Event DreadPoet Storytime -- Official Story Thread


Wanted Pirate
Untitled Sonnet presented by Charlotte Ironphoenix at Story Time on 6/12/17

Through the noxious smoke of gruesome battle
The cannon fire does roar and flash,
Sheathed swords in scabbards rattle
As timber breaks with a thunderous crash.

The pirate captain gives a joyous cheer
Her crew of fearsome scoundrels full of glee,
Their prey without hope, hearts clench now in fear
While their once proud ship sinks beneath the sea.

But the real treasure that they plunder
Can be measured not in silver nor gold,
This precious thing one time torn asunder
Cannot be carried inside a ship's hold.

Once thought forever lost, now again found
Ties of new camaraderie abound.
It takes a lot of time to create a sonnet. Thank you.


Wanted Pirate
Sea Grave was presented by Ben Gone at Story Time, 6/26/2017

Sea Grave

From the stout, frothy crests to heaven
to the troughs, they bound and tore
And there from the pit they un-dug themselves;
then up again once more

The spectacle was sorely grand
The noble ship was born,
like a reed discarded and tossed askew, at
the mercy of the seas wild scorn

The seas in such raged, wild commotion
From billow to billow they soared
As the tempest roared in wild-wrought fury
They were beat to 'smitheres' well scored

Waves that were lashed by the raging tempest
were turned to a sparkling white foam,
and hissed and thrashed and whistled on past,
and drove the vengeance home

No voice could warn them of the danger
No hand could be stretched to save
No choice was there, no hope to bear
...and all to a watery grave


Wiki Staff
As read at Story Time, 6/26/2017.

Ramona hated sailors. But in her small port town, it came to be she married one.

A sodden, uneducated oaf who would have amounted to nothing, if it weren't for his merchant father. Gone for weeks and when returned, he smelled of fish guts, grog and tar. Ramona lamented each day.

Then, she met Ezekiel.

A striking man. Tall, strong with steel-grey eyes. He passed her in the market, smelling of salt air. Ezekiel asked her name and she practically sang, Ra-mona. Suddenly, sailors did not seem so repulsive. He walked her along the shore, dined with her, bought her fine powders, oils and a new dress.

On a moonlit night, on a hill overlooking the bay... she broke her vows of marriage... with Ezekiel.

"We should go away from here," he said. "Far from your odious husband. But, I have no ship of my own."

'My pig of a husband commands an East India brig,' Ramona whispered. 'It could be ours for the taking.'

And so, they stole into the night. At the port, she visited the watchmen, giving them a bottle to share. Soon, they were slumbering off their drunken stupor. Ramona waited by the gangplank for her new love and her new life... and soon Ezekiel came. But, not alone.

The men who accompanied him sent a shiver down her spine, brandishing knives, covered in scars and tattoos. They stole aboard, prepared to do ill deeds.

"I'm sorry, luv. But my men need a ship and your husband's will do. I bid thee farewell."

Ezekiel gazed at her with his steel eyes, then turned to go. But, Ramona took his hand.

'Take me with you,' said she.

"This is not a life I would wish upon you."

'Better that fate than the one I live now.'

The pirates dispatched the men on watch and set about untying their prize from the wharf. At the helm, Ramona and Ezekiel waited for the all clear when her husband appeared, cutlass at the ready. The commander sneered, the blade pointing at the pirates throat, moving Ramona aside to protect her.

"You scum! Steal my ship! Ransom my wife!" he snarled, "You won't wait for the noose! I'll see you-u-uaaaagh!!"

Ramona thrust the dagger. All of her hatred pushing it harder and harder into his back; the blade finding its mark.

'The ship is yours now, my Ezekiel.'

"Captain," he corrected. "Captain Ezekiel Rott. You're a murderer and now a part of the Casa De Muertos, Ramona."

"Captain," Ramona smirked, "You used me as I used you. And since my husband is now dead, call me Ramona Vda De Guerra."

The Widow of War.


Wanted Pirate
Sea Wraith was presented by Canon Bluefire at Story Time, 07/10/2017

Sea Wraith

The silent night darkens, deep mists roll in
The heavy moist air bears a palpable skin
All quiet but light clicking and clapping
The lapping on the ship, a light tapping

No birds of kind are there in flight
No fish of kind are there in sight
No wind, no breath, no sign of unrest
All quiet, as Nature relaxes its best

Slowly, in the mists, a lightening unfolds
From a distance a speck grows as it molds
Something in motion sets over the sea
Developing, developing — not yet to be

Growing in brightness, now, finding a form
Not so much churning now, lines to conform
Getting much closer now, growing in size
Developing features, and definitely eyes

No more solid than a growing white mist
No feeling, no action, no volition - all missed
No substantial existence from what you can see
Only a shimmering of the fog and the sea

Then, clarity is born from the whirling white mists
A figure, near human, undoubted exists
The presence comes gliding, slowly with ease
Her garments all flowing as though in a breeze

A hooded great cloak flies light in the sway
Holding some features of the figure at bay
A wispy white gown flows free underneath
The specter, in whole, as white as your teeth

Searching for something - an object to seize?
One would not know if this would all please
A grimness of sorts - a daring treatise?
A determined look prompts startled unease

Beauty well poised, and grace, made ill-wrought
Of great misfortune this creature is fraught
Looking at us in a glare well distraught
Finding no comfort for what, we know not

Long slender hands, bare ankles and feet
Long thin hair swept around but yet neat
A face of fine marble, well chiseled, high-crowned
Cheeks well high-boned, with eyes almond round

No doubt a young lass much loved and bemoaned
Searching all time for something postponed
One lost at sea, she is looking to find
With but her soul and what’s left of her mind

She covered us all with a sweep of her eyes
And then nodded her head with long, painful sighs
With this last movement, it would not be long
One moment here, the next moment gone.

May the gods give some peace,
for all that is wrong.

Dread Poet Roberts

Honorable Pirate
Fire and Fury

By Dread Poet Roberts 7/10/2017

Fire and fury

Wind and rain

Tumultuous seas

Turning back again

When once returned this hovel of home

Bejeweled in memory

Ramshackle in decrepitude

Our history wretches with sodden air

Of this our last goodbye.

