Tuesday, June 3rd, 1670 a.d., Tortuga (Ile de la Tortue), 10:00 A.M.

Captain Anastasia Cole is a rarity in this world for more reasons than one. First, and foremost, is her captaincy. Not many would normally allow a woman pirate on board a ship let alone follow her orders and accept her as their leader, and yet, here she is; captain of the Dutch schooner painted red and gold, crimson sails unfurled, aptly named the Sun Dog. Then there's her height. At five foot nine inches, Anna strikes a cutting figure tall and curvy hands on her hips with her booted feet a shoulder's width apart. Long red hair flows in the westerly breeze billowing out from beneath her fancy plumed hat—a piece taken from a dandy of a Frenchman on a hunt nearly six months ago. Her white blouse hugs and swims about her upper body giving relief to the threat of a sweltering Caribbean day. On her left hip rested a saber with a steel basket, the blade hidden by a black leather sheathe of utilitarian design. Tucked into the crimson red sash tied about her midsection are two flintlock pistols trimmed in worked silver and made from a rich white oak. A blade-breaker dirk is sheathed in the outside of her right boot, polished black leather pieces that rise up to just below her knees with solid hardened leather soles and a small series of buckles that ride up the front of each to the cuffs.

Here they are, the crew of the Sun Dog, flying into the Bay of Tortuga at a little under one knot, half her sails furled, the banner depicting a dancing headless skeleton on a black field snapping from the mast over the crow's nest with near worthless blankets, linens, and clothing in the hold as a reminder of how scarce the prey had been on the journey from the western Florida coast. One scrawny little cargo sloop had crossed their path after the original target, the Belle Alamoure, failed to show. The sloop hadn't even put up a fight to satiate the bloodlust of the crew—seventy-five dirty, unwashed, and unscrupulous souls who sought wealth only to piss it all away once they hit port, then repeat the cycle again and again until a ball or a blade ended their sorry existence, or a hangman's noose.

Eyeing the fort atop the rolling Haitian hillside overlooking the ragged port community, Anna's brow creases. She's heard that pirates are welcome here, but the sight of a fort flying is always more than a little disconcerting. The tradesman she had overheard talking in the tavern at St. Augustine had revealed the constant struggle between the Spanish and the English for the region and how this upheaval lent certain freedoms to the Brethren of the Coast. News that was readily received by the captain who had determined to learn more about the Brethren and what kind of freedoms they enjoyed.

Research enlightened her to the possibility of joining with the loosely knit group of pirates who would provide fences for cargo, a port to repair the Dog when needed, respite from the harshness of the Sea, and more, all located in Tortuga.

Clenching her teeth, Captain Cole remembers how she had come to captain the Sun Dog and the tumultuous journey such a role has been as the curvature of the coastline leads them further into the Bay revealing the two smaller forts cradled amidst a series of warehouses on the hook peninsula at the mouth. It was not unlike the setup in London where she had commandeered the Dog. Could that really have been only a year ago? A few weeks hiding in a shoal-protected cove repairing the damage done to the Dog escaping the pursuing Ships of the Line had nearly cost her the captaincy—Nay! It had nearly cost her life.

Mr. David Adamson had been instrumental in putting the crew of cutthroats together to follow her bold plan in the first place, but he (like so many others) had seriously underestimated the Cole women when he thought to take the prize for himself once they weighed anchor. The crew they had hired on consisted of eighty men total. She hadn't wanted to be light on manpower when they rushed the Dog's deck that night. She also knew from experience that the optimal crew complement for a schooner such as the Sun Dog is seventy-five and expected more than a few men to fall to the blade and lose their lives to the shot of the Dutch sailors protecting the ship. She had been correct. She is rarely wrong.

Thirteen of her men had lost their lives in that skirmish. The entire original crew of the Dog had been executed. Anna had accounted for more than her share, as had Maggie, Anna's younger, more fiery sister. Mags' ferocity had made the bold red-head proud and they had celebrated their victory loudly and brazenly as they sped away from the responding Royal Navy.

As with any shipboard battle, the Sun Dog had taken damage from cannon and swivel gun fire on its way out of London Harbor. The speed of the vessel was something that Anna had heard spoken of by her crew which is what had drawn her to the Dog in the first place, and by God did she fly across the water reaching eleven knots under full sail. Escaping cost the lives of another four of her pirates. Admittedly, she is more appreciative of the number seventeen over thirteen. Omens can come in all kinds of shapes and sizes, and thirteen is a highly dangerous omen to be starting out a journey to the Americas on.

Within the cove, Mr. Campbell set the crew about the work of repairing the Dog while Anna worked with Adamson, Goncalvo, and Maggie to plot their course towards the riches of the North American shipping lanes. At least, that's what Anna thought they were doing. David had other plans.

Playing on the natural suspicions of sailors, he spent the hours away from the Cole women cultivating mistrust and suspicion amongst the crew. Just as the ship was about to set sail he made his move. Supported by almost half the men who had helped take the Sun Dog, Adamson mutinied. The quiet gray cove of the British coastline became a bloody battleground within seconds. Bodies drifted in the water spilling bright red fluid into the surf, catching on small coral and rock protrusion. When all was said and done, Adamson was dead, slain by her own sword, and the supporting crew (led to her aid by Fin Crowe) were left to pilot the Dog severely undermanned with the Royal Navy searching the seas for them.

Since then, they had managed five hauls. One had been very lucrative resulting in outfitting and refitting the Dog enough that they endured three mediocre prizes and one dismal without Anna losing the trust of her men.

Blinking the sting of the salty air from her pale blue eyes, Captain Cole returns to the present and steps to the rail of the poop deck, calling out behind her, "Take us in, Mr. da Nazare."

Creaking timber and the cries of sailors going about their work fills the air as the sailmaster sets about the task of bringing them to anchor in the harbor. Eyeing the busy wharf, Anna glances to her right and meeting a furtive look from her little sister.

"Once at anchor," she instructs. "Give the men a schedule tha' keeps fifteen on board the Dog at all times. Fifteen sober men, Mags. We're no' in familiar waters ‘ere an' I wanna see how warm it is ‘fore we dive in."

Receiving the acknowledgement she has come to expect from her kin, Cole turns to her quartermaster. "We'll set ‘bout findin' somethin' t' hunt right away, Fin. Can' afford t' have the men growin' bored. We must keep them fed. Set Cracker ‘r Simple Jack about restockin' the hold an' take the other t' find me somethin' t' hunt. Let's be quick ‘bout it.

"I'll take Mags an' seek out the contacts we need t' establish a line o' sale fer the cargo we hold now. We'll hopefully be able t' pull enough t' keep the men waist deep in liquor an' tail ‘til we have somethin' lined up."

Turning her questioning look between the two of them she asks, "Any questions?"

Goncalvo kept a keen eye on the approaching dock. Timing the furling of the sails was an art and he was an artist. "Drop all sails!" he called and moments later the Sun Dog nestled alongside the dock with hardly a rub. "Before any of you get other ideas, furl those sails correctly and ensure they are properly lashed." He always looked after the sails for without them the Sun Dog was just a floating lump. It was the sails that captured the wind and allowed the ship to fly across the waves.

As the captain laid out her plans to head to the coast of America, Goncalvo made mental notes regarding the charts he would need and the route that would take them past the best ports. America promised Spanish galleons filled with gold but it was Portuguese plunder he valued most. Unfortunately, the Portuguese were focused on areas much further south. Perhaps a lone Portuguese ship might cross their path but it would be a stroke of luck. "With your permission captain, I would like to seek out other sailing masters in port and see if I can gather any new charts. It would also give me a chance to see what plans other nearby ships are making. Tongues seem to wag easily when in my esteemed company."

As the captain laid out her plans to head to the coast of America, Goncalvo made mental notes regarding the charts he would need and the route that would take them past the best ports. America promised Spanish galleons filled with gold but it was Portuguese plunder he valued most. Unfortunately, the Portuguese were focused on areas much further south. Perhaps a lone Portuguese ship might cross their path but it would be a stroke of luck. "With your permission captain, I would like to seek out other sailing masters in port and see if I can gather any new charts. It would also give me a chance to see what plans other nearby ships are making. Tongues seem to wag easily when in my esteemed company."  

--

"With your permission captain," the well-kept Portuguese sailmaster speaks up from his position at the helm a few meters behind where the officers of the ship stand. "I would like to seek out other sailing masters in port and see if I can gather any new charts. It would also give me a chance to see what plans other nearby ships are making. Tongues seem to wag easily when in my esteemed company."

Knowing that their maps and charts—really most of what they know of the Caribbean—is outdated or highly suspect, Anna cannot help but be grateful for the foresight of this man. Despite his penchant for keeping himself as well-kept as an English Lord, he does his work well and Captain Cole has found him to be an invaluable asset. Where Adamson—God burn his soul in Hell for eternity!—found Goncalvo, she can only guess, but she thanks the stars for him and his experience through every storm and every time they've entered new waters.

"You have my permission, love," she responds while turning her head slightly to the right and speaking into her blustering hair. "By all means."

The closer to the small colony they draw, the more crew gather on deck. To Ebenezer Hughes, this port o' call is both foreboding and exciting. He, like his brothers among the Dog Crew, is practically transfixed by the clay and brick, wood and cobblestone that appears to have been haphazardly strewn about the exotic island's coastline and hillside. He, most likely the same as his brothers, also takes note of the fort at the top of a nearby hill and wonders who mans its cannons and whether or not their will ever be a time when the Dog Crew need worry about it. Glancing over his shoulder, Hughes scratches thoughtfully at the scruffy beard he wears while he considers the two most powerful people on board, the Cole Sisters.

Captain Cole, strong-willed, solid, some would even say stoic, with a gruffness and quick decision-making personality is still an anomaly to him even after a year of following her across the cold waters of the Atlantic. He'd stitched her up after fights, both mortal and brawls, and has seen more of her body than any other man on board this vessel. Aside from, perhaps, Maggie Hellfire and Fin, he knew her the best and yet, he feels that he is still learning more about her every day.

Maggie "Hellfire" Cole is another matter. Where the captain is stoic, Maggie is quick to temper enough so that most of the men have realized just how to avoid poking that particular bear. There are always some whenever they pick up new crew who try to challenge Hellfire, want to take advantage of having women on board while they are out to sea—after all, there's got to be some reason for it—who quickly discover that in order to keep their giblets, they'd best not press their luck. Of course, Fin in all of his darkness, was always someone to reckon with when it came to any dissent and that helps.

Taking a long moment to survey his brothers as they stand staring out at the Port of Tortuga, Hughes wonders what trouble lies in wait for those who would follow women in a Man's world. Educated in the best schools of medicine Edinburgh had to offer, Hughes had felt fairly enlightened before he had been conscripted off the Dog's first prize. But nothing had prepared him for the Coles. Nothing.

