No Safe Harbor — Blood in the Water [naz & marci]

[Nazgul]

Life at sea was often romanticized by those city-lubbers that knew nothing of the hardships a crew went through. They believed that life at sea was free, relaxing, and that there was no danger. The trade routes had opened up many new avenues for exploration and tales of heroic explorers subjugating entire countries abroad to 'relieve' them of their riches made the romanticism that much worse. Soon, even noblemen and women packed their bags to move to these new lands, far far away, to start spice plantations and live life as an explorer -- in a jungle or desert, finding ancient forgotten tombs and temples to dead gods.

But the truth was much more sinister. Over half the people who made the journey to the east were beset by pirates, and while many of them survived, their wealth frequently did not. And where the imperial navies would frequently impress men of sea-faring habits into their ranks to crew their ships, and go on pirate hunting missions. But it wasn't quite enough, and the vessels did not quite sail far enough. Near the colonies were large straits that ships were forced to sail through to get to the lucrative final destinations, and this was where the pirates had set up shop: from cave networks used as hideouts to large fortresses conquered and stolen from the natives, pirates dominated the landscape and were nigh impossible to dislodge from the fortified positions they now occupied. To make matters worse, for every pirate band that was dislodged, a new one would take their place within a week.

The crews that occupied these fortresses and sailed these seas were made up of a very wide variety of members, from hardened criminals from back home, to hapless victims that saw survival in changing sides, to natives that saw an opportunity to take revenge. There was very little that unified these people except for one thing: a common code. Not as official as some of the imperial powers wanted to make it seem, perhaps, but it was definitely a very real thing: a code of conduct that prohibited pirate crews from fighting one another, that determined how booty would be split and shared, how votes went, and even a semblance of 'law', those things that were forbidden and allowed on the ocean.

The loud singing of the crew was the only thing, besides the sickening screeches of the seagulls and the rolling of the waves, that was audible aboard the ship. It was a heavy barque, armed to the teeth, but more importantly, stripped of anything that wasn't essential to lose weight and generate more speed. A devil's bargain; finding the right balance between armament to be able to intimidate people into letting you board and rob them, and the speed to be able to catch those vessels — and flee from professional navies. They were armed to the teeth but not quite suicidal enough to challenge actual navies. The figurehead of the ship was a kraken, a mythical octopus-looking creature, who had its' tentacles wrapped around the bow, curling around the handrails at the very front of the ship. Acting as a way for the non-literate people, of which there were many, to identify the ship easily, it gave the name away quite easily: the Kraken. A fearsome ship, but a far cry from the larger ships some of the richer pirate captains were able to produce. It's captain was a handsome man, aptly named 'Handsome Jack', who had recently sailed back to the continent to secure a letter of marque. Now they were on the return voyage, some stolen goods poorer, some money and crew richer. A lot of the pirates that had spent near a lifetime pirating far away had gone off-board, never to return, eager to settle into a normal life in the continents, and a lot of young men had joined the crew hoping to escape legal repercussions to their crimes, to escape poverty, or to simply live a life of adventure on the high seas.

"Have you never tied a gods damned rope before?" a rough voice asked, bristling with experience, while a young deckhand clumsily tried to tie the rope around the fore-and-aft rigs, producing a knot that was entirely unsatisfactory. With a lot of ado, the tall blonde sailor undid the clumsily knotted rope and redid it, this time properly, tying it off with a firm tug. A rapier clunked on his side, banging against the wooden railings that kept the crew from falling overboard. With a firm push, he moved the young deckhand away and towards a group of other deckhands. "Go and help them with the scrubbing, you useless dog," he snapped at the boy, who fell in line quickly.

Gods, he hated it when these young deckhands showed up. Every so often the ship made the long voyage back, to collect letters of marque to give them a free card to legally 'privateer' the booties of belligerent nations to whomsoever produced the letter of marque. Not that this prevented them from boarding other ships, as the matter of what the difference was between a pirate and a privateer was a matter of.. perception.

The large vessel bobbed up and down slowly, causing many of the new crewmates to walk unevenly, some even losing their footing, while veterans like he himself walked easily across the ship, holding their balance without much effort at all. He headed for the stairs leading down into the hold, heading for the area he had claimed as his sleeping spot. The ships were constructed so that there were alcoves in the wall for one to lay in, with a door that prevented you from slipping out and falling at night, when the ship moved left and right. A design they had taken from the so called box-bed, a glorified trunk with a mattress in it. Except these box-beds did not even come with a mattress, just some straw. If you were lucky, you'd have a window for some light. Unfortunately, he was not so lucky. Making matters worse, these spots were often shared, forcing one to lay up close to their crewmates. Suffice to say that there were frequent annoyances and grievances over this. But so far, he had managed to clear out any crewmates that got any ideas about laying up with him.

Alongside his sleeping spot there was also a trunk where he stored his items. He sat down on the 'bunk' with the door opened, and clicked open the trunk. Inside of it were his meagre hauls: a wooden cup, bowl and a set of soft metal cutlery, and some loose tunics and other clothing. Being a pirate meant spending your booty as soon as you got it, lest the navy captures you and takes it back. There were no trials and courts for them. Just summary execution. The captain, however, could get a trial, where the letters of marque came in handy. But he was no captain, and so he spent his money on booze, women and temporary pleasure.

He grabbed his bowl, cup and cutlery and made for the below-deck area where everyone ate their meals, if they could find a spot, and slowly made his way over to the cook. "Hardtack again?" the man asked.

"It's fucking hardtack every day you fuck..." the cook replied, visibly annoyed.

This appeared to be a victory for the blonde man, who smirked, satisfied with the fact that he was able to get the cook pissed off, before he held out his bowl to have several bits of hardtack dropped into his bowl. To top it off, some pieces of salted pork, the most luxurious food they had when they hadn't captured anything better for a while. Next up the cook filled his mug with rum, watered down significantly, but still.. rum.

With a heavy sigh the buccaneer made his way for one of the free spots, sitting down across from a rather new deckhand. He put his bowl on the table with a heavy thud, looking at the deckhand with a slightly annoyed expression, before stepping over the bench and sitting down. Lazily, he grabbed a piece of the hardtack and brought it to his mouth, biting down on it to produce that never satisfying crunch. "Fucking hate hardtack," he bemoaned, a sentiment shared by many of the other crewmates, even the new ones. While chowing down on the rather bland food, he glared at the new man in front of him. "And you? Know how to tie a knot yet? Or are you just as useless as the rest of the fucks we picked up in port?"​