Driven forth like the blinding rain

Tempest swirl of accusations

Unjustly unfurled

Am neither saint nor sinner

But muddled in between

Thief of my own provenance

Master of my demise

A whiff of sulfur fills the air

Thunder crack and shot

Out the window tossed

Lands upon my feet

And stooping retrieve

The barrel white with heat



The citizens aroused

In discordant hurried manner

Spied the pistol upon my grasp

Flint and steel connected with the striking of the hammer



Their pointed accusations stung

Vigilantes of the night

Not I

In innocence my case refused

The oxcart rope severed

Drooped low over lantern bracketed walls

A handhold noose

An I thinking better of my options

Beat a hasty retreat

To fortress walls and sheer cliffs they followed

Over the parapet to footholds

Leaping to fall into purgatory

Neither dashed on rocks or strung from crossbar

Death from heavens or death from hell

Stopping sounds of time

The droning of the bell

I perch

Crouched low on sea foam lintel

And in choosing to fall

Collapsed into waiting Neptune embrace

The torches follow me down

Extinguished in sizzle

Dampened by gloom

Hides the waterspout plume

Carries upon fates shoulders

Safely ashore

My life behind be at end

My soul reborn

Fire and fury so forlorn

Of all I leave behind

That one day I may return to clear my name

Vicissitudes at most unkind.


My story is too long to fit here. Here is what I can post. You can read the rest here: The Cabin Boy

The Cabin Boy
For pirates awaiting their fates
on the Kingshead gallows,
the sun rising over the Armory walls is often the last thing they see before the black hood falls over their eyes forever.
How one faces those moments before that last, endless drop reveals the true metal of a pirate.
Lieutenant Montgomery was not surprised to see a boy of no more than 12 years on that morning's gallows list.
Such boys were common on pirate ships, and the Lieutenant had already seen his fill of them doing the Hangman's Dance.
Some cried, some begged, some put on a brave front, but all of them eventually hung like the pirates they were.
But this one was different.
Despite his tears, this one stood straight and seemed to beam with pride.
His face glowed around the angry scar across one cheek,
and he clutched a well-worn knotted cord hanging from his belt.
Lieutenant Montgomery stood before him and asked,
"On the day you answer to the Almighty, boy, who are you to show so little repentance?"
The boy raised his chin and sniffed.
"I stand accused of being Capitaine of the Sanglant Bête, scourge of Anglais and Espagnol alike,
and the Almighty has more to fear of me than I of Him, oui?"
The guards and condemned alike laughed in spite of themselves,
and while the Lieutenant raised his eyebrows in surprise,
the Hangman's face turned red with anger.
"How DARE you!"
His fist lashed out, leaving a bloody twin to the scar on the boy's other cheek,
but the boy hardly flinched.
"And I've proven the better of greater men than you, Monsieur."
The Hangman moved to strike again, but the Lieutenant smiled and waved him away.
"Big words for such a small pirate. How can you claim captaincy of one of the Caribbean's most notorious ships and crews?"
The boy touched his new wound for a moment.
"I began lowly, Monsieur, a mere loblolly boy aboard the Sanglant Bête, the youngest of her crew.
I served my ship as best as I was able,
and endeavored to earn favorable notice of my Capitaine, the Comte Jacque de Deuil."
"I have heard of him," Lieutenant Montgomery murmured with a nod.
"Of course you have... all Anglais have cause to fear him.
Though I performed all the tasks demanded of me without complaint,
fault was always found by Bo's'n Mede.
There was no one I feared more than him.
Him and his rod of braided leather, his Dame Serrer.
'Maggot! I told you to mend those sails! Those stitches will spill more than a drunken serving wench!'
'Maggot! You say you've holy-stoned the deck? You want the Capitaine's daughter to scuff her shoes, you worthless cur?'
'Maggot! I told you to polish this brass work! I want the Capitaine's daughter to be able to see her own reflection before yer done!'
The Capitaine's daughter, Mademoiselle Tristesse. Always she was used to shame me.
Maybe two or three years my senior, she had been raised aboard the Sanglant Bête,
and she knew every board and plank, every mast and spar,
every rope, every gun, every knothole.
She had worked every watch, mastered every station, from the lowest swab to her own father's logs and charts.
Not to mention music, poetry, elocution, and every other quality expected of a proper French lady.
Many a night was I lulled to sleep by the harpsichord music coming from her cabin.
As I labored, I would gaze upon her from afar, standing at the wheel,
the wind blowing through the curls of her long, black hair,
the buckles and buttons of her jacket flashing in the sun,
her skin burnt brown, her clever eyes a brilliant green.
Oh, how I admired her!
Oh, how I tried to earn the slightest tender glance!
But Bo's'n Mede always found ways to shame me.
'Maggot! You call these reef knots? I've seen better twists in Mademoiselle Tristesse's embroidery!'
It was my clumsy knots that really angered him that day,
or perhaps it was my glances at Mademoiselle Tristesse.
Down came his Dame Serrer.
On my back, my shoulders, my neck, my face."
The boy's hand rose to the livid scar across his cheek.
"Again and again and again.
After that, I fled to the stages hanging behind the aft hull.
And there above the churning wake of the ship,
I wept and cursed my fate and my clumsy, stupid fingers.
'Was that supposed to be a reef knot?'
The voice came from above, and looking up, I saw an angel over me.
No, not an angel, but close enough.
It was Tristesse smiling down at me from a window above, her black hair framing her like a halo.
My chosen hiding spot had been directly beneath her cabin.
She invited me in, and she showed me how to tie the knots."
The boy showed the knotted cord hanging from his belt.
"She gave me this, from her own hair ribbon collection,
and I keep it for practicing my knots...
In the days ahead, we became friends.
She helped me become a better sailor,
and her cabin became shelter from Bo's'n Mede's rages.
But after one beating that nearly left me dead, we decided something had to be done.
It was rather simple, really, as Tristesse was very much aware of the hungry looks Mede gave her when he didn't think she was looking.
During one of the hottest days, she asked her father to give her lessons on the quarterdeck.
She was dressed comfortably, in cotton petticoats, a broad hat and parasol, her feet in a tray of water,
while she knew her father would insist on formal wear in the presence of his crew.
As the hours dragged on, his vest and heavy jacket, rapier, wig, and hat took their toll.
I was nearby, vigorously holy-stoning the deck to remove the splinters Tristesse had complained about, making sure Mede was in earshot.
As Capitaine Deuil dictated and recited, his voice became dry, and he swayed in his boots.
Seeing this, Tristesse made sure Bo's'n Mede was suitably distracted.
Raising her petticoats to her thigh, she lifted her leg and inspected her ankle.
The fool's jaw dropped, and he could do naught but stare. As did much of the rest of the crew.
Irritated, Capitaine Deuil looked to me, perhaps the only crewman still diligent at his work,
and requested I fetch him a ladle of water from the barrel by the mainmast.
Mede's eyes snapped to me as he saw me jog to the barrel.
'You filthy maggot!' he screamed. His Dame Serrer crashed down on my wrist, knocking the ladle and water to the deck.
'I didn't give you
permission to leave your post!' His leather rod rose to strike me again.
'Monsieur Mede,' Capitaine Deuil hissed, his voice icy in the Caribbean heat, 'I had requested that water.
And if you had kept your eyes on your work rather than on my daughter, you would have known that.'
On that day, it was Bo's'n Mede's turn to take his stripes.
Things changed for me after that.
Perhaps Capitaine Deuil was in on our prank, or perhaps he just trusted his daughter's judgment,
but he took me on as his personal cabin boy.
(I even got my own cutlass... Perhaps you've seen it lying around on these islands?)
I was permitted to work in his cabins while he conducted his daughter's lessons, where I learned much from them both.
But Bo's'n Mede never forgot his embarrassment, and we would soon reap what we sewed.
The Comte Jacque de Deuil was a privateer of some renown, and he had his share of enemies.
But there were few rivalries with such enmity as that between him and the Espagnol commander, Padre Pudrir.
We had anchored for repairs in a bay on Cutthroat Isle, when his frigate, the Oxidado Espadín, appeared around a spit of land.
How he found us, we'll never know... but I have some ideas.
Capitaine Deuil called 'Aux postes de combat!' and ordered the anchors raised.
As we struggled to find wind, the Oxidado Espadín raked us with her first broadside.
Wood shattered, there were explosions and rapports, and men screamed.
'Bo's'n Mede,' Deuil bellowed, 'Where is the Lieutenant de Vaisseau?'
But Mede didn't answer. He didn't even turn around, and merely looked out at the horizon.
As if nothing were happening.
We limped forward, but we had to pass the Espagnol before we could escape the bay.
'Bo's'n Mede! Prepare to fire!'
But Mede didn't move. He still looked away, his hands clasped behind his back.
The Espagnol fired again, shattering our port side.
The deck became thick with smoke and the smell of death.
'Fire! Fire!' Deuil shouted, trying to be heard by his crew.

