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Memoirs of a Pirate Crew


by chocolateisamust

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The night was dark and misty, the blue-black sky moonless and starless. The ocean pitched violently around, waves swelling and frothing and crashing. It seemed to be a dangerous night to venture on boat, yet, still, surrounded by miles of sea, rocked a tall wooden ship, its white linen masts wet and its deck slippery and unsafe.

     Beneath the top deck, down a narrow flight of stairs, in a dimly lit room that was empty save for a makeshift table and a few barrel-chairs, sat a group of pirates, conversing freely amongst themselves. They were used to the aggression of the waves; the jumping water did not bother the crowd, and they ignored it, as they chatted rather than slept.

     Suddenly, groaned a Krawk with a peg for an arm and a patch for an eye, "Me ol' limb is givin' me a naggin'."

     "A naggin'?" replied his colleague, a husky, fearless Lupe.

     "Yes," confirmed the Krawk, nodding his head gravely. "It seems like just yesterday that me ol' arm was good still… that I laughed at all them pirates who got themselves a peg 'stead of a real limb, like I used ta have."

     "What happened to yer arm, anyway, ye ol' coot?" inquired one of the other pirates, taking a swig of ale. He was younger than the rest of the gathered pets, a frisky Cybunny who could barely handle a sword.

     "Ol' coot?" snarled the Krawk.

     "Ye are rather ol', matey," mused another buccaneer.

     The Krawk shook his head, then said, "Aye, I do s'pose so, unfortunately." He paused momentarily before continuing, "I do say 'n ol' story of how I lost me limb wouldn't be minded, eh? The young'n wants ta 'ear it anyways."

     "Go 'head," said the husky Lupe.

     So the Krawk nodded his head and began, "'Twas the battle of year 4, ya know tha one. Ol' Cap'n Jess, poor ol' mate, asked me ta get out the swords from tha ol' storin' room. Well me, I dragged 'long a young feller who was a little too hyper ta fight in tha actual battle, and tha two of us got out swords. Must've been a dozen of 'em, prob'ly more; I don't know, meself, 'cause I nev'r counted. Anyway, we took 'em down to waitin' crew and that li'l hyper feller, Cap'n Jess told 'im ta go out 'n fight since we really needed all tha help. That feller was so excited he tried ta test out 'is sword and forgot that me arm was there… 'n then he went on ta poke out my eye in a lat'r battle… poor lad always forgot whose side 'e was on…"

     A well-worn Kougra pirate retorted, "That ain't so bad, really."

     "Oh yeah?" huffed the Krawk, waving his peg arm in the air. "This ain't so bad, eh?"

     Rolling his eyes, the Kougra waved his two peg arms in the air and said, "Me story, lot more interesting than yers. So… it was year 5, 'n that lousy Cap'n Bucktooth tol' me that 'e bet 'e could play a bett'r game of Kacheekers than me and I said no, 'e couldn't. But that ol' fella was too arrogant so 'e told me that 'e could 'n then after some convincing we found ourselves in cold hard battle as we played that game of Kacheekers. I was so sure of me expertise that I bet me two arms. 'N then I lost…" The Kougra sighed wistfully.

     A black-tooth, peg-legged Techo let out a hoot of laughter. "Lost yer arms in a game o' Kacheekers to tha proud Cap'n Bucktooth? That is priceless, I do think so meself."

     "Oh yeah, then how did ye lose yer ol' leg, hm?" shot back the Kougra.

     The Techo's expression grew solemn, and he said, "In a more 'onerable way than 'avin it wagered in a game o' Kacheekers."

     "What is yer 'onerable way?" challenged a random pirate.

     "Well, 'twas tha fierce battle o' year 3 'n me ol' frien', called 'imself Dreadheart, was fightin' like nobody else. 'E was a fighter, ol' Dreadheart. And then, 'e saw that I was bein' attacked from behind, 'n yelled out to me. I turned 'round, saw the enemy, 'n got IM away from meself. Then I watched for any more enemies 'n there was one, heading to Dreadheart! I ran to save IM, me ol' friend, 'n lost me leg…"

     "What 'appened to Dreadheart?" asked the old Krawk.

