The docks in particular, and the city in general, was a crud encrusted cess pool. An beacon of base lubricity, a waystation for the wanton, a venereal vacation spot for the most vulgarly vice ridden, an irridescent, scum ridden advertisment for the redeeming characteristics of chicanery, corruption, deception, dishonesty, double dealing, filth, fraud most foul, indecency, immorality, impurity, infamy, iniquity, looseness, perversion, profligacy, sinfulness, turpitude, viciousness, the vile and the villanious, and by any civillised mans measure, the true height of civillisation, come cocktail hour and 2-4-1 Droben spirits. Distilled raw spirits so potent as to rattle the intestinal fortitude of a tower of animate stone the size of a small fortress. The only way to party.

Lewdness was encouraged, hanky-panky h'applauded, pornographers pandered too, smut merchants sanctified and carnality condoned. For a pirate, the rancid corruption loose on the winds was reminiscent of mothers kitchen, or the outhouse of that mother superior bitch from the orphanage, regardless, it was reminiscent of home. 3 months on the sea with nobody but his crew, and the last month with his bloody hostage, it was going to be a bloody pleasure, and then some, to find himself a decent mug of droben spirits, a right sassy scrap of strumpet, and fresh bloody food. Not necessarily in that order.

He was Sable Solomon. Sable for the black of his hair, his eyes, his heart. A dark shadow in this realm of moral night. Solomon referred to his impecable judgement, and his skill with a cutlass. When time came to collect his pound of flesh, he took it by choice in the form of a head, and let not one drop of blood touch his blade. Rarely was anybody but Solomon truly pleased with the judgement of Solomon.

Leaning out over the rail of his Pirate ship, he looked past the black raven bowspirit and out over the crystal blue expanse, taking in the salt spray against his face and bare chest, watching the slow darkening of the ooze and crusty layer of crud and discarded waste along the ocean bottom as they drew closer to the docks. ooh, a fresh body too, somebody rowed out the extra hard yards to get it this far out, a good cable's length out. A perfectionist, a thorough professional to make sure the body never made it back, only a pirates eyes on this exact course in would have a chance to notice it, and by the noon tides the fish would have stripped it and nobody else would ever find it. He took note, must find out who's work this was, hire him sometime in the future.

It had been a hellish journey. Limp pickings so to speak. A few mouldy buckets masquerading as merchantmen, carrying a cargo almost worth the effort of sending it down to davey jones as a care package. they'd found one ripe little maiden, but she was rapidly becoming more trouble then she was bloody well worth. Most of the value was found in one hostage, an annoying upper class wanker that hadn't shut up for the duration of the trip, and since his value halved if he was damaged, he hadn't even been able to keelhaul the little bastard. Not even once. Not even a little bit.

"Oh I say chaps, Jolly ho, Almost there then? Pip Pip, No need to look so depressed, know you'll soon be deprived of my company, but stiff upper lip, I'll leave you a copy of my portrait and put you on my fan mail list"

Really must track down that murderer when we get to port, right after we get finished with the wenching.

"Back in your cabin lubber, you still be a bloody hostage untill we make port. I'll not have me prize halfed for you fallin over the side and drowning this close to when you get to be somebody elses bloody problem."

"Oh I say Captain, jolly stinging quip that one, rapier wit, I suppose I'll pop down and do some reading untill we reach harbor."

"May a carriage of bloody books fall on your head the minute after yer bloody ransom's been paid"

He muttered that last bit, wouldn't do to have him suspected of the murder. Really must contact that chap who left the body he saw before. Pay him extra to make sure the body was found somewhere embarassing. He'd heard something about a brothel that catered to the highlanders in town, provided sheep or goblin women or some such, the privy's there would almost certainly be a suitable location for the officials to find the body.

