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Forums > Fantasy Roleplay Forum > Swells of Rage (Open)

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(OOC thread here.)

When Tye opened his eyes, he expected to be greeted by an inn room with unremarkable furniture and plain, blue-curtained windows shielding the place from direct sunlight. He expected to be in his own clothing, with his scimitar tucked between the bed and endtable while his dagger rested beneath the pillow he'd been using. A comfortable, if unimpressive day.

Instead he woke to the near imperceptible bob of an unfamiliar brigantine's hull; the sparce lines of warm light poking from between planks above his head. His belongings were gone and the place was dark except for the faintest light shed by a hanging lantern nearby. The thief's back ached, causing him to realize that he'd been lying on an uneven pair of crates in nothing but braies; most of all his head ached, unusually so.

As Tye sat up and tried to get his bearings a figure walked out from the shadows of the watercraft while asking, "What's your name?" He looked over quickly, warily to see the owner of the voice; a grown man in similar circumstances, moving a smaller crate across the storage room they resided in. He grimaced and turned to face them and reply, "None of yer business-- where am I?"

Then the stranger looked at him and, by his somber expression the boy started to understand that this person was not responsible for the turn of events. They set their box down and walked toward him, grabbing his forearm and turning it to show him a burn that wasn't there before-- an intentional mark, spelling out "NTC, 157". "You have five minutes before the overseer sees you're awake. Maybe less. Keep it down."

As the stranger let go and moved away Tye cussed beneath his breath, watching the other man work. "...Tye. You?" The solemn stranger gave a brief smile and uttered, "People here call me Mark." He seemed as if he wanted to add something but stopped himself; a door opened nearby, causing brighter light from the next room to spill in. A large figure stood in the doorway, silhouetted by the light. They growled, "Talking?" and walked in, facing them stiffly. "You." The blunt stranger pointed at the thief. "Coming with me." Then they took his wrist and pulled him from the crates, drawing him out of the room and upwards.

While being manhandled the boy started to understand what was going on. The ship was in part propelled by the labors of a huge number of men and women at oars; they were in one of the rooms he was pulled through. Some seemed healthy, determined enough to be free folk. Others were withered and sick, clearly not their of their own volition. He wondered if he was destined to join them, but the overseer (an ugly mug who had to be at least partly inhuman) took him further until they were on deck.

There was a small, shrewd looking man awaiting them, bald and wearing expensive garb. He'd been watching the waves of an open sea, under a blistering sun when they arrived; and when he heard the overseer grunt he turned and sported a smile with a gold tooth. "Tye! Do you remember me?" The thief was alarmed to hear his own name from a man he hadn't been introduced to; he stared hard at him, struggling to recollect. The shrewd man's expression flattened; he waved dismissively and said, "Of course you don't. You couldn't be bothered to remember all your marks, could you?"

"Who?--" Tye tried to continue, but was abruptly backhanded by the half-man. "Speak when spoken to."

"My name is Roldan Ulderico. I am a merchant working for the Natoru Trading Co.; a company you crossed when you decided to steal from me. Don't worry. You'll repay me for your crime without losing your hands. You'll be needing them on this trip, for I'm short a servant and the captain needs all the help he can get. You belong to me now, if you're too stupid to take the hint." Ulderico could tell by Tye's enraged glower that he understood, but felt as though he'd say it anyway to annoy him."Disobey, and Mull here will straighten you out. If you prove to be more a nuisance than help, I've no problem with throwing you to the sharks. Do you understand?"

The thief struggled to hold his tongue. Roldan waited a moment and then smiled and gestured at the half-man to take him away; which is exactly what he did.

The next few weeks would prove grueling, even for someone of his health. Still, he kept his ears open, gathering from his habitual eavesdropping that he was aboard a merchant vessel named The Wester's Light; it was bound for a town across the sea, carrying a variety of cargo (including slaves.) He didn't know exactly where they were going, or what it would be like; the only hint was that, as they kept going the air grew warmer and the small bodies of land they did pass held plants and birds he'd never seen before.

Roldan was looking for something, the only reason they'd gotten close enough to the islands for him to observe them in the first place. The rich man never seemed to find what he was looking for though, and so they kept going.