You can read the rest here: The Cabin Boy


Wanted Pirate
Shipping Out was presented by Ben Gone at Story Time, 7/25/2017

Shipping Out

There’s a schooner bright and pretty
with a crew list yet to be
And, I’m well set for a wandering along
the highways of the sea

And when I’m ready for leaving behind
these chaotic bights of land,
I’ll have no regrets, or sorrow, or grief,
as the ship slips by the strand

So far away, another land
to which the ship must go
But where and when I do not care;
but to be in Nature’s throw

The wind, the waves, the Ocean ways,
to these I’ll take a stand
For of human works I have no praise,
but these things I understand

Kai Devlin

Sea Legs
I was in the King's Arm once with my friend Maggie and we heard a tale about someone whom we greatly admire as a storyteller and pirate, namely, Dread Poet Roberts. I don't know if the tale is true, but in honor of Dread and in appreciation for his efforts at story time, I recounted it on 7-25-17 at story time in the Grotto.

Dread Meets the Undead

Dread Poet Roberts
Laid upon his bed,
Stories quite fantastic
Racing through his head.

A bony finger touched his cheek
And wiped his tears away,
And then a ghostly voice implored,
"I need a place to stay."

"Good God!" cried poor Roberts,
"Why are you in my bed?
The creatures from my stories
Belong inside my head!"

"I just want some rest," she said,
"So please don't quake or shriek.
I am an undead pirate girl,
But peace is all I seek."

So Dread let her lie there
And share his lonely bed.
He knew she needed to escape
The violence in his head.

And Dread himself stopped hurting
And soundly he did sleep.
Spooning with an undead girl,
The poet was complete.


Wanted Pirate
Abandoned was presented by Canon Bluefire at Story Time, 8/7/2017


On a serene and soothing evening
On a relaxed and restful sea
A shapeless object came drifting forth
with a face well clothed in calamity

At first a curious look
A break in minor monotony
But then there proved a recognizable mast
that rocked in unspoken agony

Seaweed flaunted the sides
Shell-fish were fastened about
Obviously adrift for many a month
Of this —the image was stout

No crew to be found a-working
No crew to be found at rest
The upper deck was well washed clean,
for the sea had done its best

The struggle had long been over
A storm had cast aside
And the men aboard were washed away
and left to the merciless tide

No one can recount their story
No one can relate the end
Their bones lie whitening among caverns deep
in a silence quite heavily penned

What sighs have wafted so sadly
What prayers have been offered up
Their women at home, by the fireside, sit
drinking from hopes last cup

How anxiety turns to dread,
and dread, in turn, to despair
Not one memento shall the sea return for
the sea has no feeling of fair

The ways of the sea, unforgiving
The powers of the sea, immense
The wisdom of the sea, eternal, but
for the redress of Man; no sense


Honorable Pirate
The Blade of the Abyss Part 1 as presented by Charlotte Ironpoenix on 8/8/17

The Blade of the Abyss.

Many of you covet this cursed sword do you not?

(Audience replies)

Then listen to this tale and be warned that you may pay for this blade with your very soul.

There once was a man named David who was but a humble fisherman on Port Royal. His was a life of hard work and little pay, but he was a good man and he had a decent living. It came to be that he was betrothed to a woman named Anne and even though she was only the daughter of a poor seamstress and had little in the way of a dowry, he was very much in love with her.

But there came a day that Port Royal was attacked by a small crew of pirates. It was a bitter battle under stormy skies, but the pirates were well prepared and they raided the town, taking a number of fair young women hostage including sweet Anne.

The Navy attempted to give chase but when the pirate ship reached Isla Tormenta they gave up hope of overtaking them.

David was distraught when he heard the news. Neither Anne's mother nor himself would have the coin to pay a pirate's ransom and it grieved his heart to think of what the pirates would do to her.

Too anxious to keep still he went for a walk to try to clear his troubled mind. The storm that had been brewing broke overhead and drenched David down to his long shirt but he did not care, continuing to wander until his feet carried him deep into the jungle around the town.

"I would do anything to get Anne back," he shouted aloud, the thunder roaring as if in agreement.

"Anything?" Asked a gravelly voice.

David turned around quickly, behind him stood an old man thin and frail leaning on a wooden cane.