"I'm gonna git me some strong drink an' then a strong woman," Scotts rumbled at Hughes' left elbow. The brawny Irishman grins wolfishly at his more educated Celt companion showing dirty teeth through his ragged red beard. "What you gonna do first, Doc?"

"First?" Ebenezer raises his eyebrows and thoughtfully muses. "While I most certainly can understand the draw of both strengths you've endeared yourself to, sir, I shall first be attending to my duties as ship's surgeon and making certain we are stocked with the proper tools of my trade. That is what I'll be accomplishing first."

"He needs a strong woman more'n a strong whiskey," Bellfonte chimes in from the surgeon's other side and even goes so far as to give the doctor a friendly nudge. Bellfonte, being a large black man and ex-slave with a shaved head and many an African tribal scar across his broad, flat face, stands at roughly six and a half feet and is slightly more broad than most other men on the crew. Instead of a saber at his side, the heavily accented pirate carries a maul that Hughes has seen at work. Months, it took, to reconcile the barbarity of the weapon with the good-naturedness of the man wielding it.

"Perhaps I do," Ebenezer grins into the guffaws of those about him. "Perhaps I do, indeed." Continuing to scratch absently at the beard covering his left cheek, the surgeon turns his attention back to their destination. "Perhaps we all do,"

Blaze Campbell pauses on the starboard poop deck stairs and turns a gauging eye to the treeline. Pine, Palm, fruit trees of varying kinds, and obvious lumber operations. Good. he allows a soft smile to play across his face. We need it.
They hadn't taken much time to repair damage from two prizes ago as they'd ferried their way down the Floridian coast and the lumber supply they normally carry is gone. Continuing his hasty climb up to the captain's position, he pauses just shy of entering what he considers to be the blood circle of Hellfire Maggie. Snatching his hat from his head (an ingrained habit from his days in London's shipwright unions) he ducks his head enough that his dark hair—matted though is it by sweat and saltwater—falls before his face like a curtain.

"Beggin' yer pardon, Captain," he begins. "But is there a stipend fer restockin' the lumber an' fixin' the rails? There's a hole on the port bow I've got patched with tar and scraps that I'd like t' do proper."

"If the Dog ain' proper ready t' hunt, Mr. Campbell," Anna turns a calculating pale blue stare his way and despite her beauty, Blaze can't help but feel terrified every time she places those cold eyes on him. "I'll hold you responsible. Make yer arrangements with Fin. You'll ‘ave wha' ya need."

"I understand, Captain," Campbell had long ago forestalled any formality of calling either of the Cole sisters, mum, miss, or ma'am. They are Captain and Maggie when speaking to their faces and the Ice Queen and Hellfire when spoken about.

Dipping his head again, the Sun Dog's carpenter rings his cap as he makes his way around their backs between where that dandy of a Portuguese sailmaster steers and where the three officers stand. "Mr. Crowe? Uh, sir? About the needs,"

Goncalvo keeps a keen eye on the approaching dock, not at all distracted by Campbell's discussion. Timing the furling of the sails is an art and he is an artist.

"Drop all sails!" he calls as they steer into the shallower waters.

"We anchor in the ‘arbor, Mr. da Nazere," Anna barks, still looking out at the town before them. "The boys can take the longboat in."

Sounds of complaints erupt from the main deck as sailors overhear. There's one longboat on the Sun Dog and by giving this order, Captain Cole has delayed a great many men from seeking relief in a bottle or whorehouse. But, this matters not to Captain Cole. As a matter-of-fact, she has planned it this way. Rushing her crew into a new, untested settlement can only lead to trouble. Still unsure of what kind of welcome they'll receive, the red-headed beauty can only proceed with caution.

"Before any of you get other ideas," Goncalvo calls out to the men rushing up the netting to obey his orders, "furl those sails correctly and ensure they are properly lashed." He always looks after the sails for without them the Sun Dog is just a floating lump. It is the sails that capture the wind and allow the ship to fly across the waves.

With all the sails tended and the Sun Dog safely harbored, Goncalvo claimed a spot on the first longboat headed to the dock. As was his fashion, he was dressed in the manner of a well-schooled merchant sailing master. Disembarking from the longboat, he broke ranks with the others who had come ashore. Moments later he looked for all the world to be nothing more than one of the many merchants and it would take a most astute observer to notice that he was warier than the typical merchant or to take note of the brace of pistols well hidden in his topcoat. Shops lined the street and the sound of commerce filled the air. It seemed there was no end to the exotic wares available for sale. He stopped to sample figs, olives and even oranges. A smile crossed his face for a moment but was quickly replaced with a look of sadness as the market reminded him of home. Moving on, he found a tavern too nice for the average crewman and knew this is where he would spend the next several hours.

As he entered, the smell of roasting meat mingled with that of fresh baked bread and strong ale. Missing was the stench of unwashed masses and stale beer. Although there were a few open tables, Goncalvo moved to the bar and ordered a watered ale in order to keep his wits while quenching his thirst. For a time, he listened to the ebb and flow of the conversations of the other patrons. Eventually he focused on a table where 3 men talked about the weather patterns and their recent arrival in port. He walked over to the table, "Good day gentlemen, I must admit I overheard your talk regarding the blowing of the winds and found myself intrigued. My ship has just recently arrived and I find myself at a loss in regards to the local conditions. It would be a shame to see harm come to my good ship due to my lack of knowledge. If it pleases you, I would join your table and provide libations for all in return for any enlightenment you could provide."

William "Cracker" Wiley watched as the Sun Dog sailed towards the port of Tortuba and wondered what he would find there. The Brits had been going back and forth with others for control of the island for years. Cracker didn't really care what government claimed whichever patch of dirt, just so long as he could pee on it when needed. But he would prefer it if they didn't run into the royal navy. He had a history with the navy that he wasn't very keen to revisit.

Almost a dozen years ago he had been press ganged by the navy when only 16 years old - right after having watched his father's murder. It was a bad weekend. Over the years he came to love the sea, but his bitterness towards the navy had grown almost daily as he watched the brutality towards the sailors and the luxury, power and corruption of those in command. He never forgot that he was there against his will. About two years ago his ship, a third-rate frigate called the York, chased down a pirate ship that had been targeting British shipping along the coast of America. As the battle approached Wiley found himself hoping that the pirates would win. He held back in combat, not wanting to aid the navy. Things were not going well for the navy and in the midst of the scrum one of the officers, a particularly brutal lieutenant named Polesman, called Bruiser" by the crew, spotted Wiley and threatened him as a coward for holding back. Wiley was many things, but not a coward, and when Bruiser attacked him with a truncheon he put his cutlass between the man's ribs, enjoying the look of surprise it created, if only briefly. Around him the fight continued to move in the pirate's favor and he heard his captain call to try and pull away. Seeing his chance, Wiley used the cover of the battle to jump onto the pirate's ship and conceal himself from the vision of the naval vessel. When the naval vessel attempted to run the pirates let them go with only a few cannonballs as a parting gift - there was little loot of value on a naval vessel anyway.

With the battle over William surrendered to the pirates and asked if he could join them. It took a little while to earn their trust, but he did this and proved to be a capable soldier quickly moving into his old position of boatswain on the new vessel. Unfortunately the man at the helm of his new ship, Captain Addicus "Grimace" Karver was as brutal as any naval commander could be, but perhaps not as competent. At the first port of call, which happened to be Charlotte, S.C. in the Americas, Wiley abandoned the crew and made his way into the town. When the ol' Grimace and crew had sailed on he went back to the harbor and looked for work on another ship. He found it quickly and sailed off on a moderately sized vessel. But fate appeared to have pirate plans for him, and it wasn't long before this ship was attacked by pirates - this time it was the Sun Dog and Captain Cole. When given the choice of joining the crew Wiley umped at the chance. He had seen the crew perform under the captain's commands in the very short fight and had been impressed. The sailors seemed to obey quickly and looked in reasonable shape for sailors. He wondered about following a woman, but if the captain was competent he couldn't care less what her gender might be. And both she and her sister would be something pretty to look at on those long days and nights at sea, even if forever out of reach.

And so Wiley found himself aboard the Sun Dog and a pirate once more. And he found himself staring at an approaching port that just might be in the hands of the British. He didn't think many in the British navy would recognize him - he was almost certainly presumed dead in the battle and fallen overboard. Nobody would know about his fight with Bruiser, but that wouldn't matter anyway, since if he was recognized his was still guilty of desertion. Besides, he was a pirate. Did one need more of a crime than that? Perhaps kidnapping a young kid who was having the worst week of his life was worse, but if you were the navy that wasn't even considered a crime. He just shook his head at the way the world functioned and went back to work.

1st Mate Margery Cole stood on the Aft deck of the Schooner Sun Dog next to her older sister Anna and gaze out at the approaching harbor of Tortuga. She was about the same height as her sibling, and they shared the same red hair; but while Anna liked the flashy dress such as her white blouse and a fancy plumed hat, she preferred dressing in dull, and darker colors. She wore a simple man's faded green shirt atop dark blue breeches with tall black boots; all of this she adorned with a long black trench coat that was ornately trimmed, and a simple worn looking Black hat that looked like she had found it in a refuse pile. While Anna liked her long saber sword and pistols, she wore a pair of short swords, almost like long double-edged daggers, worn on each hip. She seldom carried a pistol, but when she did it was kept tucked into her belt for easy access.

It had been a long journey to get here and they didn't have a lot to show for all their efforts. But, they had the ship and most of a crew that they had been whipping into shape; well Margery, or Maggie as she preferred, did a lot of the 'whipping'. Anna demanded strict discipline of her crew, and Maggie was the one to make sure that the discipline was felt by those that slacked in their duties.

Anna had always been the leader, being 7 years older, and had watched over the two of them since they had fled the orphanage years ago. They were sent to the orphanage after their destitute mother died. They stayed there, spending most of the time on the streets rather than tending to their chores at the orphanage. It was Anna who took most of the beating that were due Maggie; she always looked after her kid sister. But when Anna reached 18, the orphanage released her but intended to keep Maggie, who was only 11 years old. Anna came back that night and stole Maggie away and they had been taking care of one another since.

Maggie looked over at her sister as past thoughts were drifting through her head. She loved her sister, but Anna had been the one to always make the decisions growing up because she was the eldest. Even now Maggie felt that Anna was a little too overprotective still; even though she was now 26 years old, Anna sometimes still treated her like she still needed protection. Maggie would sometimes bring it up to her, but never in front of the crew. Anna was the Captain, and while Maggie was her 1st Mate, she totally supported her and wouldn't do anything to undermine her sister's authority. Why would she? Who would take over as Captain; certainly not her, no way she wanted the job. Oh, she would disagree with Anna's decisions sometime, but always in private.

