Fight!
Fight!
Fight!The crowd surrounding the brawl grew in volume two-fold; not only was it increasing in size, but it was growing louder by the moment. The odor of iron seeped into the air as blood was shed, to such a degree that an arm was thrown what seemed like hundreds of feet back into the harbor, splashing down as violently as it was ripped from its socket. It was as if an entire crew were fighting, not just a scuffle between a few disgruntled sailors. A mutiny? Was it a coup? Most sailors looked down on traitors and mutineers, so why would a crowd of hundreds circle around a group of mutineers chanting fight? It didn't matter. Almost as quickly as the violence increased, a deafening silence echoed from the crowd. It was sparked by a single, unmistakable sound. A sword clashing against metal, a shield or rail perhaps, but nevertheless, it was a blade. A blade followed by silence and finished by a quick shock wave that knocked back half the crowd, shoving them into the harbor itself.
"Anyone else?! Will anyone else raise a blade to the Rookie Judge?!The crowd and its silence were like a plague. It spread throughout the entire portion of the dock, even to those not interested in the fight itself. It was one of those tense moments where a small situation - an anthill of all things - had grown into a mountain, and it was blocking far more roads than necessary. While the scene may have caused havoc and even a brief pause to the entire Brass Cape harbor, that name should have echoed within the pirates. The Rookie Judge was a famous pirate, one of the legends first learned by even beginners. His word, his "judgement" would dictate how dozens of other pirates, including the biggest ships and even those that called themselves the Red Pirates, would look at you. His word, like his hammer, were rumored to have sealed the fates for countless pirates... while his approval had bestowed fortune onto others.
After a few moments of silence, a path was cleared in the crowd. It wasn't clear if this was instinctual or by his instruction, but its purpose was made real clear, real quick. From the very heart of the scene, a body was hurled back into the half-sunk ship. Pinning it was a gnarled sword, the wielder of it spewing blood and struggling against his impaled chest cavity. "If any man has the BRASS BALLS to fight me again, I'll be at the Glimmering Tin Tavern," the man shouted, albeit almost inaudibly to the StarDusk crew.