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Let us know when you hear from him, I hope he's alright! We can wait as long as needed.

Of course. Of all the things to happen, haha.

That's perfectly fine, man, take all the time you need.

This RP be cursed, i tells ya! Cursed!

Tis understandably and hopefully, we'll have POMC back on tuesday! That said, i may be a grump dov on that day due to my bank so may not start straight away.

Well, my internet has been fixed, so, the RP will definitely begin tomorrow. Thanks for holding out. Please direct your complaints towards Richard Branson.

And hopefully, we won't have PCs killing each other a few pages in despite being on the same side. Although i think that would work for the pirate side.

Nassau, Bahamas

Nassau still bore the scars of the Spanish raid of 1684, though it had been over thirty years since the Spanish expedition headed by the corsair Juan de Alárcon had burned Nassau, formerly Charles Town, to the ground. Yes, while the town had been rebuilt, it had not fully recovered, and it would take more than a name change and a few decades for that to happen. That much was obvious; in both the atmosphere of the small port town and in its appearance.

The docks, its piers not yet tainted by sludge and decomposition, extended into the sea, with an assortment of naval vessels, sloops, brigs, cutters and the occasional frigate (from the fifth and sixth rates of the Royal Navy, to the frigates and corvettes of French and Spanish origin) huddled around them, as though the smallest of waves would send them spinning off into the ocean's blue. The vast number of ships, to one person, may have told a story of a rapid and enduring growth, of a post-natal economic prosperity. Indeed, the number of merchantmen and fluyts, again betraying signs of a remarkable and international diversity, contributed to the telling of this tale.

But it also told another story: one of stagnation and deprivation. These trading ships were not owned by wealthy men of the mercantile class, and the warships around them were not their guards. They were vessels captured by pirates, their wealth taken and exploited, their former crews put to death or slavery at the slightest sign of resistance. And they were reluctant to leave this shallow cove, their hulls pressing against the piers, the piers bracing against the shore, and after that, a small snakeline of houses and taverns and other homes of debauchery and sin. Beside that trace of a town, a ruined fort, a casualty of 1684, a relic of another time. The town itself clung to the dock, as though fearing the return of the Spanish, or perhaps the return of another nationality.

The year was 1717. It was perhaps four years since the people of Nassau had repudiated their allegiance to Crown and country, and had become a warren of pirates and other scum, and, despite this apparent boldness, all still feared the return of their former masters, the British. Rumours had been running rampant that the British were indeed planning to recapture the island and the town of Nassau, to put a stop to the very banditry for which Nassau had become a beacon, a sort of Pandora's Box from which marched the taint that beset the merchant shipping across the region. While many of the pirates in Nassau, of which there were perhaps a few thousand, mixed in with a slightly smaller civilian population, of [&@%!], shop-owners, layabouts and dockhands, had recent experience in warfare, most having fought on one side or another in the War of Spanish Succession, they could not hope to withstand an assault from the British Empire, which possessed the largest navy in the world.

It was for this reason, many assumed, that Benjamin Hornigold had called an emergency and very public meeting in Nassau's town centre, perhaps to rally the pirates in defence of their republic, or perhaps to tell them to flee. Yet, other rumours, less pervasive, but more perverted, crawled through the conversational underbelly of tavern halls and [&@%!], that a ghost ship had been sighted in the Caribbean. At first, these reports had been dismissed as the rambling of drunken sailors, returning to port without spoils, desperately struggling for some excuse that would explain their lack of success. However, as more and more reports appeared, most people on the island knew at least one person who had seen a glimpse of this phantom vessel, though not everyone still believed it.

And so, the pirates had gathered, hoping to hear word from Hornigold, who many admired, respected and looked to as an authoritative voice. Perhaps he would assuage their fears, dispel myth and have them go on their merry way; or perhaps he would reveal the dark truth, tell them to prepare for a fierce engagement, or send them out hunting for spoils.