He looked up at the approaching docks, still distant, half a days sail with these bloody headwinds, and not a drop of rum left on the bloody ship. By the time they got to the docks and taverns of the wharf district, even Gemini Blue and her all woman crew would look mighty tempting. Inspite of the Impieity, bad enough luck to have one Woman on board, Letalone a full bloody crew of them, Cursed she was, Gemini Blue's ship. No man in his right mind would ever board her of his own free will. Course, t' the best of any man livin's knowledge, no man, right minded or otherwise had ever set foot on her decks of his own free will. More often dragged by the ankles kickin and screamin to hear tell of it. Course 'Blue 'erself always looked mity fine, it was just a pity about her temper. You had to make sure you got her in a good mood... or when her hands were tied up and a dispensable underling or two had cleared her knives.

Charsis frowned after the fleeing vessel. A cruise ship of some or another half wit noble, who thought they could out run the Styx. They were cutting hard toward the reefs, and just might make it. The Styx was much deeper on the draft than this little dandy of a ship, it was little more than an over grown fisher.

His first mate, a damned ugly pygmy by the name of Haldian, scampered up to his side "Cap't they we do be gainin' on dem fat popinjays!"

Charsis just nodded, signaling a minor correction to his helm. It had taken a while before this band of misfits took him seriously. No one was quite sure what he was about. And he most certainly did not fit the pirate mold. He was what they called a pretty boy. Silver streaked black hair, framing his almost boyish face. A few locks of hair hung down in front of his cold grey eyes. They were no softer than the sharpened steel of a saber. His night black cloaked whipped in the breeze, wrapping around his black enameled chain shirt and leather greeves and boots. The black contrasted with his near ivory skin. Somehow, he never bronzed in the sun. It was uncanny.

He gauged the distance carefully, then turned his head and shouted into the wind, "Bring the Flamer to the fore!" His speech was crystal clear, that of a well-educated man.

Five Salamanders excitedly brought around the huge steel tube on wheels. Nearly ten feet long, and six feet in diameter, it weighed enough it took all the considerable strength of the five pullers to get it in place.

Charsis himself hopped down from his plaform, and moved to the aiming mechanism. He pressed his hand into a platnium slot, and turned one quarter to the left, then one half to the right, very preciesly. And the tube started to rattle, a bright white glow collecting in front. Then suddenly the huge weapon fired, listing the ship to the aft. The helmsmen jerked the wheel hard to recover. The heat beam ripped into the side of the nobleman's vessel, and most notably the mast, bring it to a near stop.

The Styx closed rapidly, and the Undines leaped into the water, swimming to the ship, even as the Sylphs took to the air to rain down arrows, and the pygmy's and Salamanders boarded, even has Charsis watched in detacted facsination. His elementals were brutally effeicent, tossing the crew of the vessel overboard, even as they looted it. The whole thing did not warrent Charsis taking the time to attack himself. And the noble ship hardly had anything worth looting.

This time in port would be slim. Hardly anything to sell. The crew resented that more than a little...

Elsewhere...

The gentle creaking of the ship's timbers and the quiet lapping of the waves against the newly careened hull provided a relaxing constant - behind the bawdy cries of the crew, the panicked cawing of the seabirds close into the rolling coastline, and the sharp, barked orders of the first mate often drowned out the quiet, relentless progress of nature around the insular vessel. Even in the panicked chaos of a storm, when the sheer brutal force of the ocean was proven beyond doubt and the ship tossed from one wave to the next with careless abandon, there was a sense of safety gained from feeling the solid deck beneath one's feet, proof enough that the crew's life was maintained not by the will of the world around them, but by the shell within which they carried out their lives day to day.

But at night, when the watch had finished pacing the deck and when lanterns had been shuttered, when the only light in the spacious cabin came from the dim glow of the ship's phospherent wake, when the gentle swaying of the hammock from side to side brought you close enough to the hull to hear the waves slap against wooden timbers not feet from where you lay, that quiet relentlessness brought home how fragile their shell was more effectively than any gale or foam-crested wave.

The ocean could be a stormy and foaming animal, determined to buck it's tiny rider into the depths, but it was all too easy to forget that even when the winds wound their way onwards and the waves subsided into their gentle monotony, a still sea could drown a man just as certain as a storm.

A wrinkled book lay open on the deep mahogany of the captain's dresser, the pages held back by a thin paper knife which rested between them. The pages were obviously well turned and the well-worn crease along the corner of one particular page spoke of regular attention and reading.