_

The Wester's Light crested alone in the misty cool nighttime of the tropics, shattering the silence of the hour with the creaking of wood, the billowing of massive green sails and the shouting of workers on deck. Although normally most of the crew would be asleep at this hour, the ship was sailing along foreign and rocky shores; meaning that attention was paramount for the vessel to survive. The captain of the ship had tried to stop for the night earlier but was urged on by the merchant. For the hours that followed the crew comprised of both free men and slaves showed experience and prowess, skirting disaster thrice as the moon reached its zenith. As the celestial body began its dip toward the horizon however, they grew ever closer to the cliffs of an unfamiliar shore, closer to peril than ever. The captain attempted to turn them away but a cold wind carried them closer; they furled the sails but it did little to help.

As disaster seemed inevitable and as men and women panicked and strained to avert their course, a black figure appeared on the edge of those cliffs and stared with shining crimson eyes at the vessel; at its captain. Through the mist its form was hard to distinguish but it sported hooves which glinted against the firelight on board and bore the fangs of a canine, looking as though it were smiling at their plight. A cacophonous snap and clatter signaled to them that the hull broke against the rocks and their ship was taking on water. Screams joined the commotion and some threw themselves overboard to escape.

Tye caught a glimpse of the monster on the cliff. He had been trying to usher other slaves out of the hull when it was damaged; the boy scrambled toward the steps, narrowly escaping the gushing waters with a handful of others. A number of other oarsmen followed, swimming or trudging out from below but many were trapped beneath, not knowing how to swim.

The crashing was too loud to speak over, so the survivors from below scattered, trying to assist others or escape the vessel themselves. Tye dashed toward the lifeboats only to find that they were already dropped, carrying some of the more important members of the crew to the shores. One of them was pressed against the rocks by the waves; he could see those aboard trying to row their way out, only to be killed when one of the wooden beams of the ship broke and fell on them.

The captain seemingly disappeared, as did the merchant and his escort, while the ship tore itself apart on the cliff face. Seawater covered the Wester's Light, and the obliteration of the vessel's front threw Tye and many others into the depths.

The thief pulled himself from under the waves, swimming haphazardly just to avoid the collapsing structure. The waves kicked up even more as the watercraft fell apart and pushed it further onto the rocks, tossing people in the water about mercilessly. Without any control, it was only a few seconds before he was slammed against the rocks-- and in that instant darkness took him.

_

Midday passed by the time the boy awoke. The struggle to survive and the labor he'd done before that left him taxed, tired enough to lay in place for half an hour. Everything was sore; his limbs, his back and his lungs flared with pain as soon as he moved. Tye coughed on the sand, needing all of his strength to sit up.

It seemed as though at least one of his ribs were broken; breathing was painful and it seemed like walking for any stretch of time would be impossible. The boy growled and- despite his weakness- punched the sand with his enclosed fist. How was he to cope if that merchant or his friends survived? How was he going to find food?

Tye rolled onto his back, wishing he could fall back asleep. He peered up at the impossibly vast blue sky, noticing that there was a gathering of clouds on the horizon. It was going to be a long day, and an even longer night if that storm made it. The thought inspired him to get up and, with a heavy limp, head towards the tree line beyond the beach he woke on. If nothing else, perhaps he could build some kind of shelter from the rain.

Taff looked towards the shore briefly, his dark frown and silence a clear indication of the grim scene he had just witnessed. Like the other survivors he was sore, bruised and tired after the effort to swim to the beach. He too had seen the merchant and the captain sail away in the row boats and scouted the surroundings for signs of them to no avail, the callous man nowhere to be seen. One could only wonder where they had gone and how well they knew the island after all.

Taff looked at Tye pitifully, feeling compassion for the lad he had seen onboard the ship. His ill treatment a cause for concern. Nonetheless, they were the lucky ones who had managed not to drown in the tragedy that had unfolded so quickly. Unluckily, the second tragedy in a single journey for him and Merthyr and they still had to reach Port Royal.

He glanced a bit further ahead to look at Merthyr, a relief to see him alive and overall unharmed. Both had struggled to adapt to their new condition, well below any commoner and akin to mere animals. Slaves were barely acknowledged, a mere commodity or property to be misused and maltreated as the masters saw fit without the least protest or reaction. What a far cry from the lavish lifestyle they had shared not a month before.

If only they knew who Merthyr truly was, they would be kissing his feet, addressing him with the utmost respect, things would be very different indeed. Even the callous merchant was likely to be a law abiding citizen who respected the authority, otherwise, his name would have been stamped on the wanted parchments already and his property seized long before that.

