# Dead Man's Chest -- Spooky Pirate Fun -- COMPLETE! Nov 3/06



## barsoomcore

Okay, here we go. I'm running a campaign that is a mix of Green Ronin's excellent _Skull & Bones_ game, d20 Modern and good old Call of Cthulhu. Pirates going insane, was sort of the idea. 

The campaign inspiration came from trilobite's posted ideas on HIS Skull & Bones campaign. I just ripped him off, pretty much, so super props.

There's a campaign website online:

http://barsoom.hyboria.net/Pirates/Home.html

As per usual with me, this is an "interpretation" of the game rather than a particularly faithful recording of the game. I don't keep much in the way of notes during play so I end up making a lot of stuff up.

Dunno how regular them updates will be coming, but I'll do my best. Encouragement always helps...


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## barsoomcore

*Any Port In A Storm -- Part One*

_My Dear Wife:

The ship continues to make good time. Some adjustments to the placement of supplies has improved her handling a degree or two, and we are proceeding towards the Caribbean in excellent speed. Quin, one of the steadier hands, took a cast of the log yesterday and recorded eleven knots! I was very pleased.

With the Queen's letter of marque in hand, we expect to find plenty of prizes among the Caribbean islands, French and Spanish both. Privateers have made great fortunes in this business, the unfortunate Captain Kidd aside.

I am less pleased with the crew. Lieutenant Davis is a busybody without any respect for my position, and Lieutenant Fulcher is nothing but a scoundrel. The men are for the most part good, stout lads, but there are troublemakers among them that I must keep my eye on. Recruiting for a privateer venture always means accepting what hands turn out, but I fear more than a few of our crew are pirates passing themselves off as honest sailors. There are some strange characters indeed -- the West Indian cannibal, Ah Balaam, and the African mountain of intimidation, Horse (with his ever-present monkey, Bobo). The master-at-arms is a drunkard who carouses with the seamen and I suspect them all of plots and intrigues.

The passengers are worse. Mister Rupert Black, no doubt a spy for the investors, pretends to a depth of sea-faring knowledge he does not possess and is forever in danger of questioning my judgement. The other is a woman, Ana, a West Indian trollop who dresses like an English lady and is forever suspicious of Swope, the excellent surgeon we've been lucky enough to acquire.

We should reach our destination in another four weeks, God willing.

I have deliberated over writing this next section, for fear I should make you worry. But it is not in my nature to suppress truths, as you know, and I would have you know everything that I am experiencing.

Strange voices seem to speak to me at night.

Looking at those words on the page, it seems ridiculous. But I assure, when I lie half-awake in my cot, the ship tilting around me over the Atlantic swells, it is all too real. High-pitched and interrupting itself with giggles, but the voice is real, my dear.

How can I write this? What will you think? The things it says, darling. The things it tells me. The things it tells me to do.

We will reach Monsterrat in four weeks. If I fear for my health then, I will put in and take some rest. Do not fear, darling. I must go now -- something is scratching at the door. Something small._

*****

Star-flecked waves swept by beneath where Ana leaned over the rail, passing the stern of the Ascot Marine and lining up all the way off to the night-time horizon. Overhead, the maintopmast creaked as the complex array of ropes and sways and braces that held with massive machine together adjusted themselves to the Atlantic wind.

Ahead, somewhere, her people waited. Perhaps Priestess Hena was this moment preparing a morning sacrifice, piling fruit in a polished turtleshell.

"Sorry, what was that?"

She smiled at the mulatto boy Dras who was clinging to the shrouds above her, swaying with the motion of the ship.

"I said, that Ah Balaam gives me the creeps."

Dras swung down to the deck beside Ana. Dras was a slender youth with a quick grin that Ana had found the easiest person to talk to aboard the Ascot Marine. 

And Ah Balaam. The creepy mainlander, one of those fearsome Yucatans, with teeth he'd filed down to narrow points, stood opposite she and Dras, along the larboard rail, staring up into the night sky. Ana watched him reach out with his right hand and suppressed a gasp as a seagull swooped down and landed on his wrist.

Dras and Ana stared.

They weren't the only ones. Lurking under the jib stays, leaning against one of the nine-pounders lashed to the deck, the broad-shouldered Englishman known as Red glowered at the fierce-looking savage. Nearly invisible in the shadows, Red had already built a reputation on the ship as a savage, brutal bully, who inspired terror among the crew not only through his willingness to resort to any amount of violence in order to make his influence felt, but also because of his friendship with the most frightening man aboard the ship. Horse.

Quinn, trying to get some sleep in a cable round near the bowsprit, kept an uneasy eye on the heavy form of Red. And his other eye peering around for any sign of Red's terrifying counterpart. Nobody wanted to be near anywhere Horse was likely to be. Trouble followed the gigantic African, and those who failed to get out of his way seemed to meet up with nasty accidents.

Quinn had sailed his way around most of the ports of the Atlantic. He'd served on Dutch merchantmen and Norwegian whaling vessels, transatlantic packets and even on a couple not-exactly-legal "no questions asked" cargo runs along the Virginia coast. He knew pirates when he saw them, and Red and Horse and their cronies were definitely pirates. And pirates serving aboard the Ascot Marine meant nothing good, he was sure.

Further down the length of the ship he could see the subject of Red's current ire, the spooky West Indian topman Ah Balaam. Directly across from the pointy-toothed grin of that ugly son-of-a-dog Quin saw the dark, simple dress of the island girl, Ana. With her was the cook's mate, the boy Dras, obviously a half-breed, but a good chap nonetheless. They were also staring at Ah Balaam.

Quinn pushed his lanky frame a little more upright. Something was happening. To his surprise, he saw a seagull flutter in Ah Balaam's hand.

And then that crazy Indian bit the bird in half. With those pointy teeth of his.

And that's when Red charged down the deck, shrieking.

Not until the large chap with the bright red hair started hollering did Rupert Black look up from where he sat on the quarterdeck, recording his sightings in a leather-bound journal. There seemed to be some sort of commotion going on amidships.

"What's all this then? Come lads, behave yourselves."

Black picked his way down the steps to the main deck, where a circle had suddenly formed around the two struggling men.

Red had gotten in the first blow, but it was his face that streamed with blood when Black arrived, pushing through the building crowd to confront the two men.

"What's all this then?"

Just then Lieutenant Davis arrived, to the relief of Black. Davis grabbed Red and ripped him away from Ah Balaam, spinning him backwards into the strong arms of the bo'sun. He then grabbed Ah Balaam by the hair and yanked hard.

"That's enough, you two. No fighting."

Red pointed and hissed.

"He's a sorcerer, the black bastard. He's bewitching us all."

Dras and Ana shared a concerned look. Whatever Ah Balaam had been doing, it hadn't looked very wholesome.

Davis slapped Red.

"I don't care if he's Jack Darkly. He's one of our best topmen and you, Red, I don't want another word out of you."

Dras looked around at the gathering crowd, and jumped suddenly to discover Horse standing directly behind. The mulatto looked up past a broad expanse of muscled chest to a huge black face studded with ritual scars in dense patterns. On one cliff-edge of a shoulder squatted Bobo, the monkey's little face drawn up in an angry squint. Dras edged aside fearfully, tugging Ana along out of harm's way.

Black frowned as Davis spun, studying the surly faces around him in sudden concern. Horse. Red. Morrison, the master-at-arms. All of them pals, all of them with their heads together for the past three weeks. Black caught a whiff of Davis' fear. He swore to himself.

And then nearly swore out loud as Captain Hancock and Lieutenant Fulcher came bustling up the deck. Black wasn't the most experienced sea hand, but he knew trouble when he saw it. And Captain Hancock's blustering, fearful, arrogant manner spelled nothing but trouble for the crew of the Ascot Marine.

"You there, Mister Black! What's your business here?"

Black looked up as Hancock pointed at him, shouting. The captain's face was red with restrained fury.

"Nothing, sir. I heard a disturbance and came to see if I could help."

"Your help, Mister Black, is not required. Nor is your interference in the smooth operation of this ship welcome, do you hear?"

"I hear, sir. Excuse me."

Black moved away from the circle of sailors, noticing the young ordinary seaman Quinn doing the same. They converged and Quin spoke quietly.

"Captain's got everything in hand, as usual."

Black nodded as the Indian woman, Ana, approached them, along with the cook's mate, the mulatto boy Dras.

All four winced at each other as Captain Hancock's voice rose in a thin scream of fury.

"What's the explanation for this outrage, Mister Davis? Explain yourself at once!"

They looked down at the deck as Davis' answer was cut off.

"You are a fool, Mister Davis, and a suspicious busybody. These men were just engaging in healthy rough-housing. Good, stout lads, all of them. Enough of this. Back to your post, Mister Davis. At once."

Dras ventured a question.

"Did everyone see Ah Balaam bite that... bird?"

Black coughed.

"I did not. He bit a bird?"

"Yeah. A gull landed on his hand and he, uh, bit it."

Ana drew a breath and asked the question she'd been dying to ask.

"Mister Black, what do you think about the Captain's --"

Black cut her off.

"As you value your life, my dear, do not ask that question. Understand that there is nothing more important than the sanctity of the Captain's rank. If we question it, everyone will question it, and this ship will become a slaughterhouse. Keep your questions to yourself, Mistress, and pray we reach the Carribean alive."

Dras shuddered to hear such a bald statement of their position. And then stiffened. Looking back at the crowd, Dras could just make out the little capuchin squatting on Horse's shoulder. The damned monkey was staring right at them.


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## Gray Sage

Sweet, I can follow this Story Hour from the start. I'm also reading your other Story Hour, Barsoom Tales, though I haven't finished it yet.

Anyway, I just wanted to stop by to say that you're really good. You have a real knack for character portrayal and development. I'm envious.


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## trilobite

Ahhh more Barsoomcore goodness!!   

Thanks for the props! I cannot wait to see how you work things out or more to the point how your PC's handle things!


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## ledded

Damn.


Double damn. 

Man, you sure know how to get the ball rolling, don't you.

To *hell* with the other 2 story hours, focus all of your attention HERE. um, please?

I had no idea you had such a gift for creepiness... the letter was just plain fabulous.


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## tetsujin28

What, now you've got _three_ story hours? What are you trying to do, kill me with goodness?

And no, _do not_ forget about the other two


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## barsoomcore

_My dear:

Evil follows me. Those voices. I dare not write too much, lest the shuffling things see and read and know. I cannot sleep. I cannot rest. They come for me after dark.

They come for me!

All is ready for mutiny. The crew are shot through with foulness, even the good now mutter and cast their dark glances upon me. Their minds and hearts have been corrupted and I am alone. They plot against me. They hate me.

My dear, this voyage will destroy me. The crew will mutiny. The officers lead them to it. Only Swope stands by me. And even he does not know, as I know, the certainty of our doom. The voices have told me. All is lost.

But I will not be lost alone. I will not surrender this ship. If they will take me down, I will take them with me. And the voices.

The voices._

*****

It was a few days before Ana worked up the courage to approach Ah Balam about the incident with Red. She brought Dras along with her; the lanky youth's irrepressible cheeriness helped her confidence.

They found him lazing by the bowsprit one afternoon, spitting listlessly over the side. He scowled as they approached.

"Got nothing. Get away."

Ana seated herself on a coil of cable, leaning against the endless roll of the deck.

"Mr... Balam. We, um wanted to ask you..."

Ah Balam scowled so fiercely Ana leaned back and looked up at Dras for support. The youth swallowed and tried a friendly grin.

"Lady wants to ask a question, Balam. Stop being such a freak and listen, will you?"

With a grateful smile, Ana plunged back into her attempted interrogation.

"Now, Mr. Balam, I wondered what the point of that little episode the other night was. I very clearly saw you, um, BITING a seagull. Was that a, a ritual of some kind? What were you doing, exactly?"

Ah Balam smiled, revealing teeth filed to sharp points. His dark skin bore deep pockmarks and a dirty fingernail scratched at a pimple just beneath his lower lip.

"Yaxche. I called upon Kinich Ahau to bring us safely home."

Dras shivered. Dark eyes watched Ana lean forward curiously.

"What is Yaxche? I don't understand."

Ah Balam spat again.

"Islander. Savage. Your people root like pigs. The Lords of Yaxche watch over the faithful. The civilized. They protect us from the Demon Lords of Xibalba. Xibalba grows stronger. Xibalba rises. The Demon Lords are restless."

Dras considered the man with pointy teeth who called himself civilized.

"That sounds great. Thanks for that forecast."

*****

Black couldn't watch the flogging of Lieutenant Davis. The poor man's screams followed him into his cabin, however, and Black found himself below, on the gun deck, watching Aqbal the gunner train some of the younger crewmen in running-out procedures. The short, rotund black man wiped at his forehead as he shouted at the boys, barking out the sequence of commands over and over again.

Black watched, fascinated, as the gun crew performed the strangely ritualized actions of mopping, loading, priming, and running out the big eighteen-pounder at each round of commands. Aqbal watched his students with sharp eyes and snarled at the slightest mis-step, but once the exercise was completed he grinned with real warmth.

"Well done, lads. Tell Dras I said a ration for you each. Off with you."

As the boys scurried off, eager for their tot of rum, the gunner turned to Black.

"Mister Black. What can I do for you?"

"Mister Aqbal. You keep your guns in fine order, sir. Fine order."

Caution tugged at the older man's eyes. He stuffed his hankerchief in his shirt and folded stout arms across his chest.

"What can I do for you, Black?"

"Well, Mister Aqbal, I'm by way of being a keen sort of amateur ballistics engineer."

"Are you then."

"Yes, sir, I am. I thought that what with the action so likely to come upon us..."

Black watched the gunner's face carefully and noted the quick glance up to where Davis still cried out under the cruel hiss of the lash, the careful reassembly of features and the even stare.

"...I mean, of course in our privateering career as we encounter enemy vessels."

"Of course you did. What else could you possibly mean?"

Black smiled. "I see I am dealing with a gentleman of understanding."

Aqbal smiled back. "Understanding everything, Mister Black, except your purpose here."

Black pulled a sheaf of notes out of his sleeve.

"Have you made any study of explosive effects, Mister Aqbal? I have here some designs for anti-personnel explosives that I think might prove desperately useful in days to come..."

*****

Quinn made his way with practiced nonchalance across the dark, heaving interior of the ship. Faces watched him, half lit by swinging lamps, and voices all around murmured unpleasant secrets.

The Ascot Marine was an unhappy ship. Quinn wasn't the most experienced sailor aboard, but he had no doubt what was happening around him. Resentful and distrusting of the captain's unpredictable temper, the crew worked in sullen silence, only presenting the barest minimum of discipline. Lieutenant Davis, who seemed an honest enough man, suffered from constant public ridicule at the captain's hands, while Lieutenant Fulcher curried favour among the men while fawning to the captain whenever the deranged man in charge of the ship made an appearance.

But there was something else. Quinn had become aware of a fear that passed over men's faces when they looked to each other. He'd noticed how nobody went anywhere alone. How nobody even whispered a word of what was happening to their captain.

Stormy Jack sat at a ramshackle table with a few other old dogs, dicing without enthusiasm. The elderly Scot looked up as Quinn approached.

"Kiss off, arse-wipe. I don' know and I don' want to know you."

Quinn smiled and showed the flask in his hand, silently thanking Dras -- the cook's assistant and guardian of the rum. Jack's eyes widened at the sight and he nodded.

"Very well then, young fellow. Sit yourself down. What can old Stormy Jack do for you, then?"

"I understand you encountered some of our crew before. Before you joined up on this voyage."

The old man's eyes went narrow and angry. 

"Who told you that? Who says I did?"

"I heard it around. Is it Horse? Where did you meet Horse, Jack?"

Quinn offered the flask. For a second, fear warred with thirst on Jack's face, but the old man snatched the little bottle and gulped a few raw swallows. He wiped his mouth and looked around as Quinn yanked the flask back.

"No more. Where did you meet Horse?"

Jack leaned towards the younger man and grinned.

"Last summer it was, lad. I was a forecastle-man in the India Fortune, three days out of Barbados. We sight a strange sail, windward, and Captain puts 'er up but it's no good. Yonder sail's got the gauge on us and they means to use it. All hands make to the guns but there's not much fight in us, is there? Not when we sees the flag of Robert Bonar, the Black Bastard."

Quinn allowed another sip to wet the old man's throat.

"They come alongside and we get a broadside off but the men are afraid and it's too early, too far, and by the time we reload they're alongside. Come over the rail like demons of hell, boy. Demons straight from Hell. And that big Horse was right in the middle of them, leading them on. With Bonar next to him. And that Red son-of-a-dog, too. I heard Bonar shouting to kill us all since we'd dared to fire on them and those bastards laughed as they came."

A wizened hand clutched at Quinn's collar.

"But that wasn't the thing that chilled my heart, boy. No, not that day. It was Domino."

"Domino?" Quinn carefully detached the hand from his clothing.

"The Monsignor, he liked to be called, but he weren't no Catholic, no sir. Big black fellow like the size of that Horse, only rounder, if you know what I mean. Come aboard at Barbados, looking to disembark at Barbuda, only himself and three big casks he's ever so protective of. Walks right up on the deck, men slipping in their own blood, I seen him come up and look around like he was watching a tennis match, boy.

"I didn't wait to see what he'd do. I jumped right over the larboard rail and swam for it. Sharks were busy with my friends and a day later a Dutch trader fished me out.

"Horse and Red. They're pirates, boy. And they ain't alone on this ship, I can tell you that."

Quinn was about to respond when the shouting began overhead. A topman ran down the companionway and cried out: "A duel! Mister Black and the cook's mate are having duel!"

The gun deck cleared as the entire crew of the Ascot Marine swarmed up on deck to watch the fun.

*****

Dras grinned as Morrison came out of the armoury with the rapier. It was a beautiful weapon, all too incongruous in the hands of a mulatto cook's apprentice, but the youth took it up with obvious familiarity.

Black watched, amused, as the youngster gave a few experimental slashes through the air. The older man drew his own weapon, another rapier though not so fine as the one Dras held. He stood near the base of the mast, squinting a little against the intense sunshine.

"Boy, where did you come by such a weapon?"

"My father, sir."

Dras saluted with impish formality and the two took their guard positions. Black nodded to Captain Hancock.

"Captain, perhaps you could call _en garde_?"

He'd been accosted by the half-breed youth as he left Aqbal. Dras had noticed his rapier and asked if Black considered himself skilled with the weapon.

"Well enough, lad," had been Black's answer. Dras announced a certain level of skill at the fence and had asked for a chance to try out the Englishman's skill with a few passes. Black, rather excited at the prospect, agreed.

He'd been confident then, but now, watching the cook's mate relaxed stance and noting the youth's quick reflexes and grace, he wondered if this weren't a more even contest than he'd thought.

Dras tried to keep from bouncing in place. The sword was restless, shifting and twisting almost of its own accord, eager to lunge forward. Dras couldn't stop grinning. All around shouts of odds and offers of wagers rose in a good-natured chorus, and it was obvious the odds were favouring the wealthy Englishman heavily. Dras' grin grew wider.

"En garde."

At the Captain's listless announcement Dras leapt at Black, their blades clashing with a quick ring that silenced the spectators.

_Fast_.

Black scrambled to keep his defense collected. The youth was blindingly fast, and with such lanky agility the older man was hard-pressed to keep an appropriate distance between them. He tried a couple of probing thrusts to the upper body, only to find that Dras was not only fast enough to deflect the incoming blade, he had a damnable riposte that nearly pierced Black's skin twice.

The two duelists circled, smiles pressed on both their faces, the tips of their swords now flicking at each other in a restless rhythm as they studied each other after the first set of passes.

The lad was so fast Black nearly forgot to assess his other qualities. His technique was a little sloppy and he had no more strength to his cuts than Black, but his parries were impenetrable and his ripostes terrifying. Black studied the youth more carefully, trying a series of half-hearted thrusts, more to observe his opponent's reactions than to generate any real chances for victory.

The crowd watched in silence. Nobody had expected this much sport, this much talent to be displayed. That both duelists were experts with the rapier was clear to everyone. Topmen clambered up into the shrouds to get a better view, and the odds swung towards the cook's mate as the two circled.

Even the Captain's dour expression brightened noticeably as the contest progressed.

Dras waited. Sooner or later Black would have to open himself up, and Dras would make him pay. Memories of lessons with Uncle William and the old man's constant admonitions widened the mate's grin. Black lunged in, low. Too slow and too far. The tip of Dras' fine rapier lanced forward again and again, and each time Dras stomped forward, one-two, one-two, now high, now low, now with a beat and lunge and Black could only scramble backwards, knocking aside the thrusts with ever-wilder parries.

One flick and the tip slipped around a parry and the heart was wide open. Dras stepped forward and touched that nimble tip to Black's chest.

The entire crew exhaled. And then cheered, the sudden rush of noise sending petrels swirling up from the rigging.

"Well fought, Mister Dras."

The mulatto youth grinned and saluted.

"Well fought, Mister Black."

"There is more to you than meets the eye, it seems."

"I don't know about that," Dras chuckled, "I happen to think I look pretty fine."

Black looked around at the cheering crew and bowed in time with Dras.

"That was well done. The crew needed something to pick them up."

The youth nodded and spoke quietly.

"Ah Balam's some sort of Indian priest. Says the gates of hell are opening up."

"I think we can see them from here, lad. Stay alert."


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## Inconsequenti-AL

Well, you've got me hooked. 

Great stuff!


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## Eyas

Wonderful! Just wonderful. You have me hooked on this, your latest story hour as much as your other ones. Good job!


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## Terwox

This is tremendously cool.  Love the pirate atmosphere, it's very well done.  Keep it up!


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## ledded

barsoomcore said:
			
		

> The youth nodded and spoke quietly.
> 
> "Ah Balam's some sort of Indian priest. Says the gates of hell are opening up."
> 
> "I think we can see them from here, lad. Stay alert."



Now it's lines like that, delivered in that oh-so-cool Barsoomcore bantering style, that just *make* a pirate story, especially a creepy one.

I am impressed in a most unabashed manner, and hooked like a starvin' catfish on this story.

Bravo sir.  Monkey-freakin' bravo.


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## barsoomcore

Thanks, folks. Very cheering, indeed.

We're just about wrapped up on this game now (only one more session, methinks), so I can devote time to recording it rather than generating it. Stay tuned for some true swashbuckling excitement!


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## barsoomcore

_My name is William Hancock. My name is William Hancock. My name is William Hancock. My name is William Hancock. My name is William Hancock. My name is William Hancock. My name is William Hancock. My name is William Hancock. My name is William Hancock. My name is William Hancock. My name is William Hancock. My name is William Hancock. My name is William Hancock. My name is William Hancock. My name is William Hancock. My name is William Hancock. My name is William Hancock. My name is William Hancock. My name is William Hancock. My name is William Hancock._

*****

Ana stepped out of her cabin and looked up, startled, at the sudden nearness of Red. The brawny Englishman sneered and reached out to stroke the woman's face with a stained finger. Ana jerked back, and the two big fellows standing behind Red chuckled.

"Sweetheart."

Ana looked up and down the companionway. To her right doors led to the armoury and to the captain's cabin, and to her left a door opened onto the quarterdeck. Across the hall another door opened into Mister Black's cabin. Besides herself and the three sailors, there was no one else in the companionway.

Red closed in.

"You want to be friendly, squaw. Things gonna change around here, and you'll be happy you were."

Three of them, all grinning. Ana knew if she yelled chances were good that only more of Red's cronies would come to see what was happening. She wished Dras were around. The men pressed forward and Ana drew back into her cabin. The door was just a couple of slats, enough for privacy but by no means would it stand up to any sort of determined effort. Her knife and her bow were behind her, in a far corner of the room. They might as well have been back in England.

She considered trying to diplomatically convince the sailors to leave her alone.

One look at the advancing leers decided her.

"You keep your filthy hands off me, you foul son of a pig."

Red grunted in surprise. Whether that was due to Ana's display of bravado, or the cold muzzle of the pistol suddenly pressed to his temple, Ana couldn't really say.

Black spoke quietly, with complete assurance.

"You are troubling the lady, sir. Better if you left."

Red scowled and started to turn around to face Black, who'd come out of his room unseen and planted his gun against the ex-pirate's head. Black made sure the hammer was pulled back. The click seemed unnaturally loud.

Outside, Lieutenant Fulcher's voice rose in angry denunciation of the watch's performance. The ship rolled and creaked around them. The wind shifted a few points and they could hear the snap snap snap of the sails bellying to the new breeze.

"Better if you left, sir. I promise you."

Ana drew herself up to speak, but whatever words she was planning were lost in the sudden piercing scream that exploded from the captain's cabin.

*****

Dras and Quinn loitered by the bowsprit. The Ascot Marine hurtled in advance of a north-westerly, the bow breaking across low rollers in endless succession. The stern of the ship had become a zone no one liked to enter, ever since the captain's "breakdown" the previous day. Word had spread rapidly across the ship: the captain screaming at nothing, seizing weapons, accusing everyone aboard of mutiny. Other, darker things were whispered on the lower decks. Had the captain claimed to hear voices? Had he threatened to cut open his own head to show everyone what was happening to him?