Men who have loved the ships they took to sea,
Loved the tall masts, the prows that creamed with foam,
Have learned, deep in their hearts, how it might be
That there is yet a dearer thing than home.

The decks they walk, the rigging in the stars,
The clean boards counted in the watch they keep-
These, and the sunlight on the slippery spars,
Will haunt them ever, walking and asleep.

Ashore, these men are not as other men;
They walk as strangers through the crowded street,
Or, brooding by their fires, they hear again
The noise astern, where gurgling waters meet.

Or see again a wide and blue lagoon,
And a lone ship that rides there with the moon.

I love the sea. I love the smell and the incessant ebb and flow of the tides. I love the way it will mimic my inner most feelings. Feelings that I simply cant release are washed effortlessly away by the heave and sigh of the Mothers breath across the waters. Yes I loved the sea, everything about it providing I was firmly ensconced on dry land.

But this! My nose wrinkled in distaste at the stench that pervaded the sea air. This was an odour of filth. The rotting garbage that lay strewn along the streets swept to the side by the carriages that moved along the road at a fast clip. Careless of those pedestrians that jumped from their path barely keeping hold of their lives or limbs. The smell of sewerage was also thick. Raw human sewerage barely hidden in special trenches flowed along in a decline to empty into the once pristine waters of the harbour. Beneath it all was the subtle hint of humans, unwashed and living close together.

"Argh!" the sound retched from my mouth as I tried in vain not to taste the air. How can people live like this? I thought as I covered my nose and mouth with my hand. This was worse than a three-day-old battlefield strewn with bloating decaying corpses.

I approached the docks and to a small degree the stench abated. The docks were busy with a myriad of people rushing to and fro going about their business. Pedlars hawking their wares to tired bilious looking passengers and seasoned seafarers alike. The vessels tied up at the docks lolled heavily on the surging tide. I walked the length of the docks examining each vessel for its identification, keenly aware of staring, curious eyes.

Peering out into the harbour I surveyed several ships that lay at anchor, bobbing lazily on the swell as they waited for a berth to become available at the docks. I sighed as I turned to retrace my steps back along the dock. Pondering what my next move would be when a scruffily dressed man presented himself before me.

What ye be looking for missy, he leered at me as he spoke.

I ignored the implication of tone and look as I asked him if he knew where I might find Gemini Blue.

His face clouded a little and he shifted on his feet as if remembering something he would rather not before he cockily replied, She ain't here. Who be asking?

I ignored his questions about my identity and continued upon my own line. Do you know when she is due in port I have some things to discuss with her? I hesitated for a moment and decided not to say anything more but I made a point of playing with the small pouch hanging from my belt. He eyed me keenly, taking in what he saw and the unspoken promise of reward.

I might an' I might not came his reply as he seemed to consider what the information might be worth to me. I pulled out a gold piece and tossed it in his direction. He applied the age-old test to it and when he was satisfied he responded some more. I dun know when she due in at dock. He hesitated for a moment and then continued. Ye could be talking ta Trevosta.

Who is Trevosta I questioned him and where can I find him?

She be a friend o Gemini an' can be found in the town. If'n ye ask aroun, she'll find ye, but she'll no be talkin' to the likes of ye.

I weighed him up and realised that what he had given me was all I was going to get, but I had one more trick up my sleeve. I fished for another gold piece and flicked to him and said I'm sure she will find me. I grinned at him in a knowing way before I turned and made my way back the way I had come.

Leaning over the edge of the boat, Steven lay hunched over puking his guts out. The rice still fresh, it had only managed to be in his gut for a few hours. Steven was greener than the mold that was beginning to grow on the bread. Obviously water wasn't Steven's favorite thing. This has far been one of the loneliest trips ever taken. For the only time he came into human contact with anyone, was when the crew was pointing and laughing.

"Man I wish I wasn't here, I've seen rottinf meat fall of the bones of the fallen on the battle fiel. Yet here today *puke* I can barely handle the movement of the waves."

