Pirate Game Fan Fiction

“UGH! You do realize that we’re in a Stormgate, right? As in like zero gravity?” Ken moans and punches Kevin in the gut. Kevin does a flip in the air and nearly floats away before I can grab him. I snatch his wrist and pull him back, trying to ignore Ken’s green face. Traveling through Stormgates has never been his strong suit.

We are floating in an unknown Stormgate, trying to get far enough away from the Windlane to grab the box without being set upon by Walktopi and Sky Snakes. We don’t dare try to travel out of the Stormgate without being in it, and going back to Grizzleheim isn’t the best idea. Last I saw, there were a bunch of wizards shooting crackling lights at me.

“Your turn!” I say to Kevin as I kick my legs, propelling myself back to the Windlane. An annoyed Walktopus swims away from me and happens to boot the box farther away from my dismayed twin.

Kevin shoots me a murderous look and dives out towards the box as fast as he can. He snatches it before any of the creatures notice him (I wish that I had swashbuckler reflexes) and paddles it quickly back to the Windlane. Ken and I jump in, and the special gravity machine (though much weaker than other machines made for ships) pulls us into the boat. I feel a spearhead poking me in the back.

“Kenneth. For the last time. WATCH IT!” Ken ignores me but moves the spear.

The swirling Stormgate blinds me as the little “boat” sails through it. Ken moans loudly as I feel the magical gate pulling against the vessel. Then we break through, and I open my eyes.

For I second I think that we were still in the Stormgate. The light is blindingly bright, and there is that…sensation, that mark of magic still there, which almost no one talks about and almost everyone feels. Some have said that everyone was magical once, and all wizards say that pirates are just wizards who failed. Though the latter is certainly untrue, most likely wizards were the common ancestors of all humans in the Spiral. For one thing, I have more than just a slight suspicion that all of the odd names that wizards make up (Deathskull, Iceflower, Goldforge, etc.) come from an attempt to distance themselves from the more sensible names of pirates. And then there is always that stir, making me think of something buried in my mind where it can never be reached, whenever I’m near magic, be it the Hoodoo House, Perdition’s Cauldron, or just Witchdoctor’s Sanctum.

To disprove it, there is Honorable Kenneth Ire’s runny nose.

“I dan’t tink we’re in Cull Ilad!” Ken moans through a stuffed-up nose. He’s allergic to magic which is part of the reason that Stormgates make him ill.

With Ken attempting to stop his sneezing, Kevin and I steer the box towards land. The sun is hot, and the air is thick. I begin to look for a dock. Before I’ve checked half of the desert-like country, Kevin cries out.

“There’s no dock!” he shouts. I feel a sinking feeling in my chest. No dock means that we’re going to have to climb onto the desert ourselves.

We paddle as close as we can to the desert-land, and Kevin leaps up, his feet making the sand puff upwards when he lands. He helps me get up, and we both hoist Ken as high as we can, leaving the box to float away. He accidently knocks me over, and I send a mile of sand soaring into the air when I land. I sit up again and wipe away a trickle of sweat with my pitted palm, replacing it with a streak of dust.

“Halt! State your business!” Thunk. A Marleybonian crumples to the ground, Ken still clenching his fists. My mind clicks.

“Marleybonian excavator, deserts, magic…I think that we’re in Krokotopia.”

“Boh, yoar a wittle ray ob unhine,” Ken groans. He stifles a sneeze.

“More importantly than being away from a pirate-tolerating country, do you think that we look anything at all like wizards?” Ken casts his eye down his full body armor and cringes.

“Bo.”

Kevin checks himself and shoots me a glance that seems to say, “I concur.”

“You look most like a wizard. Go find disguises.” Thanks, Kevin, I get to be the one to do that. Oh, how delightful. I get to go into enemy territory looking like an Aztecosaurus.

I ditch my lance and the eyepatch, doing my best to make my mangled right eye look normal. I saunter through the small village, doing my best to look like a wizard and not a highly nervous pirate (although I will admit that the latter is the truth). I notice a sign with a robe on it and breeze through the door. I grab the first three robes that I find and quickly pay.

Ten minutes later, I walk briskly through the village, the blue cotton robe that I am wearing threatening to trip me up. I brush the too-large hood out of my face again, a move which also rids my forehead of the sweat trickling into my eyes.

“WOOAGH!” My overgrown bed sheet gets caught under my pointy shoes and I’m sent sprawling, dust soaring into the air. My eyes water as the sand settles all over me.

When the dust has died down, I get the feeling that someone is watching me. I quickly jump up and notice a boy sitting in the corner and appearing to beg. A girl sporting a large staff takes one look at him and bats him with her staff. The boy runs off, clutching a bloody nose.

I stare at the girl, who is chasing him and yelling taunts. She is holding a rolled-up paper that looks as though it has lots of writing on it. I hop up quickly when she looks my way. She apparently takes offense at me because she walks forward menacingly, clutching her staff a little tighter. I gulp. The wand that I have will be no use unless I can get close enough to bonk her over the head with it. The girl takes one more step, raises the staff--and promptly falls asleep. The sand sent up by her landing is more than I launched.

