The waves rolled and roiled like a woman’s curves as the wind carried the Deadman’s Trove across the open salt water separating Scara Brae from Corone.

Marigold the Freebooter leaned on the prow guardrail of his sturdy three-masted corvette, enjoying the harsh spray on his bearded face. The sun warmed his sifan-clad back as his sharp eyes roved the horizon, searching for the first sign of land. Bulky cloud formations had begun to form in the distance, signifying the nearness of firm ground.

“Longeyes!” the Freebooter barked the nickname he’d given to his best lookout. “Get ye’ up the mainmast and sit awhile in the nest. Give us a loud shout when ye’ lay eyes on the shoals of Serenti.”

“Aye, cap’n!” The lanky pirate called cheerily, and then bounded up the thickly bound mast like a squirrel taking to a tree. With his massive hands and slender frame, the young man’s build was perfectly suited to the task.

Marigold bit back a sigh as he watched his underling climb. Before he’d wrested control from the Trove’s former captain, sitting in the little bucket atop the mainmast had been his duty. He had an eye for horizons, and part of him missed the meditative aspects of simply sitting and scanning for hours at a time.

He blinked and shook his head, salt-encrusted dreadhawk rasping against the back of his red sifan shirt. Those days were long gone, and he had many captainish duties to fulfill before they reached their destination.

“Peaches!” he barked, straightening up and turning on his heel. The short, barrel-chested pirate who always had a cudgel on his belt stepped forward from the shade of a sailcloth shadow. Peaches had a strong chin bearing a long scar and a deadly expression in his eyes. Marigold had given him his nickname because it could not possibly have been less descriptive.

“Aye cap’n?” the solid mate grunted.

“Do a full sweep of the second deck,” Marigold said, stroking his beaded beard. “Check all the guns and make sure they’re primed and dry. I’d prefer less misfires than we had on the last raid.”

“Aye, cap’n.” Peaches put a palm on his cudgel and strode amidships toward the nearest ladder hatch.

“Chester! Arrrrnold!” Marigold called as he swaggered in the mate’s wake, “with me, lads. ‘Tis time to rouse the crew.”

“Ye’ reckon we’re nearly there cap’n?” Arnold asked.

The call came from above.

“Laaand hoooo!”

~*~

“Congratulations on your victory at the invitational, Lord Cunningham.”

“Why thank you, Frederick. My final opponent put up quite a fight… but I’ve still energy left in me.” The young lordling said as he gazed out at the ocean from the boathouse balcony of his estate. Although he’d been standing there conversing with his wizened advisor for some time, Torvald Cunningham could not stop thinking about his beautiful wife.

He had bedded her only twice in the year of their marriage; on the night of consummation, and on their first anniversary when he’d purchased those strange foreign spice cakes from a peddler-fae he’d met. The combination of two cakes and a cup of wine had sent his beautiful bride into a colorful mood. She’d donned her brightest red bloomers and straddled his lap in a fashion he’d never experienced before or since.

But surely his victory at the invitational would inspire such an attitude. If he had his way, it would be a red panty night.

“What occupies your mind, my lord?” Frederick asked.

“What? Nothing, just… surveying the grounds,” Torvald said, hastily sweeping his eyes across his property. It was a large estate laid along the beachfront and surrounded by high stone walls which extended out into a semi-protected harbor. Two skiffs and a sloop bobbed at anchor there, all gifts of different occasion from relatives. Within the walls on land there was the guardhouse by the main gate, the smokehouse by the side gate, and of course the main keep and attached stables. It took a staff of thirty to keep the grounds and buildings, and Torvald had another thirty fighters on his payroll as guards. They were mostly a mismatch of local mercenaries, but some had experience in the Armed Forces. All in all, he felt quite safe and satisfied with his--

“I say, is that a frigate that just sailed into sight?” Frederick interrupted his employer’s thoughts.

Torvald squinted, following the older man’s finger. “Hard to say at this distance, but it looks more the size of a corvette to me. Probably just the navy doing a coastal sweep.”

A dim flicker of light emanated from the ship, like a glimpse of distant chain lightning.

“I say, what was--”

“Get down!” Frederick bellowed, tackling his lord around the knees and knocking him to the floor.

The boathouse masonry erupted as the first salvo of cannonballs slammed home.

[This is an open free-for-all thread! You can choose to be a member of a the pirate crew, a part of Lord Cunningham's staff, or an independent party who gets involved for their own reasons. Feel free to contact me if you have any questions; if necessary I'll create an OOC thread and link it here.]