He leaned over the rail, caught in sloth and indolence, lost in pleasent fantasies of a decent pint, a barricade built across the table made of stacked empty pints, an exceedingly drunk Gemini Blue, and a few of the better lookin members of 'er crew. Not that bloody second mate of 'ers, Bertha The Bold though. Last time they'd been in port togethor he'd 'ad to pull that second mate off his ships monkey to get the poor little bugger back. 'E 'adn't been right inthe head since. Started convulsin and shakin every time somebody mentioned the word 'Bertha' in 'is presence. Why last time somebody had mentioned the Birth'o'a nephew, he'd dissapeared and they'd found 'im 'idin in a cupboard in the galley a week later.

Leaning out over the rail, he half stretched, bare chested, bare footed, clad only in leather breeches and a cutlass strapped over his shoulder. Long black dreadlocks braided through with charms of magic and witchcraft. See elemental gifts for the most part, he started as he saw a silver flicker deep beneath the waves, and leaned out over, listening for the recognition call, when it came he seemed to explode into motion, almost flying as his feet barely touched the deck, using the swell of the waves to swing off the rigging by an outstretched hand and yank himself up into the air, his momentum and the flow of the ship abruptly heading towards opposition as the ship crested the top of the swell, with almost perfect timing he released the rigging as momentum and the changing directions of the swell sent the loose spar infront of him careenining towards him at a rather alarming speed. A meaty 'THWACK' and an audible 'OOF' could be heard from the deck below, and quite probably by any near by fishing vessels as well. The ringing sounds of 'Fatherless son of a syphallitic whoremonger!' were heard by a simmilar population grouping, followed by a call to the mate at the wheel 'Swing back and pick me up' and a mighty splash off the bow. Those quick enough to look up had seen him recover quickly to his feet along the spar and race out along the length of the spar and launch himself out, jackknifing cleanly at the peak of his dive and driving deep into the swells.

Beneath the waves, Sable drove himself deeper with hard kicks, several of the charms in his hair beginning to glow with a soft radiance, their magic activated by the immersion and his need to breath suspended slightly. Driving deeper still he found himself, feet pointing towards the waves above, head down, with a female half-undine looking directly into his eyes. Laughter coming out as a distorted mumble and a series of bubbles, and he clasped hands with the elemental woman and painstakingly launched into an elaborate series of hand signals, finding the news of the port town and updates on those he was here to meet.

A short time later the half-undine flicked away, vanishing like blue/silver lightning in the dark water, he flipped himself upright and kicked for the surface, cresting moments later to the port side of the black barnacle covered hull of his ship and called out 'Ahoy Mates! Somebody throw me a bloody rope so we can get into the harbor, if I don't get a wench soon you scurvy dogs will start lookin pretty'.

A moment later a ready coiled line was cast out towards him, the crew was well practiced, and had seen their captain do this many times, diving beneath the sea to communicate with the acquatic denziens. Many times they had fought, with and against various elementals and sea life, and they knew well the depth of knowledge and society hidden beneath the waves. The Captain's many contacts below had often found them ripe pickings and timely warnings. Even a sailors born and bred suspicion of a man with magic like that of Sable Solomon could find little fault in the way he used it.

Clambering up the rope with an agility most gorilla's would envy and the grace of a man spent since his 6th birthday in the rigging of mighty ships, he swung himself over the rail and shouted to his mate 'Blue and the Carcharodon are still En`Route, so we'll be safe to get bloody drunk untill she arrives! Full Sail Lads! I'm feelin mighty in need of'

Some Time Later - In a dark barroom, scarred by many truly spectcular brawls, most of them in the time since Sable and his crew had arrived

[center]"Arghhh!
We're the sauciest pirates to ever sail on the sea
We take just what we want and we do just what we please
We pillage and we plunder, all in the name of greed.