The problem was not the merchant; the problem was the law. The law was an ass; it had made it possible if not favourable for the rich like Roland to get even wealthier at others' misfortunes and expense. The law needed to be changed, yet, given the present predicament, Merthyr was no longer in a position to do so, at least not for the time being.

Few were ever permitted the priviledge of seeing the king close enough never mind speaking to him at all, thus, it was no suprise that a random merchant did not identify the royal at all ensuring they passed unnoticed so far. Both had kept quiet about that when their ship sunk during a bad storm a few weeks earlier. They had been offered a rope to safety by Roland, but such charity was not a free act of kindness as they soon found out, their safety came at a cost, at the pricy cost of their freedom. For now all they could look forward to was survival, if that.

At first Taff considered himself lucky, accustomed to blindly taking orders already, but what a far cry between being a royal manservant, respected and acknowledged, to being just another slave in an overcrowded ship, where nobody cared whether they lived or died. Those that were indeed acknowledged like Tye, it was for the wrong reasons and worse outcome.

Originally he thought it was better to live in slavery than to die in freedom but now even that outlook was questionable. The only benefit afforded to him and Merhtyr was the fact they had not been humiliatingly branded nor their property seized because of their willingness to submit to such ominous servitude.

Merthyr waved his arms for Taff to come over and follow Tye too, keeping close to one another, after all, there was some safety in numbers.

What lay ahead, however, would certainly put fear into Taff and a chill to the bones. Just beyond the trees, one could hear the rowdy laughter of drunken debauchery and the odd shooting which made it clear they were headed straight into a pirate's den, unarmed and outnumbered. Who knew what other dangers awaited them, lurking in such unknown territory

Nutbrown hair chopped short and under a soft cap, Sirina had blended well enough with the crew without provoking undue questions. The moment the Wester's Light had made dock in her father's kingdom to restock their wares for trade - all but the slaves that is - she had seen her chance. Until then her life had been stifling with politics and lessons. With her eldest brother ready to take the throne when needed, and her younger brothers well darning their places as accomplished knights, Sirina was left as the only doted daughter, a decoration. Most likely her future was to be married off at the best offer, and the thought made her feel as if she were captive, closed off from any hope of freedom.

Freedom. The chance to know and choose her own way, to prove that her existence had purpose. This notion had long festered in the young princess's heart, and much as she loved her father and brothers, she did not look back when she slipped on board the Westers Light. Deck hand she could be, cabin boy, errand runner and master of the odd tasks. They had taken her on without much eye batting, setting an appallingly low wage (but that didn't matter - freedom called.)

With the quickness of her decision to board ship, it wasnt untill they were well under way, that she realized the ship was a slaver as well as dealing in trade goods. The notion had made her stomach queasy and her heart clench, yet she had ducked her head,scrubbed the deck, emptied chamber pots, and learned much about the running of the ship along the way. Mending ropes, learning about the rigging, as well as a smattering of what went into charting a course, all began to fill out her meager skills. After a time a dagger found its way into the top of her boot, which in her down time, she used to practice throwing into various bales belowdecks under the watchful eye of Cob, another ships boy who had quick hands and a head full of useful knowledge.

The days slipped by and Sirina, dirtier than she'd ever been in her life, reveled in her newfound life. Her hands, calloused after the first week of bleeding amd soreness, became deft and skilled with her tasks as she bent her mind to learning each, not minding the lowliness of her position. It had been her choice, and she'd thrown pride to the wind when she'd chopped off her hair and dressed as a boy. Each day she found time to bind her chest, making it as flat as possible. Her general grubbiness, aquired after only a day aboard, helped to take away from her petite face and feminine features. She became good at making sure no eyes, nor any thought settled upon her for too long. She would hold her secrets as tightly as possible.

And then the ship had gone down. Shivvering in her cotten shirt and trousers, feet bare, Sirina trudged through the sand. While she'd taken her boots off to swim better, Sirina had slipped the dagger out and tied it into the waist of her pants, fairly well hidden. Who knew when she'd need it in such a place as this. A jagged cut ran down her cheek near her ear, a gift from a particularly rugged peice of wreckage she'd found to cling to before making it to shore. Now, sand crusting her nearly everywhere, she determined to find food, and well, live. Yes, she'd live somehow.

