doesnotkneel (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
doesnotkneel) wrote2018-04-15 08:38 am
doesnotkneel) wrote2018-04-15 08:38 am
Entry tags:
Cape Buena Vista, Cuba, June 1715
[continues from here]
"Follow me, and I'll kill you!" the man yelled as he stumbled through the jungle at the greatest speed he was capable of.
It was a hollow threat. As far as Edward could tell, the man was so injured that his killing days were undoubtedly over - even if Ed didn't shove him off the ledge in the end.
The chase did not last long. When Edward stepped out into a clearing near the far end of the island, he found the man standing there, clutching his stomach wound. At the sound of Edward's approach, the man spun around, or tried to; it was the slow turn of an old man crippled with belly-ache.
A small, gleaming blade slid out of the man's sleeve, the desire to fight twisting his features. Useful, Edward thought: such a slide, such a gleam, would surely inspire dread in one's foes. If one were not a lethally injured man lost on a deserted island, at any rate.
It would have been better on him not to draw the blade. Now, or earlier, when they'd faced one another on the ship. If you try to kill someone, you'd better finish the job, right?
Bare minutes later, Edward laid his body to rest on the cold ground-- and immediately began to rifle through his pockets. Sure, he wasn't proud of it, but on the other hand, Edward was a pirate, and a pirate did as he did.
Inside the man's pocket was a satchel. Treasure, perhaps? Edward removed it.
... No. Not treasure. There was an odd cube made of crystal, with an opening on one side, an ornament, perhaps? Some maps, as well as a letter with a broken seal. Hm.
He held up the letter.
"Reward you handsomely..." Edward muttered, something of a plan taking shape in the back of his mind.
Right. Time to strip the poor bastard of his expensive-looking clothes - Edward rather fancied them, himself - and bury him here. Then, to find a way off this island...
---
As luck would have it, Edward and the recently deceased Mr. Walpole were not the only men stranded on the island, by far. A group of English soldiers patrolled a portion of the nearby coast - which held a single schooner that did not look military.
And lo and behold: the ground was littered with tied-up merchants and their help. This was an ordinary robbery, much as they dressed it up as 'commandeering a vessel', and Ed felt no great guilt about interfering.
(The English were as bad as the pirates, Edward sometimes thought.)
Indeed, a perfect moment arose but moments later. While the lead merchant blubbered in hopes of saving his vessel, several of his people got up and began to run. The English raised their muskets to bring them down. Meanwhile, one of the soldiers had placed the muzzle of his rifle at the merchant’s head.
“Give me one reason I shouldn’t vent your skull,” he snarled.
Edward drew his cutlass and emerged from the tree line with the sun behind him. The soldier gaped. What he must have looked like as he stepped out of the glare of the sunshine with his robes flowing and cutlass swinging he didn’t know, but it was enough to give the rifleman pause a second. A second that cost him his life.
The other soldiers soon followed. They relied too much on their rifles, and with their muskets emptied, they were no match for a man who knew how to use his blade.
Edward slid his cutlass back into its scabbard and approached the merchant. "Who's this, then?"
“By God’s grace, sir, you saved me. A profusion of thanks!” the merchant exclaimed, rising to his feet.
"Is that yours?" Edward asked, looking towards the schooner.
"It is my vessel, yes," the merchant said, "But, ah... there lies its poor Captain, and I've no art for sailing."
"I can pilot her myself," Edward said, repressing a grin. "No mind."
The merchant's eyes went big. "You don't mean to abscond with my ship, do you?"
No. That would be more difficult than necessary. Edward spent a single second considering his approach, and-- "I'm Duncan," he offered, "What's your name, friend?"
Relief visibly fell over the merchant as he took Edward's hand and shook it heartily. "Stede," he said. "Stede Bonnet."
"Well, Mr. Bonnet, let this stay 'twixt us, but I am on a secret errand for His Majesty the king, God save him, and I must get to Havana with speed."
And so, Edward spun his yarn, and stuck with it.
[[ taken and adapted from both Assassin's Creed: Black Flag and its novelization. ]]
"Follow me, and I'll kill you!" the man yelled as he stumbled through the jungle at the greatest speed he was capable of.