Johnny Rumblood's in a whale of a mess.
The captain found him drunk, asleep in the nest
He gave him forty lashes, and a week in a treasure chest!
Arghh!"[/center]

The crew, those of them still sober enough to see anyway, the ones not busy with the girls in the assorted nooks, crannies and other availible spaces upstairs were singing progressively more crude drinking songs, and they'd been at it for a while. The captain stood on the table, a four pint mug in either hand, taking bracing pulls between verse and corus, and stepping through the steps of a dozen different sailors jigs, or highland jigs, bloody drunken pirate jigs lads, and enough said about that the better, the crew seated... sprawled... draped... or otherwise hanging from the tables around the room, to the man beating time against the table with mugs, cutlery, crockery, or anything else that came to mind.

[center]"Lock up yer daughters, cause here we come!
We drank a keg o' wiskey, we drank another one o' rum!
Aint gonna stop, untill the battle's won;
Arghhh! The booty can wait till the killin' be done!

Eton Redbeard murdered Captain Bly
And now his reputation's known from here to versaille!
Never met me a man what could look him in the eye!

The Scurvy Skipper an Ole Salty D.
They're Guilty of treason in the highest o' degree.
The constable's 'angin from a weepin' willow tree.
Arghhh!

Lock up yer daughters, cause here we come!
We drank a keg o' wiskey, we drank another one o' rum!
Aint gonna stop, untill the battle's won;
Arghhh! The booty can wait till the killin' be done!"[/center]

In the midst of a blinding finalle to his latest tabletop Jig, he stepped in an inconveniently placed puddle of ale, and abruptly skated towards the floor, only grace, talent, skill and a right keen presence of mind saw him land face down in the clevage of the prettiest barwench in the place, staggering away he raised his mugs, not a drop spilled inthe fall and took several bracingt pulls

"What say you lads? Oh Cabin Boy?"

The answer, a resounding chorus of profanities and vitriol, presumably indicating acquisance on the part of his beloved pirate crew roused several of the unconcious pirates from their slumber, although for the most part, only briefly.

"Oh Cabin boy, Cabin boy, Where have you gone!"

It was early morning, though several hours after the sun had managed to claw it's way past the horizon and on into the cloud-studded sky, when Captain Hammond left his quarters and made his way past the marines and out onto the quarterdeck. The Indefatigable had been known as the cleanest ship in the fleet before the civil war, and was kept to the same stringent standards after the war had cast her from the king's service and into that of the highest bidder.

Long had that discussion raged on in the Captain's quarters of the Indy. Every officer from the midshipmen upwards had been allowed a voice and a vote in the future of the ship and her crew, and ideas suggested had varied from piracy to privateering under the letter of marque of any one of the dozens of minor rulers and warlord which dotted the region like weevils in a biscuit. Eventually, the options were cast aside one by one as impractical, morally repugnant, or too likely to draw the ire of men with bigger fleets than the one they'd join.

Finally, the ship's Master had intruded on proceedings - initially holding his mouth shut as he viewed himself not as an officer but as a member of the crew proper, he brought to the table the suggestion of joining the rising star of Gemini Blue's rag tag fleet of 'opportunistic merchantmen', and using the loose sense of unity and service to eke out their own existence as a privateer without marque - a pirate in name but not in action.

After all, the old deeds of commission were still hung on the wall of the Captain's cabin, framed in aged mahogany and as clear as the day they were signed by the old King. Even since the king's demise on the first day of the coup which turned into the longest and most bitter civil war in the region's history, the ship's loyalty to what the old monarch had stood for meant that her actions and intentions stood true to previous service in his name.

The decision had been taken that night to join the fleet of Gemini Blue in name, and to carry on the actions of their previous service to the king in conflict against the followers of Darden and Foret, meddling deities who had caused such upset and strife in the old kingdom.

Though a pirate in name due to their affiliation with Blue's "aggressive trade negotiators", even at such a young hour of the day the deck was being scrubbed down and the old sails repaired as the second watch scurried their way with practised hand up the rigging towards their stations. The ship was immaculate, and the magnificent, cleaned-to-a-shine peacock figurehead leaning eagerly forwards over the prow summed up the pride of the crew in preening their lady who bore them across the shining oceans and chased down their prey with the sleek speed of a thoroughbred.