While I stand there with my mouth hanging open, trying to figure out what had just happened, the boy sneaks back to where he had been sitting, and all signs of a bloodied nose are gone. He sits down exactly how he had been sitting before and stares as though there isn’t a snoring girl sprawled near his ankles. For a minute I wonder if the boy is blind and merely knows his way around the village. Then my beliefs are beaten (and I am for some reason glad that they are) by a Krok.

“Well, boy! The arena isn’t going to fight itself!” The boy jumps up and stands at attention. He gives no sign that he notices the girl (whose snoring is deafening).

“Yessir!” The Krok marches away, and the boy seems to stare daggers into its retreating back. When the Krok is out of sight, he quickly runs over to the girl’s sleeping form, grabs the paper, stares at it for a couple of seconds, and rips it into shreds. His bright green eyes dart around the area, and he notices me for the first time. My magic sensory goes berserk, but the feeling is…different. I can feel magic in the air, but it all seems to converge into a swirling storm right where the boy stands. It is as though this area has a great store of Mojo right where we are. He points at me, turns, and runs.

I fly backwards, ramming into a wall. Lights fly in my vision as I jump up and chase after him. But he is too fast and too familiar with his home turf, and he is gone before I can find him. I sit down and sigh when I notice that the strange feeling has gone away as though the boy carried it away. But that’s preposterous. That much Mojo…it would rip someone to shreds. Or would it?

A loud sound reaches my ears, and it is one I know well--the sound of battle. Has someone found my brothers? I jump up and run towards the noise.

I break out into the sunlight and am both shocked and disgusted by what I see. The boy is in a pit with another boy, and the two are launching magical missiles at each other. I’d heard of Krokotopian pit fighting when I was younger, but it isn’t half as interesting as I thought it would be.

“’Scuse me, miss? Make yer bet!” I flip around quickly and sock a toothy Mander in the face. The Mander, toothy no more, glares at me as a loud bout of laughter erupts behind me. I turn and see a bunch of wizards, about my age of thirteen or a bit older, laughing at the Mander’s misfortune.

“Bet on Colin! He’ll win! Always does anyways,” a dirty brown haired boy yells loudly.

“Which one is Colin?” I ask, eager to know the name of the Mojo-magnet boy.

“That one,” the boy says, pointing with a pudgy finger at the boy.

“Aren’t you a little young to be gambling?” I ask. The boy couldn’t be more than eight or nine.

“Tell Cyrus and I’ll kill you,” he says indifferently as though killing would be as easy as sweeping the floor. I swallow my question about exactly who Cyrus is and depart just as Colin’s opponent crumples. I start running away as quickly as I can.

About fifteen minutes later, I turn a corner and suddenly shoot five feet into the air and dangle there, unable to move anything except my eyes and my mouth. The latter I immediately make good use of. I start to yell as loudly, casting my gaze around the street.

“Hello, Keira. You seem to be a bit-kblsbtch-ahem-tied up?” Cole said, betraying no shame for nearly bursting into a fit of the giggles at his pun.

“SANDY!” I shout, the twerp having just hit my hot button at the worst possible time.

“Odd name for a wizard. What planet are you from?” He sounds as though he really wants to know.

“Skull Island!”

“Very funny.”

“It’s the truth!” I notice a small sound; tick tick it goes. It’s vaguely familiar.

“Do you expect me to believe that a WIZARD was born on a boat?”

“I’m a proud pirate of Skull Island!” And I realize where I have heard the sound before as Colin continues on about how a pirate wouldn’t have a wand, how obviously pirates don’t COME here anyways, how just as obviously I am trying to get back at him for stealing all of my comrades’ half-wit plans, and yada yada ding dong, all that jazz, etc., etc.

“Excuse me--”

“You really expect--“

“EXCUSE ME--“

“I’m not fin--”

“ARMADA!!!” I yell as Deacon and his cronies turn the corner with sparkshooters at the ready. Colin jumps a foot in the air as I finally gain control of my appendages and fall to the ground. He throws me something, and I quickly hide before anyone notices me. I look at what’s in my hand. It’s a small bracelet. I put it on. How weird. The kid’s about to get caught, and he gives me JEWELRY!

Colin surrenders to Deacon and slightly motions with his hand for me to run. I dash out of cover and hear Deacon’s slightly nasal voice.

“The Ire girl again. Fire at will.” I tuck my head in and put on an extra burst of speed as sparks flew in all directions. The bracelet seems to grow hot on my skin. The roofs seem to shrink down near my head as I run. When I finally reach my brothers, Ken turns around and jumps.

“It’s just me, bro!”

“Well,” Kevin says, sparing my brother from speaking, “it’s not quite you, per se, but the way you arrived.” He stares at my feet. I look down and nearly faint.

I’m nearly ten inches off of the ground.

Pirate Game Fan Fiction Index

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