Creaking timber and the cries of sailors going about their work fills the air as the sailmaster sets about the task of bringing them to anchor in the harbor. Eyeing the busy wharf, Anna glances to her right and meeting a furtive look from her little sister.

"Once at anchor," she instructs. "Give the men a schedule tha' keeps fifteen on board the Dog at all times. Fifteen sober men, Mags. We're no' in familiar waters ‘ere an' I wanna see how warm it is ‘fore we dive in."

"I'll select men from each Watch and have them rotate out as needed," Maggie replied, "and they will know what condition I will expect them in when their duty comes." Her tone left no doubt as to what her words would be like to the men required to stand guard aboard ship and the punishment they would face if she were disobeyed. Being the 1st mate, one of her duties was to keep track of the watch schedules. There were three watches consisting of a primary command officer, Captain, 1st Mate, and Quartermaster, with the deck crew divided among them. The only ones not assigned to a watch, were the Surgeon, Sailing Master, Carpenter and Cabin Boy; they were considered to be on duty, when needed ,24 hrs a day. The watches stood 8 hr shifts when at sea, and as needed when in port, though with a lesser contingent of men normally.

Receiving the acknowledgment she has come to expect from her kin, Cole turns to her quartermaster. "We'll set ‘bout findin' somethin' t' hunt right away, Fin. Can' afford t' have the men growin' bored. We must keep them fed. Set Cracker ‘r Simple Jack about restockin' the hold an' take the other t' find me somethin' t' hunt. Let's be quick ‘bout it.

"I'll take Mags an' seek out the contacts we need t' establish a line o' sale fer the cargo we hold now. We'll hopefully be able t' pull enough t' keep the men waist deep in liquor an' tail ‘til we have somethin' lined up."

Turning her questioning look between the two of them she asks, "Any questions?"

Maggie shook her head slightly, and turned to take care of things prior to them leaving the ship. She spent the next few minutes selecting the men who would be the Anchor watch and would stay aboard to guard the ship while the command staff and most of the crew were ashore. As she was doing this, she overheard a lot of what was going on as Anna gave commands and permissions to the others.

She overheard Scotts speak of the need for a strong woman and strong whiskey; she remained silent with only a slight shake of her head being the only sign that she might have heard him, or maybe the shake was regarding something else, who could say.

Goncalvo keeps a keen eye on the approaching dock, not at all distracted by Campbell's discussion. Timing the furling of the sails is an art and he is an artist.

"Drop all sails!" he calls as they steer into the shallower waters.

"We anchor in the ‘arbor, Mr. da Nazere," Anna barks, still looking out at the town before them. "The boys can take the longboat in."

Sounds of complaints erupt from the main deck as sailors overhear. There's one longboat on the Sun Dog and by giving this order, Captain Cole has delayed a great many men from seeking relief in a bottle or whorehouse.

"Belay that F***ing S**t", Maggie growled at the sailors, "if you want to see shore at all, you'll stop your F***ing bellyaching." Anna remained silent for Maggie knew she probably didn't care, but she wouldn't let these men show disrespect for their Captain's orders.

"Before any of you get other ideas," Goncalvo calls out to the men rushing up the netting to obey his orders, "furl those sails correctly and ensure they are properly lashed." He always looks after the sails for without them the Sun Dog is just a floating lump. It is the sails that capture the wind and allow the ship to fly across the waves.

Maggie gave a faint nod at hearing the Sailing Master's orders to the crew. She had no complaints with the man's handling of his duties; he made sure the ship was well cared for in regards to it's sailing. She liked the man too, he had discipline, and she admired that. Of course she wouldn't say as much aloud, but he probably knew it, because she had yet to bellow at him for slacking at his job.

By the time the ship was anchored, and the longboat readied, Maggie had seen to the Anchor watch and make sure they understood their instructions. She had gone to her cabin briefly to retrieve her pistol and tucked it into her belt; since they were going into strange territory, you never knew when you might need it.

Arriving back on deck as the 1st longboat was ready to depart; she joined Anna and the others, who join them in the longboat for those assignments which were most important, like Anna and her, Fin, and the Mr. de Nazere.

Tuesday, June 3rd, 1670 a.d., Tortuga (Ile de la Tortue), 10:00 A.M.
Bay of Tortuga
On Board the Sun Dog

Wylie ‘Shark Tooth' Stryker barked orders to the remaining members of his gun crew, as the Sun Dog made ready to put into port.

Securing and cleaning the Aft Gun Port Cannon was a bit slower than usual, as it had been for the past several weeks, because Salty Dog had fallen to his death in a watery grave from the pointed end of a blade that was meant for Shark Tooth.

The Master Gunner began to reflect upon his life as his crew bent their backs to the task at hand, as the Sun Dog began to hug the coastline of Tortuga Bay.

Wylie [pronounced: Why Lie? Which became one his mottos for most of his childhood and adult life] was orphaned at the age of 2, so he does not have any surface memories of his parents, after being taken into custody by his Aunt and Uncle: Helga and Cranston Stryker.

They were rather cruel and would beat him for almost any reason, mainly because the two did not get along well as husband and wife and Helga was unable to bear a child of her own.

Just before age 7, Cranston had enough and snatched Wylie to be his Cabin Boy on a Merchant Ship he had purchased. The mistreatment continued as Wylie was nothing more than a slave to his rum-soaked uncle, but the young boy took a liking to the sea-faring life almost immediately.

A pirate ship named the Red Parrot and captained by ‘Red Parrot' seized the merchant ship and sank it, but spared the life of the young Wylie. Red Parrot took a liking to Wylie (treating him like a son) and made him his cabin boy.

Wylie was not mistreated. He learned the ways of the pirate life first hand as a cabin boy, galley boy and powder boy: where he learned all about firing and maintaining the cannons.

Red Parrot taught him how to fight with a cutlass and how to shoot a firearm, in addition to learning all about the cannons. Wylie learned the hard way about the dangers of gun powder when his left eye got scorched by the sudden explosion of a malfunctioning cannon.

Captain Red Parrot and his crew also took the time to teach young Wylie the finer points of brawling, along with their strategies for capturing merchant ships, plus battling and eluding naval ships

When an English naval vessel ambushed the Red Parrot, the Captain Red Parrot was killed, while putting young Wylie and 3 captured women in a dingy, to allow the Red Parrot to limp away in a gathering fog, while the women and Wylie (now age 11) were rescued and taken back to England.

Helga made a fuss over him, but in the privacy of her home Wylie was greatly mistreated. Finally, before age 13, he was sent off to a boarding school where he was severely mistreated and forced to work in a ‘sweat shop' until he managed to make his escape.

At the age of 17, after a few weeks of living on the streets and fighting for survival, young Wylie managed to sign on with an English naval vessel.

He was fairly mistreated the first few weeks at sea, but he managed to fight his way up the ranks and earn the respect of his ship mates, especially when the commanding officer realized the young man was quite skilled with the cutlass, firearms and seemingly born to command the gunnery cannons.

Wylie earned his keep and his reputation over the next 7+ years at sea. When the commanding officer of the English naval vessel decided to go to Tortuga and sink pirate ships, his plans went awry when a storm drove the ship off course to the Coast of Chile.

However, the officer took it as a good omen when the Red Parrot was sighted and after a fierce battle, the pirate ship of his youth was sunk off the coast of Chile. Amid the debris of the sunken Red Parrot, the Captain of the ship named Salty Dog was clinging to some debris.

Wylie was looking through a spy glass and noticed the fin of a great white shark slowly making its way towards the Pirate Captain. Without hesitation, Wylie ordered his men to aim their cannon according to his specific directions. Wylie killed the shark from a distance of 300 yards, winning the admiration of his men, as well as his commanding officer.


Wylie and his men managed to launch a dingy and not only take the pirate captain captive, but to also claim the shark carcass as a prize. Wylie was given the teeth as a momento.

Salty Dog recognized Wylie from his days on the Red Parrot, but did not reveal they knew each other, until he was able to speak privately with Wylie in the brig.

Setting sail once again for Tortuga to ambush pirates, the English Naval Vessel instead found itself in a trap set by the pirates who called Tortuga home.

Fortunately, two English War Ships unexpectedly joined the battle, but although the pirates were able to sink the English Naval Vessel and kill most of the crew, Wylie was able to help Salty Dog escape, only to be rescued by one of the surviving English War Ships.

Wylie was able to convince the officers on board that Salty Dog was a surviving member of his Gun Crew; while Salty Dog spent his time boasting to the crew about how ‘Shark Tooth' had saved his life by blowing the great white out of the water with a 300+ yard cannon blast.

As proof, he had Wylie show them the shark teeth he was carrying in a bag.

The legend of Wylie ‘Shark Tooth' Stryker grew by the month as Salty Dog boasted about how Shark Tooth had blasted the great white shark with a cannon 300+ yards away, while the English War Ship set a course back to London.

Upon their arrival in London, Salty Dog had a silver necklace fashioned for Wylie with one of the great white shark's teeth hanging on the necklace. Shark Tooth was also promoted to the position of a master gunner over a cannon crew on a new ship, while Salty Dog chose to remain with young ‘Shark Tooth' as a member of his gunner crew, because he owed the young pirate his very life!

Wylie and Salty Dog served together for almost 4 years, changing ships like changing wenches whenever possible, before Shark Tooth and Salty Dog got wind about a rumor of a lady captain and her daring plan to commandeer a vessel named the Sun Dog, while they were wenching in a London port.

They were soon able to locate a Mr. David Adamson and convinced him to sign them on for the unlikely venture, intrigued by the prospect of serving under a female captain and her first mate sister.

Shark Tooth was impressed by the voracity of the Cole Sisters as they led the charge with a crew of 80 stout-hearted men, seizing control of the Sun Dog and eluding the pursuing Royal Navy.

The Master Gunner clenched his teeth as he remembered how Adamson had convinced half the crew to mutiny, while the Sun Dog was hidden to make repairs from the cannon and swivel gun fire inflicted upon the ship from the pursuing Royal Navy, now anchored for the necessary repairs while secreted in a secluded cove along the British coastline.

Shark Tooth and Salty Dog sided with Fin Crowe as the Quartermaster led the supporting crew to aid Captain Cole and First Mate Maggie in the resistance against the mutineers.

Salty Dog gave his life upon the point of a sword meant for Shark Tooth. His bleeding body fell overboard, adding to the soiling of the surf, torn to pieces on the small coral and rock protrusions.

Captain Cole slew Adamson with her own sword, which drew further admiration from Shark Tooth. Although the Sun Dog was severely undermanned, Shark Tooth was awarded the position of Master Gunner on the Aft Port Cannon: which positioned him close enough to the Captain's Quarters below deck, in case his cutlass or pistol was needed to come to her aid in case of a further mutiny.