Hammond took his morning tour of the deck alone, resplendent in the crisp naval uniform which had typified the navy of the old king; while the rest of the world had been turned upside down by the events within the small kingdom which now lay far astern, inside the Indefatigable's wooden walls the day, month and year held the same challenges and discipline as any seen before. The last ship of the good king's navy surged forwards before the fresh new breeze, and turned her prow to starboard as a cry from the fresh topman turned the morning's cleaning duties into a well rehearsed routine to prepare the ship for battle; the decks were doused to prevent fire taking hold and sand was scattered for foothold, the lifeboats were cast to sea and towed astern to prevent them sending lethal wooden splinters across the deck if hit, and the duty marine began the slow, steady drumroll which would send his brethren aloft with their crossbows to rain death upon the decks of their enemy.

The small, pale sail on the horizon began to grow.

Whiping his face with his sleeve, Steven stood up after emptying his stomach. He looked down at the water to see what tid bits were floating in the water. But they were all gone. Odd Steven thought. He took a closer look and he realised he saw what appeared to be Elementals. As to which creature they were, Steven wasn't sure. Their swift, beautiful movements lured Steven closer to the water. Up until a point where Steven fell in. Thrashing his arms about, he realised he could not swim and what was worse was that Steven still had on all his clothes and his boots. Slowly he began to sink in. But then the elementals began to float around him and they asked if they could be of assistance. Nodding his head, they grab him by the shoulders and loft him up back onto the boat with an easy heave. Looking back to see why no one had saved him, he realised that all he had were Droben troops protecting him. Obviously rocks did not float. With a hasty grunt, Steven decided to downsize on all his Ingins and threw em all into the ocean and watched laughing as the poor Ingins were struggling to come back to the top. But slowly and steadly they sank to the bottom. Then the Elementals floated back up and offered to be Steven's assistance. With a quick of course, now the armies of Steven would now be the children of the Elements.

Yer out of yer bloody mind! Flint hollared at the top of his lungs. The glass in his hand, containing some of the finest rum he'd ever set hands upon, arced across the room to shatter unceremoniously on the far wall. The man across from him winced at Flint's rage. He apparently didn't understand how Flint could be so appaled by the offer he had brought to the captain of this vessel.

She is the highest bidder, sir. She wants your assistance. And think of how profitable it can be for you and your crew. The merchant's hand trembled, holding an identical glass of rum, untouched and still sparkling with it's golden yellow color.

Flint eyed the man. He was accustomed to dealing with even the filthiest of traders and merchants that had ever stepped foot upon his ship. This man was certainly not the worst. Well dressed and well taught, he was not a man that was easily talked into things. However something had brought him here that he thought was important enough to ask Flint to accept this offer. He paused in his pacing to rethink the situation before him.

Times were tough. War had raged upon the sea and land. Flint himself had taken heavy losses, and if things didn't start to look to the positive in his holds, he soon would be out of a crew, and with no crew, he could not have The Medaillion much longer after that. She would rot in her berth until he could find a suitable buyer, and he'd be forced to spend his days on land. Flint found that more distasteful than anything.

This merchant had come to him with news of someone that wished to have him in her service. But the name brought fear to many men, and to the most seaworthy captain, it brought an immediate scowl. But what other choice did he have? Nobody else wanted his ship and crew in their service. Flint's name no longer had the respect it once did. This could prove to be an opportunity to regain the power he once had.

But any business opportunity held it's risks. This could be his undoing as well. But what was the excitement in life if one didn't take risks?

Gunwallis? Only then did Flint realize he'd been drilling his stare into the other man's eyes. Sweat beaded on the merchant's forehead. The ship groaned as it pitched over a heavy swell, emphasizing the tension in the room. Flint went to his cabinet, retrieved another glass and poured himself a new glass of rum. He let the spicy liquid flow in his mouth before swallowing. This could indeed prove to be the opportunity for him to be the man he once was.

Send word to Gemini Blue that I accept her offer, and wait for instructions. Flint spoke in a very even tone. The merchant visibly relaxed and began writing opon the scroll he had set before him. Outside, the storm seemed to have lessened slightly. They'd be able to make port sometime soon, afterall.

