The room was dark, and a musk of liaisons, beer and candle wax settled over the humid air. He knew how much time he had left, and it wasn’t much. Throwing the sheets off of his body, he stood briskly and . His clothes from the night before were sweaty, coated in rum and lipstick. If these were to be his last moments, he was going to show his dignity as a captain.


A wench slept disheveled among his blankets, her exposed beneath her curly red locks. He pulled on and fastened a new pair of trousers, leaning over the bed to plant a single kiss over the women’s lily petal tattoos. All the Captain had left was a shirt, pristine white, contrasted by the bold red of his coat. By the howling from outside he knew the rest of the Piranha Isles had begun to wake, from the brief two hours in which they lay still. This meant his time was really over. Captain Thorpe adjusted the grasp on his pistol. Eyes closed, as he rested his head against the window pane.


His eyes wandered the neighbouring Inns, crossing over to Pubs, traveling the rope bridges and winding canal. Lanterns were already freshly lit, hanging from the starboard of certain buildings. A breeze seeped through the wooden blinds, a salty familiarity enveloping his senses. Then it came. The knocking. Firm and demanding. They knew he was there. He scoffed. Of course they did. Probably had since the night before. Kind of them to let his measly existence have one last hurrah.


“Thorpe...’S me. I know ya’r in there.” A man exclaimed from the other side of the door, his voice hushed. It wasn’t the King’s men coming for him? No...he knew that voice better then anyone. Captain Thorpe rose from his place by the window, loading his pistol before swiftly opening the door. There stood none other then Percy Melrose, with Thorpe’s pistol aimed between his eyes. “Easy Easy Thorpe! I ain’t here on behalf of the King....well actually I am” Thorpe tightening his hold on the trigger, the action alone making Melrose jump. “Woah woah. ‘S not about your sentence. Ya’r actually cleared of all ya’r charges.”


“What?” Thorpe lowered his pistol, and grasped a hold of Melrose’s collar, ramming him against the wall of the hallway, the door closing behind them. “Speak before I put a bullet not through ya’r head, but somewhere else soft.” He veered through his teeth. The pistol was now pointed much lower then Melrose’s liking, causing his voice to lift an octave as he spoke.


“It’s the King himself, Captain...the surgeons say there’s nothin they can do...he doesn’t have much time left. He wants to see ya.”



 

~

A rain had begun to pour over the Piranha Isles, each drop bouncing off the brim of Captain Thorpe’s feathered hat. He and Melrose caught a boat rowing to the mainland. Once it hit dock Thorpe’s feet were already on the wood platform, heading straight through the muddy streets toward the towering mansion of wrecked ships. Everything was build from ship wrecks there, but nothing as chaotically grand as the King’s mansion. He hardly paid mind to the stench of alcohol and gun powered that stung his nose. His eyes merely burned with the vision of the King’s chambers. He and Melrose came to the main gates of the mansion, the guards that stood watch didn’t hesitate long before letting them pass. The candle light lit their way through the still dim halls, as they passed cabins and remodelled holds of old armadas. His boots squeaked over the ever damp wood for a moment, finally facing the King’s Quarters. It took Melrose patting him reassuringly on the back of the neck for him to actually push open the cabin door, and step into the room where many others stood.


He was probably kidding himself to think he was the only one the King called to his death bed. All other Ambassadors of The Brotherhood were gathered at the foot of the Kings bed, as Paladins and Monks prayed and chanted under their breaths. A surgeon who had been leaning over the King stood back, and ushered Thorpe and the others closer.


“M..my most tru-s-sted followers...” The King croaked, his lips quivering with each syllable. “I-I am dying...and-d wi-i-th o-out an heir. ‘S-s written, t-that when I pass, only you c-can take me...me throne.” It was true. The King was a foolish man in his youth, had not taken a wife, and had killed what was left of his living crew, out of fear of mutiny. Which meant the only ones able to succeed him belonged to his appointed Ambassadors of The Brotherhood. But this was a weary case. The Ambassadors and their crews needed to compete in a series of trials, put forth by their gods and bound in a supernatural contract by witch doctors when the first King was crowned.


It wasn’t like they could refuse the will of the divine, and if they did, or if one of them did not succeed, The Brotherhood would be weaker then ever before. Enough that the Wintanberg navy, in the name of Queen Illia, could squish them all like cockroaches underfoot. It was life or death, humiliation or glory. And utterly un-refutable. Thorpe fell against the banister as Captain Song-Li turned her head away from the King, her long and polished nails covering her lips. She wasn’t the only Ambassador feeling the weight of this reality, as it sunk over them. They could be king...or have their people’s livelihoods swept from the earth. Thorpe watched as Captain Arch rubbed the blade of a knife against the stubble of his beard, deep in thought.


His eyes then traced across the room, to see the youngest of all eight of them. A young captain, though arguably with one of the greatest reputations among them. He stood by the window, arms crossed as he looked out. However his eyes weren’t staring in blank, nor were they observing the streets filled with shrill laughter, incoherent music, and the fire of pistols and cannons, as wenches flaunted their goods over balconies for the sailors bellow, rain chiming against the rooftops...no...his eyes were on something much greater.


The horizon. Separating the ocean from the stars. But a storm was brewing.


This caused Captain Thorpe to stand straight. This was what they were being called to do, wasn’t it? Wether the storm. Even the thought alone sobered him up. Much more then having his head dunked into a bucket of water after having drank too much. This was a different kind of feeling. He knew, no matter how his fellow Captains felt or thought, it wouldn’t change a thing.


The fate of all who bore the name Pirate, rested on their shoulders. The freedom of the seas, lay in their hands. However, it bore the question... did they really want to be King?
 

Hello loves! This is the first teaser to give you a tiny bit of background. I sort of picture captain Thorpe as looking like Ewan McGregar, just in case you are curious.