or allowed his crew to do so. That spoke... something about the man, though she wasn't quite sure what yet.

[POOHEAD189]

"What do you think?" Morgan asked Markus.

The Captain held the teliscope up to his eye, lingering on the image of sails in the distance. Even with the device, he couldn't tell hide nor hair of what it meant. The ship was just on the edge of vision, so the colors couldn't even be deciphered yet. Morgan's eyes weren't what they used to be, but Markus couldn't do much better. Which meant he had three choices; approach and risk it being a foreigner warship, flee and lose a potential catch, or act as if they had seen nothing and continue on their current course which could lead to either of the other two outcomes.

He slid the telescope into its more portable form with a 'clack,' handing it to Morgan. He handed it to the quartermaster, who took it without question as Markus weighed his options.

"We already have enough, lad." He reminded Markus, placing a hand on his shoulder. "These men have served you well. I say we head on back and act as if we saw nothing."

Markus shook his head, dissatisfied with that even if it went against better judgement. It could be another haul. The sloop wasn't large but they still had a few tons left on their capacity. "Morgan, we've just left the law. We're not even recognized as official pirates yet by the Pirate Lords, and we need that acknowledgement to get any good deals on our merchandise. We don't have the food to sail to the new world." No Captain or crew in history (as far as Markus knew) formed and caught two prizes in less than a fortnight. They would earn the respect of any would-be wretch that called themselves pirates if they pulled that off.

"Well, we are a sloop I suppose." the elder said, scratching his black beard. "We run into trouble we can outmaneuver most anything. Either way, we got an hour before we really need to decide anything."

The door that led to the deck burst open, and Brod stepped out on deck holding his hand. Markus turned and saw his shirt was stained and his eyes were blazing with fury. "Oi, Captain! I got a bone to pick with our new lady cook!"

---

Five minutes later.

Markus had cleared the messhall and kept Morgan on deck with the lads to keep themselves busy and distracted. Capocuoco and Brod stood there along with Emmaline who he noticed did her best to look like the innocent party. Markus wasn't in the mood, but it was his job to parley in such circumstances. Still Brod clutched his hand, dunking it in cold water every now and then on the table. Morbidly curious, Markus looked between all of them.

"So Brod, what did you say happened?"

"That stinkin' trollop whacked me on the hand and I burned meself!" He said, in the most childish fashion Markus thought possible for a career sailor. "She should have stayed in the brig with the others! The food's been lackin' and she's given us nothing but lip since we got 'er." Capocuoco tried to speak, but Markus could only understand about three words he said, sprinkling in reikspeil as if that was the key to relaying what he thought.

Markus crossed his arms and actually smiled, and to Brod's surprise he laughed. It was a cruel laugh, but a farcry from his usual threatening or grim demeanor. "No fault of your own there, I take it? Why are you bringing me in on this? Because she's a woman?" Markus snorted. He grabbed the bowl and yanked it away from Brod's hand, causing the man to jump. "If this was Eckard you'd have laughed about it after a good tussle."

"You said we can't touch her!"

"You can't," Markus warned, all humor gone. "And if you were polite like I'm sure you weren't, she wouldn't have hit you. Get back up there and act like a man or I'll make you as manly as Eugene." The Captain advanced on Brod who scrambled out of the room, tripping over a chair and busting his lip on the floor. Impressively, he got up without missing a beat and launched himself through the doorway and up the stairs.

"So..." Markus said to Emmaline. "At least you still got some spunk in you. Don't press your luck, though. Things can happen on a ship that even a Captain won't be privvy to."

[Penny]

"Well part of the goal is to keep spunk out of me," Emmaline responded tartly. Morgan, who was taking a slug of from a battered leather flask, choked and then sprayed a mist of what was clearly rum across one of the guns. Markus arched an eyebrow and seemed about to comment when a shout carried down from the deck.

"Captain she's altering course!"

Markus shot Emmaline a look and then turned and trotted up the companionway onto the deck. Lacking any other useful occupation, and aware that Markus' presence was a better shield than bludgeoning Brod with a soup ladle would be if that worthy decided to take advantage of the ships distraction by a strange sail, Emmaline followed ducking her head to avoid braining herself on one of the crossbeams.