"You gave me a fright Grandfather," David addressed the stranger politely, "forgive me, I was so lost in thought that I did not notice you."

The old man stared at him with a strange look in his black eyes, "Tell me David, do you truly mean what you say, that you would give anything, anything at all to get your betrothed back?"

An uneasy feeling twisted David's gut as the hairs on his neck and arms stood on end, "How do you know my name?"

The strangers thin lips twisted into a semblance of a smile.

"I know a great many things, but every moment you dally here is a moment longer that your Anne is beset upon by those pirates." The thunder growled overhead and he continued, "Give me your answer now David, son of William and Mary. Do you vow that you will give anything to get your Anne back from the pirates who stole her away?"

David's heart was clenched in fear of an unknown terror but he answered, "Aye you have my word that I will give anything to get Anne back."

The old man's lips pulled back into a wide toothless grin, "Then take this and you have my word it will give you the power to accomplish that task!" The old man took his cane and with surprising strength thrust it deep into the ground. All around them the thunder roared like a great wave of water crashing down upon the earth and the world went blinding white and silent as lightning struck the cane.

David fell down with a cry, deafened and blinded by the lightning striking so close but otherwise unharmed. His whole body shook and it felt like an eternity until his ears stopped ringing and his vision cleared. All around him was silent, the air filled with an unpleasant stench the like of which David did not know the make of.

The old man was gone, the place where he once stood blackened and small fires dotting the brush and trees, snapping and hissing in the rain. At the center where the cane had been thrust there now was a sword great in size and strange in design. Spaced all along the blade were finger length spikes and David could not discern what it was made from. He felt sick when he briefly thought it looked more like it had been crafted from bones than it did metal.

David reached out and with a trembling hand touched one of the spikes. When the lightest pressure split his skin open he jerked his bleeding finger away. David had never even held a sword, how could this one possibly help him? Standing slowly he pulled it from the ground and at once a strange heat filled him with confidence.

He would make those pirates pay.


Honorable Pirate
The Blade of the Abyss Part 2

The storm around him made the ships tied up at the docks buck and pitch, he knew his own little fishing boat was not seaworthy enough to cross the ocean in this gale. So David stole himself onto a little navy sloop tied up at the docks and surprised both himself and the two poor cadets that had been assigned watch duty in this foul weather.

"Halt! State your business here!" One of them ordered, the young man's hands shaking around his bayonet as he eyed the cruel sword in David's hand.

"I just-- " David made the mistake of lifting his sword and the navy cadet aimed to shoot.

David swung the sword in front of him instinctively and was shocked and horrified when the two cadets were consumed by green fire. Their deaths were almost instant. Almost.

Dropping the sword and running to the side of the ship, David immediately lost his supper. What kind of unholy power possessed that blade? He glanced back at it and looked again when he saw it was still smoldering with fire. Surely that sword belonged to the devil, he thought and his heart clenched in fear. What had he bargained for? WHO had he bargained with?

He knew not how long he stood there frozen but eventually he shook himself free. He had to save Anne, there was no turning back now. He was doomed for certain but there was still the chance to save her.

He cast off from Port Royal and sailed west towards the mountain that marked Isla Tormenta in the sea. The pirates had anchored their ship off its beach and had gone below deck to celebrate with their ill gotten plunder. David watched the ship from afar, spotting the two watchmen on deck huddled down under their coats in the rain but otherwise laughing in good spirits as they passed a bottle of rum between them.

David felt his blood boil like it never had before, his hand clenching around the cursed sword. He had struggled for everything he had in life and here these men just stole what they pleased and seemed not the least bit remorseful. What gave them that right?

He took the sloop's little long boat and quietly slipped up beside the pirates ship. Creeping up to the forecastle where the two pirates stood watch, David snuck up behind them and before they could raise an alarm he cut them both down in a single stroke. The sword smoldered in the dark with a red sheen and where before he had been horrified by his actions, now he felt wonderfully at peace. Euphoric even. He was so close to achieving what he came for...

Assuming Anne was still alive.

With care he slipped below deck, despite the fact that the celebrating pirates would likely be too far gone in their revelry to hear him. David could certainly hear them as he approached, they were singing at the top of their lungs and stomping their feet. Their noise was enough that he didn't hear three pirates coming up from the hold until they stepped up off the stairs in front of him.

"Whats this?" One crowed, astonished, "some rat has crawled up from the bilge!"

Around them the ship groaned against the swell of the storm. David pointed the still flaming blade at them and watched as the three pirates jumped back from the unnatural sword.

"I'll only ask once, where are the kidnaped women?" David demanded.

"In- in the the me- mess," The pirate stuttered, "up in the stern."

"Thank you," David said coldly before he swung the sword through the air, green fire again springing up to consume the three unfortunate souls.

Turning away from the sight, David strode towards the front of the ship. He paused outside the door of the room and peered inside. The pirates were seated around a table toasting themselves and feasting, the women seated against the far wall bound and gagged.


What he did next I cannot speak of. But he proved the power of that sword to do terrible things was greater than any other weapon they could raise against him and at the end of it, not one of those pirates would see the sun rise again.

David went over to the group of women and they shrank down among each other. He grabbed Anne around the waist and hoisted her over his shoulder, holding her with one hand and the flaming sword with the other. The other women cried through their gags and struggled against their bonds, but David paid them no heed as he left.

He carried Anne quickly up to the deck and set her down so he could free her. Her eyes were wide and weepy as she looked at him and her dress was dirty but she seemed to be otherwise unharmed. David took a little knife from his belt and cut the ropes binding her hands and feet. At once she shoved him away from her and crawled away backwards.

"Anne! Its alright! Its me David!" He cried.

She jerked the rag from her mouth and spat at him, "Monster! You you are not David! My David was a kind and gentle man, he would never... He would never..." She trailed off, staring at the still forms of the two watchmen cut down by his sword.

David looked to where her gaze led and frowned, scowling, "Anne those were PIRATES! You can't possibly have any pity for them!" He shouted at her, anger burning beneath his skin.

"You MURDERED them!" Anne shrieked, "they begged you for mercy and you ran them through like they were nothing!"

"I can't believe you are defending them!" He roared, grabbing her by the wrists, "Do you have any idea what it cost me to come free you?!"

"Let me GO!" Anne yelled. She threw herself back, breaking free from him but losing her balance. She hit the gunwale with such force that it carried her over the edge. With a scream she fell, her back bowed at an angle unnatural to man as it hit the water and with that she was forever lost to Davy Jones.