Doctor Ignatius had refused to comment on the captain's condition, which of course ensured that the wildest of rumours were flying around the ship within seconds.

"Heard they had to tie him up. Only stopped screaming when Fulcher clopped him across the head." Quinn spat over the rail.

Dras lay back, eyes closed against the sunshine.

"Now what? Do we keep going or what happens?"

"Don't know. Nothing good -- hello."

Eyes open again, Dras sat up and looked where Quinn was staring. At the far end of the quarterdeck, Morrison, the drunken master-at-arms, came out of the companionway with an armful of pistols and cutlasses. Horse and Red followed, the little monkey clinging determinedly to Horse's shoulder.

Dras and Quinn looked at each other and nodded. They found the nearest grating and dropped to the gun deck. The three men they were following could just be seen through the gloom, descending yet again.

The Ascot Marine had stairs from deck to deck both forward and aft. Morrison, Red and Horse were descending the aft stairwells as Dras and Quin descended the forward, the two groups separated by a hundred feet of low-ceilinged, cramped quarters. Once they'd descended to the hold, there was nowhere further to go. The lowest hold only had one stairwell leading to it, amidships. Dras and Quinn crept carefully aft, making their cautious way around creaking barrels and crates. Rats scurried about in the darkness. Beyond the hull the Atlantic Ocean hurtled past in a dull roar.

Quinn tapped Dras' shoulder and pointed. Someone had lit a lantern up ahead, and in its glow the two could see their quarry heading down into the lower hold. Once the three men had completely disappeared below they both crept forward and peered down the stairs.

The lantern had moved away from the stairwell and as they watched its glow dwindled to almost nothing. Quinn and Dras shrugged at each other and slipped silently down the steps, separating without a word and creeping towards the glow from different directions.

"Why don't we kill the bastard? He's trouble."

Red's French was rough and accented. When Horse responded, he spoke with a thick African accent but was obviously a practiced speaker of the language.

"Do nothing until we give the word. Nothing. The time is not yet right."

"I get that Indian tramp, though. I get her first."

"Do nothing until we give the word. Disobey us again, Red, and there will be consequences."

Dras had gotten on top of a pile of massive sacks of grain and could just peer over the lip into the hollow where the three men sat glowering at each other. The cutlasses and pistols had been stuffed under a loose sack.

Horse spoke again.

"The Captain is not yet ready. Once we give the word, move quickly. You know who's with us and who needs to be eliminated right away. Over the side with the bodies and there's no one to say otherwise, is there?"

Dras' boot scraped noisily across the surface of a grain sack. In horror the youth watched as Morrison reached for the lantern and all went dark. There was a noisy scuffle of booted feet, then silence. And then...

Something skittered nearby. Something small. Dras felt a breath. Something giggled.

Quinn had been unable to get close enough to hear anything other than vague mumbles, but when the light went out he froze. In a sudden rush he heard a noisy exit from the hold as Horse, Morrison and Red sped through the darkness and up the stairs. Quinn stayed right where he was. For long seconds he held his breath, listening in the pitch-black hold as the ship creaked and groaned around him.

He concentrated, sure that he'd heard something. Something not quite right. Something... high-pitched. Like a child whispering.

A faint green glow developed over near where the lantern had been burning. Heart thundering in his chest, Quinn made his way toward it.

He stopped as he saw Dras sprawled supine atop a stack of grain sacks, some sickly phosphorescent glow coming from around the youth's head. As Quinn watched, horrified, the glow faded and the hold went dark again. Something skittered through the cargo and up the steps.

"Dras? Dras, wake up, kid."

"It speaks... The voice in the darkness... It speaks..."

"Hey, kid."

Dras sat up, arms wrapped tightly, and scuttled back from Quinn.

"No, don't touch me."

Quinn shook his head.

"It's okay, kid. You were... having a dream, or something. I guess."

Dras scrambled upright, and with a frightened stare, ran for the stairs and up out of the lower hold. Quinn watched for a second, then crept around the grain sacks to where the three men had been talking. He pulled back the flap of burlap and studied the seven cutlasses that lay there. The men must have taken the pistols with them.

Quinn recalled Black's words on mutiny.

"This ship will become a slaughterhouse."

He turned to head up the stairs and stopped cold.

Horse stood looking down at him. The former pirate's shoulders filled the companionway, his crossed arms bulging with masses of knotted muscle. Quinn swallowed. Horse looked big enough to EAT him. Raw.

The massive sailor snapped his fingers and two cronies with improvised truncheons in their hands stepped forward.

"Kill kim."

They descended the only stairwell into the lower hold where Quinn stood.

"You don't want to talk about this?"

*****

Ana and Black were staring at Aqbal when Dras came up from the lower decks, panting.

"There's-- "

Dras fell silent at Black's signal. The youth's brow contracted in a confused frown as the scene before them became apparent.

Aqbal lay sprawled next to one of the guns, dripping with seawater. Water poured off him and trickled across the deck.

The gunports were all closed. The rest of the gun deck was dry. Aqbal looked as though he'd been dragged behind the ship for an hour and then magically deposited here, without leaving a trail of water to show how he'd gotten to this place.

His eyes opened. Dras started and grabbed Black's arm in surprise. The gunner looked around without any apparent recognition. He spoke, his voice impossibly deep and resonating, but quiet, as though coming up from the very root of the ocean.

"The beast seeks the master of the dead. Follow the bell's ring but return not to where the creature awaits. The Lords of Yxche lie helpless, without riders or favours. The Loa may not interfere. You will help."

Ana nodded. Dras leaned forward and ran a finger along Aqbal's cheek.

"Agwe? Papa Agwe?"

Black looked back and forth between his two compatriots.

"Well, that seems clear enough. Where's Quinn?"


----------



## ledded

Wheeee!!!!  What a great update...

Cannot... take... the... tension... rooted... to... seat...


----------



## scourger

*very cool!*

Can't wait to read more.


----------



## barsoomcore

_If anyone reads this, know: Lieutenant Jack Fulcher is a murderer. Captain Hancock may not be dead yet but I have no doubt that soon, very soon, the evil men aboard this ship will take action, and then not only will the Captain come to the end of his life, so will many of us aboard the Ascot Marine.

I am resolved to meet my fate. I am Lieutenant Jason Davis, of Swindon, writing this now. Jack Fulcher struck our raving captain a fearful blow and now the man lies senseless these seven days past. He will not recover, I am sure. He was mad to begin with. And now the ship is leaderless and neither I nor Fulcher can fill the void.

Mister Rupert Black could, if only the ship were not crewed by the ignorant savages and bloodthirsty pirates Fulcher hired. There are some good men aboard, enough for a small crew, perhaps, but these pestilential demons will not rest until they have reduced this ship to nothing.

I have the letter of marque. Fulcher and Horse may have the ship, but I have the letter that makes the seizure of enemy ships legal. They did not even think to search for it.

And now I consign this note to the waves. May you who read it know the truth of what has happened aboard the Ascot Marine in April of 1703: A mutiny led by Lieutenant Fulcher and a man known as Horse has resulted in the deaths of Captain William Hancock and Lieutenant Jason Davis. Myself.

I only pray that I can spare the girl the fate these foul beasts no doubt envision for her._

Mutiny is, like all activities that involve large groups acting in concert, not so much an event as a relentless wave that builds momentum and breaks, crushing all in its path and driving the remains before it in chaos and bloodshed. Before that wave crests, there seem to be no end of possible ways to defuse it, to render it harmless. But once the wave has broken, once the thunderous power has been released, it cannot be stopped, controlled or directed. Only ridden.

The Mutiny on the Ascot Marine started building momentum in late April of 1703. It did not break however, until May 5th, when a little voice, high-pitched and sneering, whispered to Horse:

"It is time."

This came some days after he had decided to spare young Quinn's life.

Quinn had watched Horse's minions descend the stair into the hold where he alone stood. One glance at the massive African told Quinn that there was no mercy to be found there, so he turned his attention to the two sailors now approaching him with their cudgels raised.

"Nice sticks," said the young Irishman, who without warning turned and fled back to the cache of weapons that Horse, Morrison and Red had stored down here. His pursuers came behind, but not fast enough to catch him before he reached the stash and grabbed a cutlass, whirling to face them with the weapon gripped in both hands.

Fighting in the cramped conditions of a brigantine's lower hold was a unique skill, and one that Quinn had learned on earlier voyages. He was not a duelist like Black or the mulatto boy Dras, but he was quick and strong and, more to the point, he was facing certain death.

Now that they were confronted with an armed foe, the two sailors came on more cautiously. Quinn backed around a sturdy oaken pillar, and as the first of his enemies came around, leapt out with a wild slash. His blade cut into the man's arm, passing through and burying itself in the pillar.

A scream of pain and the hiss of a sudden flow of blood came to where Horse stood awaiting the end of the battle. Curses followed and another crack of steel on hardened wood, and the big pirate frowned. 

His frown deepened as one of his minions came staggering back clutching at his arm, and the other followed, truncheon held up to ward off the savage blows of Quinn's fear-maddened attack.

"Hold."

Horse stood looking down into the dark cargo hold. One man badly wounded and the other frightened. His reputation was starting to look shaky, and Horse had served many years on pirate vessels where authority lived and died by reputation. He grinned down at Quinn, who had ceased his wild swings and stood, panting, staring up the stairs.

"I'll have work for you. Later."

*****

Later. Horse never followed up on that threat, but Quinn played the part of cooperative minion for the next few days, steering clear of Black and the others.

But once the mutiny started, he knew he'd have to choose sides.

*****

The first Dras heard of the mutiny was a low thump from aft. The youth sat amongst other crew members on the gun deck. The deck was full from bow to stern with quietly talking sailors, and not everyone noticed the sound that caught Dras' attention.

The cook's mate eased up off the chair and turned to look back down the length of the ship.

Red and Horse and a half-dozen of their cronies approached, making their scowling way forward. Horse gave a quick sign and two of the men grabbed old Stormy Jack and with a single blow, struck off his head.

Dras recoiled violently, tumbling under the ramshackle table as the pirates approached. People froze in terror, and more sudden sounds of heavy falling told Dras that Stormy Jack was not the only one to suffer a sudden judgment at the hands of mutineers.

A few voices rose in protest, one man screamed, but thunks and clangs of violence were followed only by groans and hateful laughter. The deck thundered with sudden footsteps as crew members fled.

Dras watched from under the table as Horse and Red and the others stalked by. They stopped just past the youth's hiding spot, and Dras nearly cried out as he saw them grab Aqbal the gunner. The rotund African shouted inarticulately as Red struck him about the face. Horse stood with his arms crossed, the little monkey crouching on one massive shoulder.

"Take him up on deck."

Red chuckled.

"And the squaw's mine, remember."

They passed on. Dras scrambled out from under the table and ran for the stern companionway. They were after Ana.

The mulatto raced up on to the quarterdeck and burst into the companionway that led to the cabins. A dark fist pounded on the door to Ana's cabin.

"Ana! Mutiny! Red's coming for you!"

The door behind Dras burst open and the youth turned to find Morrison, face reddened with drink and bloodlust, rumbling down the hall. Dras fled across the companionway and into the armoury, the door having been left strangely open. A grab and the youth held up the rapier last used in the duel with Rupert Black.

Morrison took one look at the young mulatto holding the rapier, awaiting his entrance, and slammed the door shut. Dras heard the lock click into place and realized that, as the master-at-arms, Morrison had the key. The youth was locked in. Looking around, it was obvious that nearly all the weapons had been removed. All that was left was a thick-bladed dagger.

Dras looked over at the wall separating the armoury from the captain's cabin, then down at the dagger.

"I'm not staying in here."

The tip of the dagger dug into the panelling and with heavy strokes, Dras began chiseling through the wall.

*****

Ana sat up at Dras' yells. She'd been afraid of this day, for she knew Red had been preparing to deliver her to a fate she'd consider worse than death. The slender island girl snatched up her bow and her dagger, determined to sell her life dearly as she heard sudden crashes and voices in the hall outside.

Her hand went to the pendant at her breast. Kalamas the Turtle, deliverer of her Arawk people. She whispered.

"Kalamas, shield me. Don't let these savages take hold of me."

Fists and kicking feet slammed against the light door to her cabin.

"Come out, squaw. You're gonna show us all your secrets."

The door shook with another impact and Ana fell back into a corner of the room, clutching at her pendant, whispering over and over.

"Kalamas, shield me."

The door burst open and Red's ugly, sneering face appeared, backed by a host of cronies. They looked briefly around the room.

"Blast! Where's she gone?"

They left. Ana stayed huddled where she was.

"Kalamas, thank you."

The window was open. She climbed out and up.

*****

Black heard the screams. He was resting in his cabin, avoiding the midday sunshine, when a sudden thunder of panicked footsteps and voices rattled outside. There was a crack that could only have been a pistol shot, and the Englishman took a moment to load his own weapon and grab a shoulder-bag. With a quick glance inside the bag, Black spent a few seconds lighting a cigar before stepping out onto the deck.

Men surged in restless waves around the deck, and even up on the poop deck behind him. Black took in the scene quickly.

It was clear that the crew was polarizing. He could see Morrison towards the bow, brandishing a pistol and urging the less savoury members forward. Lieutenant Davis and some of the other hands were assembled not far from where Black stood.

Even as Black watched, Morrison lowered his pistol and fired. Davis fell backwards and men on all sides roared.

The deck pitched in the Atlantic rollers, sails overhead snapping in the spring breeze. Hot wind slapped at Black's face as he looked about, noticing the fear on the faces around him.

"Ascots!" he shouted, "To me!"

Shouts and confusion, another pistol shot and a roaring charge across the deck. Black found himself scrambling up to the poop deck with a couple of dozen sailors, Quinn among them, dragging the injured Lieutenant Davis up the steps. Below on the quarterdeck, Horse, Morrison and the others glared up at them. The drunk master-at-arms grabbed Lieutenant Fulcher and half-a-dozen mutineers.

"Through the captain's cabin! Up from behind, lads, while we keep them busy here! They'll not last long."

Black drew a bulky cylinder from his shoulder-bag, retreating to one side of the poop. Below him a window gaped open, giving him a view into the captain's cabin. He grinned and took a tug on his cigar, then touched the end to a thin cable that extended from one end of the cylinder.

It immediately began to give off sparks.

"Let's see who lasts how long."

*****

With a final wiggle and a last heave of thin arms, Dras collapsed into the captain's cabin. Standing up, the youth recoiled from the body of the captain himself, rigid and frozen in an expression of terror on the wide table that once had held charts and logbooks. Blood leaked from a terrible wound in the man's head.

Dras heard footsteps in the hall and hurriedly grabbed up the captain's pistols from where they hung on a peg. The door burst open to reveal Fulcher and six of Morrison's thugs, stopped in confusion at the sight of the mulatto.

"Excuse me."

Dras dove for the hole recently chiseled out of the wall just as Black's hissing, sparking cylinder tumbled in through the window.

There was a very loud bang.

Dras swore creatively and with enthusiasm. The explosion in the captain's cabin had demolished the partition wall between the cabin and the armoury, and Dras currently lay beneath the wreckage. With a great deal of effort the youth clambered free, spared no more than a glance for the moaning bodies in what was left of the cabin and charged down the companionway, drawing both pistols and bursting out onto the quarterdeck.

Overhead, Black was still chuckling at the effect of his homemade anti-personnel device. He looked down from the rail in surprise as the door directly beneath flew open and young Dras stood there, a pistol in either hand, leveled at the crowd of mutineers on the deck. Uncertain sailors retreated from the fierce look in the youth's eyes.

"Who wants to be first to die? I'll put a bullet in your face, Morrison, if you make one move. Just try me."

For a long few seconds, nobody moved.

Black leaned over the rail.

"We're up here, lad, if you want to join us."

In seconds the former cook's mate was up on the poop deck. The Ascot Marine was now a divided ship, with the mutineers in possession of all the ship except the raised poop deck at the stern, where Black and Ana and Quinn and Dras crouched with the injured Lieutenant Davis and another twenty or so loyal hands.

"They killed Aqbal. On the gun deck."

"Those bastards."

Quinn shook his head, and hissed, "Once they build up their courage they're going to rush us. We can't hold them off."

Black fixed the young man with a steady look.

"Then let's make them pay."

"Mister Black! A word with you!"

Only Dras recognized the high, thin voice that called from the quarterdeck. The mulatto's face went cold at the sound, eyes staring.

The others got up and went to the rail. Below they saw Morrison, Red and the massive Horse looking up at them. There was no sign of who had spoken. Horse held a gruesome bundle -- Master Aqbal's head, dripping blood on the deck.

Black called down, "Who wants a word? And what word do you want?"

"I do."

"Holy Mary, Jesus and the ass he rode to Jerusalem. It's the damned monkey."

Bobo the monkey bowed from his perch on Horse's shoulder.

"Indeed, sir. Now, you can see we possess advantages both in numbers and firepower. Your death, and the deaths of all those with you, is assured. But perhaps we can make an alternate arrangement?"

"We're willing to discuss terms. Even with a monkey."


----------



## LostSoul

Damned monkeys...


----------



## RangerWickett

At the risk of offending the others who commented on my storyhour, let me say that of all of their storyhours that I read, yours is the one that I am most interested in continuing.  You're an entertaining writer.  I'll no doubt offer more praise as I continue to read and catch up over the next few days.  *grin*

_Edited because I originally said weeks instead of days, before realizing there weren't as many posts here as I had thought._


----------



## Zaruthustran

Going from the Davis letter and the bit about crashing waves: could the PCs have prevented the mutiny from occurring? Seems like it would have been a good idea to arrange for Horse and Red & co. to have a fatal accident.

-z


----------



## barsoomcore

Had Horse et al met with a fatal accident, then yes, the mutiny might have been avoided. Captain Hancock's madness was pretty much a sure thing, though, and as long as the monkey was still around...

Horse was significantly tougher than the party really ought to have been able to handle -- they'd have had to come up with a pretty tricky/deadly plan to handle him. It was made very clear to them that fighting Horse was a BAD idea.

They were about 5th level -- he was about 10th. Along with his cronies (Red and Morrison were both 5th level, and they had a variety of 2nd-level mooks running around), he was strong enough that direct opposition wasn't really a option.


----------



## MonsterMash

Great story hour, but the players look not far off doomed.


----------



## barsoomcore

MonsterMash said:
			
		

> Great story hour, but the players look not far off doomed.



Funny, people keep saying that about my other Story Hour, too. You'd think I had some sadistic streak in me that delighted in tormenting my friends with their imminent demise.

Huh. Weird.


----------



## ledded

Man, I love this Story Hour like a fat kid loves cake.


More. Please.

Oh, and I used to have as one of the many maxims in my life, the phrase: "Why put a monkey in it? Cuz monkies are funny". I have now scratched a line through that one.  

You really are a quite gifted writer for these sort of things barsoomcore, and always come up with something I literally hunger to read more of. Sure, there are several other writers on these boards who give me that nice Story Hour pang, but you're the only one that has done it with 3 at the same time. 

Sheez man, it's guys like you who make me want to fold my own Story Hour back up and put it away before it embarresses me 

.


----------



## Desdichado

barsoomcore said:
			
		

> Funny, people keep saying that about my other Story Hour, too. You'd think I had some sadistic streak in me that delighted in tormenting my friends with their imminent demise.
> 
> Huh. Weird.



Oh yeah?  What's this, then?  And this?


----------



## threshel

Oh, man, this is great.
Please keep it up, you are a gifted man, and your players are gifted as well.

J


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## barsoomcore

Thanks, folks.

More coming up!

JD: That's mean. Between this and your "Your Story Hour Broke My Spellchecker" comment, you're easily my most obnoxious reader. Must be something in that there Detraht water.


----------



## Desdichado

barsoomcore said:
			
		

> JD: That's mean. Between this and your "Your Story Hour Broke My Spellchecker" comment, you're easily my most obnoxious reader. Must be something in that there Detraht water.



No, but it might be work.  Julie (my wife) is always claiming that being a buyer has turned me into a mean SOB too.

And if your characters all had names like Tom or Bill and they were Italians or Russians instead of Saijadani or Kishaks, the spellchecker would have been fine, I imagine.  I only brought that up as a point of interest!    I actually didn't know that Word's spellchecker did that, so it was interesting to me, at least.

Oh, and in just in case it's not understood that this is all in good fun, 'coz it's often hard to tell online, well, this is all in good fun...


----------



## barsoomcore

Oh yes, all good fun. Heck, this is more fun then smacking people around in the "low-magic" thread. And I'm having some fun over there, no kidding.


----------



## Desdichado

Yes, that thread has made you my new idol.


----------



## ledded

barsoomcore said:
			
		

> Oh yes, all good fun. Heck, this is more fun then smacking people around in the "low-magic" thread. And I'm having some fun over there, no kidding.



You said it... I've been following that thread with lots of smiling and fun.

You have been setting a few folks on their ears over there.  It's nice to see a few of those fellas open up the old brain-bucket and let something new leak in there.

Now enough with the debate... update man!


----------



## barsoomcore

Quinn watched the longboat pull away from the pier, wondering if he'd made the right choice. With him stood Black, Anacoana, the mulatto Dras and the injured Lieutenant Davis. They stood on a narrow wooden pier extending from the gravel shore of Firewatch Island, a tiny spit of rock and sand of the north tip of Barbuda. The Ascot Marine lay off shore, awaiting the return of the longboat.

Bobo the monkey had explained things very clearly.

"The island's home to a black son-of-a-dog who stole my hard-gotten gains some time ago."

There was something deeply terrifying about the high-pitched voice speaking with such seriousness. His words were punctuated with occasional yelps and squeals.

"You'll go ashore, you'll find my riches, and you'll have them waiting on that pier by sunrise tomorrow. Or we start throwing your friends overboard."

And now they stood with their backs to the decrepit structures of Firewatch. They turned as one to contemplate a walled compound, within which lurked a leaning, vine-covered building of two stories with a bell tower on one side. The compound lay between the two spurs of rock that rose up out of the ocean here and formed the island itself. Beyond the buildings they could just make out the shore of Barbuda itself, a desolate-enough-looking place.

"Let's find a place to get the Lieutenant comfortable," said Black, offering the injured man a hand to lead him towards the walled compound. Dras and Quinn moved ahead while Ana helped Black with Davis. Slowly the little group crossed the tough grasses of the island soil, making their way towards the compound.

At first Dras had thought the gates were open. Which they were, after a fashion. The compound wall allowed entrance through a single arched gateway, which lay open -- the gates half-shattered and strewn about the inside of the compound. Dras and Quinn shared a glance and immediately drew their pistols.

Between them and the building two rows of unhealthy-looking apple trees rose, twisted and still carrying the ripe sweetness of spring. The front door of the building inside faced them beyond the trees. It, too, had been broken down. There were no signs of life.

Ana knelt and studied the splinters of the gate. She looked up at the others.

"This hasn't been broken very long. A day or so at most."

"I don't like this. Let's leave the Lieutenant here while we look inside."

Black and Ana guided the injured sailor under one of the apple trees and then they and the other two moved towards the front door. They stood looking in for a few seconds. The doors here, heavy oaken panels, had been splintered inwards as though by a battering ram.

Black studied the wreckage for a second.

"Somebody was trying to shore this up. There was a fight here."

Quinn spat.

"Let's hope it's over."

They moved inside, stepping over jagged panels of blasted oak. Beyond the entrance they found themselves in a broad chamber that reached up to the ceiling, surrounded by a wooden balcony reached by a flight of stairs.

Ana pointed at the flagstones. Masses of blood lay pooled here and there, and footprints tangled all about.

Dras turned and peered through a half-open doorway. With a quick motion, the mulatto led the others into a kitchen. The youth tucked away the pistol and immediately set about opening cupboards and assembling ingredients.

The others stared.

"Dras, what are you doing? This is no time for a meal."

The mulatto pointed outside where the sun slowly approached the horizon.

"Sun's going to be down soon," Dras' voice seemed higher-pitched than normal, "and Agwe likes his dinner at sunset. I'm going to cook him up something. Agwe tried to warn us once already, friends. Maybe we ought to thank him for that. Could be we'll be glad we did."

The others continued staring. Black spoke.

"I have no idea what you just said, lad, but you be about it right sharp. Very good." Nodding to the others, he indicated the rest of the building. "Let's have a look around while the lad... does whatever he's doing."

The stairs creaked as they mounted to the balcony. A number of doors led out from here, and they creaked their way along the unsteady timbers to the nearest. All three looked at each other, and shrugged.

Black pulled the door open. And yelled immediately, as something dug into his ankle.

His yell got even louder as he looked down and saw the top half of a wizened man clawing at his leg. Black recoiled so violently he nearly went over the railing.

The top half half of a wizened man began crawling towards him.

"Holy Mary preserve us. What in the name of -- "

There was a thunderous crack as Quinn leaned down and discharged his pistol into the thing's head at point-blank range. It slumped to the floor.

Quinn looked up.

"If it wasn't dead before, it sure is now."

Black could only nod, still trying to get his heart to slow down. He bent to study the thing.

The top half of a wizened man appeared to be exactly what it was. His flesh was weathered and hardened like driftwood. Its fingers ended in bony claws and its teeth, to Black's horror, had been filed to sharp points.