Hornigold stood atop a large crate in the middle of the square, for all to see. The pirates had thronged around him, at least a few hundred were in close proximity, and more were just within hearing distance, not really paying attention, but his words still penetrating their concentration. He was not a very imposing figure. Yes, he had a few scars and knocks and bruises, for he had done his own share of fighting and raiding, but he still dressed as a gentleman would. In his mind, he was not a pirate, but rather an entrepreneur. Yes, he was drawn to the thrill and rush of a close encounter with cannon fire and muskets, or closer still with swords and cutlasses and the occasional right hook, but he still retained a sense of sophistication. He wore a wig, dyed black, with a soltaire, as was the fashion for the people of status whom he was trying to emulate. When he spoke, he did so with a broad Norfolk accent, betraying his lowly origins.

"Pirates, brethren, I have news to bring you and fears to dispel. I have heard of rumours spreading like wildfire through this town, rumours of a British invasion, and even more hogswash, concoctions so folly that they speak of ghost ships and a ghost captain. But, it seems that my word is not enough. The traders in this town, to whom we peddle our spoils and earn a good deal of our pay from, refuse to leave port, and without traders to send our goods to Kingston or to Bonaire, or to wherever, this settlement we have here will whither and die, and we shall be forced to live as nomads, preying desperately on ships for our very existence, driven to greater and greater risk, and towards disaster. Now, it would be quite easy to take these merchants and force them out of port, but then we could not count on their custom ever again, and this time, we would have brought ruin upon ourselves, and could blame only ourselves. And so, out of simple necessity, I am calling upon the captains among you to ready your vessels and sail out into the sea, to investigate these claims, however folly and of little substance they may be."

This first statement produced a rushed mumbling from the crowd, as many hundreds of people descended into interested conversation with each other, their voices rising up above their heads, collecting like clouds, their volume magnified by intensity and concentration.

"Settle down, settle down. I am yet to finish. As for the first rumour, it is partly true," began Hornigold, his speech interrupted by a large eruption and cacophony of sounds brought by his admission. Hornigold stopped this defiance with a loud clap, and all eyes returned to him. "I said, it is partly true, but halftruths have no place on this island. As we speak, the powers of Britain, France, Spain and the Netherlands are playing off against each other, building ships, recruiting people, making diplomatic machinations in preparation of war. Quite soon, we shall simply be, to them, a nuisance. Why would the British come and deal with us, a town of only a few thousand inhabitants, when a Spanish fleet sits in Havana? Why would the Spanish shell our docks when French soldiers from Port-au-Prince plan an assault on Hispaniola? I say, when this war comes, we will be ignored, and when this war comes, the potential for riches and spoils will come to its peak. Even if the British were to come, I am sure that we could, with no small amount of bravery and strength, and employing sound tactics, could beach them and run through their sailors with our swords! Even if the Spanish were to come, the result would be the same: their sailors would lie dead in the water, and we would have new ships in our arsenal! We shouldn't look at the news of growing British and Spanish strength in the Caribbean as a threat. They will be too busy fighting each other to concern themselves with us. What this news presents is a greater opportunity. When the British and Spanish clash in the sea, they leave their merchant ships undefended, unescorted, the perfect pickings for enterprising businessmen such as yourselves. When the British and Spanish clash in the sea, we shall come forth from this port and raid the Caribbean coastlines, sailing as far south as Cartagena, where few of us have been and where the spoils are better. So, take heed of my words, and await the coming riches. If any among you should be interested in investigating the aforementioned claims of this ghost ship in the area, you may now approach. I will pay dearly if anyone can dispel these rumours, and yet more if anyone brings me evidence that claims of this spectre are substantiated."

And with that, Benjamin Hornigold climbed down from his pedestal and the cacophony resumed. Already, a few enterprising pirate captains made towards him, to discuss this mission and, more pressingly, the exact value of gold they could expect upon their return.

Captain DiMercurio approached Benjamin Hornigold at a brisk pace, weaving his way through the crowd that had gathered.

As Captain DiMercurio weaved, First Mate Lancaster shoved, pushed, and intimidated in order to clear a path for his captain.