"ANNE! ANNE!" David screamed, clinging to the side of the ship as he looked for any sign of her in the churning gray water below but finding none. He wept as he continued to scream.

Everything he had done had been for nothing now.

Around him the thunder rumbled quietly and David felt a chill crawl up his spine. Looking about for the cause, he saw between the lightning flashes the shadows on the ship twisted and grew, the old man from the woods stepping out of them. The fear from before was gone now, replaced by burning rage.

"YOU!" David bellowed, pointing the sword at him, "You LIED!"

The Devil smiled, "you only bargained to take Anne back from the pirates, not to keep her."

David felt his face go white as the blood rushed from it, realizing his mistake. Then the fury took hold of him again. With a howl David charged him and swung down with his burning sword. The Devil caught it single handed and unscathed without looking away from David's now horrified face.

"How disappointing. Is that how you repay someone for their gift?" He jerked the blade out of David's hand and flung it away in the direction of Isla Tormenta.

David dropped to the deck of the ship as the weight of his actions fell on him and made his legs go weak.

"Please... please ha- have mercy," David wailed.

The Devil threw back his head and laughed with the thunder, "I have no need to kill you boy. Your soul is already mine."


The Blade of the Abyss.

Its power took what little darkness was in David's heart and fed it until it consumed him. So beware all you that seek this sword, for finding it may mean loosing your self.



The Cursed Island

Perhaps in your voyages through the Mar De Plata,
you have sighted a strange island unnamed on your maps,
its shores hidden from sight by a supernatural fog.
Perhaps you have wondered what secrets they held and have been tempted to make a landing.
Before you do, hear well this warning tale...
Captain Deadeye Goldgrin was an adventurous soul,
a lusty pirate with a passion for strong rum, busty wenches, and glittering gold.
He loved gold.
The only thing he loved more than gold was his crew.
The only thing he loved more than his crew was his ship, the Lacy Lady.
His face bore the scars of a reckless past,
with a ruined eye and a mouth full of gold teeth,
the results of a snapped hawser accident in his youth.
The day that he lost his fair Lacy Lady found him sailing as he lived: fast and hard.
He was carving the waters around Devil's Anvil when the signs of storm first showed.
Rather than turn back to Tortuga, he tried to make it to the Padres,
but the tempest came too quickly.
Winds and rain rocked and battered the ship and churned the waters.
Lightning flashed and struck.
Their compass spun at will, and they could make no bearing.
Witchfire burned across the spars and rigging,
making the Lacy Lady glow like a ship of the Cursed.
When the waves rose taller than his masts, and the glow of the Padres grew ever more distant,
Captain Deadeye Goldgrin knew his ship was lost.
The prow of the Lacy Lady submerged in the swell of one wave, and before she could recover, a second struck amidships.
The Lacy Lady dipped and rolled,
her masts broke, the rigging snapped, and sails unfurled wildly.
The last thing Captain Goldgrin heard was the death scream of his beloved vessel.
He regained his senses briefly.
He was still lashed to the wheel, at the mercy of the waves and rain.
The darkest fog surrounded him, but before consciousness faded again, he heard the nearby hiss of waves upon sand.
He woke with the morning, finding himself on a strange and storm-littered beach.
This was a dark and grim place,
with a grey strand running between black waters and heavy jungle.
The sun was cold and dim, ever hidden by fog.
Goldgrin searched the beach for survivors, but
it was plentiful only with wreckage and the bodies of the dead.
Strangely, however, each corpse he found had already been pulled from the water and dragged onto shore.
And every one was missing its head.
He found precious few survivors. There were 10 of what once was 50.
"Worry not, my mates," he said with a reassuring smile.
"The storm may have bested the Lacy Lady, but she still won't fail us!
There's wood and rope and sail aplenty. Enough for us to build a raft and find our way home.
But first order of business should be food and fresh water,
for we'll need our strength in the days ahead!"
So they broke into small groups and ventured inland.
The jungle was the thickest Deadeye had ever seen,
filled with strange insects, creepers, vines, and flowers,
eerily quiet except for the rustle of hidden things.
Until the man's scream shattered the silence.
Captain Goldgrin and his group rushed to help, fearing the worst.
The fallen man's comrades cowered in a clearing and refused to go any closer.
When Captain Goldgrin inched nearer, he saw why.
The air burned with an angry buzzing.
The sailor must have disturbed the nest,
and now the winged maggot-like creatures swarmed over his body,
carving out fist-sized chunks of flesh with their mandibles.
Deadeye called his men back as there was nothing they could do for now.
But they returned later, after the nest had calmed, to retrieve the body.
Their comrade had already been stripped to bloody bone and scraps of skin,
but strangely, they could not find his skull...
As the dim sun set, Captain Goldgrin ordered the setting the camps on the beach,
but one sailor defied him.
"T'was yer foolishness that sank us, and we'll not trust yer word on the safety of this cursed beach.
We'll pass the night inland in yonder clearing."
Some men moved to stop them from leaving, but Deadeye waved them off.
"What does it matter where they sleep?" he said with a sigh and a golden smile.
"So long as they wake rested and ready to work come morning."
Come morning, he woke not to the rising sun
but to violent shaking and cries of, "They're dead, Captain! They're ALL DEAD!"
And dead they were.
They found their remains in the clearing where they camped,
strange aggressive vines wrapped and coiled around their bones, tighter than any sailor's knot.
As they watched, the tip of one tendril pulled itself away from a bone
and felt about, seeking a new scrap of flesh.
And again, there was no sign of their skulls.
They were now 5 souls left of 50.
On their third day, they found a hut pressed against the side of a sheer cliff,
in jungle so thick, it was dark as night.
Built from rude sticks, bound together by those man-eating vines, and decorated with bone,
though bones of what unfortunate animal, they couldn't tell,
the hut seemed unwelcoming and evil.
There was no trail leading to the hut, no sign that anyone lived there,
but the light of a fire glowed through the yawning entrance.
They made their way in cautiously, swords and daggers drawn.
The hut was dark with smoke and stank of death.
Vines slithered in the shadows.
By a small fire, an ancient figure crouched, his long, filthy grey hair hanging to the ground.
"Ye has come, ye has," the old man cackled.
"Come to me so I don't has to look for ye, aye!"
"What is this place?" Captain Goldgrin asked.
"Are you the one taking the heads of my poor fallen crew?"
"Aye, I does," the hermit whispered. "In the boxes they goes, where me vines and beetles make them clean and shiny."
Goldgrin saw several rude boxes on the ground lining the walls,
slithering and scuttling coming from inside.
The old man lifted his crazed eyes and revealed what he was holding:
a fresh skull shining white in the firelight.
"Why are you doing this?" Goldgrin demanded.
The old man grinned toothlessly.
"They tries to leave, they does, but the island is like a jealous lover.
The harder ye tries to get away, the harder she holds on."
The old man laughed, "And then she kills ye."

continued here...