And it was the top half. There was no sign of the thing's hips or legs. Black peered past the horrible thing into the room. He and Ana and Quinn advanced inside.

It appeared to be a bedroom. There were signs of a struggle -- furniture broken and strewn about, drawers pulled out and dumped, and a number of broken bits of bone and flesh. Possibly enough to make the bottom half of a wizened man.

"What the... What sort of place is this?" wondered Black. "And what was that thing?"

Ana shuddered. "Zombi."

Quinn and Black studied the Arawk woman for a second. Then nodded.

"Yep. Zombi."

They looked through the room. Black browsed a bookcase and pulled out a slim volume bound in black with a French title.

"Le Roy Danz Leh June? Either of you speak-- "

Black's voice stopped suddenly and the former shipping inspector collapsed to the floor. Ana and Quinn turned to study his limp form. Ana caught sight of the book's cover and shuddered, giving an involuntary cry and springing back. Quinn frowned and tugged the book from under Black's leg.

The cover seemed to shift weirdly before his eyes, and Quinn was filled with the sort of unreasoning horror that the sight of maggots inspires. With a shudder he dropped the book and kicked it under the bookcase.

"Black? Come on, sir, there's a good fellow. The book's gone now."

Black uncurled himself and staggered to his feet.

"Can't honestly explain that, friends. The book seemed to... well, I don't quite know."

"We saw it, too."

"Should we look at the rest of this bookshelf?"

Quinn shook his head.

"No, I think we should not. I think I don't need to see anymore."

Ana reached out and took out a roll of parchment from the case. She unfurled it and read intently.

"The Mist of Xibalba. Wasn't Xibalba a place that Balaam was talking about it?"

Quinn nodded.

"That's right, ma'am. Xibalba. Hell. Where the Demon Lords live."

Ana studied the scroll a little more closely.

"I think this is supposed to protect us from them."

"Let's keep it, then. Just, you know, in case of Demon Lords."

Black looked around the room, filled as it was with strange totems and fetishes, shrunken heads, icons and symbols of unsavoury appearance.

"Who on earth lives in this place?"

*****

In the kitchen, Dras stirred a sizzling pan filled with sliced onion and garlic. With a heavy mortar, the youth pounded some peppercorns into powder and shook that into the pan, smiling at the pungent aroma released.

The fire in the stove was burning merrily, flames licking up through gaps in the cast-iron top. Dras reached out for some sliced carrots and threw those in, tossing them quickly as the edges browned in the hot oil.

Dras had learned to cook as a child, in the ghettos of Port Royal, and had found the skill a handy one for getting aboard ships bound hither and yon. One dark hand brushed the rapier's hilt. Father's sword. Dras had gone back to England, looking for Father. Father hadn't been happy to see his half-negro child.

Dras left England, swearing never to return. Aboard the Ascot Marine. And now, cooking on an island full of dead bodies.

With a frown, Dras looked around. Not so much full of dead bodies as... empty of dead bodies. Plenty of blood lay pooled around, but there was no sign of any dead bodies anywhere. The frown darkened.

Dras had acquired the habit of speaking to the stove while cooking.

"Where is everybody?"

"I don't know."

Dras screamed.


----------



## xrpsuzi

Man, I have to stop publishing. It's cutting into my story hour time 
Pirates... insanity....dark primordial forces....
If only we could add vampires and make it a musical.... Call it the Vampirates!
Thanks for the stories Barsoomcore. I got caught up on the other thread, but I still have more of the stewardess game to catch up on. As always, a pleasure.

Bumping so I can dig in tomorrow morning.


----------



## barsoomcore

Hey, thanks!

I'm always up for adding vampires and show tunes. Mm, tasty.


----------



## ledded

barsoomcore said:
			
		

> Hey, thanks!
> 
> I'm always up for adding vampires and show tunes. Mm, tasty.



I'm so pretty...
oh so pretty...
I'm so pretty and witty and full of friiiiight!
And I pity 
Any girl who's with me tonight.   

Mu hua ha ha ha!


ahem.

Well shoot, I saw that you posted and then rushed in here to find that we're just talking about musicals and not updating, which obviously slung me right into a big nasty patch of temporary insanity.  Update, or I shall be forced to jump into numbers from the HMS Pinafore <shudder>


----------



## barsoomcore

Consider yourself forced. THAT'S something I'd pay to see.


----------



## ledded

_"I've treacle and toffee, _
_   I've tea and I've coffee,_
_Soft tommy and succulent chops;_ 
_I've chickens and conies, and pretty polonies,_
_And excellent peppermint drops."_ 


(There's just something so... naughty... about that part)

please update soon... save me from the horror of the musical...

must be this darn hurricane knocking me off line for a couple days


----------



## barsoomcore

Dras, standing at the kitchen counter, turned to find the pantry door open and a woman standing there.

She was white, and small, and dressed in a few filthy rags. Her terrified eyes studied Dras with trepidation and one hand clutched at the doorsill.

"Where did you come from?"

Dras peered past the woman into the large pantry beyond. The mulatto chef had been in the pantry numerous times preparing the feast for Papa Agwe, but there hadn't been anyone hiding in there before. The woman nodded.

"Under the potatoes."

Dras frowned.

"There aren't any potatoes."

The woman nodded and headed back into the pantry. Dras followed, wiping oily hands on a borrowed apron, to see the woman heave open the lid of the potato bin and clamber inside. Looking in, Dras saw the back wall of the bin lever up and expose a narrow shaft descending into the rock.

"Clever. What's down there?"

The woman's voice was flat and empty.

"Treasure."

"Hang on."

*****

Newly assembled in the pantry, the four companions from the Ascot Marine peered into the potato bin.

"Treasure?"

Black was still a little woozy. He leaned on the planks of the bin and frowned at the girl.

"You say there's treasure down there? Whose?"

"Monsignor Domino's."

Quinn frowned.

"That name rings a little brass bell, yes it does."

Ana replied before Quinn could retrace his memories.

"It's the name of that crazy hougan Stormy Jack ran into, same ship he encountered Horse and Red."

"We're on some sorcerer's island?"

Black opened his mouth to scoff at Quinn's suggestion of sorcerers. He considered the top half of a wizened man, a black-bound book and a talking monkey.

"Seems to be the case, lad. Fortunately for us, he seems to be out. If his treasure is down below, let's have a look."

Dras shrugged and turned back to the kitchen.

"I've got an offer to make for Papa Agwe. You folks see about the treasure, I'll see about our future."

Quinn and Black eyed each other with a grin, and Black bowed, chuckling, giving way to the younger man, who scrambled into the bin and lowered himself into the shaft.

Black leaned over to watch.

"What can you see?"

Quinn's voice came echoing up from below.

"It goes down quite a ways... thirty feet, I'd guess. Walls are damp. Slippery-like. But it opens out... there's a light down here. Oh, and a -- "

Quinn suddenly broke off in a high-pitched scream. Black turned to look at the girl, who nodded in her numb fashion.

"What's going on down there?"

"He's being attacked by the zombi."

"Zombi?"

The screams continued.

"To guard the treasure."

"We should probably ask you a few more questions. Once our friend is safe."

Black levered himself into the shaft and was about to plunge down after Quinn when the girl put a hand on his wrist. She passed him a wooden pendant on a greasy bit of string, and smiled.

"Okay. Thanks."

Ana watched with a worried expression as Black disappeared. There was more yelling, not quite so desperate this time. Black's head emerged from the hole, wearing a glare that was directed at the girl.

"Now we need to ask you a few questions."

*****

"My name is Elizabeth Mallory. My husband James and I were bound for Antigua. Pirates took our ship, and... and I came here. Mister Domino brought me."

Ana brought the girl a cup of water. They'd found some undamaged chairs in an otherwise devasted dining room and she was sitting on one while Black, Quinn and Ana hovered uncertainly, listening.

The afternoon had worn on and the sun's rays slanted sharply across the wreckage-strewn chamber, piercing the nailed-up boards that blocked the windows. The stink of blood was still clear in the air.

Black asked, "Who is this Mister Domino?"

The girl's eyes widened in terror.

"He's the worst man, sir. He's a demon. He brings corpses to life, like you saw, and he says the foulest things to me. He says I will serve him and I'm so afraid..."

"It's okay, child," Black patted her shoulder, never at his best with crying women, "We'll take you away from here."

Quinn, his face drawn up in a scowl, leaned forward.

"What happened last night? Why were you down in that cellar?"

"Something came here. Last night. Something terrible. I'm sure it will come again tonight."

Black considered the destroyed barricades that had once sealed off the front doors of the mansion. Barricades that had been torn apart and thrown down, but that nevertheless provided some measure of protection.

"Let's get to work. I'm in no mood for something terrible."

*****

Dras stood at the top of the gravel beach, watching the waves come rolling in and tumble over the platter of roasted vegetables, decorated with flowers and what festive sorts of objects the youth had been able to find. The sun was just setting behind Dras, casting a lurid glow across the dark waves.

"Agwe, I'm afraid. Thank you for your warnings and your care. I hope you will protect us tonight. Please."

With a brief bow the young mulatto turned and headed back to the mansion, unaware that a figure had risen from the waves. A figure dripping with seawater and ichor, its face rotted and festooned with barnacles and waving branches of seaweed. It hissed, and dozens more crawled up onto the gravel beach, watching the youth disappear into the compound beyond.

The sun set. The figures started forward.

*****

"Just put the damn thing on, lad."

"It's ugly. And creepy."

Black glared at Dras.

"And it evidently renders us invisible to certain members of the undead, so put it on."

"Fine, fine."

The dark-skinned youth took the greasy string with the strange wooden pendant, and despite obvious misgivings, put it on.

"Now what?"

Black pointed up the stairs where Quinn and Ana were struggling with a large copper tub.

"Upstairs. We've rigged the stairs to fall, in case they get in. Did you get done your... thing?"

Dras nodded and was about to speak when there suddenly came a heavy crashing at the barricaded front door. Black grinned.

"Our guests arrive. Please, after you."

Pistols were drawn from belts and hammers pulled back as Dras and Black joined Ana and Quinn at the top of the stairs. Everyone stared down into the central hall, watching the shuddering of the front door. Dras frowned.

"Where's Elizabeth? And if these pendants make us invisible, why are we hiding up here?"

Ana scowled as she answered.

"Elizabeth went back into the treasure hole. She thinks we'll die up here."

Quinn chimed in, "Apparently whatever those things are out there, these pendants don't help against them. Elizabeth says that yesterday there were about twenty people living here, with a bunch of Domino's zombis running around. Now they're all dead."

Crash crash crash went the front door. Dras' voice got a little high-pitched again.

"How do we know they're dead? And where in the Devil did those things come from? I was just out there, there wasn't a soul around. There's nowhere to hide on this island."

"Perhaps," said Black politely, "If you ask again, even louder this time, they'll hear you and explain."

The door downstairs burst open. Ana and Quinn both muttered curses.

In through the shattered panels of the door shambled hideous figures, deformed and dripping. The fetid stink of brine and rot filled the air. Black choked.

Dras shuddered. These things were long, long dead, the bodies of drowned seamen given foul animation through sorcery. The cook's mate cried out in disgust and fired a pistol.

The bullet smacked into one of the figures, blowing a hole right through the thing's water-logged body. It looked up at the four. Its eyes were hollow sockets where white grubs writhed.

Two others found the stairway and made their lumbering way up the unsteady wooden steps. They were half-way to the top when Black pulled on a length of rope and a post tilted out from underneath, sending the entire construction plunging to the flagstones below, crushing the horrible creatures under heavy beams.

Quinn cheered.

"Lucky these beams are so rotted."

Ana frowned as several of the undead creatures took hold of one of the posts supporting the balcony she and her friends were standing on. They began to shake it, and the whole balcony wobbled.

"Maybe not so lucky."


----------



## barsoomcore

Just in time for Talk Like A Pirate Day!

Arrrr... Blow me down, laddies...


----------



## ledded

Great update! Ah, nice tense moment to end on...

EDIT: oops, I meant "Avast ye scurvy dogs, tis a fine piece o' gum-flappin' ye be spreadin' 'ere... yarrrr", but I'm a day late.


I knew Pinafore would work... I just knew it...


----------



## trilobite

barsoomcore said:
			
		

> Hey, thanks!
> 
> I'm always up for adding vampires and show tunes. Mm, tasty.




 Hey I know it's your game barsoomcore but please don't let the MVC break out into song! And for those who don't know who the MVC is just you wait!   

 Great Story hour! You are a wonderful writer. I would love to be in one of your games! 

_ "The Mist of Xibalba!"_ boy are they in trouble!!   


 How is your game going? Everyone, yourself included having fun with it?


----------



## BSF

OK, I finally breakdown and read Barsoomcore's Spooky Pirate fun story hour.  What can I say?  Damn!  This is terrific. 

Can I have more?

Please?

Pretty please?


----------



## barsoomcore

Yes, you can have more. But wait your turn. "Barsoom Tales" gets the next cookie.

trilobite -- Hey, there! No worries -- MVC utterly failed to break out into song. This campaign has ended, actually. It ran for eight games and was an absolute hoot. Thanks for the inspiration. 

For those who don't know, the whole thing was trilobite's idea in the first place. I'd gotten a copy of Skull & Bones and didn't really know what to do when he posted a campaign idea so cool I immediately stole it. So thanks for that.

led: Show tunes are always a killer for me. What can I say? I long ago embraced my inner drag queen.


----------



## BSF

barsoomcore said:
			
		

> Yes, you can have more. But wait your turn. "Barsoom Tales" gets the next cookie.




But I haven't started the Barsoom Tales Story Hour yet.  (Yeah, I know, the response will be "go read it."  I just need to set aside good chunks of time to read your stuff.  Some stuff I don't mind being interrupted while reading.  Other stuff, I do mind.)  If I promised to put in a good word with Mary Poppins about you, would you update this one sooner?


----------



## barsoomcore

Wait.

You have pull with the Nanny? Hm. She IS practically perfect in every way.

Throw in a golden retriever puppy and a couple of show tunes and we might have ourselves a deal...


----------



## barsoomcore

Black nodded in agreement with Ana's comment.

"Quite right, miss. Time to go."

He gestured to a door and Dras, without sparing a second glance downstairs, yanked it open and charged through, followed by Ana and Quinn. Black stayed for just a second longer, watching the foul creatures begin tearing apart the balcony, and leapt through the doorway just as the planks beneath him gave way.

Behind him, wretched creatures dripping seawater moaned and struggled up the pile of collapsed lumber.

Black shut the door, which now stood above eight feet of blank wall. He turned to find his terrified friends in a narrow hall that ran along the back of the house, with narrow windows overlooking the rear garden. More shapes shambled up from the surf as they watched. Quinn pointed to a rowboat moored to a decrepit pier.

"We could row to Barbuda. We'd be sheltered by this island the whole way, those bastards on the the _Ascot Marine_ would never see us."

Dras considered.

"Well, maybe on a day when the island isn't crawling with monsters."

Black opened the next door down the hallway, Ana following him closely. They found a study or an office, nicely furnished with a wide desk and comfortable chairs. And three dead bodies. A letter lay unopened on the table, next to a notebook. Black grabbed both and continued down the hallway. He turned back to see Dras and Quinn still standing by the door they'd entered the hallway by, discussing how to get the rowboat over to the island of Barbuda.

"Gentlemen? I believe those things out there are capable of climbing walls."

Processing the information took a second. Dras was first to speed down the hall to where Black and Ana stood waiting. Around the corner they could see a heavy oaken door, set in a curved stone wall.

Black nodded.

"This must be the entrance to the bell tower. Good, solid construction."

The door they'd come through began to shudder behind them under heavy impacts. Dras pushed open the oak door to the tower.

"I hope it's solid enough."

Inside they found a storeroom with racks of elderly muskets but sadly, no gunpowder. Rustling behind some barrels Quinn came up with a rusty cutlass, then helped Dras and Black drag some of the heavier stores in front of the door. Dras gestured to the staircase that led up out of the storeroom.

"Ana, can you see if there's any of those things upstairs? Just scream, we'll know what it means."

The island girl nodded and made her cautious way up the stairs.

There was no scream. Dras frowned.

"Did you hear a thump?"

Quinn and Black shook their heads.

"Didn't hear a thing."

"Quiet. Those things are looking for us."

"I think I heard a thump."

"Quiet."

The three looked at each other, looked at the stairs where Ana had disappeared, looked at the door braced with several hundred pounds of dry goods, and looked at each other again.

And all jumped at a sudden pounding on the door.

They sprinted for the stairs. Dras had to leap aside at the top of the steps, however, to avoid stepping on Ana's limp body. She'd fallen to the floor, but showed no signs of injury. Dras looked up at the others, to see them staring across the room and looking ill. The youth started to turn to see what they were looking at, but stopped. 

Standing up slowly, turned away from the far wall, Dras asked carefully, "What is it?"

Looking past his shoulder, Black could only grunt. The big Englishman started to sink to his knees. Dras felt a very real chill. Quinn wasn't faring much better but managed to hiss, "The skull... on the shelf... skull... cover it..."

Dras grabbed Back's hankerchief and backed up until finding the far wall. Covering one hand with the hankerchief, the mulatto reached up and found a shelf, and sitting on that, something large, heavy, and very smooth. The contact through the hankerchief made the youth's skin crawl and with a quick motion, the cloth was wrapped around the thing and it was lowered to the floor. 

The chill in the room immediately subsided. A sack of apples lay next to Dras and the cloth-wrapped object slipped into it easily, and everyone stood up.

"That was odd."

Black was about to say more, but the sudden pounding and crashing from below galvanized everyone into action, and they leapt for the next staircase, scrambling upwards even as they heard the door below begin breaking open.

"What are we going to do? Those things aren't stopping!"

Dras tried not to scream, lugging the apple sack as they all sprinted up and emerged onto the top floor of the belltower, an open space topped with a conical roof, where a massive brass bell hung. On all sides they could see the dark ocean, breakers ghosting faintly off the distant shore of Barbuda. The moon, nearly full, hung blindingly white and huge in the night sky, the shimmering trail of its reflection leading southeast towards the dark mass of the larger island. Black looked around in all directions. There was no sign of help.

And below, they could hear the door giving way. Horrible, moaning voices cried up from the darkness.

Black started reloading his pistol. Quinn and Dras immediately followed suit. Ana looked down.

Nearly forty feet below, the peaked roof of the house lay against the wall of the tower. The roof looked unstable and tiles were missing all over. She immediately began knotting a rope around one of the pillars supporting both the roof and the great bell. Down in the garden she could see slouched figures shuffling unsteadily, their misshapen forms sending a shudder of revulsion up her back. She recalled the terrible images she'd seen as that crystal skull had bored into her mind.

_Feathers shook, rattling with dry menace. The obsidian blade glinted with black radiance. Breath hissed out.

"Lel... Za... Bol..."_

"They're coming."

Unsteady footsteps sounded on the stairs below. Dras and Quinn peered down, waiting with tense faces, then both pointed their guns and fired almost simultaneously. Something tumbled and crashed, but more footsteps came rumbling upwards. The two sailors backed away from the stairs, stuffing their pistols into their belts and transferring their swords to their right hands. Black held his first pistol steady and fired, then switched guns in his hands and fired the second.

The reports were echoing back from the rocky peaks of the island as undead creatures swarmed up the stairs. Ana drew her knife, standing with her back to the tower edge as the other three struggled to drive the rotting, brine-soaked horrors back down. She could hear Quinn swearing steadily, directing heavy chops with his cutlass. Bony feet clattered on the wooden floor of the bell tower as the monsters pressed forward, driving Quinn around one side of the bell and Dras and Black the other.

For each corpse they managed to cut down, another two seemed to clamber up to join the struggle. From all across the island the small band could hear moaning cries as more and more of the foul creatures began heading to the tower.

"There's too many of them!" shouted Dras, trying to use Father's fine rapier as a chopping weapon and having very little success. Claws grabbed at the youth's shirt, tore fabric and cut flesh. Dras screamed, high-pitched and terrified.

Black grunted and pushed the slender mulatto behind him, facing the oncoming creatures alone. He took a dirk in his left hand and charged into the press, using his fists and knees as much as his blades, knocking the things down and breaking them apart any way he could.

Quinn drove his opponents back for a second and whirled, panting wildly, to find Ana just behind him. He looked up and noticed the beam and heavy ropes supporting the massive brass bell. Inspiration struck.

"Get up on the wall! On the window ledge, get up on the ledge!"

Yelling, he scrambled up the pillar and balanced out along the beam to where the ropes wound around the thick wood. He raised his cutlass and began chopping the cable.

Dras realised what he was doing and leapt up onto the low ledge that formed the wall of this topmost tower floor. The wall was perhaps eight inches thick, dropping off to the ground far below.

Cable parted beneath Quinn's frantic cuts. Black, still fighting madly, looked up as the bell began to tilt. He looked down at the flimsy wooden planks that formed the floor of this room, and struggled to free himself from the battle, backing towards where Dras stood balancing on the edge.

Ana had clambered up onto the edge and stood clutching a pillar for support. She saw the undead creatures, unaware of Quinn's efforts, turn to her and start forward. She had to let go of the pillar, back away, but it was so far down on the other side. Ana sank to her hands and knees, crawling backwards along the curve of the tower wall, her eyes locked on the pillar she was slowly moving away from.

Not as slowly as those horrible creatures were approaching her. She couldn't bring herself to look at them any more than she could bring herself to look down to her right where the weathered roof tiles of the house waited for her to lose her grip.

Dras frantically reloaded and fired right past Black's head, blowing a kelp-festooned skull to pieces. Black backed into the ledge and hopped up next to Dras. They both looked back and forth between the mass of creatures pressing forward and Quinn's grunting efforts atop the beam.

Rope snapped and the bell clanged once, tearing at the remaining wraps. One last powerful chop and the cables parted and with a terrific clang, the bell plunged downwards.

Straight through the floor.

And the next floor.

And the next floor.

And the next floor.

Taking nearly all the horrible creatures with it into darkness.

Quinn stared straight down what had suddenly become a very large, very tall chimney, filled with dust and debris that rose toward him in a lazy cloud. He yelled in triumph.

"Ha! Let's see them come after us now!"

Dras and Black, perched on a narrow ledge that now had a terrifying drop on either side, looked at each other and tried not to sigh in relief.

Ana, struggling to escape the one zombi that had avoided plunging after the falling bell, screamed once as she fell off the outside of the tower.


----------



## trilobite

Unbelievably great! I bow before the master!


----------



## ledded

Ha-HA!  Thought you'd forgotten this one, then you post that edge-of-your-seat update.  Very good stuff, my man.  Very good.


----------



## barsoomcore

I'm desperately trying to get some more updates in before the Stewardesses take to their brand of "Wild Action" once again -- that game runs tomorrow night, so look for Wild Stewardess updates next week! Yee haw!


----------



## barsoomcore

Breath exploded out of Ana as she crashed down, flat on her back, onto the tiles of the roof.

And bounced.

Fragments of tile flew around her, dusty and choking and smacking against her, and she tumbled down the slope of the roof, plunging over the eaves to crash headfirst into a gorse-bush. Trying to disentangle herself only made things worse, and sharp thorns dug into her bare skin, clutched at her rather disarrayed clothing and held her firm.

She could hear dark moaning, not far off. And getting closer.

*****

Quinn stared, horrified, at where Ana had been perched. The sound of her impact with the roof below made he and Balck and Dras wince, but they could hear her yelling and so knew that at least she wasn't dead.

All three of them turned to stare at the dripping undead monster that had just chased their friend off the roof. It followed her, plunging off the side of the tower.

"No, you don't."

Quinn leapt after it.

Dras and Black looked at each other.

"This mortar seems poorly made, lad. Let's see about levering out a heavy stone or two, what? Could be we'll need the ammunition before this night is through."

*****

Quinn, launching himself downwards, landed on the roof at the same time as the zombi, only closer to the edge where Ana had fallen from. He let himself slide off and landed on his feet next to the bush where Ana struggled. He drew a knife and slashed away at the vines, only to look up at a shuffling above.

The stinking, foul creature stood directly above him, a little battered from its fall, but still intent on ghastly destruction. It leapt from the roof, plunging straight down at Quinn.

Who stepped sharply to the left, and watched the thing slam face-first into the packed earth next to him. It shuddered and then fell apart into stinky sludge, giving a slight sigh and realising a foul stench. Quinn returned to slashing up the gorse-bush, and soon Ana stumbled free.

More shambling things came towards them through the garden. Quinn lifted Ana by the hips and gave her a mighty shove on the backside, propelling her up onto the roof, then leapt up and clambered onto the tiles himself. They scrambled across the loose roofing, avoiding holes and making their way to where the rope Ana had earlier tied up still hung.

"Go, go!"

Ana started up the rope as Quinn knelt to reload his pistol. He heard a couple of gunshots from above and knew Dras and Black where standing guard.

"Come on, lad, they're coming from all sides! Ana's up, climb, lad, climb!"

Quinn did not wait. He leapt for the rope and pulled himself hand-over-hand upwards, his feet kicking against the rough stone of the tower. At the top, he slung himself onto the top of the tower wall, finding himself perched on a narrow circular ridge of stone.