Word had finally reached him while he was out at sea. Gemini Blue was putting out a call. His informants had sent him a letter. He was still glad of those communcation mirriors he had looted from that over stuff mage's ship.

He stood quickly, pacing about the room. He rubbed at his stubbled chin, noting absently it was time to shave. To join a band of rag-tag pirates, theives, and cutthroats. And worse yet, he would have to pretend to pay homeage to some retarded ideal of religion. He snorted slightly. Isonia indeed. All three of the churches wanted the samething. More power. The fastest way to ensure one of them ultimate power was to put them above the other two. At least this one espoused balance. Honor was a joke, and misery did not make a good quality for a leader.

At least this venture was likely to turn a profit.

He turned to a spell book, and leafed through it till he found the correct page. Running his fingers over the spidery runes, he pronounced the spell carefully. A magical mishap on a boat was the fastest way to the bottom. As he finished the spell, there was a bright blue glow, and a spectral gull appeared perched on the back of his chair.

He scribed a breif letter to Gemini Blue

"Greetings Captain. (Or perhaps you are Admiral?)

I hope your attempts at forming an alliance of theives are going well.

I am Captain Charsis, of the Ship of Styx. If your alliance is open, my elemental band and myself would like to join.

Perhaps there is a place for us to meet?

C. Charsis"

He rolled the letter up, and sealed with wax, and wrapped a gold chained necklace around the letter, and allowed the pendent with two sapphires to dangle. A peace offering of sorts.

The spectral gull took wing with the item, unerringly flying for Gemini Blue

What's with gramps over there?a young worker asked as he held up one side of a crate, carrying it off a docked ship.

Bah...responsed his fellow worker from the other side of the crate, his faced strained slightly by the apparent weight of his load.The old fool has been standing there for most of the day. He hasn't moved or spoken a word to anybody. Probably lost his mind and is looking to see if he can find it out there in the water. Maybe the pirates took it.

Both laughed heartily at the expense of the old man standing quietly staring out into the ocean. He did not hear theeir mockery of him, but even if he had he would not have responded at this time. His thoughts and mind were elsewhere, in a different time, in a different place.

Damn that woman!Ol'Jeb muttered to himself, his white hair flickering in the ocean breeze that rushed its stench onto the bustling docks. Who the hell does she think she is calling me back to these parts. Is retirement really that difficult a concept to grasp?

The expression on his face quickly turned to a scowl as he spun around to survey the goings-on behind him. The hustle and bustle was typical for this time of day. Ships coming, ships going, cargo being loaded and unloaded. He had promised himself a long time ago that he would never be around this filth again; his time had come to relax and enjoy the fruits of his many years of hard word and labor... away from the docks, away from the water, and absolutely away from those god forsaken ships.

We'll see how brave she is when I find her,

"Avast there, ye wee lass."

She did no have t'look up t'ken that it was th' smelly bastard missin' a few choice teeth a few tables away. Nay botherin' t'spare him a glance, she ken that th' situation was most likely not goin' t'improve.

"Red Johnny says ye do be the finest beauty that he ever had t'priveledge t'haul keel wi'."

Fetch's dear sweet departed mother, Isonia rest her soul, was oft fond of th' sayin' - silence is golden. "Aye, but she was ne'er put t'port wi' ever' lonely bilge rat this side o' hell," she muttered ov'r her grog.

"So what say ye, Jez? Will ye be doin' me th' honor o' playin' my hornpipe?"

This time th' voice came from close by her ear. "I must be losin' me touch," she thought, "if I let this scurvy dog get this close."

Wi'out a glance up, she grabbed th' cur by his eyepatch an' introduced him rather unkindly t' th' table top. She absent-mindedly twirled a small, wicked blade in her other hand.

"First off, be havin' ye no use fer water other than sailin' on? If ye died today, th' very earth'd spit yer foulness out. An' aye, I ken Red Johnny. Th' codfish doesna be havin' th' balls t' bait his own hook let alone bed a lass."

She slammed th' blade down inches from th' sweatin' fool's nose.