Up ahead, she noted a few other figures moving across the sand. There had been many people on board, and she hadn't tried to make many friends, worried her secret would slip out. She recognized them, but didn't know their names. Still, she slipped a bit closer, feeling it would be safer to face the unknown with others around. What was that noise from up ahead? Music? A fire? Could this be good fortune? She pressed ahead quietly, deciding to get closer to see what was up.

As the thief stood and made his way to the trees it was more difficult for him to hear the music; his ears rang as his body urged him to stop moving. Tye let a small wheeze, leaning on a tree and slipping down to his knees on the forest floor while trying to recover from overexerting himself. He'd hardly even noticed the other two before that, but when he did it was because he glanced in their direction, startled and alarmed to see that they'd spotted him first. It was going to be some time before he was fully capable again.

Watching Taff and Merthyr provided him the opportunity to listen, however, and so he noticed the festive music further into the jungle. He took his time, figuring his lowness to the ground would provide him at least some semblance of cover while he started to investigate what these strangers were doing on the island. After a moment he crawled forward, attempting to close in and peek through the broad leaves of a palm sapling without being noticed.

Sirina's presence was not yet known to the young thief; circumstances closer to him as well as his poor health kept him distracted. There were others laying on the beach; some seemed to have already been looted of their belongings, or perhaps they'd lost those at sea. Many of them were clearly drowned, though one motionless figure on the shore seemed to possess more color and less bloat than the others.

The slave known as Mark was not yet conscious; the reasons for this were evident in the dark red fluid that stained his forehead and clumped his hair together. He was closer along the strand to Sirina than the others, and so only she would be potentially able to tell he still lived. Of course, as he wasn't moving, it was just as easy to pass him by for those that were already moving.

Taff finally caught up to Merthyr pausing to rest his hands on his knees, leaning forward to catch up his breath a little.
"Oh great... now we lost the boy too...." moaned Taff frustrated at his inability to keep up.

"What would you have us do, my liege?" quizzed the manservant used to taking direct orders and anxiously scouting the forest failing to see the boy again at all.

"March forward, of course, a storm is coming and we need shelter. There's some festive cheer ahead of us, I can hear chattering and msic, if they are merrymaking they will certainly have spare food and water to share. At the end of the day we are disarmed and slaves, we can hardly be seen as a threat surely..." mused Merthyr watching Taff about to protest but purse his lips reluctantly, openly advancing forward until they reached the tavern's entrance.

They made their way into the establishment, without hesitation, Merthyr much too curious to not venture in to take a look

Still on the fringe of the jungle ahead, Sirina's gaze chanced to fall on many of the unmoving forms that lay scattered on the beach expanse, testament to their misfortune. A sad frown tugged her lips downward and she shook her head as she passed by those that were clearly dead. As she turned to move further toward the jungle, and the very faint racket in the distance, her hazel hues fell upon another form, this one sporting a bit more color in his skin than the bloated blue tinged ones she'd turned away from. Her head tilting a bit to the side, she allowed her feet to whisper through the sand until her bare toes were mere inches from the prone man. He was uncontious to be sure, yet perhaps not dead. Blood covered his forehead, speaking of a wound unseen. Pity coiling in her belly she crouched by the man and put a once soft hand, now calloused upon his shoulder, as if to see if he would rouse. Glancing around, to gather her bearings, she huffed a soft sigh and collected a curved piece of wood that might hold water for long enough. With it, she moved back to the ocean and carried the salty water to the man's side, using it to clean a bit of his wound, hoping the salt would help with disinfecting it. Taking care, she did what she could, then sat back in a crouch, wondering what to do with him.

Her belly growled softly, a reminder that her last meal had been some time ago, and her own cheek throbbed, causing her to move once more to the ocean and dab at her own wound with the water. The sharp sting of salt made her wince, but she cleaned all the crusty blood, causing it to bleed a bit more, until she was satisfied. Then, she moved back to the man's side. She would wait for another long moment to see if he might wake. She couldn't leave an injured man to die alone on the beach, and she wasn't sure the extent of his injury.

While she waited, she selected a long stick from the nearby jungle line, and sat down to whittle on the tip, trying to hone it into a sharp point.

Tye kept low, creeping on the outskirts of the ruin when he saw it; a black flag hung over the place, denoting the identity of the festive men and women. He gritted his teeth; in other circumstances he might have been a part of this band but there was no way they'd show mercy to an injured slave from the ship they likely sacked after its destruction. It was a surprise to him that they didn't spot him on the shores; then again, most on that beach were dead, so they probably passed him by while he was unconscious.