That Black and Dras seemed to be determinedly tearing to pieces. Quinn watched for a second in puzzlement as the burly Englishman and the slender mulatto tore up the mortar with their knives, setting aside the heavy stones of the tower. He risked a quick look down. The tower was surrounded by shambling creatures, some of whom had reached the roof of the house and all of whom were clawing at the stones, dragging themselves upwards.

Dras leaned out, sighted carefully, and dropped a head-sized stone. It plunged downward and punched straight through the water-logged skull of one of their beseigers, who fell back from the wall in a lovely spread-eagle, crashing into the ground and disintegrating.

Quinn started digging away at the nearest vein of mortar.

*****

The problem with using the wall you were sitting on as ammunition, Black quickly realised, was that the more volleys you fired, the less of a position you found yourself defending. The height of the tower had decreased by several feet as he and the others dug out stones to drop on the army of undead monsters clambering towards them. But no matter how many they knocked off the sheer sides of the tower, more kept surging upwards, hissing and spitting bile and seawater.

And meanwhile every stone they dug up and threw down lowered the height of their position.

Dras was exhausted. It seemed like hours they'd perched up here, flinging down rocks into the snarling faces of their inhuman enemies. The foul creatures were reaching higher and higher, even as the moon passed overhead and sank towards the west. And now a couple scrambled upwards, as if aware that the night was slowly coming to an end. Dras hurled a rock and a curse at one, sending it flying off into darkness, but the other reached up with its clawlike hands and grabbed hold of the top of the tower wall, right between where Quinn and Black were sitting.

Quinn slashed with his knife, but the creature saw the blow coming and let go with its right hand.

Just as Black cut off its left hand. 

The Englishman's bark of triumph was shortlived, however, as all eyes and eyesockets turned to the manor house roof where one zombi stood with its hands outstretched.

It cried out in a voice that rolled like deep breakers, churning with silt and the dark mud that lies at the bottom of the sea.

"Dagon! Deep-Father! Ruler of the Abyss! We cry to thee for vengeance!"

All movement ceased on the island. Even the waves seemed to pause in their relentless pounding. The thing pointed up at where Dras, Ana, Quinn and Black perched so precariously.

"The skull! Our mistress sends us for the skull of Lel-Za-Bol! We come to claim the rightfu--"

His voice cut off with a wet smack as a chunk of basalt struck him square in the forehead and blew his skull into fragments.

Four voices cheered.

Dras jumped up to balance on the top of the tower wall and bowed.

"Papa Agwe rules the Abyss, you degenerate walking corpses!"

At those words, the waves all around the island suddenly reared up and crashed against the rocks as one.

And again.

And with each thunderous boom, the water seemed to surge higher. It rolled across the thin grasses, crashing against the half-ruined walls of the compound in a sudden, violent spray, rolling around tree trunks and up against the house itself, sweeping aside loose branches, chunks of shattered boards and, with terrible finality, dragging writhing, struggling undead corpses from the stones of the tower.

As Dras and the others watched, stupefied with amazement, great waves like liquid claws reared up out of the roiling mass to suck the clinging, shrieking zombis down into the maelstrom that now roared across the island.

The waves retreated as quickly as they had arisen, leaving the island cleaner, wetter, and considerably quieter than it had been only moments earlier.

The four survivors clung to their insecure perch, staring without comprehension at the suddenly empty scene below them.

The moon sank below the horizon and the sun was beginning to cast its glow opposite before Black managed to speak.

"Well. I was hoping to get more sleep tonight."

Dras kissed the nearest stone.

"Just be glad I'm as good a cook as I am. Whoever this Dagon fellow is, he's clearly not someone to stand up to old Papa Agwe."


----------



## barsoomcore

Short update, but better little than none, right? Right?


----------



## Graywolf-ELM

Right.  I was wondering how they were going to get out of this.

GW


----------



## threshel

Very good update, Barsoomcore.
Quality is preferable to quantity, if we _must_ choose.
We prefer not to. 

On to the Stewardesses!

J


----------



## trilobite

This is very eerie. In my S&B's game the players were running from some zombies on the top floor of Monsignor Domino’s house. Suddenly they found there escape route blocked so they decided to jump from the second story window. The zombies in their effort to chase the intruders followed.  Instead of jumping out the the window the zombies more or less dived head first. It was fun describing the pulped zombie brains splattering everywhere as they hit the ground.


----------



## BSF

Ooooh!  That was nice to read!  Thanks.


----------



## Hellspont

Ummm...

What about Lieutenant Davis?

Awesome Story Hour by the way.  Can't wait for the next update!


----------



## Kid Charlemagne

barsoomcore said:
			
		

> They looked through the room. Black browsed a bookcase and pulled out a slim volume bound in black with a French title.
> 
> "Le Roy Danz Leh June? Either of you speak-- "




_"Le Roi Dans Le Jeune?"_

I speak French...


----------



## barsoomcore

...then you can see where this is going...

...and that's not good...

And with your name, you SHOULD speak French.


Hellspont: Lieutenant Davis' fate shall be revealed, never fear. And how was it getting swum by Byron?


----------



## Kid Charlemagne

Barsoomcore, are you basing this off of any publsihed adventures?  I seem to recall a thread where you were talking about getting ready to run this campaign, and I thought there was a Dungeon adventure at the center of it (though no doubt highly modified).  Reason I ask is that I'm looking at some sea-based adventures for my group, and I may pay homage to this story hour... (or steal liberally, depending on your POV.)


----------



## barsoomcore

Ana tried very hard to avoid shouting, but she was so surprised that a little yelp did escape her, much to Dras's disapproval.

They sat in the bow of the rowboat while Black and Quinn took the oars and Lieutenant Davis, who'd avoided the ghouls last night through the simple expedient of hiding in a tree, handled the tiller. Dras had received a nasty cut during the battle, and Ana was tending the youth's wound.

Her impression had been that Dras was a shy young man, unwilling to take his shirt off in front of a lady. That turned out to be not quite the case. Under the mulatto's shirt, once Ana had forcibly yanked it open, a broad swathe of white bandage encased the lad's upper torso. At first Ana thought her friend had been hurt more seriously than she'd thought.

But when Dras jerked the shirt back up, glancing fearfully down the rest of the boat to see if the others had noticed, her eyes returning to Ana, imploring her to say nothing, the island girl realised the truth.

And yelped just a little.

Dras was no lad.

Momentarily at a complete loss, Ana sat back and stared at the young woman in front of her.

Dras scowled and held up her arm where the creature's claws had scored an angry cut.

"Keep staring at me like that, girl, and Quinn'll get jealous."

Quinn grunted.

"What? What's that? What's going on back there?"

Dras chuckled.

"Just making a little time with your girl, sailor."

Ana smacked Dras lightly.

"I'm not his girl."

The two women shared a grin as Quinn broke into voluble protests at the mere suggestion that he entertained romantic notions towards Ana.

*****

Elizabeth Mallory was dead. Her hidey-hole had flooded in the night and there was nothing anyone could do. They'd fished her body out as well as the three chests (the zombi still down there did not attack Quinn as he was wearing one of the amulets this time), and left the chests on the pier for Bobo the pirate monkey.

They had, of course, stuffed their pockets with gold coins and gems before rushing to the other side of the island, untying the rowboat and making for the visible coast of Barbuda even before their old ship the Ascot Marine was hull-down on the horizon.

*****

Dras and Ana leapt out of the rowboat into the shallow surf and dragged in time with Quinn and Black's final heave on the oars, pulling the little wooden craft up onto the sand.

Barbuda was not a sight to stir the heart. The northern spit of the island, where they'd landed, was a wind-blown stretch of sand pocked here and there with stringy bushes whose dry stems rattled ceaselessly. Helping Davis along, the little party clambered over the ridge of wind-packed sand and descended towards a broad lagoon teeming with seabirds and tall grasses. Further on, they could see scrub-covered headlands rising a couple of hundred feet above the sea, with steep cliffs on the eastern shore and tapering down to forested lowlands.

There was no sign of civilization.

They found a length of driftwood that could serve Davis as a crutch and made their cautious way along the edge of the lagoon.

"Dras, lad, you have those papers we snatched from Senor Domino's desk?"

Ana watched curiously as Dras responded without any sign of discomfort at being addressed as "lad". The slender mulatto fished in a sack and pulled out the sheets of paper in question. She sorted them up and peered at the spidery letters.

"It's a journal. _Located first wreck and made initial dives_... Looks like he was exploring wrecks around Barbuda. Here. _January, 1699 -- The skull. I have it, I have it before me now. It hungers for gros-bon-anges. I must provide some. Lel-Za-Bol hungers. August, 1699 -- It works. They serve me now. They are mine. The Lords are six -- there must be five more skulls. I will find them. I must. October, 1699 -- Portugues. He found them in Campeche. Not all, no, for Lel-Za-Bol lay here within the Hispaniola. Find out how many Portugues took from Campeche -- where were the others?_"

The others looked uneasily at each other. Ana recalled the dark vision she'd had after first seeing the skull.

"I think Lel-Za-Bol is a mainlander god or legend or something."

Black nodded.

"The Lords. Could that refer to those Lords of Hell-Baba or whatever that savage was going on about?"

"Ah Balam. Xibalba. Yes."

Quinn, nodding, added: "And Portuges must be Bartholmew Portuges. He escaped from Campeche, remember? The dagoes were going to hang him. Drowned off Cuba, I heard."

"Made it to Jamaica, I heard."

Dras looked up from her notes as the group came to halt in front of a tremendously skinny black man with a towering pillar of curly hair and a mostly-toothless grin. He spoke with a strong French accent.

"Jamaica. Hello."

Black, after a pause, spoke for the group.

"Hello. Can we help you?"

"No. I help you. Stay away from the house. Come with me. Secret place. Your friends are waiting."

"Our friends?"

"The monkey, he put them here."

"I wish that didn't make sense."

They travelled on in silence a little further, following the black man across the lagoon, seabirds shrieking overhead. Dras leafed through more notes. Quinn watched.

"Where'd you learn to read?"

Dras answered without looking up.

"My uncle. My father's brother. Taught me how to fight, too. Port Royal."

Something in the paper caught her eye and the dark-skinned woman stiffened.

"Listen to this. Domino got a letter from... somebody named Fawn, saying that Bartholomew Portuges bought a ship in Aruba from a guy named Van Meertens and paid for it with a crystal skull."

Black's mind moved quickly.

"Can't be this one. The other note said this one was already in the wreck. So we've got one here and if there's another on Aruba that's two. Four more."

Quinn frowned.

"Are we going after these things? Sorcerers and zombis and heathen gods and who knows what else?"

"Oh, yes, I think so." Nodding, Black turned to Dras. "What did the journal say about the skull, lad? Something about it hungers for gross bone oranges?"

"Gros-bon-anges. The skull hungers for gros-bon-anges."

"What are those, exactly?"

"Souls."

"Ah."

Seabirds continued to shriek.


----------



## barsoomcore

KC: The whole "Firewatch Island" bit comes from a Dungeon adventure called "Tammeraut's Fate". Bobo the monkey and Horse (and the story of their missing treasure) come from a free PDF adventure offered by Green Ronin for Skull & Bones. The whole to-do with the crystal skulls comes from trilobite, a clever clog often seen round these boards.

The rest is cobbled together from Skull & Bones, Call of Cthulhu, Horatio Hornblower, and very large amounts of online research to gather up names and places and stuff. That was almost as much fun as running the game itself. Dras' player also put in huge amounts of voodoo research and that was tons of help, and Black's player is quite the amateur historian on the period which was also fun.

Unfortunately (as you'll see next episode) he's also much, much better than I am at naval combat simulation. These guys clobber their enemies in ship-to-ship action, I'm embarrassed to say.

Now off you go and take the Sunshine Band with you.


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## trilobite

Hi, I am that clever clog. Though barsoomcore is *THE* master story teller. 

Hey Great stuff. I love they way you have tied things together! Your clues are genius. I see you cut the number of skulls down to six! Or did you?   That is most likely a good idea. You seem to have a great set of players. That is always a plus. 

Sitting back, grabbing some popcorn and waiting for the entrance of the MVC! 

PS> I haven't had a chance to read over your Chase rules yet. I will look them over and give you my reveiw this week!


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## barsoomcore

I did cut the number of skulls down. I wanted an eight-session campaign, something that would be short and sweet, high-intensity fun, without having to worry about the dreary details of a long-term game (making everything BELIEVABLE and stuff).

Story Hour is currently up to the second session.


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## barsoomcore

Dras looked dubiously down into the hole the man indicated she ought to clamber down into. It was narrow and led seemingly straight down into the limestone of the island's eastern headland. The old man grinned and pointed again.

"Friends?"

"Yes, yes. Friends."

He pointed again. With a sigh and a look at Ana, Quinn and Black, Dras lowered herself down into the hole. Although rough and crumbling, the sides were close enough that she could clamber downwards fairly easily. The light from above suddenly cut out as Quinn entered the shaft above her. Dust tumbled down into her hair and got into her mouth and eyes as she worked her way downwards.

Ana climbed in after Quinn, tucking her skirts tightly around her legs, and Black helped Lieutenant Davis down after her. Black stood for a second, looking off the cliff edge over the rough grey swells of the open Atlantic, remembering regretfully all the fine times he'd had NOT clambering down into a dank hole in the ground, and clambered down.

Down below, Dras found the hole simultaneously widened and flattened, and brightened as though a fire were burning somewhere ahead. Crackling sounds and the distinct arome of burning wood clarified the situation, and Dras emerged cautiously into a high cave, at least forty feet around, open to the ocean on one side, filled with familiar faces.

"Ascots!"

The cheer went up around the room and even the islanders scattered equally throughout joined in, though they had no idea what all the shouting was about. Another roar went up as Quinn entered behind Dras, and another for Ana, and a big cheer for Lieutenant Davis, but the biggest cheer of all was for Black as he came coughing into the cave.

They five looked around in amazement. Nearly half the crew of the Ascot sat here, accompanied by various men and women who appeared to be mostly plantation workers. A feast appeared to be in the making, and Dras' stomach rumbled noisily at the smell of roasting meat. The five survivors of Firewatch Island moved into the crowd, smiling at former shipmates, drinking from mugs of rum forced upon them.

Dras grinned over at Ana.

"It's a party."

"We've earned it."

The afternoon wore on to evening and the cave entrance grew dark, but the bonfire stayed high and bright and the drink and food kept coming. The story of the crew came out: they'd been put ashore by Bobo, deemed to unreliable for his new pirate adventure, and the Ascot Marine had set sails for the southward journey, seeking slave ships bound from Africa to rob.

So they were twenty-five men without a ship, a captain or a penny to any of their names. Or indeed any sort of future whatsoever.

Naturally, it was a great party.

Quinn and few of the gun crew had formed a circle and were dicing for cuts of meats, laughing as one of the powder boys threw a disastrous throw and had to concede all his winnings. The hungry look on the boy's face had the rest of them helpless with laughter.

Ana had started out talking with Dras, but the mulatto consumed three mugs of rum in a very short time and stumbled off into the crowd, muttering to herself, and so the island girl sat alone, thanking sailors who stumbled by and offered her a greeting.

Black was deep in discussion with Peter, the old man who'd led them to this cave. He was a worker on the plantation of Devon Codrington, who owned the entire island. And was up to all sorts of no good, if Peter was to be believed.

"The Buzzard."

"The Buzzard?"

"The Buzzard."

"I see. What about the Buzzard?"

"He is with His Lordship today. Anchored off Spanish Point."

"The Buzzard is a pirate?"

Peter nodded.

"Olivier la Buse. He meets often with His Lordship."

"And his ship is anchored near here? Is it guarded?"

Black's eyes glinted in the firelight, dark and blazing with a surge of excitement.

"Most of the men are drinking in town. There is a tower, some guns. But the men are drunk, mostly."

Excitement faded away in Black's eyes as he watched the crew of the Ascot Marine already drunk past the point of sensibility. There would be no organizing these sailors tonight. But he knew the pirates would be drinking as well, and if he could get this lot motivated tomorrow...

Dras stumbled. She wasn't usually much of a drinker, but the terror of the voyage, to say nothing of that last night on Firewatch, had her feeling reckless and ready to abandon what caution she usually had.

She tripped and fell flat on her face in a sandy pocket of the cave. Somebody nearby giggled and she pushed herself up.

Guadalupe had watched the cook's mate come swaying across the cave. Everyone liked Dras, and not only because the young lad was responsible for doling out their rum ration every day. He was cheerful and friendly and always had a joke or a story. Watching him fight Robert Black had been a highlight of the voyage, and Guadalupe had cheered as mightily as the rest of the crew when the slender youth had bested the strong-willed Englishman.

So when he tripped and fell prone in front of Guadalupe, the Portugese topman chuckled but reached down to help the drunk lad.

"You alright there, Dras lad? Maybe that's enough for you."

"Guada. Hi."

"Hi."

"You're very handsome, Guada."

"Am I?"

"Come here."


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## barsoomcore

A natural ONE on Dras's Disguise check, right there.


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## Graywolf-ELM

At the start of the post, I was thinking "But wait, Dras is male."  Then I remembered the previous scene where she was revealed to be female.  Question is, does the shipmate like her more or less now.

GW


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## barsoomcore

Spend enough time at sea, laddie, and those distinctions start to matter less and less...

Arrrr....


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## barsoomcore

"There she is, sir."

"She's a beauty, isn't she?"

"_Defiance_. That's La Buze, alright, sir. Formerly HMS _Sicabo_, I heard, sir."

"Jamaica-built, 18 guns."

"That's right, sir."

"Mister Davis?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Why are you calling me sir?"

Lieutenant Davis grinned. He and Rupert Black were lying prone behind a sand dune, peering through glasses at the sloop anchored off Martello Tower. The setting sun shone across the scene, turning even the sea golden for the last few minutes of the day.

"Because you're going to be our captain, sir."

"I am? Why is that?"

"For two reasons, sir."

"Well? Out with it, Mister Davis."

"Yes, sir. Well, the first reason, sir, begging your pardon but the men, they'll jump into the mouth of hell for you and no mistake, sir. They're ready and eager to serve you."

Black frowned and looked back at where a couple of crewmembers watched them anxiously from the cover of the twisted scrub trees that covered most of the island.

"They are? Why the damn hell should they want to serve me for?"

"We all remember that day on the deck of the Ascot Marine, sir. Horse and Red and that monkey would have killed us all but then you came up sir, with a gun and sword and tossing grenadoes about. You frightened those bastards, sir, and that's saying something. They would have just killed us all if you hadn't done that, sir, and not a man of us doesn't know it."

Black harumphed, embarrassed but unavoidably pleased.

"Never mind that, Mister Davis. We were damn fortunate, every one of us."

They turned back to the ship, watching for activity aboard.

Black recalled the conversation and frowned.

"What's the other reason?"

Davis grinned again. He reached into his shirt and pulled out a folded sheet of thick paper. Black gasped at the sight of the ornate signature.

"That's from. That's. The King!"

"That, sir, is Captain Hancock's privateering commission. You'll note that nowhere does it mention him by name. It refers solely to 'The Bearer Of This Note'."

Black's mind raced.

"If we can get that ship --"

Davis continued the thought.

"-- and get away --"

"-- and take a few prizes --"

"-- we'll be able to turn them over to the Navy --"

"-- and we'll be rich."

Black chuckled.

"And it will all be perfectly legal. Especially if we hand back the Royal Navy's stolen sloop in the bargain."

Both men were grinning like children stealing cookies as they returned to their study of the _Defiance_, lying at anchor so nearby.

"Not much of a crew aboard right now."

"No, sir. And she's taken on fresh water, and I'd wager shot and powder as well. They'll be leaving in the morning, no doubt."

"You know I'm not much of a sailor, Mister Davis."

"Never you worry about that, Captain. You can plot a course and you can lay a gun and you know something about leading men. We know ships and we know these waters. We'll do just fine."

"Let's see about getting aboard that ship. Where's that old man got to now?"

*****

A tight circle of grim-faced men listened close as Peter explained the layout inside Martello Tower. The sun had set and in the starlight, the surf crashed up in phosporescent repetition. A lone bonfire marked where half-a-dozen sentries sat drinking. The tower windows glowed with lamplight, revealing the two big guns stationed there to rake the anchorage.

"Ten men?"

There were murmurs of disbelief at the news that ten men held the tower. The single oaken door looked strong enough to withstand any battering attempt they might bring to bear, and those guns would easily demolish the _Defiance_ before she'd worked her way clear of the reefs.

"We'll never force that place against ten men. None of us are properly armed, except for Dras -- "

A few chuckles circulated around the group. Dras, still dressed in her usual cook's mate garb, grinned sheepisly, as did Guadalupe.

"And even so, how are we going to get inside?"

Dras spoke up.

"Ana and I could disguise ourselves as, well, as ladies with wine. They might open their doors to us. Ladies come down from the party to celebrate with the guards."

Word had come that Devon Codrington and Olivier La Buze were having a tremendous party up at Codrington house with most of La Buze's crew. The few left down here did not seem to be taking their guard duties very seriously. Most of the crew nodded in agreement.

Black frowned.

"Are you sure you'll be entirely convincing as a woman, lad?"

The circle fell silent. Lieutenant Davis coughed.

"Um, sir? Dras is, well, that is to say, sir, Dras is a lady. Sir."

"He is?"

Black peered a little more closely at the mulatto youth and shook his head.

"I don't see it myself. Are you sure?"

Some wag called out, "Guadalupe is."

The group snickered while both the Portuguese topman and the cook's mate blushed.

Black shook his head again.

"I don't like ladies risking themselves. This sounds dangerous to me."

Ana and Dras exchanged glances. They both stood up.

"Tell you what, sir. We're going to go rustle up some wine -- "

Ana interrupted, gesturing to Dras' clothing, " -- and a dress -- "

" -- and see if those guards in that there tower want to have a bit. If you lot feel like taking advantage of that opportunity, go right ahead."

Quinn nodded briskly.

"We can get a group right around that corner, there, only a couple of feet from the door. As soon as it's opened... "

Dras took off her swordbelt and handed it to Quinn.

"As soon as it's opened, get me my sword."

The two women left with Peter to acquire some local dresses. Black studied Quinn, Davis and the others.

"Right. Quinn, you're master-at-arms. Mister Davis, you're, well, Lieutenant. Do we have anyone who knows this anchorage? Thomas? Very well, you're sailing-master. Anyone for carpenter? Will? Very good. Thomas, Will, and you four, you'll come with Mister Davis and I down the beach. We fall upon the guards there with whatever we have, sticks, rocks, what have you, as soon as the tower door opens. We'll get the ship ready while you, Quinn, take care of the tower guards and bring the rest down to the ship."

Everyone nodded, tense and eager. Black grinned in the darkness.

"Remember, lads. We're fighting for the King, here. God bless him."

*****

The door opened.

Dras and Ana, wearing thin linen dresses, kept up the charade, leaning in on the opening door and giggling at the startled, but pleased, men inside. Ana counted quickly. Nine.

Dras made sure she was still standing at the door, preventing it from closing, as Quinn led his team around the corner in a charge for the open portal. The incoming group plowed into the startled guards with an audible thump, Quinn hollering all the way.

The dark stone room flew into chaos. Men were down on the floor, struggling with each other, choking and punching and biting. Dras danced backward as two angry tower guards came towards her. She yelled at Quinn.

"My sword! My sword!"

Quinn was already using the implement in question, and yanked it free of a guard's body, cursed and, with a quick prayer to Mother Mary, tossed the elegant rapier across the room.

Dras twisted away from a grasping hand, put a foot on a barrel and leapt into the air.

The girl and the weapon met halfway across the room, a thin dark hand coiling familiarly around the hilt just as Dras tucked, landed, rolled and popped up to her feet, spinning to face her startled opponents.

"Ha!"

The tip of the rapier blurred and one man grabbed at his throat, blood spraying a heartbeat later. The other was still gaping at his friend when with a wild lunge Dras extended herself, back leg stretched out, and transfixed him with the slim blade.

Ana grabbed her bow and quiver from one of the Ascots and raced up the stairs to find the final guard, obviously a more senior soldier than the others, frantically preparing a length of slow match. He hadn't got it lit when he looked up at the creak of wood.

Ana drew and let fly. The arrow caught the man in the cheek, coming out the side of this head and sending him flying backward. With lithe steps the island girl raced down the room, straddled the twitching man and cut his throat. She looked up as Quinn leapt upstairs.

"I'm fine."

They went to the gunport and watched as the other squad overran the beach sentries and got a rowboat heading out to the ship. A brief scuffle aboard and it looked as though the _Defiance_ was theirs.

Twenty minutes later the entire crew stood on the deck of the trim little sloop as the anchor was winched up. Black, Davis and Guadalupe conferred as to the proper arrangement of sails to get them past the reef while Ana, Dras and Quinn lounged at the sternrail.

"A little prize money won't hurt," the Irishman commented.

Dras nodded.

"And less crew to share it with, now."

Ana's smile was heartfelt.

"And no crazy captain to deal with."

"I think things are going to be pretty good for us from now on."

"Sail ho! Sail off the starboard quarter!"

The three were quiet for a second until Quinn spoke.

"Unless, of course, we're sunk as soon as we set sail."


----------



## Zaruthustran

*hardcore*

Wow. So, our heroes just butchered those guards huh?