Wanted Pirate
Ghost Town was presented by Coron Ach at Story Time, 8/21/2017

Ghost Town

Waters shadow-waves upon the sand
dull the burning suns bright-hot rays
and ripple out dark streaks across the land
that clarify and intensify our gaze
Wind-banded clouds thus mute the fiery orb
and engage our senses ability to absorb

Once, maybe a road, that now’s a faint trail,
a trail of history, of many a year,
leading, in the distance, to a small rustic town
seen through the heat waves, a just visible smear
Closer by, on this trail, lies a lone broken house
and a grave with a fence, for a child or a spouse

Most broken the grave pickets, with some lying down,
as though to shelter the soul in the ground
The marker now withered beyond visage to read,
with a deep grain of dry-rot that makes it unsound
The ground ’round the grave was seemingly well clean
But no sign of a visit was there to be seen

Well weathered and sagging under the duress of time,
the house nearby a trodden down sight
Like sightless eyes the windows stare blind,
out upon the harsh midday light
An occasional flit across the frames appears
to be a wisp of dust the sunlight quick spears

This two room abode has seen many a long day
with the door left ajar on a rusty, stayed hinge
Inside, a stove, with a pot set to fill,
both of them turning a rust-covered tinge
The smell of warm bread, still a hint in the air
If you closed both your eyes
….. perhaps someone’s still there

A rocking chair rocks – a trick of the wind?
-a slight moving arc across the dust of the floor
A withered old table well cracked and well scored,
but nothing else left from what was before
All is held garnished with ribbons and lace
of cobwebs worked sturdy and fast in their place

Of the other room to be found, off to the side,
an old bed of straw on a cast iron frame
Where people grew old and rested in dream,
and children were born and given a name
Here lies an aura of love, peace, and hope
that made of this hard life, one easy to cope

Over the bed was nailed a cross to the wall
Large in its symbol but as an object, so small
A comfort to those for what might befall
A comfort for those who see the long haul
A testament to the humble who took to the call
Who had but few things, but still had it all

Down the long trail, the town comes to view
A lost bastion of Man hard set on the plain
Where flora and fauna still struggle for life
and the devils of dust still hold sovereign reign
A town now forgotten and no longer tread
A town now deserted and dormant
…and dead

No racket of life, nor the roar or the rumble
No wagons, or horses, or Mans’ tromping feet
Nor the squeal, or the call, or the blast, or the grumble
Or voices of children running fast down the street
But the wind murmurs soft in a faint, muffled tone
A disquieting sound in a voice all alone

On one side a saloon below a second-rate hotel
A leaning two story well nudged by the wind
An invitation suggested by the lack of the doors
that swung to the last, and fell deeply chagrined
Oil lamps now gone with their light shining fair
Inside now smothered in dark, choked despair

The planks on the wall match the planks on the floor
All leaning and twisted in warped happenstance
They let through the wind, and other fine matter,
that occasionally wanders in draft ridden dance
Some signs of wallpaper of a colorful note
Now hanging like shreds in a frayed, knotted coat

An instrument of gaiety, that made light of heart,
was the honky piano that through late hour plays
the tinkling of treasures, from a continuous chart,
with tinny bright sound in a fast rhythmic daze
The keys are well cleaned and ready to play
the tunes of the times, with the beat of the day

A wooden planked bar, and broken down stools,
stand in front of a large gilded mirror
that sees the blur of far better days, but
now reflects gloomy visions far clearer
A squeak from the stairs as though still trying to settle
with the weight and the age, no one should meddle

So, back to the street, along cross the way,
sits a general store with a blacksmith’s beside
The store well sustained although weathered and still,
but the blacksmith’s well sagging, all support long denied
A tombstone door graces the front of the store,
but with no glass in the windows, getting in is no chore

Inventories here seem carefully managed
with everything assigned an appropriate place
Many, the shelves, and nooks and crannies,
but no effective use of the space
Everywhere the sound of scampering feet
of pack rats who are hoarding and trying to compete

A dot on the plain of this preserving, island host,
the town sits abandoned to Nature’s desire
dressed in the garments of Mans’ present past
A way station along life’s unsettled attire?
Then, gone are the dreams, and gone are life’s starts
Gone are the voices, and gone are the hearts

This island could be just a wasteland of memory
lost as the path of vanished days grows long
Shadows that move on dusty wrought feet
raising burnt-out dreams to sorrows song
But basking in silence, perhaps echoes awake
and cast conscious drive to a future held stake

As the sun descends and darkness grows,
and the shades of night grow dark and deep,
it’s best to leave this lonesome place
and give it back to peaceful sleep

As though the sun is weary of this forlorn sight,
the shrouds of darkness lay to rest; one more night


Wiki Staff
Regaled by Eliza Creststeel - 8/22/17

While the sky can often portend bad omens, some see them as opportunity.

In the year of our Lord, 1503... Italian explorer Cristofo Columbo was making his fourth voyage across the great Atlantic to the islands of the Caribbean.

But, his ships hulls were infested with vile little worms that rotted the wood. Racing to keep from sinking in the unforgiving ocean, they just reached Jamaica.

Upon arrival, the natives welcomed the strange men and gave them food, water and shelter. They would trade for trinkets the sailors had.

Weeks became months with no sign of rescue. The locals soon grew tired of the freeloaders on their beach and they stopped feeding the visitors.

But, this Italian was a crafty man, one might even say devious. In his charts and maps, the wily sailor knew something the native chiefs didn't.

He offered to meet them, telling the interpreter that God was displeased with their lack of hospitality and would soon show them his anger.

Three nights later, the moon rose full and bright, but then grew more and more red. Deep raging red.

The locals panicked and quickly gathered food and supplies, begging their vistors to restore the moon.

The nefarious sailor said he would go pray. Soon, the reddish hue faded; the moon once again beaming in the sky.

No matter how you may feel about such a sly ploy, it kept his men fed and sheltered until a ship came to rescue them six months later.

