The Fallen Dread Pirates - Story 1

    It is said that in the latest autumn, when the sun has set long earlier and the moon is brighter than the lamps on the deck. And the fog has swept over the sea around, and a cold chill falls upon the crew. That the red moon shall make itself known with its’ red glow of harvest, but it does not mark the harvest of the crops of the fields back home, nor of gardens of the king. But rather the harvest of that very crew upon that lonesome ship. And so begins the Red Dead, and the coming of the Insane Shadow.



    In the lonesome poor streets of Davenport, there was born a child to a sickly mother. The plague had spread and taken many of the citizens of the lower districts, and the dead were piled amongst the streets. This mother had caught it no more than a week before this fateful day of birth, and died not long after. The child was named Luther, in honor of the late mother’s father, of whom was a mighty and prestigious captain of the sea, who now is resting at the bottom of the waters. But this child that was born was not of a grand grace, although in appearance he was well and healthy, his mind was tormented and he seemed maddened by his mother’s ailment.

    Luther was cared for by his father, Drogue Kvatch, who was no sailor nor a man of the sea. But rather a shipwright, one who helped construct the ship for Captain Luther Mortimer, which brought him to the fate of meeting Delores Mortimer, his daughter. He spent his days working hard, carving lumber and shaping ships for the navy of the king. His pay was low, and the price of bread was on a rise as the plague spread throughout the rural farms and villages outside the city. It more by chance and miracle that Luther and his father survived in the dark ages of Lowen, and had not fallen by plague or starved to death in some dark alley.

When Luther became the age of fifteen, his father took on a sickness. It was not the plague, but it had a deathly effect. His father would not die, but nor would he be removed from his bed. And so Luther spent his days taking on his father’s place as a shipwright, so that he may pay for his own needs, and the needs of his fallen father who he loved.

    He became a master of the art of ship construction, and helped make some of the most marvelous ships in the fleet of Lowen. But even so, beneath his calm and sensible exterior, he hid a dark madness, which tormented him in his dreams. Plague, like bats and rats would storm him in the corners of the darkest alley ways, and he would be trapped as they gnawed and bit at his feet till his own blood poured from the wounds and drowned him as if he were in a sea of blood.

It is said that the dreams drove him from sleep, and he would leave the small dwelling that he rented for him and his father. He would walk the empty and dark streets of Davenport; and feeling his stomach yearn for sustenance, he would climb the walls of wealthier folk, and enter their homes in search of food. There he would find bread upon tables, and in wooden pantries. And he would take what he could hold. But more than that, he would see the golden chalices and silver knives and would take them as well.

    He began to do this often and with more foul intent, for his sleepless nights were filled with yearning and jealousy for the things of greater men. He would steal jewelry and of fine décor, and would make haste when the sounds of people rousing could be heard.

He was caught only a few times, but it was these times that gave him his name. For should the master of the house, or servant find him, he would make certain they did not remember him. He would leap upon them and claw out their eyes like a mad cat, and then would use his rusted knife to cut the tongue from their mouth so that they could not utter a word of what they’d seen. He would run from that home before the screams could be followed, and he would disappear into the night never to be found again.

    The blind and mute men and women whom he made victim, could never describe him in detail, their scratches by pen and paper gave vague details. “His face was that of a madman, his eyes were wide and crazed as if some devil was within them. And his smile… his smile was the worst, for it was a grin like that of evil beyond measure. He was enjoying it, every second of it!”

And so Luther was called the Insane Shadow, for the only sightings of the thief was his silhouette upon the roof tops and in alleys. And he became a spark of fear for any of wealth, for that was his only familiar target. And he went on with his stealing and horrible attacks for years.

    Twenty years went by, and he had collected a grand wealth for himself. His father had died years earlier, but his new madness helped hide his grief from himself. He did not buy a newer loft, but rather massed his wealth until he had enough to purchase one of the very ships he helped build. It was small, yet sturdy vessel and he named it Drogue after his father. He used the rest of his store to hire a crew of less-than-nice sailors, who would follow him in whatever he asked, so long as there was gold in it for them.

