Cutlass, Sail, and Cannon - 1600s Pirate Forum RP [STORY THREAD]

[Globey]

//Well, Ernest is tied down until the bartender replies. I was going to make a post - But it deleted itself just as I was about to post it. I'll try to scrape up something in the mean time. It won't be the fun 800 word post I was going to make on my merchant captain. If there's one thing I hate, it's re-writing.

John Gastby, Somewhere Near Trinidad, Pirate Surgeon. On the Attack.

The wind was chilling; the night dark. All was quiet as John Gatsby paced back and forth atop the brigantine 'Brimstone' he now called home. Not a single living creature stirred - Only the monotonous, yet dynamic waves, lapping at the hull. John was alone to his thoughts, and was left abandoned to the night. Was it always to be this way? Throughout the ten days that he had served with the new crew, not a single mention had been made of going after a prize. The captain had ordered a course set for Trinidad, and had not said a word since. Suddenly, something thumped behind him. Hurriedly, he clutched at the cutlass he had no idea how to use. Half scared witless, he looked behind him - Just Captain Peter Morton.

John swallowed nervously. Morton was never predictable at the best of times, and was none the better for the bottle. A tall, dashing, yet imposing figure, Morton looked the stereotypical swashbuckler. He had brown hair, blue eyes, and always dressed in a set of old, grubby clothes. John came to a position somewhat resembling attention, "Sir!"
Morton turned to John, one eye gleaming on the poorly lit deck, "Today's the day, lad."
"The day, sir? Erm - What?"
"THE DAY!" Morton roared. Grasping John's shoulder, he wrenched him into a position facing to the port side. Slowly, John was able to make out a gleaming light on the horizon. And there -- To the right, moving towards the first dot! A signal lamp flashed, directed towards the Brimstone. A radical change appeared to come over Morton. Grabbing at their own signal lamp, he silently flashed to the other ship. No reply ensued, save for an eyrie silence, and disappearance of the light. "Go an put out our lantern, boy."
Glaring at Morton over the demeaning term, John complied. "Aye!"
Below decks, men were beginning to stir. Some were beginning to drift to the deck, armed and ready for battle. John felt nervous - He began to back away from the rail, towards the center of the ship.
The first light was becoming distinguishable... A large vessel, certainly. And then it hit him. A Spanish galleon, stocking up just prior to rendezvousing with the treasure fleet. He looked about wildly, intending to try and convince the captain to pull back. At first sight, however, John saw it was useless. Morton had a look in his eye. A look that would spell only death, and destruction.
The second vessel became clear too - A pirate schooner, chock full with sea scum. Morton turned around, grabbing John by the arm, and thrusting the grip of a musket into his hand. "This be it, boysie. There be four and twenty aboard the schooner, and 19 of us. There ought to be somewhere between six or eight score Spaniards aboard the galleo'... Here's the plan - Start to board, snipe the watch when they notice, and fuck them over better than a harbourside whore after a grog fest. We have fourty more men aboard the ship already, play actin'."
John started to shake nervously. Never before, had he been involved in something such as this. He looked down at the musket in his hands, sure that he couldn't hit a thing in this light.
They were drawing near, now. The schooner was a murky shape in the darkness, and the galleon appeared abandoned. The vessels pulled up along side the galleon, pirates swinging boarding grapnels. A quiet order was called; Out the grapnels went, wrapped in cloth so as to prevent detection. Some muffled thumps emanated from the deck, and the ropes creaked as the ships were secured either side. Marksmen stood atop the railing, or in the rigging for better angles. They straightened up in anticipation, as the first boarders began to creep up the lines, and ascend up towards the larger ship. Suddenly, a cry screeched from the enemy ship, the watch finally having noticed the limpets. Seconds later, 'BANG!' Shot after shot cascaded upon the Spaniards, the watch being snuffed out in in instant. The first boarders heaved themselves up onto the deck, and ran to fasten the hatches, until their compatriots could join them. The marksmen, having partially reloaded, started to jog to the boarding lines; they would make fresh their weapons while waiting to ascend.
The whole galleon was awake, taken completely by surprise. The entire watch was dead in seconds, the crew left clueless as to the proceedings. Large groups of Spaniards ran onto the deck, only to be cut down by the dozens of pirates awaiting them. Inside the galleon, it was clear that a struggle was occurring, both factions attempting to wrest control of the powder room from one another. The infiltrators were doing their job.
It was John's turn to climb into the meat grinder - Not having fired his musket, he stuck the barrel through his belt, and started to pull himself up. Several feet above and to one side, a small 6-pounder was being hauled to the decking. After what seemed a decade, John finally cleared the railing.
The scene before him was gruesome. Man after man was downed beside the hatches, and clumps of marksmen sat taking pot shots at the occasional face that showed itself within. The 6-pounder was being positioned on the deck before the main hatch, a block and tackle system being hastily hammered into the planking either side. Unsure of what to do, John jogged to the main hatch, and joined the musketeers there. He saw a face; fired; missed. With a sigh of despair, he started to reload.
Without warning, a sudden rush of Spaniards charged from the depths of the ship. Only two muskets were loaded, and did nothing to blunt the point of the assault. Swordsmen backed off instinctively - You could teach a pirate how to fight, but never to be flagrantly careless of his own life. But all was not lost.
With a sudden roar, the cannon flared. A shower of grape shot crashed through men and timber alike, scything through the swathe of men. Tightly packed as the 'attackers' were, it was bloody massacre. Easily twenty men were just gone, victims to the deadly power of a canon. The swordsmen, courage restored, charged in to deal with those who remained.