Captain Cole was able to lead her crew to five lucrative hauls, resulting in outfitting and refitting the Sun Dog enough to endure three mediocre prizes and a dismal one, without further mutiny.

Her men, including Shark Tooth, trusted Captain Cole with their very lives!

Wylie ‘Shark Tooth' Stryker stands 6 feet tall 190 pounds and is now 30 years old. He is a rugged, yet muscular specimen of a man, keeping himself physically conditioned to be able to fight hand to hand in a brawl, or with a cutlass; plus manning the cannons to maintain his excellent condition and strength.

He has a black eye patch covering his powder burned left eye. His hair is dark brown and he has a scruffy beard that he cuts occasionally to prevent from getting set on fire by powder burns.

He is muscular and is able to fight and carouse with the best of the pirates. He is a fighter who backs down from no one. His hair is long and he carries a cutlass and a knife strapped to his right boot.


He also carries a firearm and wears a red bandana to keep the sweat out of his eyes. His clothes and boots are the standard wear for most pirates and freebooters.

It is this imposing figure that approaches Fin and Maggie with an air of confidence, tempered with a respect that has been mutually earned these past several months, since the bloody mutiny.

Shark Tooth is undaunted as he hears Captain Cole say: "We anchor in the ‘arbor, Mr. da Nazere," Anna barks, still looking out at the town before them. "The boys can take the longboat in."

Sounds of complaints erupt from the main deck as sailors overhear. There's one longboat on the Sun Dog and by giving this order, Captain Cole has delayed a great many men from seeking relief in a bottle or whorehouse. But, this matters not to Captain Cole. As a matter-of-fact, she has planned it this way. Rushing her crew into a new, untested settlement can only lead to trouble. Still unsure of what kind of welcome they'll receive, the red-headed beauty can only proceed with caution.


Shark Tooth nods to the Quartermaster and First Mate.

"Ahoy, Me Hearties!"

(OOC: Shark Tooth waits for the appropriate acknowledgement from his superiors before addressing Fin and Maggie)

"Beggin' Yer Pardon , Mr. Fin , Lady Maggie , I Be Needin' Ah Suitable Replacement Fer Me Departed Bucko , Salty Dog , Who Fought Fer Yer Cause , Gave His Life He Did , Fer Captain Cole , ‘N Der Sun Dog , Died Fer Yer Cause He Did , Been Short Handed , Aft Port Gun Needs Me Another Bucko , So If'n Ye Be Permitten , Give Me Leave Ta Find Ah New Hand , Ah Old Salt Be Worthy Ta Stand By Me Side , Na Ah Rum Blossom Mind Ye , Ah Right Sturdy Old Salt , Like Me Bucko Salty Dog , Allow Me Ah Seat On Tha Long Boat , Allow Me Time Ta Swaller Ah Bit Ah Grog , Find Ah Sturdy Old Salt , Spend Ah Bit Ah Time Ta Crack Jenny's Tea Cup , Ah Be Findin' Ah Right Sturdy Old Salt , Loyal Ta Captain Cole , Loyal Ta Yer Sun Dog , Loyal Ta Me , Like Salty Dog , Loyal Ta Mr. Fin , Loyal Ta Lady Maggie!"

(OOC: Assuming a Positive Response from Fin and Maggie)

"Thank Ye Kindly!"

Shark Tooth bowed and made his way to the Long Boat for a rendezvous with destiny!

Tuesday, June 3rd, 1670 a.d., Tortuga (Ile de la Tortue), 10:00 A.M.
Port of Tortuga
The One-Eyed Parrot

Parrots always made Wylie ‘Shark Tooth' Stryker feel at home from his young pirate days spent on board the Red Parrot with Captain Red Parrot.

So, it was no surprise to Shark Tooth, as he walked the streets of Tortuga (swaying and swaggering as he regained his ‘land legs' from his many weeks at sea) that he found himself drawn to a certain tavern with a red sign post proclaiming ‘The One-Eyed Parrot' as the suitable place to find a replacement for his long-time friend Salty Dog.

Once inside, the Master Gunner ordered a mug of Grog. He stood a fathom tall and with his black eye-patch covering his left eye, plus the addition of the lone great white shark tooth hanging from his neck on the silver chain that Salty Dog had paid a jeweler to fashion into an appropriate necklace, Wylie ‘Shark Tooth' Stryker struck an imposing figure among the patrons of The One-Eyed Parrot.

Slowly drinking a second mug of grog, then a third, the Master Gunner looked around the tavern for any prospective replacement for his old friend Salty Dog. He engaged in snippets of conversation with and grunts of acknowledgement to those who were bold enough to meet his slowly sweeping gaze.

He tried to ignore the flirtations of the serving wenches, coupled with the tell-tale throb south of his belt sash, only because it mattered first to find a replacement for Salty Dog.

Business before pleasure was his motto, unless he gave place to his second and most preferred motto: Pleasure before business!

His eyes trailed after the wake of the buxom serving wench that had pressed herself close and breathed heavily into his left ear, causing the southern throb to increase as his own breathing became more rapid.

His gaze following the almost hypnotic sway of her hips, nearly compelling him to yield to the demands of the southern throb that began to pound inside his ears; almost causing the Sun Dog Master Gunner to miss the tell-tale signs of the beginning of a disturbance in a far corner of The One-Eyed Parrot.

Shark Tooth set his now-finished third mug of grog on a nearby vacant table, as he slowly, but cautiously, glided silently between the tables and chairs filled with the boisterous patrons who had gathered to relieve themselves of gold, silver and other personal possessions.

Finding another vacant table within range of the brewing ruckus, the Master Gunner focused his gaze upon a certain Buccaneer who silently sipped his ale, much to the annoyance of a group of rum-sodden patrons who were taking great offense to the perceived insult of being ignored by the silent sipper.

Seven or eight ruffians gathered around the Brooding Buccaneer to teach the silent sipper some manners in courtesy, not because of any particular insult, but rather they were ready to dispense a flogging for no particular reason! It seemed to them that now was as good a time as any!

One of the ruffians had barely gotten the words "You Bilge-Sucking Rat!" out of his mouth, when the silent sipper smashed his ale mug against the side of his slow-witted head, while one of his companions uttered "Blimey!" before having his legs cut out from under him by a chair kicked by the silent sipper!

(OOC: Elious is welcome to take up the narrative of the ensuing fight as several others try to beat down the silent sipper by the sheer force of numbers!)

Shark Tooth had seen enough and leapt into the fray! Fists swinging, he was determined to even the odds and perhaps acquire a new friendship for his trouble!

(OOC: Elious is welcome to describe the result of this unexpected ally coming to the aid of the silent sipper!)

Once the area was cleared of agitators, the Master Gunner pulled up a nearby chair to the table, extending his hand in a gesture of good will and with a wide grin saying: "Wylie ‘Shark Tooth' Stryker Be Me Name! Ah Be Lookin' Fer Ah Bucko Like Ye!"

(OOC: Shark Tooth proceeds to converse with the Brooding Buccaneer, giving details of the Sun Dog and her Captain Cole and the rest of the crew. He is in hopes of recruiting the Buccaneer and also finding some time to enjoy some drinking and wenching before returning to the Sun Dog and introducing his new friend and recruit to Fin and Maggie for their approval to be added to his gun crew!)

Email Responses in Bold Red from Altaira and Eol

Shark Tooth nods to the Quartermaster and First Mate.

"Ahoy, Me Hearties!"

Maggie turns to look at Shark Tooth and seemed to be appraising for a moment, before she simply nods for him to continue.

"Beggin' Yer Pardon , Mr. Fin , Lady Maggie , I Be Needin' Ah Suitable Replacement Fer Me Departed Bucko , Salty Dog , Who Fought Fer Yer Cause , Gave His Life He Did , Fer Captain Cole , ‘N Der Sun Dog , Died Fer Yer Cause He Did , Been Short Handed , Aft Port Gun Needs Me Another Bucko , So If'n Ye Be Permitten , Give Me Leave Ta Find Ah New Hand , Ah Old Salt Be Worthy Ta Stand By Me Side , Na Ah Rum Blossom Mind Ye , Ah Right Sturdy Old Salt , Like Me Bucko Salty Dog , Allow Me Ah Seat On Tha Long Boat , Allow Me Time Ta Swaller Ah Bit Ah Grog , Find Ah Sturdy Old Salt , Spend Ah Bit Ah Time Ta Crack Jenny's Tea Cup , I Be Findin' Ah Right Sturdy Old Salt , Loyal Ta Captain Cole , Loyal Ta Yer Sun Dog , Loyal Ta Me , Like Salty Dog , Loyal Ta Mr. Fin , Loyal Ta Lady Maggie!"

"Go ahead Gunner," Maggie replies when he finally pauses to catch his breath, "just make sure you run them by us once you have selected them." With that said, she turns away and leaves him to his business.

Crowe eyed Shark Tooth in that dark and hard way he seemed to eye everything and, after a moment, gave a curt now. "The Capt'n wants a full crew... Find who ye can... One that can fill Dog's boots wouldn't go amiss."

"Thank Ye Kindly!"

Shark Tooth bowed and made his way to the Long Boat for a rendezvous with destiny!

Blackheart Daxon using a pub as a temporary refuge from his past was dwelling on the losses he had endured in his time. rnrnThinking on the loss of his parents being murdered by a trader in front of him was angered. He sat silently sipping his ale. Petty talk meant nothing to him anymore. He had loss to much with the recent passing of his captain the only person who he cared about after his parents death. He had been with that captain for years and from land to land.rnHearing the chatter and insults coming from the scallywags near him did not distract him from the stranger who was new to these parts.rnrn" reckon'd yer better t'an us yer scum bag. Yer a deck washer." He hears the insults being thrown at him. Bracing himself and having no time to deal with fools he griped his mug firmly. rnrnOne more insult thrown and he leaped smashing the cup against the face of a dirty old pirate! whos group just wanted trouble.Followed by a leg sweep his dagger at the ready he noticed the strange pirate had come to his aide. Why this pirate helped meant nothing to him Daxon blackheart stopped caring about others a long time ago.rnrnAfter a bloody brawl and a few cowards retreating from their actions Daxon sat listening to this pirate. Pirate Wiley he called himself mumbling about a ship and a female captain. " ah be looken fer a bucko like ye." rnrnDaxon crossed his arms thinking of the proposal. A gunner upon a ship. A ship of new faces with no respect for who Daxon blackheart may or may not be. But at last a fresh start. No more wallowing in guilt about the death of his parents or the loss of his beloved captain. He followed that captain , killed for that captain and gave his life for that captain. Could he do that for another?rnrn" eh. Ah be yer mate ye seek sir. Daxon Blackchearts me name willing to serve." He said as he pondered in his heart what new tale will unfold for him. He gathered his things and prepared to follow Wiley to their ship, "The SUN DOG" They called it.