    He had heard of the new found terrors known as pirates, attacking the peaceful ships that went from port to port in trade. He decided to revise his nightmares of the night into a scourge of the day, and he declared himself and his crew that of pirate-breed, and swore them all by blood to this oath… and those who refused were tossed in the cold blue below.

    Using his understanding of ships and the making of ships, and of the small size of the Drogue to his advantage, he made prey of larger brigs and schooners. He would slowly sneak up on their vessels in the darkest of nights, and when they were all but sleeping… he would cut their heads from their bodies using cleavers and axes made for the cutting of meat!

    He would take their ships, and any of their surviving crew who would join his cause, and would sail on to the next plunder. Of the ships that could serve no purpose, he would use as battering rams or as scrap to jury-rig his own vessels so that they had an edge in battle against those vessels he himself helped build.

The fleet of the self-made Captain Luther became a darkness upon traders and peaceful goers during the night. For that is when he would attack, when the fog had come out and the only light was that of the moon and of the dim lamps upon the ship’s deck. For his ships were not lit, but they did creep towards their prey out of the darkness and before any alarm could be given, canon fire from all directions and the coming of unknown invaders from the dark depths would come upon those vessels.

    But the most notorious of these sieges was that of a Galleon, owned by the military of Lowen. Now, Captain Luther’s deeds did not go without becoming known unto the king’s steward nor his majesty himself. And so a bounty was placed, and the finest vessel of the navy was sent in search of this mysterious evil fleet. This ship was known as the Virgiais, a fine Galleon designed to destroy many great ships at a time. The captain of this vessel was known as Captain Richard Smith, a man whose prestige in battle outweighed even the admirals above him. He had no mercy, but rather replaced it completely with loyalty to the king and his navy. He despised criminals and the enemies of Lowen, but he hated pirates above all else.

He set sail that very morning of the bounty and made way into the deep parts of the sea, hoping to set a trap for that dreaded pirate captain. And then he waited… and waited.

    It was early spring when Virgiais made to find the pirates, and he had waited till the late autumn before he decided that his method was futile. His food stores were low, and his crew was growing weary of the rations and the smell of the sea. So he make preparations to sail on home to Davenport, so that he may resupply and begin a more designed search.

    The day began to fade away as the crew tirelessly worked to make the ship ready to return home, and a red moon of harvest rose to replace it. The sky was empty of stars as a fog rolled in the west, and the only light was that of the red glare emanating from the moon.

    And the crew slept, although uneasily for a cold wind blew over the readies sails and through the portholes in the sides of the ship. The watchmen of the ship studied the horizon of the fog as best they could, ready to alert the crew of any danger in the night. But as the hours went by, their focus wavered and their eyes became drooped.

    But then out of the darkness, the bowsprits of several dark ships began to cut through the fog, all pointing towards the Virgiais. Some of the watchers made to rouse the crew, but something about the way the ships seemed to enter was… mystical. Some believed they were dreaming, others were it complete awe. And then, the fog lit like lightning and a dozen forward cannons blasted iron into the sides of the Galleon! The crew was roused immedietly, and like they rehearsed many times before, came running to their stations, preparing for battle.

    Hooks flew from the fog and landed on the deck of the ship, and men dressed in rags and worn leather came running and climbing across the ropes, some swinging swords and axes. They wielded weapons of all types and sizes, and they used them likewise, some slashing, some stabbing, some leaping from above onto their victims with axes.

    Blood was spilled across the wooden decks, staining it a deep red. Men screamed, and some yelled in rage. Some of the pirates laughed, and some remained silent as they slew their enemies with a bloodlust in their eyes. Although the crew of the Virgiais were trained sailors of the king, the numbers and madness of their enemies outdid their own skill… and soon enough, victory came to the pirates.

And as the final survivors of the crew were gathered into lines, forced on their knees with hands on their heads. Captain Luther appeared out of the fog, with the rising sun at his back, giving him a blinding entry. He slowly walked across a plank that had been extended from his tallest ship, and cautiously stepped onto the blood-red deck. He gently sauntered over the many dead bodies and fallen debris, beholding the dozens of dead and the blood that still poured upon the dead. He turned to the stairs up to the bridge, and to the door that led into the Captain’s quarters. He stood near it, but far enough away that he could not be seen by the windows on either side.