Whatever Emmaline had expected to see she was disappointed. The sloop, she hadn't yet been told its name, was heeled over to the wind, the deck slanting more noticeably by the minute. The chopping sea slapped against the side of the hull as the brisk south easterly wind filled the billowing sails. Markus' crew was busy, a dozen men were aloft, shaking out an additional sail from a yard, scampering out over yard arms along the guy ropes. A lithe looking younger man in a loose white shirt slid down a line to land barefoot on the deck before his captain. Like most of the rest of the sailors he was barefoot and sported prodigious callouses. An expensive looking spyglass, clashing incongruously with his ragged clothes, was clutched in his right fist.

"She's rigged like a Brettonian caravel, all squaresails and stunsails," the lookout reported. He was a handsome man in a boyish way, but his voice sounded like a weasel in the process of dying of consumption.

"Something is wrong though," the lookout went on, clearly realizing his captain was waiting for more information. Emmaline glanced out in the direction in which the lookout was enthusiastically gesticulating. For a moment all she could see was open water, but after a moment she thought she could make out a pale splotch on the horizon, something she would have dismissed as a whisp of cloud under normal circumstances.

"She altered course three points nor'west a minute ago, just about the time our sails would have been visible over the horizon," he finished breathily. Markus scowled his face suspicious and his gaze locked on the horizon before flicking up towards the fighting tops. Emmaline didn't understand why that was unusual, but it clearly struck the pirates as such.

"Nor'west," Markus muttered, turning to view the snapping pennant flag that flew from the rearmost mask, judging the wind direction.

"Taking a look at us, bold of 'em," Morgan opined, his voice still harsh with the rum he had ejected a few moments before. Emmaline, who through the winds of magic, was better attuned to magnetic north than anyone else present, thought she understood. The ship, whatever it was, had been running northerly with a following wind. When it had caught a glimpse of a sail on the horizon, it had turned into a less favorable breeze, deliberately slowing itself so it could take a look at the new comer while she was still far distant.

[POOHEAD189]

Markus had made his way on deck with the rest of the others just as they had called for the ship, eyes peeled on the horizon. He couldn't believe how fast that other ship was moving, and it caused murmurs amongst his crew. No Brettonian sailors moved like that, nor would their ship. But the ship certainly looked like a caravel. As the men stood there stunned, frozen as if by some spell, Markus unsheathed his sword. "I said nor'west!"

The crew leaped into action like a dog that had just been kicked. The younger man, a stow away named Oskar who had earned his keep over the last years amongst the crew, shimmied yet again up the mainsail to the crow's nest. The Captain needed to reward him with a pint once they hit the port. Markus gave Emmaline a look as Morgan approached, gauging whether or not if she was excited to be rescued or scared of being tossed onto another ship like a hooked fish.

"Looks like they're deciding for us, lad."

"Makes me job easier." Markus quipped, taking out the telescope again and watching the caravel approach. His quartermaster was right, of course. The ship was no longer curious. It was making its way toward them as quickly as possible. Brettonians knights might be honor-bound fools, but normal ship captains didn't have this sort of bravado. Not to mention it was making all speed to a (supposedly) Imperial vessel that had nothing to give it save loot.

"Von Morganstern. Get below decks." Markus said, not looking back at her. Whether she followed his orders or not, he didn't have time to notice.

[Penny]

Brettonians! Emmaline's heart leaped. She had met a few Brettonian Knights, they were a stiff necked lot and remakabley unsophisticated by Imperial standards, but there wasn't a one of them that wouldn't stab his own mother for the chance to rescue a genuine damsel in distress. Even if the ship owner were not a knight, the merchant class at least paid lipservice to the ethos of their betters. If they were to free her, it would be a simple matter to convince them to set her down somewhere agreeable, perhaps Courrene or Marienburg.

Of course this rescue fantasy relied rather heavily on the Brettonian's taking the ship and her surviving the process. For a moment she considered following Markus' order and retreating below deck to avoid a potential hail of arrows. On balance she decided she would stay on deck, incase the opportunity to leap to freedom, hopefully into the arms of a handsome knight, provided itself. Markus was shouting incomprehensible maritime jargon that sent men scrambling up into the rigging, reefing in some canvas and spreading out others. Ropes snapped and cracked as the ship swung further into the wind, heeling the deck higher as the speed of the vessel began to pick up.

"Never known the frog fuckers to trim their sails that neatly," Morgan commented to Markus, sounding uneasy. The ship was visible from the deck now, its massive forecastle rising up before a great blue and white striped forecourse. The distance between the two ships was narrowing rapidly. They raced towards each other on quartering angles as the winds demanded.