Tuesday, June 3rd, 1670 a.d.; Tortuga (Ile de la Tortue), 10:00 A.M.
Findlay Crowe stood to Captain Cole's left as The Sun Dog skimmed the waves into the Bay of Tortuga, his dark, narrowed eyes surveying surf and shore alike as the fingers of his hard hands twisted a dark tobacco leaf around a generous pinch of its shredded kin. The tight smile playing on his lips and the glistening of the Caribbean's blue waters reflecting in the blackness of his gaze added a curious light to his typically severe countenance. "Home again, home again," he rumbled, his gravelly voice scarcely above a whisper, "jiggity f***in' jig." Things had changed here since last he'd laid eyes on the place, of course, but Crowe knew that was just what things did. He knew, too, that the more those things changed, the more they stayed the same and, despite the growth and the change visible to the eye, the sameness of the place was as palpable as the brine in the air and the warmth of the tropical sun on his shoulders.

Yes, he knew this place well. He'd been raised here, after all, if "raised" is what one truly wanted to call it. He wasn't sure where he'd been born any more than the next damned soul on the Sun Dog might've, but he had vivid memories of his boyhood years as an indentured child laborer on an isle in these very waters and, following his escape, somewhat happier memories of going on the account under the tutelage of the notorious Henry Morgan. In those years, he'd become something of a protégé to the man, joining the growing pirate community in Port Royal, and gaining a reputation as a fearless, violent, and passionate man with a vicious temper. The talk and tales of his origins were as myriad as the grains of sand on the beaches, here, but the truth was harder to sift from the scuttlebutt. The only bit of it that anyone knew for a certainty was that he'd been enslaved by a former pirate turned timber magnate named LaRoux (the brand on his chest and the lash scars that crosshatched his back gave credence to that fact) and, sometime after his escape and taking up the life with Morgan, Crowe had returned to LaRoux's island and brutally killed the man before freeing the other slaves and burning the Frenchman's operation to ash, more than one slave freed from more than one master had attested to Crowe's violent and bloody hatred of slavers in that regard. His gaze skittered across the waters to where that island lay and the tight smile turned into something of a smirk as he finished rolling the cigarillo and tucked it into the corner of his mouth.

Crowe had sailed for England shortly after soaking the sands with LaRoux's blood and it was there that he'd come to know the Cole sisters courtesy of a slippery s**t of an eel called Adamson. The man had put in quite the effort in recruiting a crew of bloodthirsty scalawags, Fin among them, in order to help take the ship on which they now sailed but, it hadn't been too long into the venture that Crowe realized the angle Adamson was playing, playing on the superstitious nature of the pirate crew Fin himself had helped pull together, trying to convince the men that serving under a woman would certainly spell an unfortunate and messy end for them all, and, in so doing, ascertaining the fact that Adamson himself would end up captaining the Sun Dog. Unfortunately for Adamson, though, Fin understood the workings of power better than most who sailed under the black flag of the Brethren and saw the ruse for what it was, even more unfortunate, upon first meeting the sisters, Fin developed a respect for the women uncommon amongst men of any sort. He cared very little about what equipment Anna and Maggie carried in their pants, in fact, and, had it ever been mentioned to him he replied with a gruff "those ladies wear their balls on their chests, lads, and, dangly bits er not, I'd proudly sail under their flag and'll gladly kill a man that thinks otherwise." So it was, when David Adamson's treachery was finally revealed for certain, Fin had more than enough of the crew convinced (or terrified) into his way of thinking that a situation that might've turned bloody ugly for the Cole sisters turned out to be quite the opposite. When Anna herself struck Adamson down, it was Fin who smiled wryly in the dying mutineer's face and sent him off to hell with "balls on their chests, mate" as the last words his earthly ears would suffer. He'd been with Anna and Mags since, serving as the Sun Dog's Quartermaster and helping to build their reputation through fear, intimidation, and successful hunts, leading the men in the boarding of their prizes and beating the bloody hell out of anyone who dared so much as suggest that women weren't meant for the sea,

"Once at anchor," Anna's voice snatched him from his reverie and drew his black gaze slowly to her, "Give the men a schedule tha' keeps fifteen on board the Dog at all times. Fifteen sober men, Mags. We're no' in familiar waters ‘ere an' I wanna see how warm it is ‘fore we dive in."

"I'll select men from each Watch and have them rotate out as needed," Maggie replied as the yet unlit cigarillo rolled from one corner of Crowe's mouth to the other, "and they will know what condition I will expect them in when their duty comes."

Receiving the acknowledgment she has come to expect from her kin, Cole turns to her quartermaster. "We'll set ‘bout findin' somethin' t' hunt right away, Fin. Can' afford t' have the men growin' bored. We must keep them fed. Set Cracker ‘r Simple Jack about restockin' the hold an' take the other t' find me somethin' t' hunt. Let's be quick ‘bout it.

"I'll take Mags an' seek out the contacts we need t' establish a line o' sale fer the cargo we hold now. We'll hopefully be able t' pull enough t' keep the men waist deep in liquor an' tail ‘til we have somethin' lined up."

Fin nodded, shortly; "Aye, luv. Quick's th' Dog at full sail. Count on it."

"I'll take Mags an' seek out the contacts we need t' establish a line o' sale fer the cargo we hold now," Anna continued, her inquiring gaze dancing from Fin to her sister, "We'll hopefully be able t' pull enough t' keep the men waist deep in liquor an' tail ‘til we have somethin' lined up.

Any questions?"

The shake of Fin's head mirrored Maggie's. "If any come up, Capt'n, I'll find ya," he offered with a sharp wink.

As the Sun Dog drew nearer to port the more of her beleaguered crew appeared on deck and the more the air filled with awed and excited chatter. Crowe's squint-eyed gaze alternately swept the deck and scanned the waters ahead as they came closer and closer to their destination, his ears, meanwhile, snatched bits and pieces of conversations from the winds. It was the typical fare for the most part; drinkin' an' whorin' to be done, dice to be thrown or cards to be played, anything to throw their hard earned haul away only to come back aboard and hope for another successful hunt in order to do it all again. There were others, though, that put more thought to their craft than they did crotch or craw, the ship's surgeon, Hughes, wished to re-stock his diminished supplies; Mr da Nazare, the Sun Dog's Master of Sail, hoped to seek out new charts and maps with which to update and enhance his existing collection; and their carpenter, Blaize Campbell warily approached, as well,

"Beggin' yer pardon, Captain," he began, following the doffing of his hat and something of a bow, "but is there a stipend fer restockin' the lumber an' fixin' the rails? There's a hole on the port bow I've got patched with tar and scraps that I'd like t' do proper."

The Captain turned her icy eyes in the man's direction and replied; "If the Dog ain' proper ready t' hunt, Mr. Campbell, I'll hold you responsible. Make yer arrangements with Fin. You'll ‘ave wha' ya need."

Campbell dipped his head again and, somewhat nervously wringing his cap in his hands, skirted around Maggie and Anna, coming to a stop just out of arm's reach of where Fin leaned against the railing of the poop deck. "Mr. Crowe," he said, his eyes not quite meeting Fin's, "Uh, sir? About the needs,"

The cigarillo rolled across the Quartermaster's lip and nestled into the opposite corner of his mouth as Fin's fingers dipped into the wide belt at his waist and tugged a small but weighty coin pouch from within. "Aye," he held the thing out to Campbell and, as the carpenter reached for it, Crowe snatched it back out of reach for an instant. "See to it ya don' deal with any tha' cozy up with slaver outfits," he rumbled, "er I'll be sure ta fix the rails wit' yer bones, savvy?"

Campbell swallowed hard and nodded emphatically, still not quite meeting Fin's gaze; "O, o' course, Mr Crowe,sir,"

Satisfied with the man's response, Fin dropped the coin pouch into the carpenter's hand and offered a curt nod; "Tha's a lad, carry on."

"Drop all sails!" Goncalvo called as he steered the ship into shallow waters

"We anchor in the ‘arbor, Mr. da Nazere," Anna barked in response, still looking out at the town before them. "The boys can take the longboat in."

Sounds of complaints erupt from the main deck as sailors overhear. There's one longboat on the Sun Dog and by giving this order, Captain Cole has delayed a great many men from seeking relief in a bottle or whorehouse.

"Belay that F***ing S**t", Maggie growled at the sailors, "if you want to see shore at all, you'll stop your F***ing bellyaching." Anna remained silent for Maggie knew she probably didn't care, but she wouldn't let these men show disrespect for their Captain's orders.

Fin rolled away from the railing and leveled his own threatening gaze to the deck. "An' if there's any squabblin' over it," he warned, "there'll be th' Devil ta pay. An' I'll be th' one collectin'!"

"Before any of you get other ideas," Goncalvo called out to the men rushing up the netting to obey his orders, "furl those sails correctly and ensure they are properly lashed."

As he meandered away from the Cole sisters, Crowe's eyes swept the decks, again, seeking out Cracker and Simple Jack, finding Cracker first. "Yer wit' me, Mr Wiley," he chuffed, clapping the bosun on the shoulder as he stomped by, "find yer mate, Reid, an' tell ‘im he's ta set about restockin' th' hold, then meet me at th' longboat."

((OOC: There's a start, anyway, more from ashore in a bit,))

Tuesday, June 3rd, 1670 a.d., Tortuga Bay Settlement (Ile de la Tortue), 10:00 A.M.

The Sun Dog's longboat carries a total complement of fourteen comfortably, sixteen when cramped. Having lowered it to the crystal blue waters below the first of the Dog's crew to go ashore boards by climbing down the rope ladder one at a time under the watchful jealous gaze of the rest of the crew not assigned to their various tasks of making sure the ship is at rest. Anna is last to venture onto the boat and deftly moves to the bow of the small vessel where she plants herself next to Maggie and adjusts her sash and sword to a more comfortable position. Eyeing her sister for a moment, the unlikely captain allows her thin eyebrows to rise just a little before leaning forward and saying in a low tone, "We're attemptin' t' establish positive relations this day, Mags. Tha' scowl yer wearin'll likely move people away jus' like a squal movin' in would."

(OOC: Mags' reply.)

Shaking her head in mock dismay, Captain Cole settles her mouth in an amused smirk and pats the side of the boat loudly. "Let's make shore, boys!"

With a heave and a hearty call of deep-voiced excitement, the men set to rowing and within short order the first of the Dog's crew to set foot on Tortuga arrive at the beach, driving the vessel right onto the shore. Anna is quick to stand and jump into the ankle deep water as the momentum of the waves and the rowing carries the boat further into the mud. Striding forward, she again adjusts her belted blade and the pistol brace to a more comfortable sitting while ignoring the curious looks from those repairing nets and sails in the warm Caribbean sun. Everyone has their orders and she doesn't feel the need to repeat herself. Making her way up the beach, she barely spares her sister a glance to make sure she's with her and before long, the two women find themselves walking into the packed earth streets of the settlement.

