Pirate Game Fan Fiction

Life is strength. This is not to be disputed. You live, you affect the world around you. But you, you are destined for more than this. –Author Unknown

I found my capture quite amusing. I had supposedly committed treason under Armada law, but I had, in truth, done nothing. They had decided to capture me because they were afraid of me, and the knowledge I had of their schemes. I knew that they had been searching for a way to remove the pirates of Skull Island from the Spiral. I also knew that their leader, Kane, had created new clockwork soldiers specifically for this task. Deacon, Kane’s Spymaster, had caught wind of my knowledge, how, I do not know, and had had me arrested so that I would not spread this knowledge to the pirates of Skull Island.

I smirked at that thought. I had no intention of revealing anything to anyone except the highest bidder, and right now, no one was offering money, so my mouth was shut. I was an odd sort of information dealer, the kind who “overhears” certain things that some want to be left unknown. I was often known by my nickname, Red. My full name, of course, was not so simple. Francesco DeClark was my name. But now, my name meant nothing to my captors, they only cared that I had information that wasn’t to be released to the general public, so they left me to rot in this cell.

That thought left my mind instantly. I had friends in high places, and I had those who would find me, and bring me back to living society. A cannonshot. Perfect, right on cue, I thought. I got up from the ground, and brushed myself off, not wanting to appear shabby before my contacts. I surveyed my surroundings, and made sure there was nobody watching me. I muttered under my breath, and focused my mind on one point, the door’s lock. The lock exploded, and I walked out of my cell.

As I was turning to head onto the deck, I heard a pitiful cry for help to my right. I turned in that direction, and noticed a half-unconscious Crane sitting in the corner of a cell. I blew the lock up on his door, and checked all of his vitals. It seemed that he had been severely beaten before he came aboard. He had been lucky to be alive at that rate. I focused my mind again, but instead of destroying, I was renewing. Soon, the dark marks disappeared from beneath his feathers. I sighed a breath of relief, and he seemed to allow himself to fall unconscious. I decided to let him stay unconscious, because heaven knew what he had been through.

I rested for a brief moment too, because the magic had been quite draining, considering it had been almost a month since I had last used my “unique” skill set. After I was done resting, I picked the Crane up and slung him over my shoulder, noticing just how light he was. He had been half-starved too. I wondered just what he had done to receive such brutal torment. Perhaps he had simply spoken out against the Armada. It wasn’t as if they needed much of a reason to do anything nowadays.

I made my way to the stairwell, hoping to meet my rescuer halfway. Hopefully, they had defeated the guards, and we could get off this ship as soon as possible. I heard a Monquistan voice with a very heavy Polarian accent, which struck me as quite incongruous. I also heard the voice of a man who had a slight Skull Island accent. None of my contacts had voices that were even similar to these people. I wondered who they must be, if they weren’t my contacts.

Suddenly, I saw a portly, elderly man wearing a red waistcoat, carrying a pistol, and wearing black boots that were obviously too small. He was followed by a Monquistan wearing a bicorne and a blue Navy coat adorned with a few badges here and there. They were obviously running from something, but what? If they had finished off the guards, they should be walking in a somewhat exhausted manner, but with an easy stride. These two had done no battle recently, and they appeared to be quite clumsy. If these two were my rescuers, I was just about doomed.

I searched for the weapons chest, and pulled out my favorite rapier. It was quite the complement to my spellcasting. It was a graceful weapon, designed for quick jabs, but not for parrying. I had remedied that by re-tempering it soon after I had found it in molten skysteel. This strengthened the blade and made it somewhat of a surprise when I was able to parry a mace blow. I gave it a few quick swings, and deemed it to be unaltered. I hurried up the stairs, leaving the bumbling “rescuers” behind.

I still had the Crane, who, in his unconscious state, occasionally muttered things such as Wing Chun, or oh, no, I couldn’t poss… I gently placed him behind a barrel, because what was about to happen wasn’t going to be pretty. I summoned my courage and cast a spell of the lost art of Pyromancy. My rapier glowed with flames licking the blade. I walked up to the sunlight, and saw the one who had imprisoned me, Deacon. I shouted out his name, and his clockwork face, which was comprised of carefully sculpted eye sockets and the beginnings of a stereotypical aristocratic nose, followed by a slab of whatever material they used to make the faces, completely featureless, turned slowly towards me. I fleetingly wondered about why his face was so obviously left incomplete, but it did not matter much, because either way, I would leave the Abominable.