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## barsoomcore

Nah, most of them got beaten unconscious. Dras, Quinn and Ana killed theirs, but hey, these bad guys are pirates. They're not nice people, honestly.


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## Henry

Darn it, another masterful storyteller. When do you people expect me to get my work done?!?!?

Rant over. Carry on.


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## barsoomcore

You can get your work done when you're finished reading my Story Hours, puny mortal! And that's enough of your lip!

Sheesh. Readers, never satisfied.


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## barsoomcore

The _Defiance_ heeled sharply, sending crates and barrels tumbling as the the mainsail caught the offshore breeze and the helmsman brought her about. She was a light, fast ship and the sailors aboard her grinned at each other in recognition of their prize's fine handling.

They'd threaded the narrow passage along the reef and now, sail bellying to the wind, prepared for the dash out of the bay and into the open waters of the Carribean. The stars overhead shone with fierce brilliance, illuminating the white beaches behind them and the dim glow of the sail ahead of them.

"Think it's another of La Buze's?"

Black hissed up at Quinn, who'd clambered up the mainmast shrouds and peered through a glass into the dark night.

"Another sloop, smaller than this one. Twelve guns, I reckon."

The lanky Irishman adjusted his position and studied the distant sail again.

"She's seen us, coming about now. Not too smartly, though. She's no Royal."

Black nodded.

"Probably a picket. They won't be expecting trouble."

He leaned over the side to study the eight gunports. They were closed now but if opened they would become eight black signs of their intent. Even in the dark it would be impossible to miss the row of gaping mouths against the whitewashed sides of the ship. As undisciplined as the pirates might be, they would be suspicious of open gunports on a supposedly friendly ship.

Inspiration struck. Black whirled to find Lieutenant Davis.

"Mister Davis!"

He kept his voice as low as he could, but his excitement kept him from being able to stay completely calm.

"A few hands below to bring up a spare sail. Lash it over the side, cover the gunports. Bring us across her bow, nice and slow. I'll be below with the gun crew."

"What if she hails us, sir?"

Black pointed at Dras.

"Mister Dras knows those dago tongues. Have him spin them a tale."

"Her, sir."

"Yes, of course. Her. Smartly, Mister Davis."

"Aye aye, sir."

Black rushed below to where the gun crews stood in eager anticipation. He rubbed his hands at the sight of the long cannon.

"Open the ports but don't run them out yet."

A sudden burst of activity as the wooden shutters sealing the gunports flipped open came to an abrupt halt. Black grinned at the eager men, all so determined to put on a disciplined show. He turned to the crew chief.

"All present and accounted for, Mister Ford?"

"Aye aye, sir. All present and accounted for."

"Guns cleaned and ready?"

"Guns cleaned and ready, aye, sir."

"Load your guns, Mister Ford, and all men stand to."

The crew chief roared out the orders and the gun deck thundered with the roll of thousands of pounds of cast metal as the crews loaded the massive guns and made ready to haul the heavy carriages forward to the open gunports, where the covering sail reduced the night's starry brilliance to a dim glow.

Up on the deck, Dras clambered up into the bowsprit with a speaking-trumpet. Beneath her the dark waves hissed into the hull as the _Defiance_ edged along, fighting upwind to stay abreast of the other vessel. Thomas, the helmsman, kept one eye on the sail and the other on the approaching ship, gauging their progress and keeping her on just the right angle, hissing out commands to the deck crew to keep the sail trimmed.

For long silent moments the two ships moved towards one another, the _Defiance_ a few points south of northwest and the other vessel a few points north, both heading towards a nameless, featureless point on the dark sea where their paths would intersect.

A voice called out from the other ship in French.

"Is the party over?"

Dras pitched her voice as high as she could and put a flirtatious tone into her words.

"The party's just getting started, sailor. Your boss sent me and my friends out here to keep you hard-working boys company."

A sudden cheer went up on the other vessel. The two ships were closer now, the _Defiance_ just ahead of the other, travelling nearly parallel.

Quinn leaned over to Thomas.

"Start heaving her to."

He ran off to whisper orders to the deck crew and they swarmed up into the shrouds, apparently preparing to pull in the mainsail. The other ship followed suit, and fell behind further as her sail came down. Quinn waved to Thomas, who heaved savagely on the tiller. The _Defiance_ turned nearly ninety degrees to port, drifting across the bow of the other ship. Now Quinn gave the signal to lower the mainsail, and the _Defiance_ began to slow. Quinn could look across the narrow stretch of dark water to where indistinct figures milled about on the deck of the pirate vessel in apparent confusion.

Below, on the gun deck, Black felt the ship heel about and sighted through the first gunport. He saw, of course, the spare sail covering the gunports, and cursed.

"Furl that sail off the side, Mister Davis! Now!"

Lieutenant Davis was ready for the command and at his signal, four burly sailors hauled on the cables holding the sail over the side of the ship, peeling it away in a single motion, revealing the eight gaping gunports like a dark smile along the ship's side.

Black saw the bow of the other ship, not more than twenty yards away. She was the _Buono Fortuna_, he noted, without comprehension.

"Steady, lads, steady."

They could hear startled shouts from the other vessel as the crew realised their danger. The bow drifted across the gunport. Black waited, timing the swell of the waves so that the gun would be canted at just the right angle.

"Fire!"

Without waiting to see the fall of the shot, he scrambled through the sudden confusion of smoke and thunder to the next gun, peering out the gunport.

The bow of the _Buono Fortuna_ had taken a direct hit, and a gaping hole just above the waterline spoke of the first gun's efficacy. Black winced at the thought of that cannonball punching straight down the length of the ship, tearing through the crew below decks and turning her insides into chaos.

"Fire!"

Ana felt the _Defiance_ sway slightly as each cannon fired in turn. She was astonished at the unearthly power of these weapons. Holes appeared in the front of the other vessel and over the roaring guns she could hear sudden screaming and the crackling, tearing sounds of timbers blown apart. She clutched at the rail, eyes screwed shut against the terrible sight.

Dras, clinging to the bowsprit, watched in a mix of horror and excitement as smoke and fire shot from one gunport after another. She saw one cannonball erupt from the deck of the _Buono Fortuna_ just behind the mast, tearing through the mass of men crowding around the tiller and splashing into a faint glow of white spray far off beyond the doomed ship.

Black raced from gun to gun as the _Buono Fortuna_ began to drift more sharply along the gunports of the _Defiance_. Her rudder line had been cut, and in any event her crew, unprepared and mostly asleep, were unable to take any sort of coordinated action. The remaining six guns tore her bow to splinters and as she plunged into the waves, stern tilting up, Black became aware that the roaring in his ear wasn't just from the eight cannons he'd just stood beside as they fired in turn. The crew of the _Defiance_ were yelling, cheering, firing muskets and pistols into their desperate enemies even as their ship sank beneath them.

Black charged up onto the deck as the _Buono Fortuna_, blown to pieces, fell apart and collapsed into wreckage. Ignoring the cheers of the crew, he turned to Lieutenant Davis.

"Pick up the survivors and press them. I'll set a course for Montserrat."

Drowning pirates screamed for aid as ropes fell from the railing of the _Defiance_. Some managed to grab hold, but others slid beneath the dark waves, choking and gasping. Quinn roared at his deck crew, exhorting them to help pull their defeated enemies aboard. The dripping, terrified survivors huddled on the deck, cowed by the overwhelming display of firepower.

*****

Behind the _Defiance_, the horizon slowly rose to swallow the peaks of Montserrat. Quinn, Dras, Ana and Black gathered for an informal conference by the stern rail, watching the wake of the ship extend itself beneath them.

Black spoke first.

"So, three days."

Quinn nodded, still sporting a spectacular shiner from the confrontation with Navy sailors in a Plymouth bar the night before. He savoured the memory of head-butting that one burly fellow, and shared a grin with Dras, whose acrobatics on the table had sent the Navy ringleader plowing right through a table full of big Norwegian whalers.

Chaos had, predictably enough, ensued, and the _Defiance_ had picked up a fair number of crew members based on their showing in the following melee. The whole ship was now more tightly bound to each than ever, having now escaped pirates, fought a successful ship-to-ship action and managed a clear victory in a no-holds-barred bar brawl. Crews went about their duties with cheerful chatter, bragging about their exploits to each other and telling stories of their "command team" -- Dras and Quinn and Ana and Black. Those four had managed the impossible three times now: escaping from Firewatch Island with Lieutenant Davis and handfuls of gold, stealing the prize sloop of a notorious pirate, and now leading the crew to victory against uneven odds. They told of how Dras had fought blade-to-blade against a Navy lieutenant and come away the victor, how Black had rallied the entire crew and driven the rest of the Royals back, how Ana's archery had knocked broken bottles out of meaty hands, pinned cloaks to walls and so startled the enemy that they gave back before lesser numbers, and of Quinn's great bare-knuckle fight against the biggest of the whole Navy crew.

There seemed to be nothing impossible for these four. The crew had formed a united group, the "old Ascots" joined with the former pirates of Oliver La Buze and the new Plymouth crewmembers into a focused group, convinced their fortunes were soon to be made.

Ana, whose once-respectable English garments were giving way to less-modest island garb, repeated Black's statement.

"Three days. He'll get to Aruba before us."

Dras shrugged.

"Bushiribana's our only lead. We've got one skull now..."

The others shivered at the memory of the horrid artifact secured in the captain's cabin.

"...and Domino's on his way to Aruba to get another."

Quinn asked the obvious question.

"Why are we trying to collect these skulls?"

They all looked at each. The wake of the _Defiance_ lengthened. The mountains of Montserrat sank further below the horizon.

Black coughed.

"Because, well, I think we all agree. Those skulls are... heathen artifacts. More than that. They are... not to beat around the bush, they are evil."

He coughed again.

Dras shrugged in her casual manner.

"Right. Evil skulls plus evil sorcerer equals something we have to stop. So we chase Monsignor Domino around, and do what we can to take the skulls away from him. Then, I don't know, destroy them somehow. So we start off talking to this guy Fawn in Aruba. If he provided information for Domino maybe he's got information for us. And this is a fast little ship. We might get to Aruba ahead of Domino, right, Black?"

"We might indeed. At which point, I suppose he starts chasing us around."

The mountains could no longer be seen. The _Defiance_ sailed alone across the featureless sea.


----------



## trilobite

barsoomcore said:
			
		

> Inspiration struck. Black whirled to find Lieutenant Davis.
> 
> "Mister Davis!"
> 
> He kept his voice as low as he could, but his excitement kept him from being able to stay completely calm.
> 
> "A few hands below to bring up a spare sail. Lash it over the side, cover the gunports. Bring us across her bow, nice and slow. I'll be below with the gun crew."
> 
> "




Freaking brilliant! Did your players come up with that one? I wish my players could have been so smart.


----------



## barsoomcore

Man, it was HUMILIATING. We're getting set up for our first ship-to-ship action, I've got a tabletop map and little ship figures set up...

And they sink her in go. Blew the opposing ship to pieces. I actually went to the S&B boards to see if I'd misread the rules. Couldn't believe it. One broadside against a ship of equal size and she's not just sinking, she's completely freaking destroyed.

This actually starts a trend, as you'll see. My players thoroughly kicked my butt at naval combat. It's pretty embarrassing.

The player playing Black is a long-time devotee of Hornblower, Ramage and Patrick O'Brian. He had more tricks up his sleeve than I could keep up with. Remember, he also got the gunner to build him some anti-personnel grenadoes, AND built the trap in the house on Firewatch to keep the zombis at bay.


----------



## trilobite

That’s one thing I didn't like about the _Skull and Bones_ rules. It's way too easy to sink an enemy ship with cannon fire. Who ever got the first broadside in won. It might be more realistic but I don't want that. I want a ship battle to be cinematic! Something out of an Errol Flynn movie.


----------



## barsoomcore

Yeah, I'd definitely scale down the damage (or up the hit points) if I run another campaign on this system.

KABOOM!

It WAS pretty funny that very first time though. They were rolling the damage and it became obvious the ship had been nearly disintegrated and I was just staring, going, "Uh...."

After that I tried to keep my ships out of line, but Black was really good at maneuvering and just kept wiping me off the board.

I'm just not a wargamer. Sigh.


----------



## MonsterMash

Good stuff once again.

Makes me keen to run Skull and Bones, though I'd check out the naval rules if it's that easy to sink a ship, though having a raking fire like that would do a huge amount of damage, but mostly to the crew rather than the vessel.


----------



## barsoomcore

Actually, GM Skarka and I went back and forth about it a bit. His position is that this IS realistic. Broadsides from equally-sized ships at short range are pretty much going to blow the other ship out of the water. Pirates wouldn't ordinarily fire broadsides, anyway. They're less concerned with SINKING enemy ships -- they want to TAKE the ships as prizes.

But it was funny. The players were cheering and high-fiving and I'm all, "I'll get you next time," and...

well, you'll see how well I did next time. Sigh.


----------



## BSF

Hey Barsoomcore!  Been waiting patiently for more pirate fun.  Just thought I would ping this one back up on the radar and see if maybe some fan pleadings would encourage an update.  Please?


----------



## barsoomcore

Consider me encouraged.


----------



## Graywolf-ELM

Now I'm encouraged.  Looking forward to the update.

GW


----------



## barsoomcore

"Sail ho! Sail away south-west! Dead ahead!"

The lookout's cry sparked a frenzy of activity on board the _Defiance_. Eager crewmembers rushed onto the deck, crowding each other in their haste to be ready to hear the call to action.

They'd spotted no sail since leaving Montserrat, and despite the efforts of Captain Black to keep the crew busy, boredom had begun to creep up on them. The promise of action cleared that away, and the crew muttered excitedly among themselves.

They watched as Black shaded his eyes and pulled out a telescope. The lean Englishman hollered up to the lookout.

"Flag? What colors, man?"

Dras had scrambled nimbly up the shrouds and hung at her ease far above the deck. Her own telescope was out, and she peered at the distant sail. A flash of yellow and red confirmed her hopes and she turned to grin down at Black.

"She's a Spaniard!"

The lookout confirmed this and added, "She's heading south-east, maybe a point or two south."

Black turned to Davis, the lieutenant. He kept his voice quiet and even.

"Bring her about, if you please, Mister Davis. We'll pursue. All hands, if you please."

The bos'un's whistle shrilled and feet pounded across the decks of the _Defiance_ as the crew leapt into action. Pulleys screeched as strong hands hauled on cables, heaving the yards around in response to  shouted commands. The ship heeled up on the right as she began a wide arc to the south-east, coming around to follow the strange sail.

It quickly became clear that the other ship could not hope to escape the privateer by speed. The _Defiance_ gained steadily. The two ships were running with the wind off their stern quarters, all sail spread for speed, but the smaller, nimbler sloop was easily overhauling the thick-waisted merchantman. The gun crews stood at their carriages, poised and ready for action.

The past few days of Black's intense gunnery drills were about to be put to the test. The older hands grinned at each other, remembering their spectacular victory against the nameless sentry vessel of the pirates off Barbuda, and shouted out encouragements and warnings to their less-experienced fellows.

The distance between the two ships continued to close. Black had a stick of charcoal and made frantic calculations on the deck near the tiller, calling out course corrections as they neared their target.

The Spaniard was visible right down to her waterline now.

"Run 'em out!" Black shouted. From the gun deck the crew leaders responded.

"Run out your guns!"

The ship rumbled as the gun crews hauled on the blocks, heaving the massive guns forward. Some members of the gun crew stared out the ports, puzzled. The other vessel was nearly dead ahead of the _Defiance_, and so the gun ports stared off across empty ocean.

Black watched, his eyes darting back and forth between the Spaniard and the sails above him. The entire deck crew watched their captain in fascination. The deck of the _Defiance_ seemed frozen as she soared across the clear, calm water of the Caribbean towards her prey.

Quinn, hefting a pistol and a cutlass, held himself at the starboard rail, ready to leap across to the enemy vessel as soon as they reached her. He could see that by the time they came alongside, the two ships would be near, and he knew the _Defiance_ would have to receive a broadside from her foe even as she delivered one, but he was confident in their crew's superior marksmanship. He grinned and yanked out a dagger to grip it in his teeth. The boarding party around him began to yell and whistle.

The _Defiance_ closed in. Only a few dozen yards separated the ships now, but there still had been no firing. None of the guns of either ship had been able to bear on their foe. Crews of both vessels stood tense and ready, awaiting the moment when the _Defiance_ drew level with her prey and both ships could exchange broadsides.

Black had other ideas. He spoke so softly Davis had to strain to hear him.

"Mister Davis, if you please, starboard crews stand ready. Fire as she bears."

Davis acknowledged the order and raced to the companionway to shout down to the gun crews. Orders were shouted down the length of the ship as Black continued to divide his attention between his ship's sails and the position of the prey.

The helmsman was watching him with such intensity that when the captain turned and spoke, the young man started and nearly yelped with surprise.

"We'll luff her up, Thomas. Bring her about to port, sharply."

"Aye, sir."

"Gun deck, fire as she bears!"

The _Defiance_ suddenly veered away from the fleeing vessel, turning left and into the wind, nearly coming to a complete stop. As she turned, she presented her starboard side to the Spaniard and the ship shook with sudden impacts as the starboard guns began firing.

Smoke obscured the enemy vessel for a couple of seconds, but the stiff breeze cleared it away quickly and cheers went up aboard the privateer as the merchantman showed at least three impacts, gaping holes in her side.

The fight was knocked out of her. Her flag came down to even louder cheers and with a barely-restrained grin, Black nodded to the helmsman.

"Bring her alongside, Thomas. Well done."

"Aye, sir!"

*****

Quinn and his band went aboard, roaring and hollering, but to their dismay none of the Spaniard's crew seemed inclined to contest their captain's speedy surrender. Instead of bloodthirsty battle with terrified civilians, the _Defiants_ found themselves facing a nervous crew and a cringing, plainly terrified captain.

"Noble English sirs, you have out-fought us indeed. Show us mercy, sirs, and I give you my word we will not betray you."

Quinn scowled. The captain, desperate to avoid the doom he imagined in the young Irishman's eyes, tried again.

"I give you my word as a Spaniard."

For a second Quinn stared at the man, confused. Then he shook his head.

"No good. I've never known a Spaniard."

*****

The capture of the _Rosario_ convinced any holdouts among the crew of the _Defiance_. For many of the men, even the tiny portion of that prize that they were entitled to meant a fortune they'd never dreamed of. Lieutenant Davis and a small crew took the prize to the station at Barbadoes, while the _Defiance_ carried on to Aruba, seeking word of Van Meertens and the crystal skulls.

Oranjestad, the main Aruba port, looked like a little bit of Holland dropped onto the dazzling Caribbean water. Charming white-washed housed with brightly tiled roofs formed neat rows from the waterfront, and beyond them, the richly forested spine of hills that divided the island lengthwise.

The _Defiance_ sat at anchor on the shimmering surface of the harbour, every bit as neat and tidy as the houses on shore. Black looked back at his ship with satisfaction as the crew of the jolly-boat bent to their oars, carrying them across the waves and in to the docks. They'd sailed her half-way across the Caribbean, taking a rich prize on the way, and raised Aruba exactly when his calculations had predicted they would.

"I hope finding this Fawn character is as easy as finding Aruba was."

Black looked over at Dras' comment. The slim youth sprawled in the bow of the jolly-boat, rapier askew, boots propped up on the gunwales, with her eyes closed against the brilliant morning sun. Past her reclining form, another ship flying a Dutch flag swarmed with workers unloading bales and crates. From the stern of the jolly-boat Quinn's commands to the crew kept them pulling swiftly towards the dock. As they came in close and tied up, the lanky Irishman leapt onto the wharf and extended a hand to help Ana up.

Black looked back at Dras, who was watching the interplay between Quinn and Ana with a sour expression.

"Well, if you're as good a tracker as you are a chef, we should have no problem."

Dras chuckled and sprang up onto the dock, stretching out her stiffness.

"Let's find this guy. Maybe he can tell us everything we want to know."

*****

"I can't tell you everything you want to know, my dear friends. My apologies, but it is in fact the case."

Dras rolled her eyes at Black.

Fawn had been easy enough to find; only a few minutes' asking around led them to a hotel verandah where they found an immense man, rotund and sweating even in the shade. He wore an absurd little unbrimmed hat on his head, and despite his apparent discomfort was dressed in a formal suit.

Fawnd looked over his new acquaintances, reaching out with one hand to stroke the closely-trimmed hair of the dark-skinned boy sitting next to him.

"Very well, then, Mr. Fawn. Can you tell us about Van Meertens?"

The fat man chuckled.

"Ah yes, the infamous Van Meertens and their castle. Such a story. Such a story."

He took a sip of the unhealthy-looking concoction in front of him and favoured Quinn with a sudden predatory smile.

"Such a story, sir. You will no doubt refuse to believe it, but every word is true, I assure you.

"It is impossible to spend a day here on Aruba and not hear tales of Van Meertens and his castle. Bushiribana. Built by Spanish pirates, you know. Haunted, they say. But that's not what drove Van Meertens mad, my friends. Oh, no. He was mad when he bought the place. It was that skull. They say it whispered things to him. Terrible things, they say. Terrible things."

Ana frowned at the boy sitting attentively next to Fawn. She spoke quietly in Arawk.

"Who are you?"

"Ruicana. Of the Anicuri. We live in the mountains behind the town."

"What can you tell us about this Van Meertens man?"

The boy studied Ana carefully. He glanced over at Fawn, who, like everyone else at the table, was watching the incomprehensible conversation with interest. The boy spoke.

"Many ghosts. Hungry."


----------



## Graywolf-ELM

My luck has turned.  Multiple of my favorites updated in the last couple of weeks.  

Now I must get my Pirates Play by Post game going again.

GW


----------



## barsoomcore

"Johann."

Dras tugged at the little cord around her wrist, looking up as Black called to the team and the wagon slowed.

They came to a halt on a broad gravel driveway where another wagon sat, empty. The horses of that wagon whickered to the newcomers. All four horses tossed their heads and stamped, shying away from the house.

The house had once been brightly whitewashed and neatly trimmed. It had not been kept in good order for some time. Paint peeled from the clapboard siding in long, waving fans. Most of the windows showed jagged teeth of glass, others gaped black and empty. Weeds grew up at the base, and vines had curled up around the railings of the verandah.

Dras, Quinn, Ana and Black descended from the wagon and stared.

"Johann."

"Did you hear that?"

Quinn shrugged.

"Hear what?"

"Nothing."

They moved as a group towards the verandah steps, boots crunching on gravel. The house sat at the base of a steep hill, nestled under straggly trees and with its rear facing a wide expanse of high grass, beyond which breakers crashed onto black rock.

Black peered into the bed of the other wagon. He shrugged.

"It's empty."

Quinn and Ana exchanged a glance.

"We heard in town that a big African gentleman with a walking-stick had hired a wagon and headed out this way. Could be Monsignor Domino, just ahead of us."

"Great. So he's around here right now."

The four looked around themselves. The house, the two wagons, the gravel drive, the sea beyond and the mountains behind. Away down the shore, to their right, rose a distant mound of stone that could only be the ruined castle of Bushiribana.

"Johann."

"That, I heard."

The high-pitched cry had come from within the house. Dras, Ana, Quinn and Black moved that way, only to stop at Dras' gasp.

The front door of the house was smeared with a dark brown substance, drawing a crude cross in a circle. Stuck into the smears were black feathers, weather-beaten and half-stripped. A bottle of rum sat on the verandah floorboards in front of the door, next to a battered and torn top hat.

Black could see Dras shaking. The young woman stared at the display, her dark eyes wide with terror.

"Proteje-nou, Papa Agwe, silvouple. Baron Samedi, nou ne gen lentansyon pas  derespe. Souple bayez-nou ton benediksyon et pemet-nous kontinye. Proteje-nou silvouple."

"What is it, lad? You're not afraid of a couple of gew-gaws, are you?"

Dras started at Black's touch. She shook herself and pointed.

"I'm not walking through that door. Baron Samedi has been here. This house is full of death."

"Johann."

"Well, there's somebody in there who's not yet dead. Maybe we can find a back door or some such thing."

Black led the way around the corner of the house and towards the rear. On their right rose tall island grass, a wide field of the waving stalks between the house and the sea.

They came around to the back of the house and found a door hanging open.

"Johann."

Quinn led the way inside, one hand gripping the bell hilt of his cutlass. Dras followed close behind with her rapier out, eyes wide, and Ana came behind her, an arrow nocked on the string of her bow. Last of all was Black, more unnerved by Dras' panic and the strange totem at the front door than he'd let on. He looked around at the sky, the tall grass and the far-off ocean before stepping into the dark house.

The foursome crept along disused hallways where dust and cobwebs lay thick. They found a narrow staircase leading up and followed Quinn to the second floor.

"Johann."

The voice came from an open doorway before them. Quinn and Dras moved silently to the doorway and peered in. Dras managed to stifle a shriek at the sight, but her obvious distress brought Ana and Black forward.

The room beyond was bare except for a single straight-backed chair upon the blood-washed floorboards. In the chair sat what had once been a young man, now mutilated with dozens of deep slashes all over his naked body. He stared at them, senseless but alive, his dull eyes filled with horror.