The boy did not loiter; against the burning pain in his chest he crawled away, back through the foliage and toward the last location he'd seen the two men. After a small while he stood and limped there, noting that they had moved with a rough, irritable grunt. He peered along the path of plants and leaves they'd pushed aside in their approach of the camp and immediately assumed them dead men, as there was no way they'd survive the cruel games pirates undoubtedly had in store for them.

If he hadn't taken so long perhaps he might have tried to help them, but it was of little consequence. He'd see soon enough what their plan brought. The thief walked unsteadily back to the beach, looking down at the footprints he and others had left in the sand. Tye didn't think he'd have the time or skill to conceal those footprints, so he should leave soon. Still, his hesitation allowed him to eventually spot Sirina and the form she watched over down the strand. It would take a bit but he decided to walk to them.

-

Mark stayed unconscious for as long as Sirina treated him; it seemed almost as though he'd never wake, but once she'd taken care of herself the slave started to wake. Firstly, he groaned, bothered greatly by the wound to his head and the subsequent effects of blood loss. Then he coughed, opened his eyes and tried to sit up quickly, perhaps too quickly for someone in his condition. "What?--"

The slave winced and eased himself back down, clenching his teeth. He looked up at her, since the noise of her whittling the wood was easy for him to detect.

Calico Jack was comfortably seated in the lavish stolen furniture among the most notorious pirates that terrorized the Caribbean waters. Everyone who was anyone had gathered there or was about arrive to lay waste away to the season's earnings, if they could be called so. He was but one more brother-in-arms among the Bretheren Court as they called themselves lately, whose figure of authority fell upon Edward Teach, the infamous Blackbeard, and Captain Henry Morgan, though the latter was far more distant and discreet than the rest.

This island of Martinica had become more than just a hideout, it had grown to become a critical point of trading among pirates, establishing pacts and bargains, exchanging information, merrymaking, bebauchery and settling differences through bribery or light hearted scuffles among other pirates ways.

Calico looked up briefly at the entrance, stunned and miffed that their haven had been found by outsiders at last, and frowned darkly. The establishment at large paused too, growing entirely silent and still for a few moments as two strange newcommers arrived, clearly unexpected, uninvited and unwelcomed. "Captain Blackbeard! You said you had disposed of the royal army vessel that was following us" accused Calico most displeased at seeing Merthyr and Taff

"Blow me down! Course I did, them landlovers... I tossed them into Davy Jones's Locker. Those that survived the storm, that is, seems Neptune did the hard work for me already, this time" swore the ruffian with confidence, chuckling after taking out a few looted items to further prove his claim.

"How did these two scallywags get here then?" demanded Calico clearly weary of the unexpected visit.

"The Wester's Light, I saw the merchant ship crash early dawn at the rocks and found the shipwreck on my way here. Of course, upon reaching the shore, I looted what was left and now there's naught but rotting corpses. So many riches discarded, such easy takings, clearly Calypso favours me by leaving such vast amounts of wealth, weapons, provisions, slaves and rum, lots of slaves and rum, nicely scattered on the beach for me to collect like picking pearls from the seas" grinned broadly Henry Morgan entering the room with his usual courteous style by raising his hat to salute his brothers, before replacing it and going to sit among them "I must have missed these two..." remarked as an after thought, pushing the two newcommers roughly out of the way as if a mere nuisance and into his men's arms to be shackled and dragged away without second thought.

"Well then, let's celebrate your good fortune, my friend" nodded Calico "slaves are a rare finding" nodded Calico examining the pair briefly, watching them be shackled and put to work right away among other slaves serving the pirates.

"I'll certainly fetch the rum and pour it out heartily, blessings like today's are meant to be shared indeed" agreed Captain Morgan without even looking or acknowledging any of the slaves, his mind focusing on the latest news and rumours and the feats these pirates cared to boast about this time round, which made for light hearted cheerful if exciting talks.

Completely oblivious for the time being that pirates loomed just within the jungle, Sirina now focused her hazel eyes once more on the man who groaned and shifted. It seemed he took stock of his injuries, and she watched him silently, her whittling coming to a stop as his gaze momentarily met hers. A subcontious flick of her gaze went downward, as if to make sure she was still in 'boy' form. It seemed everything was in place. She carefully masked her momentary relief, and offered a light smile. Her voice, when she spoke, was kept low, as she'd grown accustomed to speaking in a more boyish tone. One of the hardest adaptations to ships life, for Sirina, had been losing her once perfect posture, and her nobleman's way of speaking. Those would have been too noteable, and would have given her away as surely as somone recognizing her face. So she had practiced hard to keep a bit of a slouch, and shuffle when she moved about, though her eyes always remained on the alert.