Deacon didn't seem surprised that I had escaped, “I knew you were a crafty one, DeClark. It is a shame that you had to leave. I would think that we could become quite acquainted with each other as you remained one of Kane’s prisoners. When you think about it, the two of us are not so different from each other, I am the Armada’s Spymaster, and you are an information dealer. But I am afraid that I cannot let you leave. I have much to ‘learn’ from you, and I am afraid that I cannot let you go around telling everyone else all that you have learned from us,” The last he said with a slightly sinister tone, and I could tell that if he could, he would smirk.

This was a desperate situation, Deacon was obviously waiting for me to make the first move, but what surprises did he have in store? I feinted left, appearing to run for the side of Deacon where he was holding his cane. I knew he didn't need it, but I had been hoping for a reaction of some kind. He simply stared at me with the dark holes where his eyes would be, and cocked his head slightly to the side. He seemed to be thinking about the most efficient way to dispose of me at this point, of course, he could also be thinking about the numerous tortures he would inflict on me when he got me back into my cell. It was hard to tell with members of the Armada.

I noticed a barrel of explosives behind Deacon and to the right. I tried casting a fire spell to ignite the barrel, but Deacon had caught on to me, and fired at me. I ducked out of the way and parried the blast with my rapier, but my concentration was lost. I couldn’t cast a spell again until I regained my focus, and right now, my mind was all over the place, wondering how Deacon could have known that I was casting a spell, worrying what else he was about to do, and trying to find the most efficient way to get up there and slice him to pieces. I was resolved to center myself, so I gathered each portion of my thoughts, and liberated them, forming magical blasts. One blast would be of Storm Magic, one would be Necromantic, and one would be of Fire Magic. I sent them out to their respective targets. The bolt of lightning was headed straight for Deacon, the blast of Death was headed for the floor, and the fire was headed towards the explosives.

Deacon assessed the threat, and shot the Storm blast out of the air, and flung his ornate cane at the fireball, but ignored the Death projectile. It hit the floor, and that area turned gray, and the grayness started to spread. Deacon looked at the floor, and then at me. He clapped softly, and said to me, “Good show, information dealer, but I am afraid that this is the curtain call,” With that, he shot the gunpowder kegs, vanished mysteriously, and I was left to deal with the fact that the ship was about to blow up because of gunpowder and rotten wood.

I noticed a ship off the port bow, and I did my best to signal it. I went below deck, grabbed the crane, and noticed that the ship was piloted by the ones who had tried to rescue me. I groaned in aggravation. I tied the Crane to one of the ship’s mooring ropes, grabbed onto it, cut it loose, and watched as I swung to the elderly man’s ship, waiting for the precise moment to cut both me and the crane free. We appeared to be like those of a circus troupe, gliding through the air, hanging on to a rope attached to nothing in particular, gently descending to the ground. In truth, we were hurtling towards the relatively solid ground of a ship, cut loose from a ship that was exploding even as we were falling.

As I hit the ground, I tossed my rapier in the air, rolled to lessen my momentum, caught the Crane, set him down, and caught my rapier. The two pilots were dumbfounded that anyone so young could be capable of such grace. In truth, it was not only my “unique” skill set that set me apart from other information dealers, it was also my age. I was a fifteen year old who specialized in spying. The men in my family were all red mages, those who specialized in no magic in particular, but instead strove to master the magics of both healing and destruction, so I wished to follow in their footsteps. Sadly, education in the magical arts cost nearly a fortune these days, what with the Armada’s prohibition, and a lad like me had to turn to methods that some would consider an invasion of people’s privacy. I called it equipping those who were willing to pay with the knowledge they would need to survive whatever their rival had planned for them.

It was my very profession that had landed me in that prison cell. Avery, founder of Skull Island, had come to me, hoping to find out if the Armada had made any progress on their search for a way to eliminate pirates from the Spiral for good. He had promised me my own ship if I could find him the information he needed, and I accepted, knowing that I would need a ship to find my fortune without resorting to being an information dealer. Avery wasn’t exactly the most trustworthy person in the Spiral, but I knew that he would give me, at the very least, a boat of some kind so that I could gain enough money to obtain a “real” ship.

I told the would-be rescuers that I needed to see Avery as soon as possible, and they complied. Soon, I was back in my designated quarters in the main plaza of Skull Island.

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