Albert Holst, standing in the middle of the crowd, was none too pleased when he was suddenly shoved by some lout. The Pirate turned around to take a sing at whatever wretch had dared to try him, but, before he could, they were gone. Bloody [&@%!]. thought Holst, wishing that he could have found out who did it. Resigned to not knowing the identity of this mystery assailant, however, Holst returned his attention to Hornigold, his ears picking up the mention of payment. Gold was always good - after all, that's what he was in this line of work for. He walked swiftly towards Benjamin, hoping to get in on this venture before it was filled up.

Chef Pierre Dupont followed right behind Captain DiMercurio, sticking with his captain and first mate on their way to see Hornigold. He did like to be in the know about things, after all. Pierre was tall, uncommonly so for his time period. He stood half a foot taller than the captain, maybe slightly more. His apron, chef's had, and knives were back aboard the ship, and the only weapon he had on him was a flintlock pistol in the holster at his belt. Presently, he was using the wake of Lancaster's pushing and DiMercurio's weaving to avoid having to do any himself.

The Devil or rather, Nelson as some knew him had only paid attention to Hornigold because of Bones. The labrador had stolen his bottle of rum and chased him from the tavern to the gathering but the playful hound released it's grip upon being given a small rub by his master. He didn't really pay attention on account of the usual [&@%!] about the British, The Spanish and the French having the balls of attacking Nassu until ghost ships were mentioned.

He wasn't one to dimiss something unless he had a reason to and hunting a ghost ship would be a nice change from killing the Brits, the Spaniards and slaughtering the [&@%!] french cowards. He disliked the French with a passion on account of a mild disagreement with a trader a few years ago involving a lot of gun powder, his ship and the trader's ship. SOmehow, the trader's ship ended up being destroyed.

He forced his way towards Hornigold and did not give a [&@%!] about anyone that complained. He was the damn devill and he did what he wanted. "British are [&@%!]." Blade sqawked as he landed on his master's shoulder. Bones seemed to have barked in agreement or maybe the dog felt like barking.

Hornigold descended from the crate he was standing on as the men approached him. A small flicker of disappointment crossed his face, for but a moment clearly he had expected dozens of pirates to heed his call after the speech he had given. Still, he did not seem put off by whom had answered his call. Far from it, in fact. Standing of a head with DiMercurio, he addressed the men by name.

"Ambrogio DiMercurio, Morgan Lancaster, Albert Holst, Nelson Richardson," he said, grasping each man by the hand. "Four fine reavers, I must say, of three fine vessels." Hornigold gave a start upon seeing Pierre Dupont. "And, apparently, a chef. I cannot deny that I am hungry, but, I tell you, it is a hunger for truth. Are you four to take up my offer, and investigate this tall tale? We cannot talk out here, I fear the skies shall soon open, but in the tavern over there, we will find a hot meal and a fine drink."

Hornigold went to set off towards the tavern, but before he could get more than two steps closer to it, a voice called out: "Hold, Hornigold!" A man approached the group, cutting an imposing figure. Though he was of average height, and average build, and though he wore clothes that would best be described as plain, with a ragged face and calloused hands, and though both his hair and beard were untidy, he had a commanding presence about him. "Ah, Edward." said Hornigold, extending his hand to Teach. "I had not expected you to be in Nassau, the last I heard of it, in fact, you were in the British mainland colonies." Teach grabbed his hand, and shook it firmly. "Aye, that I was, Benjamin, but I returned to the island not two nights ago, and I was here for your speech. I'm no fool, and I won't be taken in by that silver tongue of yours, or your promises of Spanish Gold, but I know a problem when I see one, and this fool rumor of a ghost ship is a problem."

"Very well." responded Hornigold. "I'm sure you have all met my former second, Edward Teach, before. Shall we continue to the tavern? What say you all?"