In discussion with Fin, and through her own information gathering, Anna has determined where they'll stop first. There's a tavern close to the waterfront that is supposedly run by one Vergil Grover, a businessman with a shipping interest in the Islands that carries up to the New World and across the ocean to British soil. The last that Fin had heard from his stint in the Islands was that Mr. Grover was the man to see for the fairest price. Anna isn't at all delusional enough to pretend that any man in this world will see a female captain as someone to deal fairly with and she's prepared to do what she must to establish her reputation amongst the powers that be as a solid contender. Finding the street that Grover's tavern is located upon proves to take close to a half hour and by the time the two Cole women push through the swinging doors they are glistening with sweat.

Grover's tavern is simply named, Grover's Tavern and despite the prominence that the owner supposedly holds, it is a simple affair. The taproom is wider than it is deep with a low-hanging ceiling that reminds Anna of the hold of a smaller ship complete with rafters that people need to duck under and lanterns swinging in the occasional intruding breeze through porthole sized windows. Two serving maids maneuver throughout the square tables bearing tankards and mugs in their arms and playfully inciting the patrons to tips through flirtation. Sourness hangs in the air as a strong odor mixed with the stench of spiced sweat exacerbated by the heat. There's barely a murmur at this time of day as those that are in attendance are either early drinkers or leftovers from the night before. Standing at the entry for a short few seconds, Anna allows her eyes to adjust to the dim light before moving boldly towards a nearby table.

"Thars a women's club a few blocks down the street, miss," one of the serving wenches smiles broadly in her approach to the table. "Perhaps you'd be more comfortable there?"

Anna ignores the suggestion, preferring to allow Mags to reply, and continues to assess the room. (OOC: insert Maggie's retort as appropriate). In the far corner another door leads to the back and it is there that the serving women constantly return, so it is there that Anna assumes the proprietor resides.

"I wish t' speak with Mr. Grover," she turns a cold and calculating eye on the wench. There's no misgivings, no judgment, just a detached icy presence addressing a servant. "Business."

Raising her eyebrows, the serving girl looks to be about to reply with a practiced retort but thinks better of it. Glancing between the two armed red-heads, she nods briefly and turns to make her way briskly to the back room. Both of the Cole sisters can see that they've drawn the attention of the few patrons present; men staring over their mugs with dirty, swarthy complexions and sunken eyes filled with self-loathing and hate. And though Anna is mentally categorizing the perceived danger of each man, she otherwise makes them think that they are of no interest to her by using a short fingernail to dig at the wood grain in the scarred tabletop and staring, for the most part, at the door through which the waitress went.

A few minutes pass before a burly man in a stained leather apron over a rough cotton shirt with an open collar follows the maid from the back and looks to where she points. Vergil Grover is no more than five eleven with a bald head, large handlebar mustaches, two huge gold hoop earings that drag his lobes down, and a broadness about him that makes Anna immediately think of a bull. The all-seeing eye is tattooed on his chest between his collarbones, staring out from the opening in his collar and his beefy forearms are covered with additional ink from Asian styled dragons to African tribal marks. He stands in assessment for a brief time before touching the serving wench's bare shoulder and sending her on her way as he clomps towards the Cole's table.

"You demanded an audience?" he rumbles in a voice that heralds straight from the center of the earth. The sarcasm wasn't lost on Anna.

Rising up, she looks him in the eye, standing with no more than a foot and a half between them. "I asked t' meet with Mr. Grover, an' if'n yer ‘im, then I'm pleased with the service o' yer establishmen' thus far."

"I'm Virgel Grover," he replies, the left side of his mustaches twitching. "An' who might you be, young miss?"

"I am Captain Anna Cole o' the Sun Dog," Anna motions to the chair opposite her and to Maggie's right. "An' this is my first mate, Maggie Cole."

"Ne'er heard o' ya," he remains standing and so, too, does Anna. "Either o' ya. So, tell me why I should be wastin' my morning talking with ya an' be quick ‘bout it."

"We was told tha' you'd be the one we want t' strike up a business relationship with t' offload cargo." Captain Cole tilts her head, the plume on her hat drifting a little in the breeze caused by the motion. "If tha's no' true, well then, we'll be on our way. I've no time t' waste with pleasantries, Mr. Grover."

Suspiciously eying the two women through beady little orbs, Virgel chews his tongue and frowns. "Two women come int' my place an' want t' do business, Captain an' first mate, ya say?"

"Aye," Anna replies evenly. "Captain an' first mate o' the Sun Dog. New to Tortuga."

"How, in the bloody nine, is it tha' two women captain a ship?" Apparently deciding that at least this bit of information is worth his time, Grover steps to the side and pulls out the proffered chair. "Most sailors can barely stand to be on board a ship when women are passengers."

"I'm no' gonna sit here an' debate the merits o' my captaincy, Mr. Grover," Anna attempts to steer him back to the matter at hand. "Are ya interested in me cargo, or should I be lookin' elsewhere fer a business partner?"

"Tell ya what, miss," Virgil slides easily into the chair and places one heavy arm on the table. "You spend that sass elsewhere. I can tell that ya got spunk, an' the other one here seems t' have the devil ‘n her heart. So, I've no doubt that the two o' you can muster enough steel t' hold yer own in most situations. But, I've got t' test the waters ‘fore I cast off. I'd like t' inspect yer hold before committin' t' a thing."

Anna can sense Maggie's response coming. Most often, the cargo is brought to a location for inspection. The only reason that Captain Cole can fathom Grover wishing to see their hold is to get a better idea of the women he's dealing with and how they run their ship.

"I'll show ya mine if ya show me yours," Anna Cole states coldly after a moment's thought.

Grover flashes a wily grin, "Delightful."

"Mags," Anna begins without taking her eyes off the wide features of the proprietor. "Head on back t' the Dog an' prepare t' receive a visitor."

(OOC: End time at roughly 11:00 AM)

*  *  *  *  *

Tuesday, June 3rd, 1670 a.d., Tortuga Bay Settlement (Ile de la Tortue), roughly 11:00 A.M.; The One-Eyed Parrot

Shark Tooth sets his now-finished third mug of grog on a nearby vacant table, as he slowly, but cautiously, glides silently between the tables and chairs filled with the boisterous patrons who had gathered to relieve themselves of gold, silver, and other personal possessions, he finds another nearly vacant table within range of the brewing ruckus. The Master Gunner focuses his gaze upon a certain buccaneer silently sipping his ale much to the annoyance of a group of rum-sodden patrons who are taking great offense to the perceived insult of being ignored.

Seven or eight ruffians gather around the brooding buccaneer with the apparent intent to teach the silent sipper some manners—not because of any particular insult, but rather because they are ready to dispense a flogging for no particular reason and it seems to them that now is as good a time as any!

One of the ruffians has barely gotten the words "You bilge-sucking rat!" out of his mouth, when the silent sipper leaps to his feet and smashes his ale mug against the side of his slow-witted head. Another of the agitators manages a hurried, "Blimey!" before having his legs cut out from under him by a well-timed leg sweep! Unfortunately, that's as much advantage as the buccaneer maintains as the rest of the mob falls upon him while he attempts to regain his feet, fists flying, booted feet kicking.

Blackheart Daxon has been using this pub as a temporary refuge from his past; dwelling on the losses he has endured in his time. Considering the loss of his parents, who were murdered by a double-crossing trader in front of him is always angering. He sits silently sipping his ale. Petty talk means nothing to him anymore. He has lost too much, all things considered, with the recent passing of his captain—the only person who he cares about after his parents' death. He had been with that captain for years and traveled from land to land. Hearing the chatter and insults coming from the scallywags near him does not distract him enough to keep him from seeing the stranger approach a nearby table; a man apparently new to these parts.

"Reckon'd yer better t'an us, ya scum bag. Yer a deck washer." Blackheart decides that he has had enough as he absorbs the insults being thrown at him. Bracing himself and having no time to deal with fools, he grips his mug firmly. One more insult thrown and he leaps, smashing the cup against the face of a dirty old pirate delivering the words! If the group of sailors wants trouble, they'll get it from him. Not waiting to see the results of his surprise attack, Daxon follows his swing with a leg sweep while pulling his dagger from its sheathe in his belt. That's when the room darkens for the rush of bodies swarming him and he feels the first kicks and punches landing against his legs, back, ribs, and neck.

Shark Tooth has seen enough and leaps into the fray! Fists swinging, he is determined to even the odds and perhaps acquire a new friendship for his trouble! His aft attack delivers a telling blow to the back of a thin-haired man with an octopus tattoo on the back of his deeply tanned neck. The fellow grunts and staggers forward a step before regaining his balance and turning towards this new threat.

Overwhelmed by the odds, Blackheart lashes out with his blade and lands a back-handed cut on the thigh of one man, hearing the satisfying cry of pain penetrate the scuffle just as he's clocked in the right jaw by a heavy hand that drops him to his knees. He twists just as a boot careens into his abdomen and tenses against the pain that ripples through his gut.

Another two of the trouble-causers turn with their octopus inked fellow and spread to face the interloper. "Lookin' fer a beatin', eh?" one growls as, perhaps hoping to distract Shark Tooth while the other two rush him. Octopus goes low while his shirtless friend attempts a haymaker. Able to avoid the latter, Wylie is wrapped around his middle and driven back onto a table only to have the piece of furniture roll to the left and spill both men to the ground below amidst raining mugs and sour ale.

Driving both hands down on Octopus' back, Shark Tooth strike hard and the air is pushed from the man's lungs. Wylie is able to grip the sailor by the shoulders and roll him from on top just in time to receive a boot to the face that kicks his head back and drops him to the floor, stars in his eyes.

The use of a dagger in a fist fight is, perhaps, a bit uncalled for and the men pressing Blackheart are not forgiving. They drive him further to the floor and wrap his arm in a grip so that he cannot swing that blade again. The dour man finds himself completely immobile, held under the arms and up about the neck while two men stand in front and repeatedly strike him in the face. Mercifully, he's not long conscious and darkness soon sweeps him away.

Mercy isn't so intent on bestowing anything Shark Tooth's way. Reeling from the kick to the face and the subsequent smashing of his head against the wood floor, he feels a weight press against his ribs as a body crouches over him, and that's when the beating really begins. The other two men set about securing his arms and legs so that he cannot fight back, but no matter how hard he is punched, no matter the cuts to his eyebrow, the split of his lip, he remains aware of the beating. Weakened to a point of being unable to fight back at all, Wylie Shark Tooth Stryker eventually feels the weight leave his upper body and through his swollen eye, can barely make out the shadowed silhouettes of the men who had delivered the beating standing over him.