It was a hollow threat. As far as Edward could tell, the man was so injured that his killing days were undoubtedly over - even if Ed didn't shove him off the ledge in the end.
The chase did not last long. When Edward stepped out into a clearing near the far end of the island, he found the man standing there, clutching his stomach wound. At the sound of Edward's approach, the man spun around, or tried to; it was the slow turn of an old man crippled with belly-ache.
A small, gleaming blade slid out of the man's sleeve, the desire to fight twisting his features. Useful, Edward thought: such a slide, such a gleam, would surely inspire dread in one's foes. If one were not a lethally injured man lost on a deserted island, at any rate.
It would have been better on him not to draw the blade. Now, or earlier, when they'd faced one another on the ship. If you try to kill someone, you'd better finish the job, right?
Bare minutes later, Edward laid his body to rest on the cold ground-- and immediately began to rifle through his pockets. Sure, he wasn't proud of it, but on the other hand, Edward was a pirate, and a pirate did as he did.
Inside the man's pocket was a satchel. Treasure, perhaps? Edward removed it.
... No. Not treasure. There was an odd cube made of crystal, with an opening on one side, an ornament, perhaps? Some maps, as well as a letter with a broken seal. Hm.
He held up the letter.
Señor Duncan Walpole,
I accept your most generous Offer and await your Arrival with Eagerness.
If you truly possess the Information we desire, we have the Means to reward you handsomely.
Though I do not know your face by Sight, I believe I can recognize the Costume made infamous by your secret Order.
Therefore, come to Havana in Haste and trust that you shall be welcomed as a Brother. It will be a great Honour to meet you at last, Señor; to put a Face to your Name and shake your Hand as I call you Friend. Your support for our secret and most noble Cause is warming.
Your most humble Servant,
Governor Laureano Torres y Ayala
"Reward you handsomely..." Edward muttered, something of a plan taking shape in the back of his mind.
Right. Time to strip the poor bastard of his expensive-looking clothes - Edward rather fancied them, himself - and bury him here. Then, to find a way off this island...
---
As luck would have it, Edward and the recently deceased Mr. Walpole were not the only men stranded on the island, by far. A group of English soldiers patrolled a portion of the nearby coast - which held a single schooner that did not look military.
And lo and behold: the ground was littered with tied-up merchants and their help. This was an ordinary robbery, much as they dressed it up as 'commandeering a vessel', and Ed felt no great guilt about interfering.
(The English were as bad as the pirates, Edward sometimes thought.)
Indeed, a perfect moment arose but moments later. While the lead merchant blubbered in hopes of saving his vessel, several of his people got up and began to run. The English raised their muskets to bring them down. Meanwhile, one of the soldiers had placed the muzzle of his rifle at the merchant’s head.
“Give me one reason I shouldn’t vent your skull,” he snarled.
Edward drew his cutlass and emerged from the tree line with the sun behind him. The soldier gaped. What he must have looked like as he stepped out of the glare of the sunshine with his robes flowing and cutlass swinging he didn’t know, but it was enough to give the rifleman pause a second. A second that cost him his life.
The other soldiers soon followed. They relied too much on their rifles, and with their muskets emptied, they were no match for a man who knew how to use his blade.
Edward slid his cutlass back into its scabbard and approached the merchant. "Who's this, then?"
“By God’s grace, sir, you saved me. A profusion of thanks!” the merchant exclaimed, rising to his feet.
"Is that yours?" Edward asked, looking towards the schooner.
"It is my vessel, yes," the merchant said, "But, ah... there lies its poor Captain, and I've no art for sailing."
"I can pilot her myself," Edward said, repressing a grin. "No mind."
The merchant's eyes went big. "You don't mean to abscond with my ship, do you?"
No. That would be more difficult than necessary. Edward spent a single second considering his approach, and-- "I'm Duncan," he offered, "What's your name, friend?"
Relief visibly fell over the merchant as he took Edward's hand and shook it heartily. "Stede," he said. "Stede Bonnet."
"Well, Mr. Bonnet, let this stay 'twixt us, but I am on a secret errand for His Majesty the king, God save him, and I must get to Havana with speed."
And so, Edward spun his yarn, and stuck with it.
[[ taken and adapted from both Assassin's Creed: Black Flag and its novelization. ]]