The phenomenon that Christopher Columbus knew about was a lunar eclipse. When Earth's shadow crosses the moon in the sky/ we now call it a Blood Moon.

While our ancestors once hid in our caves in terror, this man used an eclipse to get a Free Lunch.


Honorable Pirate
Heritage as presented on 8/21/17

I hear the ocean calling me
The tide pulling at my blood,
But I have no sail to catch the wind
And it's a hundred leagues between me and the sea.

Still the roar of the waves rings in my ears,
The crash of water on the cliffs like thunder
And I remember the feel of sand on bare feet
From a different life, when no other memories linger.

It is a desire, a hunger, all consuming,
It is a madness caused by homesickness
For a a place I've never been
But a place that lives in my veins.

Someday I will sail over sapphire waters,
Rolling waves teaching me the steps
To the dances my Grandmother knew
As bare feet shuffle out a rhythm in white sand.

And I will look up at La Soufriere
Cloaked in green and crowned with white
The same view my grandmother's mother saw
And my heart will be content because I am home.


Wanted Pirate
Islet Bastions and Night Shadows were presented by Ben Gone at Story Time, 9/4/2017

Islet Bastions

Whistling, proud winds are piping loud
across the crests of these gray bites of land
The soundings are of tense wanderings afar, and
the voice of resent where freedoms not fanned

Off the coast they stand, these bits of land,
as shipside sentinels of a dangerous lee
No interest to man, for eternities span,
than as desolate crags of coastal debris

With moisture at work, and sun-shading murk,
the rocks are glistening from the fog and the mist
And, rivulets run tracks through fissures and cracks
as though weeping where water happenstance kissed

Fatal the plight, in fog, mist, or night
Rock spires so shear —of landfalls, no sites
Shipwrecks lay buried at their feet in the clay
…Un-giving, uncaring, this place of last rites

Shock after shock from the sea’s heavy knock
The heave and the hurl against battlements sound
The lee side back-watered to turbid degree
—whirling and gurgling as the flow comes around

The waves are thrown back by the sea-facing stone,
shattering the combs into foam and ruff spray,
signaling the danger in the loud noisy din,
but already too close —to the seaman’s dismay

light is a vehicle for shadows
darkness brings only itself

--“Wonders of the World,” by Richard Shelton.

Night Shadows

Clouds like dark smoke on a pale dim lit sky
signal the end of the day as they slowly glide by
This side of the earth sees the suns final splay
Darker the colors becoming deep shades of gray

Shadows are growing in mystery conspired
As though falling from light-beams in a space as required
Some shadows like pools and others like falls
Of palpable gloom, like liquid, it sprawls

The sun now extinguished in the dusk of the night, as
stars glitter in fields of crystal delight
Darkness grows in the hollows extremely low light,
till gathered in silence in solemn dark night

Blind getting attention as detail dissolves
Mysteries contained as the imagination solves
Yet left to wonder if shades watch and wait
No wonder dark places the mind loves to hate
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Honorable Pirate
The Ocean's Secret

Listen well me hearties all
This song has not before been sung
And if you listen close to me,
You'll know the ocean's secret when I'm done.

The ocean waves play upon the shore,
Gentle music that soothes the soul.
The glitter of sun on frothy waves
enchants those that watch from sandy knolls.

In the brackish bays the bounty delights,
Fishermen's nets catch fish that scatter
And from the shoals the fruits of the sea
Yield pearls that make men's hearts pitter patter.

And the pirates know her mystery
whereby her treasures she does share
Because they treat her with due respect
Since the sea is a lovely maiden fair.

But the beauty belies the ocean's heart
There's a darkness in the depths.
Monsters dwell where the sun doesn't reach
There's no escape in the water's breadth.

The warmest waves still turn to ice,
The sharpness cuts the skin.
The deeper you go, the darker it gets
And you can't see where it ends.

It's six thousand fathoms deep
To the ocean's crushing black
And if you slip beneath those waves
You'll never make it back.

So keep your heads up me boys,
Don't let the tides drag you down.
Because there's worse than the kraken in the depths,
There's no hope left for those that drown.
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The Duel