     "I don't know, meself. Nev'r saw IM 'round after that terrible battle. Poor chap must've been taken by those enemies. I hope he's okay now, poor ol' Dreadheart," said the Techo.

     "I reckon you're-a lyin'," stated a buff Scorchio.

     "'Ow so?" yelped the Techo.

     "'Cause ye'd know what happened ta Dreadheart if ye had protected IM No 'onerable pirate goes defending a mate one minute, turnin' a shoulder tha next. So, what really happened?" said the Scorchio, a soft smirk on his face.

     Whimpered the Techo, "I was practicin' with some of those dang swords that the Ol' Cap'n has lying 'round and I didn't see me leg there…"

     The Scorchio chortled, as did a handful of other pirates. Then, the Scorchio proclaimed, "I got meself a real 'onerable story of how I lost me own arm." He gestured to the wooden peg that acted as a stiff limb.

     "Tell us!" cried a Flotsam buccaneer.

     "I was just gonna, ye gotta wait, ye ol' chaps!" His eyes twinkling with laughter, the Scorchio began, "I was just walkin' 'round tha islan', 'n then, I saw out of tha corner of me eye a buncha scallywags beatin' up a li'l tourist boy! Being me 'onerable self, I yelled at them 'n told them I was a pirate 'n that I had a sword on me! They didn't listen, those awful scallywags, so I went over 'n told 'em ta stop! They kidnapped me, those scallywags, 'n I lost me arm tryin' to escape. But the li'l tourist boy got out spick and span, and I was awarded this ol' medal 'ere!" The Scorchio pointed towards a dented bronze pendant that was pinned to his old, unwashed shirt.

     "An 'ero!" exclaimed the Flotsam, patting his colleague on the back. The Scorchio grinned in pride.

     Abruptly, chirped a small Poogle with a hook for a paw and a patch for an eye, "I got meself a mighty interestin' story 'bout how I lost me ol' eye 'n hand!"

     "Go on," urged the old Krawk.

     The Poogle did. He said, "So, I was walkin' 'round town, 'n was ganged up on by these terrible sailors! They had themselves a Meepit, terrible critters they are, 'n the Meepit thought me han' was meat or somethin' 'n bit it off, right off! I ran 'way, then, 'n bought meself a hook and one of those manuals of how to wear it, 'n I thought everythin' would be all spiffy. But then, the next day, I was walking by tha beach, 'n out of nowhere, a Maraquan Snarhook squirts ink inta my eye -"

     "You can't lose an eye like that!" interrupted a previously silent Jetsam.

     "That ain't how I lost it!" shouted the Poogle. "See, where ya 'terrupted me, I was talkin' bout that dang Snarhook. So… it squirts the ink inta my eye and it stung like a bunch of Buzzers! I tried to get out that terrible pain, 'n forgot I 'ad a hook for a hand! See, it was only yestr'day that I lost me hand in tha terrible Meepit incident. So… I put tha hook inta my eye 'n the eye was lost too…"

     Around the small Poogle, calls of deafening laughter arose. His partner pirates were soon near tears from the laughter; the whole story was ridiculous, yet feasible. Finally, after about three minutes of the hysterical state of giggling, the Poogle was embarrassed beyond words.

     "Stop!" he cried.

     The pirates did, and they all stared at him, grins on their faces.

     "What?" asked the old Krawk. "Ye 'ave more of yer story?"

     "No," stated the Poogle, "but 'ow is mine more ridiculous than the one 'bout Kacheekers… or practicing with swords?"

     "'Cause it is!" yelled a random folk.

     And then there was laughter once again. It floated through the slightly ajar window, and out into the night, soon disappearing into the moonless, starless sky above.

     But the laughter still continued inside for much time to come.

The End

 
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