"You always have to make a big [&@%!] speech about everything don't ya?" Nelson commented with a smile as Hornigold shook his hand. "Afraid of getting a bit wet, Horny?" He jested as he started to walk towards the tavern. "Well, if it ain't the only [&@%!] that makes me seem like the fat [&@%!] on the English throne." He said to Blackbeard. Blade let out another bark. "Blackbeard eats babies!" Blade said as he took off in search of some food. "Have fun, ye daft bird." Nelson told his beloved parrot. "The drink better not be that dog [&@%!] disguised as [&@%!] rum again or i will burn down the tavern and kill the [&@%!] that served me it. Again."

Holst remained silent as the scene unfolded. He had met many of these men before, and he had found them the opposite of pleasant company. None of them knew how to run a tight ship, and far too many of them accepted cheek from their subordinates. Nassau may have been a pirate republic, but, had Holst been educated enough in the ways of history, he would likely have believed it should be modeled on the latter day Roman Republic.

"Master Hornigold. A pleasure. --Monsieur Dupont serves an exquisite array of confections, but we are here hungering for the...opportunity to aid our community of vagabonds. AND the opportunities which may arise from such endeavors." He gave a sly smile as he addressed Benjamin Hornigold.

Ambrogio guffawed and rolled his eyes at the utter lack of grace exemplified by Captain Richardson. "Kindly reserve your barbarism for the British, the Spanish, or these 'ghosts', would you?"

Gesturing towards the tavern, Ambrogio seemed to be indicating that he was willing to proceed--indeed, he began walking towards it. He pulled out a handkerchief as he did so, and coughed violently into it. He wiped his mouth, folded it, and placed it back into his pocket. "Scusi."

Morgan scoffed at Nelson's little tirade and made sure to have a hand on the hilt of his cutlass. An insult to his captain in return would be grounds for him to draw steel and settle things like men. That, or at least to punch him.

"Yes, let us be off." he agreed as he followed Captain Ambrogio.

Pierre murmured a pleased "Merci" when the captain paid that passing compliment to his cooking. He, too, was ready to head for the tavern, though he had a feeling that Hornigold's descriptor of "hot" would likely be the most positive adjective that could be applied to their food. "Yes, we shall sample this establishment's... cuisine, if that indeed is the proper word for it," he said in his northern French accent.

Hornigold led the group briskly toward the tavern, his attention snapping from man to man as the banter ensued. He sighed at the presence of such petty pirates, but contributed nonetheless.
"Richardson, with a ship twice the size as my own, I'd expect more than half a pirate captaining it, much less a half a man." Hornigold chuckled, as he gave a conspiring glance to Teach. "I appreciate your well-mannered behavior, DiMercurio, but you'll forgive me if I have trouble working with a Spaniard. Of course, Monsieur, I would expect any cuisine you find in this wretched place is well below sub-par."

With a sly smile toward the chef, he pushed the front doors of the tavern open, as the rest of the group followed him in. Tobacco smoke was thick in the air, and the scent of rum was pungent from the throats of drunken sailors lining the bar and walls. Heavy-bearded men with dirtied coats and torn fisher's trousers shouted in the deeper corners of the room, gambling over low stacks of Spanish reals, whose gold glimmered in the orange light of a lantern overhead. Shouts and hollers could be heard in all directions, and with so many men crowded nearly shoulder to shoulder, the sound of another man's normal speaking voice could barely be heard.

Hornigold pushed through the crowd of drunkards, to a small table occupied by a group of fishermen. First ignoring Hornigold, a leathery-skinned, white-bearded man did a double take, and immediately ushered the other men to make room for the pirate and his party. There was caution in the fishermen's eyes; Hornigold's devilish grin confirmed their suspicions.
"Please, sit." He said, gesturing to the rest of the pirates.

"Aye, which is why i tossed the [&@%!] overboard when i took it for my own." Nelson retorted with a smile. "Relax, as i'm just [&@%!] about." He told Ambrigo as he walked into the tavern. Bones followed his master in but not before attempting to take a [&@%!] on the spaniard's boots. He sat down at the table Hornigold led them to.