"That's a special gift from Toby O'Reilley o' the Foam Rider, ya one-eyed cur." The sound of spit being issued is how Wylie knows he's been spit upon. He doesn't feel it. His body is in shock from the beating. The assailants move away and the sounds of the bar return to normal. Wylie and Daxon have been left to recover of their own accord on the dirty floor of the One-Eyed Parrot.

(OOC: Approximately fifteen minutes have passed, time being 11:15 AM).

Finally feeling enough energy to move, Shark Tooth rolls over and drags himself to his knees. The table and chairs next to him have been righted and the crockery pulled away. Using what little returning strength he has, the Sea Dog's gunner pulls himself heavily into a chair and hangs his head over the table, trying to see through his swollen eye whether the man he had moved to help is conscious yet.

Blackheart stirs, the blackness giving way to light as his eyes flutter open. Pain registers about his face and neck, his ribs throb, and there's a dull ache in his left thigh. Wincing, no longer dwelling on his losses but rather focusing on his present condition, Daxon strains to rest upon his elbows and looks down his length. Sticking out of his left leg at a right angle is his dagger. The ruffians had been kind enough to leave it with him, stabbing it through his muscle and into his bone. Blood soaked the floor beneath him and the throbbing turned instantly into a screaming pain.

(OOC: All right, gentlemen. Your actions.)

*  *  *  *  *

Tuesday, June 3rd, 1670 a.d., Tortuga Bay Settlement (Ile de la Tortue), roughly 10:30 A.M.; The Beach

Standing just outside of the surf, boots already spattered and dusted with the beach, Fin and Cracker survey the settlement and the fort on the hill beyond. The fort's position provides cover fire for the bay, but any ship positioning just outside of those heavies could pummel the coastal region of the settlement in comfort. At least for a while. Turning about on his heel, Fin can't see anything that would represent a standing navy. Ships are in the harbor, sure, but banners are showing varying ship allegiances and none are flying any colors representing any particular country. The question is, where to go to begin finding their next prize.

*  *  *  *  *

Tuesday, June 3rd, 1670 a.d., Tortuga Bay Settlement (Ile de la Tortue), roughly 10:30 A.M.; The Le Porc Fattest Tavern

Eventually focusing on a table where three men talk about the weather patterns and their recent arrival in port, Goncalvo walks over to the table, "Good day gentlemen. I must admit, I overheard your talk regarding the blowing of the winds and found myself intrigued. My ship has just recently arrived and I find myself at a loss in regards to the local conditions. It would be a shame to see harm come to my good ship due to my lack of knowledge. If it pleases you, I would join your table and provide libations for all in return for any enlightenment you could provide."

A chubby, red-faced man with short, curly gray hair and beard raises his eyebrows at being interrupted and places both hands on the edge of the table. He wears a gray long coat with black buttons and trim over a sullied brown cotton poet's shirt. A thick black belt is strapped over his left shoulder to his right hip and his middle girth is barely contained by the ornately silver buckled belt at his waist. A flintlock pistol is ready for a left-handed draw from his right side and a cutlass with a bronze handle is strapped to his left.

To his right sits a rail thin man with wide eyes, pointy features, and a scruffy mustaches and beard of blonde that can barely be seen except in the right light. Long-necked and balding, he wears a simple red shirt that's been mended and patched a few times but has ruffles at the collar like a gentleman would have at court. His sword is slung from a belt over his right shoulder down to his left side and there's no apparent pistol.

To the red-faced man's left is a dark-haired man with tight curls that extend into his thick beard and mustaches. Of Spanish heritage, he's olive-colored with hazel eyes that are lined about the orbs from squinting into the sun. He wears a faded blue long coat with silver trim and a sweat-stained blue blouse, open at the collar down to mid-chest to reveal a puff of graying chest hair. He carries a dirk, a cutlass, and a brace of two flintlocks.

"New here, eh?" the chubby man says after eyeing the Portuguese sailor up and down. "I wasn't aware any trade was due this day. Please, be seated." He points to the remaining chair at the table between the other two and continues. "I am Captain Thomas Levy of the Azure Seas. This is my sailmaster," he motions to the wiry fellow,"Mr. Olsen, and this is my quartermaster, Mr. Fernandez. We thank ye kindly for the libations, Mr,?"

Goncalvo takes the offered seat. "My name is difficult to pronounce for most not of Portuguese blood. Call me Mr Jonnie for ease sake, it is what most end up calling me anyway." Motioning for the bar wench, "A round of ale for my new friends and another of the same as I had before for me." "As for arriving cargo, we made an unscheduled stop to repair some damage and replace a few lost souls. Ran into a bit of nasty weather. It is up to the captain to choose whether to unload here or maintain our cargo for another port. I just take the ship where told." OOC: At this point Goncalvo will engage in polite conversation while plying the others with ale while he sips very watered ale. A check as appropriate to judge if these are merchants or pirates as appropriate. Once he sees the ale having an effect he begins to work on gathering information.

"From what you mentioned about no knowing about the arrival of cargo I infer that you are a man who knows things. Always good to meet someone with an eye towards business. Soon as repairs are done we head toward the American coast. I cannot say I have been there before so I am not familiar with the wind patterns or the safest routes. I'd hate to be stuck with my sails hanging limper than a eunuchs peter. And, it would be a shame to run into any trouble on the way, especially any trouble that brings its own ship." OOC whatever checks are appropriate to gather information. He is hoping to find what routes ships take to avoid pirates.

Tuesday, June 3rd, 1670 a.d., Tortuga Bay Settlement (Ile de la Tortue), roughly 10:30 A.M.; The Beach

Standing just outside of the surf, boots already spattered and dusted with the beach, Fin and Cracker survey the settlement and the fort on the hill beyond. The fort's position provides cover fire for the bay, but any ship positioning just outside of those heavies could pummel the coastal region of the settlement in comfort. At least for a while. Turning about on his heel, Fin can't see anything that would represent a standing navy. Ships are in the harbor, sure, but banners are showing varying ship allegiances and none are flying any colors representing any particular country. The question is, where to go to begin finding their next prize.

With the surf licking at the toes of his boots and his scan of town and harbor complete, Fin chewed on the end of the still unlit cigarillo that jutted from one corner of his mouth and turned his gaze away from the waters of the bay and toward the wharf further up the beach. Much like the town, the wharf was much bigger than he remembered it. Tortuga had certainly changed in the five years since Crowe had last seen her. In those days, this place had been little more than a few huts and tents on the beach and a single, seedy grog-shop called LaVek's. Now, though, what had once been little more than a scurvy sprawl of shanties with a rickety pier had become a true town in its own right, with a bustling quay where more than just the occasional ship throwing off or taking on cargo,

"Th' more things change," Fin rumbled, nudging Cracker with an elbow and nodding towards the wharf. "Best place ta start huntin' prey, Cracker," he continued as he took his first steps in the direction of the quay, "is ta check th' places where it eats an' s**ts," Without another word, Crowe strode for the wharf, pausing only once, and, then, just long enough to pull a smoldering twig from the remains of some salt's campfire and using the thing to finally light the cigarillo he'd been chewing.

(OOC: Up to Nomad whether or not Cracker follows Fin, at this point, or, instead, trudges off in a different direction and searches out other leads,)

Once quayside, Fin mounted the salt and sea stained docks and moved through the throng of folk milling about the crates and cargo that were stacked and scattered along the planks of the piers. As he walked, he smoked and surveyed the array of shipments along with the faces of the people he passed. At the end of one long dock, Crowe caught sight of a bedraggled wharf-hand whom, it appeared, had taken a moment from his task of stacking piles of provisions in order to prop himself against cluster of rum barrels and enjoy a puff or two from his pipe. A long draw on his cigarillo and a few steps brought Fin alongside the barrel stack where the wharf-hand sat puffing on his pipe and staring wearily out over the harbor. Fin leaned casually against a barrel and, for a long moment, said nothing. He simply stood and smoked and, like the wharf-hand, let his gaze skim from ship to ship where they bobbed in the bay.

The wharf-hand puffed absently on his pipe and, with something of a discontented sigh, blew a smoke ring into the air toward the boats that buoyed on the blue waters of the harbor. For his part, Fin blew a jet of smoke past his own lips, shooting it through the middle of the hand's smoke ring as it slowly expanded and roiled away on the wind.

"Long day ahead," Fin's rasping voice finally broke the silence, though neither man's gaze broke from their survey of the ships. It was more a statement than a question.

"Aye," the wharf-hand returned, sparing only a sidelong glance at the dark man who leaned against the rum barrel, "an' she looks ta be a hot'n, as well."

"Mmm," Fin rumbled with a fractional nod as he took another drag from his smoke; his squinting stare still dancing over the bay.

"I‘m a'ready wringin' in me own juices," the wharf-hand fumed softly, poking at the dregs of his bowl with a splinter he'd pulled from a deckboard, "an' by th' time th' next boat sallies out, I figger I'll be all but melted, an' fer what? A shillin' an' a sixpence." The man sighed his exasperated sigh, again, spit into the water off the side of the dock, and clamped the stub of his pipe back between his teeth.

"Sounds's if ya might need anoth'r line o' work," Fin grumbled in reply.

"So says you an' th' missus," the hand answered around his pipe stem, "it's God what don' seem ta agree."

Fin snorted out a short chuckle at that, sending a cloud of his own smoke billowing out on it. "Tha's th' way it seems ta work," he said. "Anythin' o' interest goin' out er comin' in?"

The wharf-hand's shoulders tensed a bit and he turned to actually look at the surly man who was now crushing out the remains of his cigarillo on the top of the rum barrel. "Reckon tha' d'pends on who's askin'," he said, his eyes going from weary to wary.

Smiling a mirthless smile, Fin flicked the crushed stub of his cigarillo into the water, dipped his fingers into his belt, and drew them back out with a silver coin pinched between them. "Th' man who'll give ya more'n a shillin' an' a sixpence fer th' right scuttlebutt, mate."

(OOC: Applicable checks to see if Fin can't bribe the wharf worker into spilling some info, please.)

The Sun Dog's longboat carries a total complement of fourteen comfortably, sixteen when cramped. Having lowered it to the crystal blue waters below the first of the Dog's crew to go ashore boards by climbing down the rope ladder one at a time under the watchful jealous gaze of the rest of the crew not assigned to their various tasks of making sure the ship is at rest. Anna is last to venture onto the boat and deftly moves to the bow of the small vessel where she plants herself next to Maggie and adjusts her sash and sword to a more comfortable position. Eyeing her sister for a moment, the unlikely captain allows her thin eyebrows to rise just a little before leaning forward and saying in a low tone, "We're attemptin' t' establish positive relations this day, Mags. Tha' scowl yer wearin'll likely move people away jus' like a squal movin' in would."