"Hello... She paused, not sure what to say. Umm... good weather we're 'avin here eh?... no that wouldn't do. A storm was coming. shaking her head at her own awkwardness she tried again, "I go by the name of Rin.
We should move to the cover of the jungle as soon as you can... a storm is on its way."
She figured there was no need to waste time with pleasantries. After all, they had just lived through a crazy attack from a feindish monster - one she'd only been able to glimpse amidst the chaos, before she'd been plunged overboard.

Rising, she tied her knife once more into her waistband. And hefted the now sharpened stick. What she planned to use it for wasn't entirely obvious, but perhaps it would come in handy. Finally, her gaze fell on a form which seemed to be coming her way, from the line of trees. She tensed a bit, but watched curiously as he drew closer, as she waited the injured man to rise. Hovering nearby, she would offer assistance should he need it to rise.

Mark smiled blearily at 'Rin', suspicious of the kid but not the sort of person to get in the way of another. "Hey..." He sat up again, slowly this time, trying once more to regain relative balance there. Then he saw the clouds in the distance, momentarily admiring them, then drawing his legs back to fold against his upper body.

The thief picked up his pace walking down the strand, pushing himself despite his injuries to close in with the duo near the water. He was nearly there and so figured they'd be able to hear him speak;

"Lads, w-we gotta go. I mean now." He stopped a few steps away and placed his hands on his knees, taking a few seconds to recover. "There's-- there's pirates on this island. Whole den of 'em not five minutes off." In the distance thunder roared, echoing to them as lightning cracked against the sea.

The sitting slave furrowed his brow. "Pirates...?" The two exchanged a glance and Mark decided to interrupt their conversation with a small, "Hey Tye". The thief nodded and chimed, "Aye Mark', who's this?" The man gestured at her and said, "This is Rin. Didn't get to speak much on deck but he's from the Wester's Light too." The thief narrowed his eyes at Sirina... but didn't seem to retain the same suspicion Mark did. He nodded, adding, "Aye, good t' see you. Let's get the hell out of 'ere."

Mark reached up to potentially take the assistance Zelenthia offered, wavering a bit as he stood.

Merthyr grew stiff at Morgan's presence, the well known voice and resemblance were too remarkable to go amiss. He did not need be told who the imposing man was any more, though he found it difficult to swallow that the most blatant high treason he could conceive came from the highest position he could give, the governor, his royal ambassador, the man who yielded the king's power on behalf of the king, no questions asked, no limitations to it, mingling with the worse mercenaries as one more among them, and well acquainted with most by the looks of it.

Taff nudged Merthyr to make him snap out of it and not to dare stare around too much, swiftly coming over to Morgan's master-at-arms waiting for orders on what needed to be done, well aware compliance was their only chance of survival yet again

Merthyr kept the head lowered a little, mostly staring at his chained ankles well certain that, if he had been able to notice Morgan, then there was little doubt Sir Henry Morgan would indeed be able to notice him back too. Such thought was most concerning and worrying. He came over to the master-at-arms awaiting for orders as well

Bracing herself, Sirina helped Mark to his feet, then gave a quick nod of greeting to the one Mark called Tye. The booming in the distance jerked her thoughts from mulling over the Pirates Tye had mentioned, toward the sea where the ominous clouds moving quickly - seeming to grow before her eyes. A thrill ran through her belly, remembering a few tamer storms at sea which had still rocked the boat and drenched all. She had loved them. It was completely unlike watching the storm from the shelter of her palace bedroom window, where her face might only get a nice misting. On the boat, she'd been soaked within seconds.

Taking a glance around she considered. The storm would make them move into the jungle for shelter, but.... "P'rhaps we should try to make it further down the beach before moving into cover so as not to draw the attention of those Pirates you saw. We might just have time.."

She edged herself a few paces away from Mark after helping him to his feet, turning herself just slightly as she awaited their decision. It didn't seem Mark was in the condition to go far, Tye either. Her own face smarted, but wouldn't slow her down. The idea of heading off alone, though, was discarded as quickly as it ran through her mind. Even with as much courage and nerve as she'd gained on this venture thus far, taking her chances alone in a Pirate filled jungle did not appeal to her.