As they watched, rooted with fear, he lifted his right hand, brandishing the razor it held and then slashed himself across the chest.

"Johann."

Blood spattered on the floorboards. The pool of red was wide and thick and viscous.

"That's enough."

Quinn raised his pistol and blew the unfortunate man's head apart. His body slumped and slid wetly to the floor. The razor skittered across the gruesome scene to lie at Dras' feet. Slowly, as if uncertain of herself, the young woman sank down and picked up the implement. Tied to the handle with a leather strap was a black feather.

"Lord Samedi."

Black looked around.

"Well, that seems to be all there is to see. Perhaps we should be on our way?"

"You don't want to search the house for the skull?"

"If it were here, my dear Ana, I'm sure that Monsignor Domino would have found it and already left. He's not here, so neither is the skull."

Quinn nodded. "What about the castle?"

"Yes, exactly. No doubt our heavy-set nemesis is there. Now, Dras, lad, let's have no more of this superstitious talk, shall we? We'll need you alert, lad."

Dras shook herself and, still holding the razor, nodded.

"The castle. Let's go."

It became obvious the castle had been designed to loom. Ruined and decrepit as the ancient structure was, it continued to perform its primary function well enough. Its sightless windows leaned out over the beach where the four approached.

Dras stared up at the massive pile and muttered, "Why are we doing this again? Do we owe somebody something?"

Quinn did not look over as he responded.

"A little late for questions. We don't really have time to get into a discussion right now."

"Are you cognizant of the fact that we know nothing about what's in there, or who, or why they might want to cut us into pieces?"

"I'm cognizant of this: the sun is going to set in half an hour, and I don't want to be here when it does. Moving faster now."

"Actually, I think I'll move slower. The guards have seen us."

"Guards? There can't be anyone left alive here."

Dras' response was a little higher-pitched than normal.

"I don't think they are. Left alive."

The other slowed to match their pace to Dras', studying the leering apparitions in the gateway. Black frowned.

"What are they holding?"

"Rakes, I think. Perhaps they used to be gardeners."

"I wish they wouldn't look at us like that."

Dras laughed.

"Like how? They don't have any eyes, just empty, gory sockets where -- "

"That's what I mean. I wish they wouldn't look at us like that."

"Well, I think we can safely say Mister Domino is likely to be about. Let us dispatch these two and be on our guard."

Quinn scowled but stepped forward, clutching his heavy cutlass with both hands. Black came up beside him with a pistol in each hand and took careful aim.

The guards shambled forward. One collapsed at the impact of a pistol ball against its fragile skull while Quinn advanced towards the other, brandishing his cutlass. He spent a little too much time brandishing, however, for just as he prepared to swing, opening his mouth for a battle cry, the guard reached out with its rake and struck him solidly on the head.

"Ouch."

Quinn stumbled back, clutching at his head. Black fired his second pistol and both undead guards lay stretched out beneath the crumbling stone towers.

The foursome pressed nervously into the ancient courtyard. Ruined walls lay in piles on all sides. Across from them stood a decrepit structure, long and high-roofed. Beyond, the setting sun bled into the sea, casting long shadows across the courtyard. A low moaning that wasn't quite the wind nor the surf seemed to roll outwards from the building's tall windows.

All four started as one of the now-inanimate guardians creaked and turned what remained of its shattered head towards them.

"The will of Six Thousand Men contests you. Six Thousand Men knows what you have come for and you will never defeat it. Six Thousand Men awaits you."

The hideous thing crumbled into dust. Ana gestured towards the elderly building.

"In the chapel?"

Dras repeated her friend's gesture.

"After you."


----------



## Graywolf-ELM

excellent.

GW


----------



## barsoomcore

Thanks for the props! Still ticking!


----------



## BSF

Eeeeewwwwww!
Gory and creepy.

Excellent work Barsoomcore.


----------



## barsoomcore

About to get gorier and (we hope) creepier. And we're closing on the first official playtest session for _Hot Pursuit_!

Seems like a long time ago.


----------



## trilobite

Giving the thread a big bump! 

Hey BC! You ever going to get around to finishing this?


----------



## Zaruthustran

Heck yeah! More piratey goodness, please!

-z


----------



## barsoomcore

Sorry, folks. Things have gotten very busy down Barsoom way and a number of pet projects have suffered. I AM working on a new installment, however, and with luck it will be posted sooner rather than later.

Stay tuned!


----------



## barsoomcore

Ana gulped and forced herself forward until she could peer in through the shattered doorway of the chapel. She could hear the surf beyond the crumbling structure, pounding on the rocky shore with incessant thunder. The sun lay low on the ocean's rim, flooding the scene with stark bloody illumination.

Behind her, Dras, Black and Quinn watched cautiously from the rubble-strewn courtyard.

Inside the chapel she saw overturned benches covered in dust, mounds of debris, and a patchwork ceiling of broken tiles. At the far end of the building stood an ancient altar, upon which grinned a skull made of heavy crystal. Ana sucked in a shaking breath and looked away from the terrible thing before its strange power overwhelmed her as the previous one had.

Even so, she had a vague glimmer in her mind.

_Chains rattled in hollow dread. Feet shuffled, heavy and wet. Low, mossy voices moaned in unending torment.

"Six Thousand Men will not be denied..."_

She did not faint. Ana steadied herself against the heavy stones of the chapel, trying to slow her frantic heart. With an impatient look back at the others, she gestured them forward. Dras spoke loudly to carry her words over the crashing of the waves nearby.

"Is there a skull inside? Did it do the same thing to you?"

"Yes. Yes. It's on the table at the far end."

Black looked around the wind-blown ruins. Salt spray chilled the air.

"No sign of our friend Monsignor Domino. Perhaps we'd best move quickly."

Quinn nodded, feeling much bolstered by the fact that Ana hadn't immediately collapsed at the sight of this skull.

"I'll fetch the blasted thing. You lot stay right here."

With that, he dashed into the chapel.

The sudden screams actually drowned out the thundering surf. Quinn's three friends peered fearfully around the entrance arch.

Quinn hung thrashing in mid-air, writhing in the tenebrous grip of a nightmarish phantasm: limbs and torsos and screaming faces whirling about in a tower of ghostly bodies. The terrible thing seemed taller than the chapel that contained it, reaching upwards into black emptiness.

Ana hissed, "Xibalba," and, with a quick search through her pack, came up with a scroll of parchment. She unrolled and began reading out loud, ignoring the screams and howls from within. Dras and Black, with a look at their chanting companion, shrugged and ran into the chapel.

Debris flew about, the air deafening and violent with concussion, shrieking and a slow, unstoppable rumble like a rockslide bearing down on them. Dras and Black plunged forward, grabbing hold of their friend and heaving to pull him free.

The terrible thing clutching him would not let go, and with a sudden convulsion, hurled him straight up into the air.

Quinn's body flew upwards, bursting right through the roof tiles and soaring out of sight. Dras and Black gaped at their friend's sudden disappearance, and then started as a curtain of mist rose up in front of them. Ana stood beside them, still clutching the parchment.

"_Mists of Xibalba_. I think it will hide us from Six Thousand Men."

Black frowned.

"I'm not as worried about an army as I am about that thing over there."

He had to gesture vaguely as the great pillar of corpses was now entirely hidden by the mist. Ana shook her head.

"No, that thing IS Six Thousand Men. That's its name. It's one of the Demon Lords of Xibalba. Remember what Ah Balaam was talking about? The Demon Lords are rising. Lel-Za-Bol is another -- we already have its skull. And there's one called Dagon, that zombi back on Firewatch mentioned it."

"How many are there?"

"I remember some stories, but not very well. Some of my people live on this island; if we can find them we can perhaps talk to their elders."

Black considered. They stood now in a cylinder of mist, with nothing visible beyond the pale drifting wall only an arm's reach from them.

"Alright. Presumably Mister Domino has his own reasons for collecting these skulls. I say we beat him to it, gather them up and destroy them. We know he's around right now, so you two go on and collect the skull of, um, Several Thousand Folks, and I'll go back to the house and make sure the cart's ready for us to get out of here. Meet me there."

Ana realised that Quinn was nowhere to be seen.

"What happened to Mister Quinn?"

Dras grimaced and looked away from the sudden horror in the island girl's eyes.

"Let's get this done if we're doing it. Will this mist move with you?"

Ana nodded. Black stood for a second, wanting to say something, but with only a nod he dashed out of the mist. Dras led Ana in the opposite direction, picking her way amongst the debris, hoping they were heading towards the altar. A few course corrections were required, but soon the dust-covered stone platform emerged from the mists surrounding them.

Both women kept their eyes averted as Dras opened the apple sack and swept the terrible relic inside. There was a clunk, a bit of a rattle, and the overpowering sense of dread that had so consumed them went away.

"Let's get out of here."

There was no more sign of Six Thousand Men, though Dras' apple sack felt cold and uneasy to the touch. The slender mulatto ignored the evil sensations and the two women ran from the ruined castle, plunging through the tall grasses towards the house.

After a few dozen yards Dras stopped, gesturing for silence from Ana. They stood still, panting, while Dras listened intently. Her dark eyes flashed at Ana and she whispered.

"Someone's out here with us. Not too far away."

"Black?"

"I don't think so."

Heavy footsteps suddenly erupted just off to their left, and with only a quick cry from Ana, the two women started off again, something crashing through the grasses behind them. The crystal skulls hung over Dras' shoulder, their weight dragging at her feet, but she managed to keep up with Ana's fleet stride. They burst from the tall grass onto the gravel driveway of the house.

Black had already gotten the wagon turned around and ready to go. He called out to the horses and twitched the reins and they started out even before Dras and Ana got to the wagon, and they had to throw themselves aboard the moving vehicle.

Both cried out at the same time. Ana because Quinn lay, weak and injured, in the bed of the wagon, and Dras because she saw behind them the massive form of Monsignor Domino emerge from the grasses and leap aboard the second wagon. She scrambled up to the board where Black sat driving the team at a full gallop. Gravel spewed as they veered out onto the road. Ahead lay a twisting canyon drive over the ridge that divided Aruba lengthwise. The sun was almost setting behind them.

"Did you disable the other wagon?"

Black shook his head.

"No time. Looks like we're in for a chase."


----------



## Graywolf-ELM

Yay, an update, and a chase scene coming up.

GW


----------



## barsoomcore

Yes, indeed. It is in fact the original playtest session for _Hot Pursuit_.


----------



## barsoomcore

Oh, and that bit where Six Thousand Men threw Quinn out of the chapel? That was the first run of Skull & Bones' excellent "Roll the Bones" mechanic. When your hit points drop to zero, you roll 2d6. If you roll high, you don't lose a life, you just fall unconscious. If you roll low, you lose a life.

The fun bit is that you don't know how many lives you have. But upon losing a life, you're basically removed from the encounter and turn up later somehow, groggy and helpless but alive.

It turned out to be a GREAT mechanic, and one I intend to use in other games. Really fun.

So anyway, Quinn's player rolled low and I thought having him flung right out of the building would be a good time. Black found him on the beach nearby.


----------



## barsoomcore

The desperate panting of the horses; the shattering clatter of the wagon wheels on the loose shale of the roadway; Black's voice calling out to the team, urging them on; these sounds filled Dras' ears as she watched two simultaneous perils: the stomach-churning drop-off to their left, and the implacable form of Monsignor Domino, driving his team with demonic fervour as his wagon slowly gained on theirs.

The two wagons careened up the narrow mountain road that led over the spine of the island of Aruba, away from the horrors of the old Van Meertens estate and the crumbling ruins of Bushiribana. The road twisted and clung to the steep cliffside up a long rain-cut valley lined with scrub trees and clinging vines. Far, far below the glimmer of a stream reflected the last rays of the dying sun.

Their wagon lurched and Dras clutched at her seat, trying not to scream as she watched the lead horse skitter on its hooves, scrambling to stay clear of the fearful drop. Wheels skidded and rattled as they plunged forward.

"Can't we go faster? He's getting closer."

Black shook his head, too intent on controlling the team, the horses terrified out of their wits, to answer. Dras leaned over and pawed at the Englishman's clothes.

"Here now. What's the idea?"

Dras cackled as she drew one of Black's grenadoes from a pocket. She leapt down into the bed of the wagon, where Ana was getting a groggy Quinn settled, and lit the fuse with a flourish.

The wagon crashed over a rock, nearly sending everyone flying. Ana grabbed hold of Quinn who grabbed hold of the side wall of the wagon bed. Black clung to the reins. Dras grabbed the seat behind her.

And dropped the lit grenadoe, which rolled about on the floor of the wagon.

She, Ana and Quinn all just stared at the deadly device, too horrified to move. The wheels hit another rock and the smoking missile bounced out of the wagon and onto the road behind them, exploding just past Monsignor Domino's thundering vehicle. The three friends kept staring for some time.

Black shouted back at them.

"That was a good shot! Try another one!"

Dras looked over at Ana.

"Why don't YOU try the next one?"

The island girl nodded and stood to join Black on the board up front. As she did so, Domino gestured with his staff.

Dras watched in shock as a sickening black ray shot from Domino's staff and struck Ana between her shoulder blades. The girl cried out and collapsed over Quinn, who responded with an angry curse and yanked one of his pistols free. The gunshot could scarcely be heard over the deafening thunder of the wagons, but Domino ducked aside and Quinn cackled.

"He's mortal enough, look at him duck. Black, keep 'er steady and we'll soon have him."

Black up front paid little attention to his friends as he hauled on the reins and shouted at the team. The road wound in and out along the ridges of the cliffside and the wagon skidded back and forth across the narrow surface. Rocks and pebbles kicked up by the horses or shot outwards by the wagon wheels plunged into the abyss alongside them, constant reminders of the fate that would befall them if one horse put a hoof wrong.

As was always his way, however, part of Black's mind remained completely detached from his circumstance, and studied the strangest aspects of his surroundings. He didn't really know much about the construction of wagons, he realized, and considered the way in which the team was attached to the box itself. The horses were lashed to cross-poles which attached to a single shaft that attached to the wagon with a pin.

A single pin.

Black stared at that pin so hard he nearly drove them straight off the cliff, but at the last minute he pulled the team hard to the right, shouting for Dras.

"Dras, lad! Look there, that pin. See it? There must be something like it on the Monsignor's wagon."

"Yes, I'm sure there is."

Dras fired both pistols to little effect. Ana had recovered a bit and was reloading madly. Black continued shouting and gesticulating.

"If you could get onto his wagon, you could yank that pin and he'd have no horses."

"That's true."

They rattled on for a few more heartbeats. It occurred to Dras to wonder why Black was bringing all this up.

"Wait a minute, are you serious?"

Shale splintered and the sheer cliff beside them roared past, echoing back the plunging hooves of the horses. The wagon lurched and slid. Domino continued to close with them.

"You're not serious?"

"You're a nimble lad. You can do it."

"I'm glad you're so confident."

Another blast from Domino's staff sizzled past Dras and struck Black. The Englishman cried out and fell sideways. Only a desperate lunge by Dras kept the unfortunate captain from tumbling onto the road and under the wheels of the wagons.

With a curse, Dras pitched Black's semi-conscious form into the wagon bed. Domino's wagon thundered closer as theirs slowed, the horses no longer driven to exhaustion. Domino was upon them, his dark face lit up with a fiendish grin.

Dras made a decision.

"Quinn! Take the reins!"

The Irishman clambered up onto the board and yelled at the horses. Domino was nearly alongside. He raised his staff again, but this time lost control of his wagon. Dras watched, praying for an end to this, as one wheel spun out in space, but the horses drove forward and for a second the two wagons hurtled along side-by-side, Domino on the outside, glaring at them all.

At Quinn's shout and the slap of the reins, their horses pulled forward a little. Dras decided to try Black's mad idea. With a quick prayer to whoever might be listening, she leapt up onto the wagon side and threw herself into space.

Ana, dazed and only partially aware of what was happening, saw her friend fly from the wagon and shouted out, pulling herself upright only to find Domino's hand reaching out at her. Ana threw herself back and snatched up a loaded pistol. The gun went off and the ball slammed into Domino's shoulder, yanking him backwards and out of sight.

Ana stared for a second, hoping she'd shot the sinister vodoun right off the wagon, but he reappeared, snarling with rage. Once again his staff lowered at her.

Quinn knew even less about driving a team than Black had, and simply swore endlessly at the horses, slapping them again and again. He thought of trying to force Domino's wagon off the road, but had too little faith in his ability to do so without sending both wagons to their doom. He contented himself with shrieking at the horses.

Dras soared, weightless, for less than second, watching the road hurtle by beneath her outstretched form, before crashing in a tangle of limbs and reins and madly pounding hooves amid the team pulling Domino's wagon.

There wasn't any pin. Apparently this wagon was made under different principles. Dras swore and risked a look behind her. Domino hadn't even seen her, so intent was he on using his magic staff. Dras yanked on the traces holding the team to the wagon but they refused to give. What she needed was a knife of some kind, to cut the leather straps holding the horses to the wagon.

The razor blade Johann had been using to cut himself slipped into her hand. Without thinking at all about the meaning of that, Dras slashed at the traces just as she heard Domino bellow.

As she cut the last of the straps, it occurred to Dras to wonder what would happen to her at this point.

Ana steeled herself for that shriveling, wasting touch of Domino's spell. She scrambled for another loaded gun, knowing she was too late, but determined to die with a weapon in her hand.

The weakening blast didn't come. Ana opened her eyes and found Domino further away than he'd been before. And departing rapidly. As she watched, his hands flew up and he and his wagon soared away from her in a gentle arc, sailing down into the canyon and darkness. His four horses still galloped along the road, but his wagon had failed to negotiate a corner and now plunged straight down out of sight.

"Quinn! Quinn! It's okay, he's gone, he fell. Quinn, we're safe! We're okay!"

Dras, clinging to the traces behind Domino's team and being dragged none too gently along the roughly-cut road called out to them.

"I'm not okay."


----------



## barsoomcore

_A captain is meant to keep a journal, I suppose. So here goes. Captain Rupert Black of the good ship Defiance, holding a privateering commission from His Majesty the King, rounding the north of Saint-Dominique on our way to Cap-Haitien, where we hope to find Zipakna.

Zipakna. A woman, or perhaps a demon. She is somehow connected with these heathen skulls we have collected two of. Mister Fawn, who helped us find Van Meerten's estate, died after we left him, poisoned, the only suspect a tall Indian woman that the local savages would identify only as Zipakna.

Young Ana provided some helpful details. This Zipakna is named after a legendary horror of some sort, a consort to demons or what have you. Word is that our murderous young hussy is these days a consort to a dago captain, one Luis de Chacon, who's taken over command of the Havana squadron.

Fawn left us a note, fortunately, telling us that this woman seeks the skulls and is on her way to Cap-Haitien where she is preparing some heathen ritual.

I hear the lookout raising Morne du Haut du Cap. We are arriving. God bless us all. And may He keep the King safe._


"What was that?"

"Dras, are you hearing things again?"

Dras looked over at Quinn.

"Perhaps you forget that the last time I heard something, it turned out to be kind of important."

Quinn paused in his whittling.

"What'd you hear?"

Dras shivered. The afternoon sun blazed down fierce and hot, and the breeze off the green mountains of Saint-Dominique came thick and sweltering across the deck, but she felt a deep chill inside her. That low, hollow voice had come from nowhere, hissing in her ear wth foul promise.

"Something about a sign. A yellow sign."

The ship cleared the point of a tall ridge striking out from the coast, and looking in to shore the crew of the _Defiance_ could see a good-sized town spreading along the base of the ridge, rising up from the rocky beach through scrub trees and dusty fields to where the rock face of the ridge shot upwards three hundred feet. A couple of tubby merchant ships sat at anchor in the bay, one swarming with longboats and crewmen as she unloaded her cargo. The _Defiant_ slid towards their anchorages like a lean wolf easing towards hesitant prey.

The Defiants lined the rails to study the Spanish town as their sloop drifted into the harbour. One of the old hands from the _Ascot Marine_ pointed up at a red-tiled villa nestled at the base of the cliff.

"That's the dago governer's mansion, there."

He spat over the side.

Quinn sidled over to the helm where Black stood, chatting about the best anchorage with the helmsman.

"Isn't this a Spanish port? Won't they arrest us?"

Black shook his head with considerably more confidence than he felt.

"We're just a neutral vessel, a privately operated sloop looking for cargo. There's no way they could have heard about the _Rosario_ yet, so we're safe enough."

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely. There's no chance of us running into any trouble here."

*****

_"Have you seen the Yellow Sign?"_

Dras recoiled from a shrouded figure pushing past her. The hissing question had been repeated a couple of times since they came aboard, and she was not the only one who'd heard it.

Something strange was afoot in the strange, tension-filled town of Cap-Haitien.

The Cap was divided into three layers, each rising a little higher than the one below. The population was carefully divided, as well, between the Europeans up top, the African slaves down below, and the half-breed mulattos in between. Unused to the obvious racial demarcations, Dras was uneasy enough already, but that combined with the weird, whispering voices from the crowded streets around them put her deeply on edge.

"What does that mean? Why do they keep saying that?"

"I don't know, lad, but you're not the only one hearing it. Right, then."

Black drew his friends into an alleyway. Around them surged the chatter and mutter and constant flow of the Cap-Haitian market. Bright headscarves punctuated the crowds of slaves and sailors, clashing with gaudy prints and flashes of gold.

"We know this Zipakna person is on her way here to collect one of the skulls. We need to find it before she does. Perhaps we should split up, ask around, come up with some notion where it might be."

Quinn nodded.

"Splitting up? Sure, good idea."

*****

Dras was not happy being left to herself. She drifted through the mulatto quarter, watching the townsfolk rush around her. Shanties leaned against one another, rough plank roofs weathered by rain and smoke, and the muddy streets had covered her nicely-polished boots in a thick coat of slime.

She'd grown up in a town not too unlike this one, but Port Royal didn't have the strict segregation that Cap had, and the resulting tension made her uneasy. At the same time, she felt a certain relaxation at being among her own folk, hearing the familiar creole she'd grown up with, the whistling cries of the fish sellers and the chuckling gossip of the wives in the market. For the most part the town seemed normal enough, but every so often those whispering voices hissed at her.

_"Have you seen the Yellow Sign?"_

Her neck crawled with an unnameable dread at that sinister question, but every time she whirled to confront the speaker, there was no one behind her. No mouth stretched towards her ear.

She knew the mark of the mambo: two hands outstretched, the left painted red. _Servir a two mans_: serve with two hands; one hand for the mortals, one hand for the gods. Dras pushed aside the curtain and ducked her head as she passed into the tiny shop. Dried chicken heads and rows of spice jars lined the walls on ramshackle shelves.

The old woman was almost completely hidden behind a stack of carved bowls. She appeared to be made out of the same dark, weather-beaten wood as the bowls.

"Child. Papa Agwe told me you would come, on the path of Xibalba. Carrying the heavy chains of Six Thousand Men and Lel-Za-Bol. Come in, child."

Cautiously Dras worked her way through the piles of junk.

"What are these skulls? What do they do?"

The mambo's voice croaked in the darkness.

"Cozumel. The Temple of the Sun. She will seek to open the door to Xibalba. Only the blood of a sacrifice can seal the portal, can send the skulls back to the hell they came from."

"A sacrifice, huh?"

An unsteady hand reached up towards Dras.

"Show me the razor. The Baron's shaving blade."

Startled, Dras fished in her pocket and produced the blood-spattered razor.

"More blood will wash this blade. More blood. More blood."

Dras frowned as the old woman's voice trailed off. Then rattled. Coughed.

Something shifted, far down beneath Dras, beneath the surface of the earth itself. Stones or heavy teeth ground together. Thick fluid surged through cracks and deep subterranean chasms. The old woman's eyes fluttered, then opened wide. Her voice when she spoke changed. It was no longer her voice, but the rotting foulness of the elemental darkness deep beneath the waking world.

"Your blood. Your blood."

She drew in a rattling, bubbling breath. Dras found herself unable to move, staring at the old woman as her limbs twitched and spasmed grotesquely.

"Your blood. We smell your blood, woman. You will give us your blood."

Dras began whispering constant, unending prayers. She managed to get enough control over herself to slide backwards a step, then another step.

"The SIGN."

The old woman's body flailed and her head jerked back in a wailing scream.

_"HAVE YOU SEEN THE YELLOW SIGN?"_

Dras ran for it, plunging back into the alley and through the marketplace crowds, panting and sobbing as she pushed past people.

*****

"That was completely unprovoked."

"You were pretty rude, Quinn."

"He didn't have to punch me."

"You hit him first."

"Well, he should have stayed down."

_"Have you seen the Yellow Sign?"_

Ana yelped at the sudden question and twisted around. She and Quinn faced a stooped figure in a tattered yellow robe, indifferent to the thronging crowds rushing past. The two companions shared a glance and then Ana stepped forward.

"No, we haven't. But we'd, uh, maybe like to. Maybe."

The figure gestured.

"Come with me."

"Oh, no."


----------



## Graywolf-ELM

More spine-tingling goodness/badness.  Thank you for updating.

GW


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## barsoomcore

You're very welcome! Look for more updates soonishly!


----------



## Kunimatyu

Wow, Good stuff. Absolutely great plotting and writing!