    “Come forth and show thy men mercy or else they die,” he yelled to the Captain remaining retaliators who had bordered the door and remained within.

Silence was followed by the sounds of moving furniture, and the door opened slowly. Captain Smith marched out onto the bridge and looked out to the mess, he dared not weep nor shudder at the image, but rather turned his attention to the pirate captain who stood to his left.

    “There is no mercy left… I am dead, my men are dead. What is there left to be said or done?” He muttered, just loud enough for Captain Luther to hear.

    “You are quite right, I suppose. I just thought it would be easier to kill you out here.” And with that, the infamous pirate lifted his pistol and shot the man dead through the heart.

    The remaining crew of the galleon cried out, but were silenced by the stare of that dread pirate, and he looked out to them with a smile. And this smile grew larger, and larger till it seemed inhumanly wide, and he bellowed a laughed so hard that it was rumored children playing along the shoreline in Davenport could hear it, the horrid laughing. And then he stopped.

    “Join or die!” He would shout, and the among the remaining crew only silence would follow, and then one and then two, then three... would stand and nod their heads, but the fear in their hearts was an anchor to their voice, and none could utter a word.

    Only one of the crew did not rise, and he was the quarter master of that ship. And he sat upon the ground bravely before the Captain and shouted “Cursed be thee who take the lives of the innocent! Cursed are thee who art evil! I say that such evil shall never let thee rest again, and the dead crew shall haunt thine dreams forever!” And he was met with the laughter of the crew, and his head was cut from his neck, and rolled off the ship deck and into the sea. But Captain Luther stared aghast, for he felt fear for the first time since he had taken to the sea. For it is said that the curse of the stout, and the soon dead, may carry their bidding to the heavens and revenge may be claimed.

    And so in his madness, he called upon his crew and proclaimed that all the bodies of the dead should be bled, and their blood collected in the barrels of rum and wine, and brought to him. And the crew obeyed, and they cut the already dead throats, and the wrists and the ankles, and they squeezed all the blood that remained from the veins and hearts of those dead sailors.

    Once the barrels were full, and the dead were pale and thin; they brought every barrel to the captain and stood back awaiting his order.

He once again grinned deeply, and from his coat pocket he took out a fine golden goblet, adorned with gems, and he dipped it within the blood and filled it to its rim. Gasps emerged from the crew as they predicted his path; but he lifted his finger on his other hand to quiet the crew. He brought that goblet of blood to his mouth and smiling deeply, and drank it all in but one gulp.

    Instead of gasps, there were cheers this time from the crew. And he laughed along with them and threw the goblet into the barrel of blood. Then he looked upon the blood stained decks, and the bodies that remained. “Pour the blood upon the sails! Stain the sides of the ship! Let this cursed vessel of evil be forever stained with the blood of the dead!” And so the crew again obeyed, and they drenched the sails with blood, and they poured it over the sides of the ship into the sea. And every plank of wood was stained with the blood, and shown a sickly red.

    And when the captain saw his deed was done, he shouted once more to his crew, and they say this was the end of his speech before retiring from that ship, “Let this ship no longer worship the gods of the sky! Let it be named...” he stopped and looked upon the faces of his crew, and then turned to the dead captain beside him, “let me called… yes… let it be called, the Red Dead!” And the crew again cheered and clapped and laughed! And it was a sore sight indeed amongst those blood stained sails the bodies of the previous crew.



    But as that night came by, and the Captain retired to his bed… the curse of the Quarter Master became true, truer than he had thought. Ghosts, he saw, in his chamber as he laid in his bed. And they were not quiet, nor were they simply looming there. But they were shouting, yelling, accursing! They had a hatred of the deepest form in their eyes and words. And that cursed captain yelled back “is mine own nightmares not enough for my maddening nights? Must I be tormented by those who have already been slain!” and he swashed his sword at them, but to no end.

    And so it is said that the only escape of the Red Dead at the coming of night, and the thick fog, and the red moon… is the distant yelling of a madman cursing the dead, and fighting the air. And should one make haste to flee before the yelling stops, the Red Dead shall not pass them over but shall pass them by, and their madness shall not prevail them.