His musket finally reloaded, John looked about the deck in disgust. He estimated that a good 120 of the Spaniards were slaughtered, taking only 10 of the pirates with them. A similar rush had been made at each of the minor hatches, only to be beaten back by a volley of musket fire.

Now, the once dignified Spanish crew plead for mercy. The buccaneers promptly relieved them of their valuables.
The battle was over. The day was won, just after a blood red sun broke the horizon. Red rays fell upon the gore stained decks of the Fairweather.
A gruesome sight indeed.

[?????¬??]

Captain Renaldo Benito, Havana, Spanish Navy; following orders

    The dawn is quiet, save for a few joyous birds. A cool breeze blows, rustling the plants around. The morning is cool for late Spring, but Renaldo is not offset by it. He sits outside of the inn, in his usual location. He sips tea, and reads. The streets seem vacant, not more than one person to be seen at a time. It is a week day, and very early in the morning. A young boy approaches the Captain. He does not seem to enjoy the high life; he wears dirty, hole-ridden clothing, and no shoes. The Captain lowers his book, and looks up to the boy. "Letter, sir," he proclaims.
    "From who?" The Captain doesn't bother to look at the letter's seal.
    "The navy, sir." The boy sets the letter down, and begins to head off.
    "Hey, boy," the young man turns around as the Captain places a holds a few pieces to the boy, "thank you."
    The boy's eyes widen, "Thank you most, sir!" He grabs up the money, and runs off. The Captain sighs, and breaks the letter's seal, opening it. He skims it, not bothering to read it thoroughly. He puts the letter into his jacket, and heads into the inn. Renaldo pays for his room, and tips well, before heading off to the docks.
    The dock master approaches him, "Your ship is, well, ship-shape, Captain."
    "Thank you." The Captain boards a dinghy and is rowed to his ship. He immediately enters the officer's cabins and speaks with Lorenzo. "We have orders from the admiralty, Lieutenant," Lorenzo had been reading as well, and looks up. "We are to sail toward Trinidad. One of our galleons had been attack by several pirates. We must chase two small ships and capture their captains. Get ready, and inform the crew." Lorenzo stands, and does as he is told. The Captain sits in his cabin, and begins to write a letter:
Dearest Felicia,
    I have missed you so. Being far from home is difficult, but I know what I do is important for my people, and you. I hope to do well here, and return home a hero. It will sadden me to be away from my love of the sea, of the ships, and of my crew, but my love for you is so much greater. In months, I will return, and we will marry. Take this letter as my heart, and keep it near to yours.
Renaldo
    He returns the quill to the inkwell, and seals the letter, setting it aside. The ship's large and many masts unravel, and the pilot steers her against the current towards Trinidad. Lorenzo had argued that going with the current around Cuba would have been quicker, but the pilot took his own way. For hours the ship has battled the current and has moved a short way. She rocks has waves pound her bow, bring her up with them. Night has fallen before the ship has approached Trinidad. The Captain stands on the deck, skimming the horizon with his eyeglass. The officer of the watch stands by him, leaning on the railing. Suddenly, the Captain folds his eyeglass and whispers loud enough for the watch to hear, "Cut the lights!" The ship goes dark, and she is kept on her course.
    The officer of the watch talks in a hushed tone, "What do you see, Captain?"
    "A small ship, a schooner... she has no flag."
    "What should I do, Captain?"
    "Call to quarters." The midshipman quietly signals the watch, who each run to the crew and tell them to be to quarters, without making a loud sound. The Captain goes down to the gun deck, and speaks with the gunner, "Can you see the ship?"
    "Aye, Captain."
    "I want you to load the cannons with chain, and aim for her masts."
    "Aye, Captain."
    "On my word, disable her." The Captain heads back up to the deck, and tells the pilot to lower the masts and stop the ship. He walks to the Marine Lieutenant and tells him the plan. "Load your men onto dinghies and get as close to her as you can. When the cannons fire, and take her masts, board. Take prisoners, and do not kill unless you need to." The Lieutenant nods, and speaks to his men. The Captain returns to the gun deck. He pulls out his eyeglass, and looks to the dinghies approaching the schooner. There are no men on the schooner's deck, and the Marines are able to get close. The Captain shouts, "Fire!" Within seconds, the ship's port side guns fire, and the schooner's masts topple. Men shout, and the Marines jump from their dinghies onto the schooner. Before any man could react, a crew of crew was brought to the deck, a musket on each man's back. Renaldo has rowed to the ship, and boards her. "Who is the Captain of this ship?" No one speaks. Renaldo raises his voice, it booming about the open water, "Who is your Captain!?"
    A small man speaks, his tone rude and his breath poor, "I am!"
    Renaldo looks to the Marine Lieutenant, "Lieutenant, get as much information as you can out of the crew." He returns to the dinghy, scales up to the Felicia, and rests in his cabin.

[Tyrex]

// Sorry, Globey, I've been busy, I'll edit this post with my part when I have time soon.