Now I'm really happy I picked up Skull and Bones last week!


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## demiurge1138

OK. Whew. Just read this whole thing in one sitting. First, excellent use of Tammeraut's Fate. And excellent use of atmosphere for spooky piratey goodness. And, well, good use of just about everything.

And then the Yellow Sign? Blew me right out of the water. 

I really, really, really want to read more of this.

Demiurge out.


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## Yellow Sign

demiurge1138 said:
			
		

> And then the Yellow Sign? Blew me right out of the water.




I am sorry! I didn't mean to do that.   


YS


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## Yellow Sign

This is a dang ripping yarn! Great good stuff! 

YS


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## barsoomcore

By the way, Quinn's low Charisma really sank his Diplomacy check. Especially when he rolled a one. Indifferent to Unfriendly in one fell swoop!


----------



## barsoomcore

"I swear, if one more person asks me if I've seen the Yellow Bloody Sign, there will be murders."

Black growled his frustration as the little group made their way towards the governor's mansion, where warm light and activity promised a party. He stomped up between the waving palms that lined the road, forcing his friends to hurry to keep up.

"Did you find anything out, Black?"

"Idiot Frenchies. Yellow Sign. Chamber Mortal. What bloody ever. I've had enough of all this. We'll speak to this dago governor and sort it out proper."

"Chamber what?"

Dras jogged alongside her steaming friend, shooting glances back at Quinn and Ana, who were following more slowly. They both looked a little pale. Black took no notice of Dras' question, or indeed anything else, other than making further progress towards the mansion. Dras dropped back to her other friends.

"What's going on here? Black seems, uh, agitated."

Quinn grunted. Ana made no response at all. Dras frowned. They were nearing the governor's mansion, passing a row of carriages as they went up the drive towards the front steps. Some sort of music came drifting out from within, strange, disharmonic music that jarred at Dras' eardrums.

"What the hell is that noise?"

At last Dras saw her friends react. Everyone pulled up as the sound of the music, if indeed it was music, became more audible. As one, they all winced. Black shook his head.

"I don't know much about music, but I don't think I like that much."

Quinn growled.

"What are we doing? We need a plan of some kind."

All four looked at each other. The music shifted, strange voices rising up in uneasy cadence.

"What did you find out, Black?"

"These fools are killing themselves. They've got some Chamber where folks go to top themselves. It's all tied up in this Yellow Bloody Sign."

"What?"

Black exploded.

"They've got these people all turned around, don't you see? The poor fools are offing themselves for some heathen superstition, the Papists started it all, their cardinal or whatever is here at the party. They've most likely got the skull, and I've no doubt it's that cursed thing that's got everyone's brains turning to mush around here."

Dras thought quickly. It made sense, though she wasn't sure what had Black so upset. Before she could speak, he turned and stormed up the steps into the mansion. The other three scrambled after him, passing through the unwatched doors into the bright entrance hall.

The music was worse inside; strange rhythms and vibrations that set their teeth on edge.

They followed Black across the entry hall, brushing past a protesting doorman, and slammed into a wide ballroom surging with bright dresses and gleaming uniforms, that terrible music roaring out from the stage where an orchestra thrashed in savage fury.

"Black, what are we looking for?"

The Englishman seemed to have calmed down a little. He turned to his friends.

"Somebody who can tell us how to find this Chamber Mortal. Him."

Quinn and the others looked where he pointed, at a tall cadaverous man in a crimson cloak, talking with some Spanish officer.

"Well, it's a cinch he's not going to speak a couple of dark folks like Ana and I. It's you or Quinn, there."

Ana spoke up.

"Not Quinn. He doesn't have skills."

"I got skills."

"Alright then, lads. And Ana. Oh, and you, Dras. You lot spread out and see if you can find anything else out. But be ready to run for it. I don't like the looks of this."

"It's the sound of it that's really setting me off."

The four friends worked their way into the crowd, passing dancers and disdainful society matrons.

Ana, sensing how the crowd here reacted to her presence and the colour of her skin, made for the kitchen. The staff might be more helpful. She found a swinging door and passed through into a sweltering kitchen where rows of uniformed workers were laying out trays of fruit and vegetables.

Every single one of them stopped and looked up at her. Ana coughed.

"Oh, um, hello. I was, um wondering. Where. If you. I."

Sudden inspiration struck.

"Have any of you seen the, uh, the Yellow Sign? By any chance?"

Not a one of them moved. Ana swallowed. The music still wavered and howled back in the ballroom.

"Yes. Very good. Thanks." 

Meanwhile, Dras had been making her way around the room in the opposite direction. She stopped as a heavy claw gripped her shoulder. A sneering face confronted her, and snarled in Spanish-accented French.

"Who told you your kind was welcome here, boy?"

Dras slipped free of his hand and stepped back. She let herself smile coldly, and replied as best she could in French.

"Who told you yours was... boy?"

"By god, no half-breed adolescent speaks to me like that!"

The group melted away on all sides as a curved sabre appeared in the man's hand. Dras' smile widened.

"Ah. My native tongue."

At the same moment, Quinn, who'd been keeping an eye on Anna, noticed a couple tucked behind a curtain, grasping at each other. At first embarrassed and inclined to turn away, his attention was drawn by a dark smear on the wall beside them. Blood. The desperate sucking sound hissed over the deafening cacophony of the music. Quinn fought a surge of nausea.

Black had just reached the man he'd identified as the local chaplain. Barging into the ongoing conversation, he poked at the tall man in crimson.

"You, sir. Father. Where's this Chamber of yours? What are you hiding out there?"

Rather than look offended, the man's lean face brightened in a friendly smile.

"Hiding? Not at all. The Chambre Mortil is open to all. Beyond the mansion there is a road, sir. Simply follow that for a mile or so and you will see it. We have nothing to hide."

"Oh. Well, then. We'll be on our way. Thank you, sir."

More than happy for any reason to leave, Black grabbed Dras and steered her towards the door, leaving her spluttering opponent without a backwards glance. The music suddenly shifted, rising in pitch and volume, as they reached Quinn and Ana and hustled through the crowd towards the door. Dras, indignant at missing her chance to fight, tugged her arm free and spun for a last look at her challenger.

And immediately wished she hadn't.

The crowd filling the room had begun to gesticulate and shudder, hands waving and voices frothing up with the music.

_"Xibalba p'tah mi'totiani! Hastur ia tlamacazcoteuli!"_

Arms flailed, bending grotesquely like tentacles, flesh rippling and boiling as nameless fluids spattered on the parquet. A revolting stench billowed down the hall and they choked as it rolled over them. Black grabbed Dras.

"Don't look back."

They ran, footsteps crunching on the gravel drive as they followed Black's lead, away from the house where the voices rose still higher, ululating in frenzied rhythm. The darkness down the road seemed comforting and safe after the weirdness they'd just witnessed.

Quinn was the first to get his voice back.

"What in God's name is going on here?"

Ana answered, her voice quiet and frightened.

"Xibalba. They are lifting the veil between the worlds."

"That sounds bad."

Black snorted.

"We won't let that happen. Their skull is hidden up here, at the Chamber Mortal."

"What are we going to do with all these skulls? Is there a plan?"

"We could hold a raffle."

"You're not helping, Quinn."


----------



## Graywolf-ELM

Excellent update.  Thank you.  Even now, I am still adjusting to Dras being female.  The updates still have a creepy feel to them.

GW


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## barsoomcore

Creepy is one of the primary design goals for this campaign, so that's encouraging.


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## Zaruthustran

Creepy and gross. Nice work!


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## barsoomcore

Gross is indeed one of our secondary design considerations for this campaign. Exactly.


----------



## Kid Charlemagne

_"I recognize terror as the finest emotion and so I will try to terrorize the reader. But if I find that I cannot terrify, I will try to horrify, and if I find that I cannot horrify, I'll go for the gross-out. I'm not proud."_ - Stephen King


----------



## barsoomcore

Dras sneered at the cowled figures assembled around the strange, multi-tiered altar.

"If I ever start my own heathen religion, I'm choosing better uniforms."

Quinn only grunted as he drew his cutlass.

"Eight of them, four of us."

The interior of the chapel flickered with dank, guttering candle flames, shadows hiding the rough stonework and outlining the cowled figures Dras had found so contemptible. Each figure drew a hooked blade and stepped forward. Their dark robes swung above the marble slabs of the floor.

Dras wasted no further time on witticisms. She stepped to her right, beginning a quick circle around the nearest cultist, and flicked her rapier up to deflect the first attack.

Ana stepped back from the advancing figures.

"We just want the-"

The ringing of steel on steel announced mayhem. Dras laughed and plunged into the midst of her foes, spinning and twisting away from their attacks as her rapier flashed and stabbed and danced in all directions.

Black's pistols roared out, the flash of their muzzles blinding in the dark chapel. Bodies fell, tumbled back. Quinn's cutlass chopped down. Screams and splatter of blood on stone echoed from the walls.

Ana threw herself to the floor, crashing down and rolling behind the strange altar. She caught the reflection of candlelight on crystal and averted her eyes, terrified that if she looked upon the skull that sat grinning there she would lose her reason again.

Dras kicked the first cultist to fall, and lunged out to catch another in the side, halting his swing at Black as he clutched at the wound and collapsed. She grinned at Black, who caught her eye and shouted, "Behind you!"

Too late Dras turned as a strong arm wrapped around her throat and heaved her bodily into the air. She kicked and thrashed, but the man behind her refused to relax his choking grip. His other hand reached around to take hold of her, and to Dras' chagrin, grappled her right on the chest.

Evidently what he found there surprised the cultist, for he startled and dropped the slim young woman, who leapt up from where she landed, twisting and driving her blade up and under his ribs.

Quinn's cutlass shrieked as his opponent's blade slid along its edge, just missing the Irishman's right side. With a fierce roar Quinn thrust forward, slamming the copper hilt of his cutlass into the man's face. The terrible crunching noise thus produced brought a wicked smile to Quinn's mouth and he carried on forward, driving his opponent down to the stone flooring and delivering another terrific blow, this time with the edged part of his weapon.

Black, having discharged both his pistols in the early seconds of the fight, had drawn his own cutlass and was facing off against a knife-weilding cultist who, unlike his brothers, seemed to be considering the problem of using a knife to defeat a swordsman with some seriousness.

At last he decided on a feint high, followed by a half-hearted lunge for Black's midsection. The Englishman stepped back and whirled his cutlass up over his head and down, catching the cultist on the shoulder and not only delivering a terrible gaping wound but knocking the fellow sideways to the floor, where he was further subjected to the indignity of receiving Dras' boot in his face.

Only a few seconds had passed, and all the cultists lay on the floor dead or unable to continue fighting. The four companions studied each other for a second, establishing without speaking that they were all uninjured, and then turned to the altar.

Ana pointed.

"It's behind that upright. I saw it. Sort of."

Quinn stepped forward, holding open the canvas sack that carried the other two skulls.

"Put it in here. Carefully."

With a fallen knife, shielding her eyes from the terrible artifact, Ana levered it into the sack. The solid ring of its impact upon the other skulls sounded like no crystal Quinn had ever heard.

"That's three. I wonder how many there are."

*****

"ZIPAKNA! ZIPAKNA! ZIPAKNA!"

The entire town shook with the chanting. The thunderous roar echoed from the mountains and swamped the night air with endless reverberations. Ana, Black, Quinn and Dras made their way back towards the lights of Cap-Haitien, fearful of the massed vocalization but needing to pass through the town to get back to their ship. They emerged onto a narrow alley and, following Black's lead, crept up to the main street.

"ZIPAKNA! ZIPAKNA! ZIPAKNA!"

The street was thick with chanting humanity, surging and swaying in their delirium. The four pushed their way through the crowd, fighting to stay together as they made their way downhill.

"ZIPAKNA! ZIPAKNA! ZIPAKNA!"

The press of people suddenly parted and Black stumbled at the sudden receding of the human tide. His friends spilled out of the crowd behind him, but all four of them immediately backed away from the procession making its way up the hill towards the governor's mansion.

Four guards in Spanish colours came first, followed by two flagbearers, and then a small, wiry man in a resplendent uniform, gravely stroking his gleaming mustache.

Black turned to the others.

"That's got to be this new captain."

Quinn stared, gaping and slack.

Black frowned.

"He not an admiral or anything, Quinn. No cause to be so impressed."

Quinn made no response. He just kept staring.

"Damnit, man, stop staring at him."

Dras grabbed Black's sleeve.

"I don't think he's staring at the captain, Captain."

"What?"

"ZIPAKNA! ZIPAKNA! ZIPAKNA!"

Black turned back to the procession. Behind the Spanish captain strode a woman. An Indian woman, tall and with a strong jawline, her proud stance haughty as she stalked up the street, smirking to either side. She gleamed in the torchlight of the street, her skin polished mahogany, plenty of it on display in her bare-shouldered gown. She was beautiful and noble and Black stared for a second just as Quinn was doing.

Dras scowled.

"I guess that's Zipakna. Now what?"

The Indian woman turned and smiled directly at Quinn. Their eyes locked and he took half a step forward.

Black's hand dropped onto Quinn's shoulder and he steered his friend into the crowd.

"This way. That's just trouble."

"ZIPAKNA! ZIPAKNA! ZIPAKNA!"

*****

"Hey, Quinn, are you okay? Been too long at sea or what?"

Dras shook her friend's arm. Quinn had been behaving strangely ever since their encounter with that Zipakna woman.

Or rather, Dras corrected herself, that Zipakna slut. Or even possibly, she thought, remembering Ana's words, that Zipakna demon.

Whatever she was, she'd certainly croggled Quinn with her beauty and her sinister smile. Dras sighed inwardly and hoped Ana wouldn't be too upset.

Quinn just shrugged and continued on through the night market, following Black as their captain led them through the much quieter crowds down here nearer the wharfs. Dras was about to ask her friend again when a hooked finger tugged at her sleeve.

"Child. Bearer of chains. Come with me now."

"What?"

Dras turned to find the elderly mambo, the woman who'd spouted blasphemy about Xibalba and Papa Agwe.

"You? Aren't you. One of them?"

"They cannot ride me for long, child. I am beloved of Legba and no djab of the mainland can take hold of me for long."

Dras' friends gathered around.

"What's this about, Dras? Do you know this lady?"

The old woman creaked her head around to smile, toothless and squinting, at Black.

"We show you. Much to show you, yes. Come. We show."

"A show? Damn me if that doesn't sound like a good idea. We could use some entertainment."

"Uh, Black?"

"Yes?"

"Never mind."


----------



## barsoomcore

A _five_ on Quinn's Will save, right there. Well done.


----------



## Henry

Boy, am I glad to see this return - after PotC2, I was jonesin' for some piratey action.

Let me get this straight -- they just WALTZED right into a gathering of cultists and ASKED? And it WORKED???

Also, what was up with Black, and the agitation and the sudden directness? Did the player do this, or was there a behind-the-scenes reason? Just strikes me as way outta previous character.


----------



## barsoomcore

They were really freaked out. And when they asked, and actually got the information they wanted, it freaked them out even more. Heh.


----------



## barsoomcore

Drums pounded. Voices howled. The night, sweltering and sweaty, rang with dark echoes and the rhythmic thunder of the slaves in their frenzied worship.

Black watched the goings-on with curiousity and some measure of alarm. Not the most devout Christian ever, he was nonetheless disturbed by the heathen ritual spilling throughout the dark cemetery around them.

Sitting in a cemetery in the middle of the night, surrounded by savages, was bad enough. But on top of the freakish displays they'd witnessed earlier, the whole spectacle was calculated to put any normal Englishman on edge. Bare feet shuffled in the dusty earth as the dancers stomped and whirled, arms out and heads thrown back. Strange cries echoed on all sides, the torchlight rippling with each burst of music and noise. Knots of gaily-dressed slaves gathered together on all sides, sharing drinks and cigars and strange articles, their laughter and shouting rising up over the music. It all seemed very disorganized.

With a sigh, reflecting back on evenings spent listening to his sister at the piano, Black settled down on the dirt mound he'd selected as his seat and watched the show.

Ana squatted near Dras, listening to her friend talk in a high-speed gibberish with the old woman who'd invited them to this ritual. All around them swirled the chaos and frenzy of the vodou gathering. These rituals were not a complete mystery to Ana; she'd witnessed such events before, but only from the outside, watching from a distance without comprehension. From her new vantage point in the thick of the swirling, chanting, pounding rhythm she understood the communal energy as she never had. They were praising and welcoming their gods, much as her people would. Compared to what the white savages had been doing up at their ruler's house, this festival seemed humane and comforting.

And yet, her people had vanished from so many of the lands they'd once lived across. It had been many generations since the coming of the strangers, the people from out of the sea, but she knew the ancient traditions, and knew that things had changed beyond all recognition, and that somewhere far below, her people's gods laboured vainly to oust the foreigners and their profane rituals.

But what had to be would be. And if to banish Xibalba and its demons, Ana's people would have to give up their homelands and even their gods, she knew the sacrifice was worth it.

"Favoured of Agwe. Come, bring your friends. Speak with the Baron."

Dras nodded at the old woman's words and motioned for Ana and Black and Quinn to join her.

Quinn scarcely noticed Dras's gesture. He scarcely noticed the drums, or the dancers, or the ululating voices rising up around him. As he shuffled to his feet, he couldn't shake the image of that woman's eyes from his mind. Her dark, limitless eyes, expanding like whirling pools of liquid emotion, ancient and knowing and inescapable. She would swallow him whole. And he craved that. His desire for her blurred all else around him. Only when Ana reached over and tugged at his arm did he manage to focus long enough to get to his feet and follow.

The four outsiders sat in a semi-circle facing an open grave, at the far end of which rose a simple whitewashed cross. A weathered black hat hung lopsidedly from the top of the cross.

"Samedi! Samedi!"

Thronging, stamping crowds pushed inwards around them, smoke coiling and dancing through the bare legs and bright skirts. The pungent spiciness of burning fronds filled the air, reverberating with the pounding drums.

Black blinked as the cross seemed to swim in his vision, blurring and rippling.

"What was in that drink they gave us?"

Dras just shook her head and continued staring at the cross, her heart thundering in her chest. The air suddenly thickened around them and she gasped as an heavy-set young man stepped in front of the cross, shaking and glistening with sweat. His lips peeled back in a savage grin and Dras heard herself whispering long-forgotten prayers as his eyes seemed to pool with black radiance.

He laughed, his voice impossibly deep and resonant.

"My child. My Stepping Razor. Step forth, Razor, and strike down the unrighteous."

Enthralled worshippers on all sides whispered in hushed tones, throwing themselves into the dirt and writhing.

"Old Every hid that skull. The Hunter's skull. You see mad John Dann, he tell you. You take his map, Razor, and you find that skull old Every hid. The skull of the Hunter. Carisona."

Dras couldn't speak. She shook her head, once, violently, a tremor of resistance. Ana squeezed her friend's arm and leaned forward.

"What do we do with the skulls, Baron?"

Another terrible, booming laugh.

"She will open the gate atop the Sun Tower. The gate to the realm of Night. The blood of the sacrifice will seal the gate. Cast the skulls within and seal it tight, old one."

Ana frowned. Old one?

She opened her mouth to ask another question, but the young man speaking with the deep, hollow voice twitched and screamed and plunged face-first into the open grave. Dras convulsed and stumbled backwards, still shaking her head helplessly.

On all sides, the worshippers leapt up to shriek and howl. Black started and sat up.

"What, what? I must have dozed off there for a moment."

Noting that the performance appeared to be over, he applauded.

"Good show. Excellent. Say," he frowned, looking over at Dras and Ana, "Where's Quinn gotten to?"

The two women blinked. Their Irish friend was nowhere to be seen.

Dras shrugged.

"Perhaps he was drinking. Let's find this mad John Dann."

"Who?"

"John Dann. He knows where the other skull is. He has a map."

Ana lagged a little behind her friends as they made their way through the still-frenetic crowds, looking around for Quinn's lanky figure. There was no sign of him.

"It seems strange that he'd just disappear like that."

"Maybe he was drinking. Come on, we'll start down on the docks."

*****

Quinn made his way through the town, slowly working his way back towards the mansion from which they'd fled hours before, overwhelmed by horrific sights. And wondered at his desire to return.

But she was there. Zipakna. And she would be pleased by his offering, he was sure.

*****

"Old John Dann's smarter than they thinks, isn't he? Yes. On the Fancy, we was, with Long Ben hisself. Y'doubt me, I can see it, but I swear she's the truth. Now there's only us as knows where old Every buried the loot, we isn't telling, my loves, no sir."

Ana coughed and held a hand to her face. The stench the old Englishman gave off was quite appalling. Even over the reek of rotting fish cast under the wharf where they sat, it was hard to take.

Black growled and grabbed hold of the old man's collar. Dann spluttered and waved his arms, protesting, but Black hung on.

"Where is it? Tell us, man, or by God I'll--"

"Manjack Cay."

"What?"

Dann stared across the pier, his rheumy eyes sad and distant.

"I'm never going back. I see Long Ben now and again, the old man tells me I'm not long for this world. I'll never see Manjack Cay again. And I never want to, neither."

He creaked forward and focused carefully on the floor. He took a deep breath. With great deliberation, he spat onto the weathered planks.

"Nope. Ben Gunn's still there, ain't he? And old Ben won't be too happy to see his friend John Dann, now will he? No, lad, we're not going back to Manjack Cay."

Greasy hair flopped as he raised his head and smiled with ghastly humour.

"Old Every's dead, but I'm seeing him each night. You take this map with you, lad, and you go to Manjack Cay. My mates are calling to me. One of these nights I'll be joining them."

Confused, frowning, Black took the creased and tattered sheet of paper from the old man's trembling hand.

"You go to Manjack Cay. Mind old Ben Gunn, now. Mind him well."

The old man grunted and wheezed as he ratched himself upright and tottered away.

Black, Dras and Ana stared after him.

"Well. A treasure map. I never."

"What do you suppose Quinn's been up to all this time?"

Black looked down at the map in his hands, sure that they were forgetting something important.

"We ought to look for him. Dras, can you and Ana handle that? I'll track down the lads and get the old Defiant ready to put out to sea. Something tells me we're going to be in a hurry."

The two women nodded and left in the opposite direction to that which John Dann had gone, hurrying along the ramshackle warehouses of the docks. Black watched them go and shook his head. He was sure they were forgetting something.

*****

The mansion glowed in the night. Even at this late hour, golden light spilled out of the open windows where muslin hung in billowing sheets. Quinn paused at the curving driveway, momentarily baffled.

What was he doing here? This house held nothing but terror for him. Those people at that party. The strange, terrible voices. The sign. And her.

Her.

Dark eyes watched him approach. Gleaming lips would smile when he arrived. Quinn's feet crunched on the gravel.

She would smile when she saw what he brought. For her.

*****

The town seemed less creepy now, as though that woman's arrival had released some of the building tension. As though she'd taken the creepiness into herself, mused Dras.

In any event, there were no more voices asking them about yellow signs. And people answered questions without strange, hooded stares.

Quinn had been seen, heading up towards the governor's mansion.

"Why would he go up there? Is he trying to be a hero? Going to fight that demon woman?"

Ana growled in exasperation.

Dras considered her friend sourly.

"Ana, I don't know if he wants to fight her. Did you see the look she gave him? He hasn't been himself since."

"What are you--? No. Quinn wouldn't betray us. Not for... that. Would he?"

"I just can't figure out why she'd want him. What's so... "

Dras stopped in the middle of the street. Ana walked on a few paces before realising the girl wasn't keeping up.

"Dras? What is it?"

"The skulls. Quinn's got all the skulls. He's going up there to hand them over."


----------



## shilsen

barsoomcore said:
			
		

> Dras stopped in the middle of the street. Ana walked on a few paces before realising the girl wasn't keeping up.
> 
> "Dras? What is it?"
> 
> "The skulls. Quinn's got all the skulls. He's going up there to hand them over."




Hoo boy - this should be fun!

I just checked out this thread for the first time and went through it in one sitting. Damn good work, Corey! Who says you need stewardesses or dinosaurs for a ripping yarn?


----------



## barsoomcore

Yeah, that was a great moment. Quinn had failed his Will Save against Zipakna's uber charm power, and then when she contacted him telepathically and asked him to come visit her, he failed another save.

And it played out much like it did above -- it wasn't until after he was gone on his way that anyone (including Quinn's player) remembered that he had all the skulls.

Heh.


----------



## ledded

Just got caught up and, man... 

you really make me want to play in this game Corey.  

Just when I'm all excited about doing a fun short campaign of 1920s/1930's pulp with low-powered supers, I see Dead Man's Chest and then catch up on this and my brain is all Pirates-Pirates-Magic-Magic-Sword-and-Sorcery-Pirates.

Yar.  What's a man to do?

Keep up the good work, I'm still diggin' this story.  It rocks.   On toast.   

Ledded


----------



## barsoomcore

Thanks, led. We're heading towards the wild finish now, but I'm pretty sure I will run another Dead Man's Chest game at some point. It was just too much fun to leave behind.


----------



## trilobite

Wow! I didn't even think about pulling Cthulhu mythos stuff into the story! Great Job BC! And the apperance of the MVC, just wonderful!   