"An` if ye e'er call me Jez or e'en think o' suggestin' anythin' lascivious t' me again... Weel ye might be wantin t' worry more about th' state o' yer manly bits than Red Johnny e'er will."

Wi' an aggrevated sigh, she rose abruptly, yankin' th' steel from th' worn wood.

She made her way out o' th' no so fine establishment mutterin, "Let's hope these Freeman do be a sight more mannerly than ever' other shipmate I`ve had th' pleasure t' make th' acquaintance o'. They's could hardly be any worse."

They were loitering on the docks, fishing rods and a well tap'd keg near by, telling lies and by all appearances simple dock scum at their leisure. An observant man might have noticed however they had the best view of the harbour, both ships at dock and those sailing in and out. A truly observant onlooker might also have noticed, that the fish were hardly biting, yet they'd been fishin that same spot for the whole of the day.

"Cap'n! comin into the 'arbor around the eastern wall"

Lokoing up he saw her, 3 masts and sheets white as driven snow. Lines as clean and sweet as a virgin on her 16th birthday. She lept through the waves like a great bird of prey. She was built for war, riding high she was cargo free, the ports for her sweeps showed clear, trimmed in gold by a painted who saw her beauty as clearly as the pirates sitting at the fishing docks did now.

"Every now and then lads, the Godess shows us that we must'a been doin something righ. She's a bird, we'll coax her to our hand and take her a hunting"

He paused to watch her. she was a sailors dream, and on any quarter, she'd be the fasterst thing in these seas with the right hand at her helm.

"Can anybody see her name?"

One of the pirates lifted a glass to his eye and read from her sides "The Dove Cap'n"

"Well at least they recognised her for the bird she is. When we take her, we'll rename her The Raptor, she's truly a bird of prey."

Flint carefully navigated his ship into the harbor. The most recent storm had taken two of his better seamen, one of which was his navigator, whom he had worked with for many years. It grieved Flint to have lost the talented man, but as with the life of the sea, nothing ever lasted for forever.

Some harbors every man of the sea knew by heart. Some others were marked with bouys, if you were lucky. By far, you had to just set your bow in deep water and hope that your men had sharp eyes and loud voices, to warn of oncoming danger.

So far, this harbor was simply a wide and gentle inlet, most likely from a former river that had now dried up. There was little if any bottom topography. Flint scanned the horizon and saw all manner of ships docked here. A few were stately liners reserved for the more upper-class and their voyages and leave-takings. A great many were of the worth of his ship, heavily built trading vessels that could pitch out a fair battle as well. There were yachts apparently owned by the locals, and the harbor itself was dotted with fishing boats here and there; local men making ah honest living to pay for the clothes upon their backs. Also, Flint spotted a few ships that seemed in ill repair, ships of theieves and bandits. Often others confused these men for pirates. Pirates had more honor and class than such men.

All in all, the ships of the harbor themselves spoke of the city that grew from it. There was a mix of people here, ranging from the poor to the rich. Likely there was a section of the city that only held the high-class, and the rest was subdivided upon the middle and lower classes. Better than all upper or all lower class. Flint smiled to himself, as he brought his ship closer into the harbor.

Finding an open berth, Flint had his first mate take control and he walked down along the length of the deck to the very aft end of the ship. There, he retrived a looking glass and examined a particular pier, with himself obscured from view. Among all the docks and piers, this was the only one that had any men on it that weren't actually one of the crews of the various ships docked. To all intents and purposes, they appeared to be fishing.

But why were they fishing from the pier while every other man who made a living here from that was far out into the harbor? Flint continued to watch them. The laughed, talked, and carried on; almost oblivious to their poles in the water. Something wasn't right. These men were there for some purpose or another. The pier was blocked from his sight as his own ship came close to it's berth, as another ship was alongside his own.

As Flint stood up, he could hear his men shouting to those ashore, securing the ship and throwing down the boarding planks. He had insured that the men would have a good night on the town tonight, they'd spent many long weeks at sea. Meanwhile, we was going to attempt to find Gemini Blue, as well as find out why those men had been on that pier.