Maggie glanced at her sister and her scowl intensified for a moment, then softened and was replaced by more of a neutral expression before she simply turned to look out over the water towards the docks.


Shaking her head in mock dismay, Captain Cole settles her mouth in an amused smirk and pats the side of the boat loudly. "Let's make shore, boys!"


Once ashore, Maggie followed slightly Anna a couple steps behind her and to her left. She kept a watchful eye out as usual; she had taken on a role years ago of being her Captain's bodyguard as well as sister. Maggie Cole didn't trust too many people; Anna of course, Fin as well, even the Sailing Master was trusted for the most part. The Surgeon, she wasn't so sure about him even now; maybe it was his profession where he was only really needed when things went wrong, and often there wasn't much he could do in the end. It took awhile to find the place that Anna had heard was the place to sell goods here in Tortuga; she hoped this would be over soon as she hated this part of the job and glad that Anna was the one to usually handle the negotiations.


Grover's tavern is simply named, Grover's Tavern and despite the prominence that the owner supposedly holds, it is a simple affair. The taproom is wider than it is deep with a low-hanging ceiling that reminds Anna of the hold of a smaller ship complete with rafters that people need to duck under and lanterns swinging in the occasional intruding breeze through porthole sized windows. Two serving maids maneuver throughout the square tables bearing tankards and mugs in their arms and playfully inciting the patrons to tips through flirtation. Sourness hangs in the air as a strong odor mixed with the stench of spiced sweat exacerbated by the heat. There's barely a murmur at this time of day as those that are in attendance are either early drinkers or leftovers from the night before. Standing at the entry for a short few seconds, Anna allows her eyes to adjust to the dim light before moving boldly towards a nearby table.

"Thars a women's club a few blocks down the street, miss," one of the serving wenches smiles broadly in her approach to the table. "Perhaps you'd be more comfortable there?"
Anna ignores the suggestion, preferring to allow Mags to reply, and continues to assess the room.


"You can shove the f***ing women's club up your arse," Maggie growled lowly at her and then gave the woman no further consideration.


In the far corner another door leads to the back and it is there that the serving women constantly return, so it is there that Anna assumes the proprietor resides.

"I wish t' speak with Mr. Grover," she turns a cold and calculating eye on the wench. There's no misgivings, no judgment, just a detached icy presence addressing a servant. "Business."

Raising her eyebrows, the serving girl looks to be about to reply with a practiced retort but thinks better of it. Glancing between the two armed red-heads, she nods briefly and turns to make her way briskly to the back room. Both of the Cole sisters can see that they've drawn the attention of the few patrons present; men staring over their mugs with dirty, swarthy complexions and sunken eyes filled with self-loathing and hate. And though Anna is mentally categorizing the perceived danger of each man, she otherwise makes them think that they are of no interest to her by using a short fingernail to dig at the wood grain in the scarred tabletop and staring, for the most part, at the door through which the waitress went.

A few minutes pass before a burly man in a stained leather apron over a rough cotton shirt with an open collar follows the maid from the back and looks to where she points. Vergil Grover is no more than five eleven with a bald head, large handlebar mustaches, two huge gold hoop earings that drag his lobes down, and a broadness about him that makes Anna immediately think of a bull. The all-seeing eye is tattooed on his chest between his collarbones, staring out from the opening in his collar and his beefy forearms are covered with additional ink from Asian styled dragons to African tribal marks. He stands in assessment for a brief time before touching the serving wench's bare shoulder and sending her on her way as he clomps towards the Cole's table.

"You demanded an audience?" he rumbles in a voice that heralds straight from the center of the earth. The sarcasm wasn't lost on Anna.

Rising up, she looks him in the eye, standing with no more than a foot and a half between them. "I asked t' meet with Mr. Grover, an' if'n yer ‘im, then I'm pleased with the service o' yer establishmen' thus far."

"I'm Virgel Grover," he replies, the left side of his mustaches twitching. "An' who might you be, young miss?"

"I am Captain Anna Cole o' the Sun Dog," Anna motions to the chair opposite her and to Maggie's right. "An' this is my first mate, Maggie Cole."

"Ne'er heard o' ya," he remains standing and so, too, does Anna. "Either o' ya. So, tell me why I should be wastin' my morning talking with ya an' be quick ‘bout it."


Maggie's eyes narrowed as she listened to the man, his disregard for woman was obvious and it immediately made her dislike the man. She tried to relax and do as her sister had said and keep her simmering emotions from showing on her face. She kept her eyes slowly observing the room and only listening to the exchange between Anna and this Mr. Grover.


"We was told tha' you'd be the one we want t' strike up a business relationship with t' offload cargo." Captain Cole tilts her head, the plume on her hat drifting a little in the breeze caused by the motion. "If tha's no' true, well then, we'll be on our way. I've no time t' waste with pleasantries, Mr. Grover."

Suspiciously eying the two women through beady little orbs, Virgel chews his tongue and frowns. "Two women come int' my place an' want t' do business, Captain an' first mate, ya say?"

"Aye," Anna replies evenly. "Captain an' first mate o' the Sun Dog. New to Tortuga."

"How, in the bloody nine, is it tha' two women captain a ship?" Apparently deciding that at least this bit of information is worth his time, Grover steps to the side and pulls out the proffered chair. "Most sailors can barely stand to be on board a ship when women are passengers."


Maggie's eyes darted back to the man at his last words; one hand moved of it's own volition a little closer to one of her short swords resting at her hip. She was not listening intently to what was being said now, for if this man continued in this manner, he just might be doing his negotiating with the tip of her sword at his throat.


"I'm no' gonna sit here an' debate the merits o' my captaincy, Mr. Grover," Anna attempts to steer him back to the matter at hand. "Are ya interested in me cargo, or should I be lookin' elsewhere fer a business partner?"


Anna calm words reminded Maggie of why they were here; slitting this man throat would make Anna mad at her and she often tried to avoid it. Not that she was always successful in that endeavor. Her hand moved away from her sword and rested at her side once again.


"Tell ya what, miss," Virgil slides easily into the chair and places one heavy arm on the table. "You spend that sass elsewhere. I can tell that ya got spunk, an' the other one here seems t' have the devil ‘n her heart. So, I've no doubt that the two o' you can muster enough steel t' hold yer own in most situations. But, I've got t' test the waters ‘fore I cast off. I'd like t' inspect yer hold before committin' t' a thing."

Anna can sense Maggie's response coming. Most often, the cargo is brought to a location for inspection. The only reason that Captain Cole can fathom Grover wishing to see their hold is to get a better idea of the women he's dealing with and how they run their ship.

The strain on Maggie's face at the audacity of this man, and how he was treating them, was evident on her face. She struggled to keep her mouth from blurting out the words she so wished to speak. Somehow, she was able to restrain herself long enough for Anna to respond to the man in a manner that was designed to defuse the situation.


"I'll show ya mine if ya show me yours," Anna Cole states coldly after a moment's thought.

Grover flashes a wily grin, "Delightful."

"Mags," Anna begins without taking her eyes off the wide features of the proprietor. "Head on back t' the Dog an' prepare t' receive a visitor."


Maggie turned her head to look at Anna as if she hadn't hear her correctly. If Anna had looked at her, she would have been able read the thoughts dancing in her head. Why should we give in to this man? Why not find someone else? But she knew that Anna always had a plan and that she didn't always share the details with her; so she simply got to her feet with an audible deep sigh.

"Aye, Captain," she replied and, without another word, turned and strode from the Tavern, he angry strides leaving no doubt to her thoughts on her orders.

She would return directly to the longboat and then to the ship as ordered. Once she was aboard, she would gather some of the Watch men left aboard and make sure the address anything she thought might seem out of place to a fence. She had the men clean up the deck, though most of it was shipshape as the Sailing Master wouldn't allow the men to go ashore without all the lines properly stowed and secured.

Turning her attention to the hold and organized all the goods that would be for sale to the merchant when he come aboard. Once everything was ready, she had the men return to their duties as she stood upon the forecastle and look out over the water towards the dock and kept an eye out for the longboat that would bring Mr. Grover and her sister.

Tuesday, June 3rd, 1670 a.d., Tortuga (Ile de la Tortue), 11:15 A.M.
Port of Tortuga
The One-Eyed Parrot

Finally feeling enough energy to move, Shark Tooth rolls over and drags himself to his knees. The table and chairs next to him have been righted and the crockery pulled away. Using what little returning strength he has, the Sea Dog's gunner pulls himself heavily into a chair and hangs his head over the table, trying to see through his swollen eye whether the man he had moved to help is conscious yet.

Blackheart stirs, the blackness giving way to light as his eyes flutter open. Pain registers about his face and neck, his ribs throb, and there's a dull ache in his left thigh. Wincing, no longer dwelling on his losses but rather focusing on his present condition, Daxon strains to rest upon his elbows and looks down his length. Sticking out of his left leg at a right angle is his dagger. The ruffians had been kind enough to leave it with him, stabbing it through his muscle and into his bone. Blood soaked the floor beneath him and the throbbing turned instantly into a screaming pain.

"We Been Keel Hauled Fer Shur!"

Shark Tooth squinted through his swollen right eye at the wounded man who lay bleeding on the floor with his own dagger protruding from his left leg.

"Muh Name's Shark Tooth ... Wylie 'Shark Tooth' Stryker ... Ah Best Be Gittin Yer Leg Ta Stop Leakin Ballast ... Shur Dun Look Purty!""

(OOC: Allow for Introduction and Response)

"Ah Be Needin Uh Rum Ter Clean Yer Leg!"

(OOC: Shark Tooth will not pull the dagger out of his leg. Please Roll All the Necessary Checks for getting the right Ale to sanitize the wound and to acquire a Bandage other than Shark Tooth's Red Bandana if possible; otherwise, he will use his bandana soaked in ale to disinfect the wound and wrap it around the leg to stop the bleeding. Also Roll Checks for Any Assistance from Anyone as Shark Tooth will be looking to get some medical attention, such as it is, or help, from either a nearby surgeon/doctor or from some wenches at a nearby whore house who can help attend to the wound.)

Grunting through the pain coursing all through his body from the beating, Shark Tooth does his best to help his new friend up to a table top, where Shark Tooth can begin to sanitize the wound.

Shark Tooth tells Blackkheart all about the Sun Dog and the Cole Sisters and offers him a position on his gun crew once he gets him patched up and able to get to the Sun Dog.

(OOC: Not my best narrative, but am getting sleepy and running out of time to post in my games before I drive to Dallas on Saturday. Brom, if you are wanting to advance the game, just do all the necessary Roll Checks Needed to get these two to the Sun Dog, but if there are more scenes before getting to the Sun Dog, then just do the Roll Checks to move things along! Thank You!)