Lord Jackin Montmorency was a cad.
Born to English privilege, he had squandered his prospects on cards and drink and questionable liaisons.
He lost his title to scandal and his estate to debt.
Too reckless for the Navy,
too ruthless for the EITC,
too untrustworthy for piracy,
and having betrayed a true love's heart,
he found himself in France with a wealth of stolen Spanish gold.
He set up a lifestyle befitting his pleasures,
drifting from party to party, drinking, and playing cards.
He courted every pretty face with an ear for flattery,
lavishing upon them gifts and jewels and sweet nothings.
Offering promises empty of intent.
Singing songs stolen from better poets.
He loved collecting young, beautiful things.
He would stalk them,
trap them in a killing jar,
and then mount them for
all to see.
As time went on, however, he found that his wealth was beginning to run out.
Even a chest of Spanish gold cannot last when living like a prince.
Jackin realized he needed to find a new source of income.
Oh, nothing so mundane as finding a job.
Oh no...
Lord Montmorency would never stoop to such
He would need to find a lady.
Someone wealthy.
Someone who would support him in the manner in which he was accustomed.
Preferably, someone seasoned and easily flattered by his charms.
It was at a salon party that the answer to his problems arrived.
Through the storm clouds of tobacco smoke and laudanum haze she strode,
with a courtier on each arm and a third in tow.
Wearing a gown of black silk and velvet, red trimmed with lace,
a bejeweled and ribboned stomacher,
tall heels, a slender rapier of gold and ivory, and a rich jacket of lustrous copper.
She was Mademoiselle Angoisse,
a renown and recently retired privateer for the French crown.
Having arrived in Paris with a galleon full of New World plunder,
she was setting out to conquer the strange waters of Versailles and the court of King Louis XV.
She was lovely, majestic, shapely,
with flashing eyes bleached by the tropical sun and hardened by battle,
and long auburn hair unashamedly shocked with grey at the temples.
She was tall, confident, mature...
and oh...
It was lust at first sight, and Lord Montmorency felt a sudden rush of blood
to his wallet.
Shaking himself free of whatever dalliance had been clinging to his arm,
he rushed before this handsome vision and made his introductions with a bow.
And she passed him by without a glance.
Jackin Montmorency loved a challenge.
He pursued the target of his affections with a ruthlessness that any pirate would admire.
And he was surprised by how well she resisted his charms...
At best, she tolerated his attentions with patience.
At worse, she ignored his existence entirely.
He quickly discovered she had many suitors,
young and old,
rich and impoverished,
sincere and... less so.
To improve his chances, Lord Montmorency chose to narrow the field.
Some he discouraged with venomous words disguised as honest advice.
Some he bribed with coin from his own purse.
Some he threatened with violence or shamed with blackmail.
Some he distracted with more easily wooed companions.
But soon it was clear to him that Mademoiselle Angoisse's most favored suitor,
and his chief rival, was the Baron Trautmansdorf.
Being that he was her very own First Mate offered him many advantages over poor Jackin.
He was known to her and trusted, so his character could not be maligned.
He was a seasoned pirate, so he was not easily intimidated.
He was faithful to a fault, so his eye would not stray.
And being that he was nearly as wealthy as his Captain, Jackin's gold had no power over him.
Jackin decided this man must die.
But not in any mundane case back alley of violence.
Mademoiselle Angoisse was far too cunning to be fooled by that.
The Baron must be done away with publicly, properly, and honorably.
There was nothing for Jackin to do but challenge the Baron to a duel for the lady's hand.
Lord Montmorency was certainly capable of expressions of violence,
especially when the subject was alone and helpless.
But testing his metal against a skilled Master Pirate involved considerably more risk than he was willing to take.
Perhaps something to shift the odds in his favor a bit?
Lord Montmorency reached out to his mystical Romani contacts,
and spending the last of his coin, he purchased a new sword.
Quite the special weapon, it offered terrible powers to its owner
and carried an equally terrible curse.
The moment Jackin took the handle in his hand, he felt the corruption seep into his flesh.
Not to worry, he told himself.
Soon enough, he will have wealth aplenty to buy himself a cure.
The day of the duel soon arrived,
and it was a very public affair.
Lords, ladies, officers, and pirates came to witness the outcome.
Baron Trautmansdorf arrived in a carriage with a young crewman serving as his second.
Jackin Montmorency had no friends willing to serve as second,
and so he had to enlist the aid of an idle livery boy.
Pleasantries were made,
ground rules were set,
and after a shallow bow, the men drew their blades.
Baron Trautmansdorf held a long a deadly rapier
and Lord Montmorency had his ancient and heavy broadsword.
And at last they embraced!
The fight was swift and furious,
and Lord Montmorency quickly found himself winded.
Stepping back, he looked upon his opponent.
And saw him laughing.
Baron Trautmansdorf had barely broken a sweat!
Jackin flung himself again at his foe,
and this time, he invoked the power of the blade.
In an instant, he disappeared!
Baron Trautmansdorf jumped and spun.
He hesitated and jerked.
And then a spray of blood covered the field.
And the Baron fell dead.
At last! Mademoiselle Angoisse was his at last!
Lord Montmorency reappeared, jubilant and victorious!
But then he heard the hiss of a blade drawn from its scabbard.
Turning around, he saw the Baron's second, enraged by his foul breach of honor and etiquette.
Jackin chuckled and prepared to defend himself.
But he quickly found himself fighting for his life again.
The boy was easily a match for the Baron's skills,
but swifter, more cunning, and his blows were backed by fury.
Jackin found he had no recourse but to invoke the power of the blade again.
Again, he vanished from sight.
But the boy wasn't as easily fooled as the Baron.
He watched the grass for Jackin's passage, he listened for Jackin's gasping breath.
And whenever he moved, he struck.
Invisible as he was, Jackin was still fighting for his life.
Blood was already scored twice upon him,
once on his arm and once on his chest.
And a couple times he considered using this as an opportunity for a hasty retreat.
But no,
Jackin could be clever as well.
Taking off his jacket, he tossed it onto the grass next to him.
Seeing only its impression on the ground, the boy lunged in its direction, hoping for a finishing strike.
And a finishing strike he received.
He crumbled to the ground, and Jackin reappeared,
wiping the blood from his black blade.
The crowd around him murmured,
unsure of how they felt about these events.
Lord Montmorency did not care.
Soon, he will be wealthy enough to buy and sell their opinions a hundred times over.
But then he looked down at the boy...
and saw that his hat had fallen askew...
and the stray lock of grey hair escaping from beneath it.
With a frown, he flipped the hat away with the tip of his blade,
and a cascade of black hair fell upon the grass.
The Baron's second was Mademoiselle Angoisse...
Her disguise had been nearly perfect.
Lord Jackin Montmorency was a cad.
Born to English privilege, he had squandered his prospects.
He lost his title to scandal and his estate to debt.
Too reckless for the Navy, too ruthless for the EITC, too untrustworthy for piracy,
having betrayed a true love's heart, and now cheated in honorable combat,
he now found himself impoverished, disgraced, and exiled from France.
Hiding out in the deepest hold of a Portuguese galleon bound for the Orient,
he looked upon the corruption growing on his palm
and he wondered what he had done to deserve so much misfortune?


Wanted Pirate
Mystery Potion

Darkness falls, my hands fumble. Lightning flash, the thunder makes a loud...

The Sea it stirs, I’ve lost my poise. On the deck run the cabin...

The Ship it leans, there’s a heavy dew. Captain Cook spills his...

Land! He yells. Oh could it really be?! For years and years it feels we’ve been on the...

At last we dock, and all in one swift motion, we run to the gypsy to by us a...


Honorable Pirate
The Unlucky Crew

Eight sailors put to sea one day,
To catch a haul of fish,
But the winds did blow
And the sea did roll
And a storm swept off their ship.

When at last the wicked gale was done,
Two could not be seen,
So eight became six,
The others sorely missed,
Without them no heading to be found.

A week went by and the water ran dry,
Provisions gone days before,
Tensions came to a head
And the crew saw red,
So six was down to four.

Three more days passed them by,
when one asked another
“How bad could it be?”
Waste not, want not,
There was no rule but survival on the sea.

With much disdain, did the others complain,
but three were bully enough to try,
The fourth wanted no part
and with a pistol's retort
He bid the three good bye.

The fresher was better, so the crew tucked in,
there was no fire
to prepare their meal
but with grizzly zeal
They drank red wine and feasted on beef.

Still no rescue came, the horizon ever empty,
Lots were drawn
When a week did fly,
To see who next would die
And though the loser did protest, three became two.

But by then the madness started to set in,
Who was next,
Neither one knew,
Their paranoia grew
And no rest was taken by either one.

Voices whispered in their heads, lies, lies, lies,
Basic instincts
Overcame reason,
And the deed was done.
Their ship was discovered the next day with survivors numbered none.