Tye straightened as Mark and Rin got up, seeming unable to help but wheeze a bit. The noise drew a worried look from his older counterpart, who in response pushed the boy's hand away from his midsection and felt the bone there. The thief coughed and growled in surprise but Mark simply frowned. The slave pushed his findings away and let the other one go, turning back toward Sirina with a nod. "Its possible that they haven't looted up there, too. Lets hope so; its the best bet of safe food I can think of."

The thief listened and spat off to one side, though his passive body language suggested it wasn't to accentuate anything. "C'mon. I don't want t' be sittin' here any longer." With that, Tye started limping up the strand, expecting them to follow. Mark's frown returned but he only glanced at Zelenthia before following. "Rin. Are you hurt? I've got a headache but I think I'll be ok. Maybe I can help you two."

_

Upon slinking into the master-at-arms' audience Merthyr would be faced with a brown-haired, wide brimmed-hat wearing weasel of a man. Triss Goff had begun his career of smuggling, slave-trading pirate a decade ago and seemed impeccably healthful despite it. He lifted his head to face the two, previously having buried his nose in reports from his assistants on board, revealing a well-trimmed, Guy Fawkes type goatee on his face. His whiskers exaggerated a displeased frown to see what could only be a pair of new slaves for him to direct; the master-at-arms had bigger worries among the outlaws than them, so he thought.

He drew his hand from his side to perch on the desk he sat behind, black eyes boring into them as he thought about their potential uses. Goff set the reports aside and pulled out a meticulously kept list of servants and slaves at the pirates' disposal, using a colorfully plumed feather to jot something at its end. "Your names." He said. "And don't speak over one another, I've a cat-o-nine-tails that is sorely under-used."

"Taff Gelligen" replied Taff right away knowing the other survivors would have already heard his name onboard when they had been rescued and questioned. There was a chance they would be interrogated to ascertain this and he could not afford being caught out as a liar, not with this lot. He paused, giving his full name, speaking slowly and clearly to give time for his majesty to make decisions whether he would go by his first name, by his family name, risk using both or choose a random name he would now have to learn too

"Merthyr Tydfil" replied the young king simply as he had done onboard the ship taking his chances for Taff's sake for if he chose a random name, his manservant might call out to him differently and it would land them in a far deeper trouble than the chance of anyone linking him to a royal, at least he could not be labelled a liar.

Here he stood as a slave, mere merchandise ready to be sold on to the highest bidder if it came to that, back at his palace he was mostly called by royal title, the two positions so opposite and distant from one another, none, but Morgan, would have given it a second thought or so he hoped.

Before the storm wrecked his well laid out plans, Merthyr was being regally escorted to Port Royal to attend his first official engagement after his father had just passed away, which was to confirm Sir Henry Morgan, the man his father trusted the most, as the ambassador and governor. A position he already held in the past that would maintain a certain degree of stability to maintain. It was an encounter that had not taken place till now, and what an encounter indeed, so far removed from Merthyr's expectations that the thought of it made him shudder.

Sirina took to following the obviously very wounded Tye, who somehow had taken charge. Her pride pricked a tiny bit at that, yet she inwardly shook her head in mockery at her silliness. Who was she now, to expect the measure of respect given to royalty? For as surely as she had given up her long locks of hair and perfect speech, she had also lost her standing. She was a nobody now, that's what she wanted - right?

Looking to Mark as she moved through the sand, bare feet feeling a bit chaffed on its roughness, she gave a quick jerking shake of her head. "No. I am the least injured here, I'd say... I'll do what I can for the both of you."

She had been wondering if the two were slaves, and when she'd helped Mark up, she'd seen his brand, confirming at least his own station. She only guessed that Tye was as well. The thought of slavery once again clenched her gut and made her feel momentarily sick. The fact that the ship had docked at her father's small kingdom and been allowed to do business, meant that there were dockmasters who didn't mind doimg underhanded dealings, on the far side of the law. Her father had suspected as much, and it had been a thorn in his side for some time, yet other problems consumed him, for his kingdom was failing. Already small, it relied heavily on trade, which was now dwindling. Why? Sirina had long considered the why's of things, yet seemed to forever be coming up empty. Perhaps, in this escapade, she could also discern what was causing trade to so slow. Could it have anything to do with the Pirates? Was their number growing?

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