Hey did you ever do anything with that 60's spy/ninja girls idea that you had?


----------



## barsoomcore

Glad you approve of ol' Zipakna. We certainly haven't seen the last of her, I assure you.

Nope, the 60's spy/ninja girls (Dangerous Women) remains on the shelf in my brain. Where it continues making me very happy.


----------



## trilobite

I am thinking about doing a 1930's Pulp game as a continuing story involving the Crystal Skulls using True20. 

Crystal Skulls   ,The Thule Society, Nazis, Japanese Imperial Marines, Southsea Cannibals, Giant Apes, Dinosaurs, Zeppelins, Hyperborea, Incan Pyramids, Amelia Earhart, etc....


What do ya think?


----------



## Captain Boff

How do you integrate all the voodoo, loa, djab stuff with Dead Man's Chest's rules?


----------



## Captain Boff

did you make your own magic system or use an existing one or what?


----------



## barsoomcore

trilobite said:
			
		

> (everything cool in the universe)
> 
> What do ya think?



I want you. I need you. I must have you.

In a manly sort of way, of course.

Cap'n Boff: I used the rules in _Skull & Bones_, from Green Ronin. GREAT book. Seriously.


----------



## trilobite

barsoomcore said:
			
		

> I want you. I need you. I must have you.
> 
> In a manly sort of way, of course.
> 
> Cap'n Boff: I used the rules in _Skull & Bones_, from Green Ronin. GREAT book. Seriously.




Yes yes in a manly way of coarse!  *cough*  

I am running it as a play by post game here on the EN Boards. The game hasn't started yet but come by and take a look sometimes. I think I am going to use your Hot Pursuit rules for aerial dogfights, chases, etc....


----------



## Captain Boff

Barsoomcore: So your Dead Man's Chest rules use d20 modern base classes and you have converted sea dog and sea officer etc. into advanced classes .. did you do the same with Bokor and Hougan or did you simply use them as base classes along with the d20 modern base classes? 

P.S. I totally agree Skull & Bones is an amazing book and I really like the campaign you've put together, my only problem with Skull & Bones is the ship combat .. i've also had a discussion with GM Skara about the realism of the rules and yah .. you know his opinion. My opinion is that when cannonballs don't even damage crew then why are you adopting such harsh rules for the rest of ship combat?


----------



## barsoomcore

Actually, I disallowed Bokor and Hougan as PC classes. Yes, I cheated. I wanted to keep magic at a bit of arm's length from the players, for extra creepifying. But I used the basic ideas and rituals from S&B. I also used the CoC Sanity mechanic and added Sanity costs to everything supernatural. By this point in the campaign, Black's Sanity was actually quite low.

And yeah, ship to ship combat didn't work great for us.

Actually, to be specific, ship to ship combat didn't work great for ME. Further DM embarrassment in upcoming episodes...


----------



## barsoomcore

"Quinn!"

Ana ran forward to grab her reeling friend just before he crashed to the cobbles. Quinn pitched into her arms, moaning.

Dras rushed out and pulled the pair back into the alley.

"Quinn, what happened? What happened to you? Are you okay?"

The Irishman's head lolled. He managed to lift an arm and wave it in the direction of the mansion he'd stumbled out of recently.

"Don' go in there. 'S bad. Monkeys."

"Monkeys?"

"I gotta tell ya abou' the monkeys."

Dras tried to assert some control over the situation.

"We'll get to the monkeys in a minute, Quinn. Where are the skulls? What did you do with them?"

Quinn braced himself against a shop wall. He belched.

"Gave 'em to her. She asked. So I gave 'em to her. Then there were monkeys."

Dras swore.

"Big monkeys."

"Quinn, this is serious."

"I feel better, though. In my head."

Quinn pointed helpfully to his temple.

Dras and Ana shared a look.

"Let's get back to the ship. Black will have an idea."

*****

Black frowned.

"I can't have all the ideas around here. What do you suggest?"

The sailor shrugged.

"Not for me to say, sir. But I heard it, and so did Watson, sir. Them dagoes is mustering to leave at first light."

Black growled and stared across the half-mile of dark water that separated the Defiant from the three Spanish warships swinging at anchor further out from shore. He whirled as the shore party came aboard with Dras, Quinn and Ana.

"The Spaniards are getting ready to ship out. Do they know where we're heading?"

Dras glanced over at Quinn before responding.

"No way to know. But they're ahead of us, that's for sure. Quinn gave all the skulls to that woman."

"What?"

"There were monkeys. Why doesn't anyone want to hear about the monkeys?"

Ana stepped forward to place herself between Quinn and Black's burgeoning ire.

"The skulls are gone. Whoever that woman is, she's clearly no one to be trifled with. We know where the skull of Carisona is, and we know how to stop her. Let's get the skull and be about it."

Black turned and stared again at the Spanish ships.

"Let's slow them down a little before we go."

He leapt down to the maindeck and leaned out to hail the returning cutter that had dropped off his friends. As the little boat turned about and returned to the Defiant, he called the crew over and began barking out orders.

"Shore crew! Lively, lads -- get the longboat in the water. Load her up with muskets, powder and shot, cutlasses, all of it. Davis, select a boarding crew and get them in the longboat. The rest of you gather up your personal things and get into the cutter. Let's go, gentlement, let's go. And keep your voices down."

The ship exploded in activity as sailors, uncertain as to their captain's plan but infected with his sudden excitement, rushed about, hissing at each other as they tossed bundles over the rail and arranged themselves for one boat or the other.

Dras sidled over to Black.

"What's the plan, sir?"

Black's grin as he turned to her was so ferocious Dras stepped back involuntarily.

"That dago captain's ship is maybe even nicer than the old Defiant. Looks English-built to me."

"What? You want to steal the Commodore's flagship?"

"Well, we'll leave him this one. It might be a little scorched, though."

*****

The sentry dozed. Not even the tarry smoke now drifting across the stern of his sloop, the _Santa Cantalina_, alerted him to the danger bearing down on he and his compatriots.

The sloop was largely deserted, as were both her sister ship, _San Andres_, and the frigate _La Madalena_. Crew members were being rounded up ashore, but on these ships the watch slept peacefully, their decks rocking with a slow easy motion.

Black watched the distance between _The Defiant_ and the Spanish ships shrink as the outgoing tide carried them towards their unsuspecting quarry. Smoke was now billowing out of the deck hatches as the lower decks began to fill with flame. His savage grin had not abated one bit.

Davis, who with two others had volunteered to help Black steer the burning _Defiant_ in to the Spaniards, ran up to his captain, matching grin for grin.

"Sir! One thing we didn't mention earlier, sir. Hope you don't mind."

"What's that, Davis?"

"We loaded the guns, sir. Thinking once the flames reach the toucholes..."

Black's grin widened further.

"Let's blast 'em good."

The _Defiant_ bore down on the Spanish ships, striking a course directly between the two sloops. Black hauled once more on the tiller, blessing their good fortune that on this ship the tiller was attached right to the rudder post so that there were no cables to burn through and render them helpless.

"Right. Over the side with us."

Flames were licking up through the deck boards as the last four crew members aboard the _Defiant_ scrambled over the side and into the longboat astern. Eager hands pulled at the oars, sending the boat out and around the Spanish sloops.

The senty aboard the _Santa Cantalina_ awoke and began screaming.

But it was far too late. Even as the longboat pulled beyond the sloops, the English crewmen could hear the _Defiant_ grind in between the two ships. Flame suddenly erupted, and Black grinned over at Davis as a series of deafening explosions told of the guns going off.

Broadsides in both directions, at utter point-blank range, demolished the Spanish sloops and swiftly the fire spread to both ships and soon there was a spiralling inferno where once three ships had floated.

The crew of the dying _Defiant_, split into two boats, hauled with all speed for the Spanish frigate, _La Madalena_, coming alongside in moments. Shrieking the foulest curses they could muster, the crew swarmed aboard, cutting down the few guards where they stood. Teams leapt for the capstan, the tiller and up into the rigging, desperate to catch the morning tide and the land breeze.

Shouts from ashore told them their efforts had been detected, but they were unmolested as the graceful frigate drifted out of the harbour. There were no forts full of guns covering the harbour entrance, and the entire crew climbed up into the rigging to cheer as they sailed free of Cap-Haitien.

Dras stood at the rail with Quinn and Ana.

"I hope that's the end of the weird stuff."

"I still haven't told you about the monkeys."


----------



## barsoomcore

Short updates are better than no updates, right?


----------



## shilsen

barsoomcore said:
			
		

> Short updates are better than no updates, right?



 Yes, they are. 

So I presume this means we'll be seeing another one soon. Right? After all, you have to tell us about the monkeys.


----------



## BSF

Yeah, what about these monkeys?  

Great story so far Corey!


----------



## barsoomcore

Never fear. We'll get to the monkeys.


----------



## barsoomcore

_We don't want to hear about the monkeys. Quinn hasn't given us a moment's rest on the subject since we left Cap-Haitien. I swear, if I hear one more word about those damned monkeys I'll throw the blighter overboard. He hasn't been sober a day since either.

We have been making our cautious way through the Bahamas, seeking an island named by a madman. Manjack Cay, some arid little spit of rock and sand, where John Dann (the madman) swears the last crystal skull is hidden.

Along with a goodly portion of Henry Every's haul from the Moghul of India, if the madman is to be believed. Dann swore he and his partner hid the treasure there, and we are equipped with a cryptic map that shows its supposed location.

Now we see the strangely humped hill that Dann describes in his map, and are tacking clear of the marked shoals of what we presume is Manjack Cay.

The frigate continues to handle quite nicely. As I suspected, English-built._

*****

"But I need to explain. You still don't understand -- "

Ana cut Quinn off with an exasperated gesture.

"No, Quinn. Please. Nobody wants to hear about the monkeys. Just drop it, okay?"

"But they were large."

"Yes. And pink. And dancing, no doubt. Please. Enough."

Ana stomped away from Quinn's despairing face, further into the thin scrub that counted for forest on this island. The shore party, consisting of Ana, Quinn, Black and Dras, was following a sighting directed by the map, working their way towards the center of the island. They also had with them two stout topmen to help haul or dig or rig cables or whatever sorts of strange tasks would be required.

Like, for example, fishing Ana out of the hole that suddenly opened beneath her stomping feet.

With a single cry the island girl disappeared. Her body hit the bottom of the pit with a solid thud, but the sudden groan of pain sounded more serious than the fall warranted. The other members of the shore party rushed forward to find their friend impaled through the leg by a short wooden stake. She clutched at her bleeding thigh and looked up fearfully.

"It's poisoned. I can't move my leg."

Black hissed.

"We're not alone on this island, my friends. And the natives don't seem friendly."

*****

"What do you think, Quinn? Is that monkeys playing that drum?"

"Shut up."

Immediately after retrieving Ana from the pit, the group had heard a sudden rythmic drumming set up off to their left. Abandoning their path along the indicated sightline, they had determined to seek out the source of this noise, in the hopes of confronting the island's inhabitants.

The sailors had rigged a sort of travois for Ana, and dragged her along at the end of the group, so that she lay watching down the path they'd come along. She craned her neck around as she heard her companions exclaim in surprise.

"What is it? What is it?"

Dras answered.

"It's some kind of... mechanism. Couple of ropes and such."

"What does it do?"

"Uh, it makes noise. I guess. There's a beater that rocks back and forth, hitting a hollow log. That's the drumming sound."

"What's it for?"

Black spoke up.

"I believe it was meant to lure us here. Let's look around and see what we find."

Ana frowned as she caught sight of something moving, far off in the trees.

"Uh, guys?"

No one responded.

The something moving resolved itself into an upright, shambling form, rushing towards her. Ana drew back in her litter as the thing came racing forward through the trees, making not a sound as it leapt and scrambled nearer.

"Uh. Guys. We have company, I think."

She could hear its gasping, giggling breath now, the slap of twigs and branches brushed aside, and she fancied she could smell the deeply foul miasma of its presence. Ana shrieked, and braced herself as best as she could, closing her eyes and crying out to her ancestors to protect her from this thing.

She heard more yelling and opened her eyes. The thing, whatever it was, had rushed right past her and now, from the confused and frantic noises behind her, was engaged in some sort of life-and-death struggle with her friends.

"What's going on? Somebody? Anybody?"

More yelling and scuffling, and a sudden bloodcurdling shriek Ana couldn't identify followed by several heavy thumps, a series of grunts and some particularly virulent swearing that, startled, Ana recognized as Black's.

"Is everyone okay? What happened?"

"The damned sod bit me. Damn him. Hurts like a bugger, too."

"Bring me over there, I can help."

Ana rummaged in the pack resting beside her.

"I can help."

*****

"So who is he? And what's up with his teeth?"

"Carisona."

Dras' friends looked over at her.

"The Hunter. Baron Samedi told me we'd find the skull of Carisona The Hunter here. I think this fellow here is somehow embodying the Hunter."

"But these aren't false teeth. He's really got enormous choppers, here."

"The Hunter has consumed him and made him a puppet."

Their enemy had turned out to be an extremely skinny white man with wild hair and disturbing large, sharp teeth. Now unconscious, he had succeeded in tearing a great strip of flesh out of Black's arm with those disturbing teeth. The wound looked foul. Already the torn skin had begun to turn dark, and only the quick application of Ana's herbs had stopped the apparent infection.

"Well, it's a cinch _his_ skull isn't crystal, so we ought to keep looking for this treasure Mister Dann assured us would be here."

Black's comments triggered a memory in Quinn, and he studied the unconscious man more carefully.

"Didn't you say Dann had mentioned a guy left behind on the island? Ben something? Couldn't this be him?"

They all considered. Quinn scratched his head.

"You'd think this Mister Dann would have mentioned that his friend had teeth like a wolf's."

"Maybe you were listening to the monkeys."

"Don't start with me, Dras."

*****

"The Spanish navy's just not all they say it is, is it?"

Black smirked, surveying the smoking ruins of the two sloops that had tried to waylay them south of Manjack Cay. His smirk vanished as he caught sight of Dras at the stern, dumping a tray full of fruit and flowers and meat off the side.

"Here now! What's this about, lad?"

"I'm asking Papa Agwe to help us. We need to get to Cozumel before Zipakna. We've got the one skull, but we need to get to the temple of the sun before she does."

"What is this temple?"

"I have no idea."

Quinn joined them.

"NOW can I tell you about the monkeys?"

"Quinn, how many times we have to tell you? Nobody wants to hear about the monkeys."


----------



## barsoomcore

Still going with short updates, sorry folks.


----------



## shilsen

barsoomcore said:
			
		

> Still going with short updates, sorry folks.



 No complaints, as long as they keep coming.



> "Quinn, how many times we have to tell you? Nobody wants to hear about the monkeys."




Lies, damn you, LIES!!!


----------



## barsoomcore

shilsen said:
			
		

> Lies, damn you, LIES!!!



I admit it. I'm teasing you.


----------



## Graywolf-ELM

Gaah no teasing, my constitution is at an all time low.  The stress is getting to me.

GW


----------



## barsoomcore

Apologies. More to come...


----------



## barsoomcore

_I cannot explain the strange circumstances that have driven us to this shore. We lay off the north coast of Cozumel, where lies this "Temple of the Sun" that young Dras insists we seek.

I understand little of this adventure I find myself caught up in. An unnatural wind, steady and straight as an arrow, blew us here in less time than it took us to reach the Bahamas from Saint-Dominique. It is impossible. Voices moan in the darkness all around the ship, and yet the sailors suffer no fear, no superstition.

Loa, demons, heathen rituals and these terrible crystal skulls. Quinn remains fixated on imaginary beasts, and Ana keeps to her cabin, whittling strange figurines.

For my part, I have become unnecessary. No seamanship was needed to bring us here -- the ship raced before the wind without a hand on the tiller, without a single trim of the sails. My one command on this voyage was to have the anchor lowered the moment the wind died and we found ourselves off Cozumel.

Now we equip us for a journey inland. Rifles, machetes, water, all the provisions of a cross-country expedition. The island slumbers before us, peaceful and without any hint of danger, but I fear what we will find at this temple. I fear that woman, and her evil power. I recall the horrors we witnessed in Cap-Haitien. What awaits us in that jungle?

Should I not return, let those who read this know that I, Rupert Black, here set down as my last wish that my sister, Cecilia Black, of Nottingham, should receive all my worldly possessions.

Excepting any crystal skulls that might be found on my body. Leave those where you find them._

*****

"Oh. Monkeys."

"I told you."

"Big monkeys."

"Yeah."

Dras stared up the steep incline of the temple front. Far up at the top, the woman or demon or whatever she was Zipakna stood, brandishing a knife and shouting incantations as clouds whirled overhead. Rain pounded down onto Dras' face, forcing her squint in order to make out the small figure so far above.

Much easier to see were the two hulking forms halfway down the stairs towards them. Like massive hunched-over men, but with sloping foreheads and immense cords of muscle bulging at their shoulders, the two gigantic apes leered down at the foursome below. Between them stood a slim man with his rapier held out to one side. He gestured lazily and the two apes leapt downwards, arms reaching out to grapple and rend their enemies.

Black, his pistols already out, raised both weapons and pulled both triggers. The rain spoiled one firing, however, and only one gun went off. The bullet was well-aimed, but seemed to have no effect on the onrushing mass of fury and wet fur. He chewed on the cigar in his mouth and backpedalled.

The two immense animals crashed to the ground, one just missing Black as he scrambled aside, the other catching hold of Quinn and slamming the unfortunate Irishman into the soil.

Ana screamed and fell to her knees, diving forward against the huge beast that had just crushed her friend. Black, cursing around the cigar, threw aside the spent pistols and drew two more from behind his back, rewarded this time with two explosions as both went off.

Dras, standing directly between the two creatures, looked up and saw the Spaniard sneering down at her.

"Captain Chacon, I presume?"

"You fools. You have accomplished nothing but make our work easier. Hand over the last skull or you all die here."

"Can you use that sword in your hand, Senor?"

"Come and see."

Dras charged up the steps as Chacon laughed. High above, Zipakna continued to chant.

Quinn's world had suddenly transformed into darkness and pressure. He wasn't entirely sure what had happened, but he was pretty sure one of those monkeys was involved. He squirmed a little and found the wet mud provided less resistance than he'd thought. Huge talons reached down at him but Quinn managed to get a leg underneath himself and sprang blindly forward, scrambling directly under the great beast.

Rolling onto his back, he got a view of the ape's underside.

"Ew."

His cutlass slashed upwards and he kept scrambling as the animal shrieked in sudden agony. Ana grabbed his hand and hauled him up the steps.

"Come on! We've got to stop her!"

"Yeah, right. I was right about the monkeys, see?"

More explosions from below told of Black emptying another brace of pistols, but the roars of the giant gorillas made it clear he hadn't yet triumphed. Ana and Quinn carried on upwards, weaving past where Dras dueled with the Spanish captain.

"Come on!"

*****

Black, out of pistols and now nearly out of sight of the temple, leapt over a fallen tree trunk and unslung the bandolier from around his chest. He sucked on the cigar and touched its glowing tip to the fuse on the first of the grenades. He grinned.

"Got a toy for you, monkey."

*****

Dras spared no more than a glance for her friends as they scrambled past. The Spaniard was good. Very, very good.

And he was standing above her, and both clever and skilled enough to keep her from reaching his height. Dras hadn't had to retreat yet, but the captain was smiling and she was only just managing to deflect his blows.

Past him she could see Zipakna, a tall slender form swaying in the growing wind that began to howl on all sides. Ana and Quinn closed in on her.

Dras applied herself to staying alive. As long as she was keeping this bastard away from her friends, she was helping.

The mammoth explosion from below nearly distracted her, and Chacon's sword grazed her upper arm, leaving an angry searing trail.

Dras swallowed. She hoped Black hurried.

*****

Black ran for it. Behind him, a startled and newly enraged gorilla roared over the body of its mate, and then crashing forestry told him it wasn't about to surrender.

At least he'd gotten between it and the temple. Black burst from the jungle and charged up the steps. Above him he saw Dras fending off that Spaniard's sword with desperate parries, and beyond them Ana and Quinn were cautiously approaching Zipakna. He drew his cutlass and rushed upwards with all the speed he could manage.

*****

Ana stared, wide-eyed, from Zipakna, chanting those horrid, teeth-rattling syllables, to the row of crystal skulls grinning on the altar. She swung her staff and knocked the foul artifacts aside. They crashed to the wet stones around her feet.

Emboldened by her actions, she whirled to face Zipakna again, only to find the tall woman had stopped her chanting and now glared at Ana with unbridled fury.

"You!"

The woman's hand shot out and formed a claw, and Ana felt a terrible tugging at her chest. Screaming, she convulsed and slammed down into the stones.

Below her, Dras felt her foot slip on the slick step and even as she tried to check her balance, she saw the opening in her guard just a moment too late to stop Chacon's thrust. His sword slipped forward and caught her just above her breast. For a second she thought he'd only grazed her, but the blade continued to sink into her torso and Dras stared in sick horror as the length of steel drove into her.

The last thing she saw was Black rushing up behind her. Then she tumbled to the steps and knew nothing.

*****

Quinn sank down to try and help Ana, but the girl thrashed and shrieked helplessly, unaware of him, overcome by the torture that Zipakna was somehow forcing her to endure. He grabbed one of the nearby skulls and flung it at her.

She laughed.

"You are nothing! Witness! The Lords of Xibalba come again to walk the world! My lords! Come forth!"

Behind her a whirling rushing spiral of cloud and darkness formed.

*****

Black's cutlass found Chacon still chuckling, and the Spaniard, more spent from his duel with Dras than he'd realised, fell from the stairs without a sound.

Black looked down at the young woman at his feet. Dras was dead. Blood seeped from the tiny wound on her chest, staining her tunic in the rain.

A small object slipped from her belt as he watched. The razor.

For a second forgetful of the massive gorilla still charging up behind him, Black bent and picked up the tool, still black with dried blood.

_Samedi. I will guide your hand, Baron of the Grave. I will weight your sword._

Blinking against rain and tears, Black looked up where Quinn knelt over Ana's twitching body. His eyes met the Irishman's and without thinking, Black hurled the razor at his friend.

Then he disappeared as a mountain of black fur and muscle swatted him off the stairs into the jungle, and plunged after him.

Dras' limp body lay sprawled on the steps, slowly slipping downwards as the rain pounded at it.

Quinn stared at the razor in his hand, aware that Ana had suddenly gone limp. He raised his head and found Zipakna staring at him with sudden concern.

He rose slowly, opening the razor.

"Now, you old witch. You made a fool of me once. Not again."

"Don't be so sure."

Zipakna smiled. She threw her arms out to either side, laughing as the rain plastered her dress to her lush body. The strange portal behind her continued to enlarge and thicken.

"Am I not beautiful? Do you not desire me, mortal? I am Zipakna. I am all your dreams made flesh."

Quinn scowled.

"I think you're flesh, alright."

The razor licked out and slashed at the woman, cutting her hand. She glared for a second at the wound, then at Quinn. He licked his lips, watching the wound close itself.

"I am beyond your power to injure, you fool."

"I see."

"Quinn."

Ana pushed herself up to a sitting position.

"There must be a sacrifice, Quinn."

The sailor exploded.

"There's been enough sacrifices! Dras is dead, Ana! How much more do you want to sacrifice?"

Zipakna laughed. The portal shuddered and strange inhuman figures began to form within it.

"Whatever it takes."

Ana grabbed the razor from Quinn and slashed the blood-crusted blade across her own body, grunting with the pain as her blood spilled out.

Zipakna screamed.

"Ana!"

Quinn dropped to grab the island girl as she arced backwards, making yet another desperate slash across herself. Her wounds yawned with red and bile. She shuddered and went limp, dropping the razor.

In a daze, Quinn turned to see Zipakna, terror on her face, clinging to the stone altar as some dark wind dragged her backwards to where hungry figures awaited.

"No! I'll give you anything. Anything! Throw a skull into the portal, it will seal it, quickly, I beg you!"

She was beautiful, even in her fear. Quinn stared. Got to his feet. Hefted the skull in his hands consideringly.

"Throw it!"

Quinn thought of Dras. Black. Ana. He drew his arm back.

"Catch."

He hurled the skull with all his strength directly at the woman before him. It slammed into Zipakna's face, blood spraying. She shrieked and clutched at herself.

Letting go of the altar.

*****

_What can I write? How to describe what we have seen, endured and lost?

Zipakna is gone. We may never know what really happened, but the skulls are now lifeless hunks of crystal. Quinn and Ana share quiet moments on the deck where she recuperates. Dras' body lies in an unmarked grave at the base of a ruined temple.

And I have a trophy that will startle the most well-travelled naturalist, I'm sure. Not even the wildest tales from Africa tell of a monkey like this._


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## barsoomcore

And that, folks, is the end of _Dead Man's Chest_. It was a very satisfying finale, to be sure. Hope you enjoyed it!


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## BSF

*claps*
Jolly good show!

Nicely wrapped up.  Though I am surprised that Ana survived.  Were the players as pleased with the completion of the story as we have been reading it?


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## Graywolf-ELM

Woo Hoo   2 Hoots from Albuquerque.  Great telling thank you for sharing with us.

GW


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