text: [Themes: fantasy, humor]
  
  The agreement made, the two men are sent back to their ships. Soon after, you see their cannons being retracted from trained positions. Fargrave's man is holding up his part of the deal. First, the schooners and brigatines, the ones carrying heavy artillery, navigate to surround the two ships, putting their full broadside facing the two ships as if to say, one wrong step, and ka-boom.
  
  The galleons pull up, placing boardwalks between the vessels for transporting cargo. There's only room for less than half of them, which is more than enough to put Fargrave's men at a serious disadvantage. Outgunned, outmanned, any sort of betrayal would mean their end.
  
  As part of the "muscle," Corporal Redding's team is assigned to travel with Fargrave's men.
  
  "Now that we are comrades," Fargrave's man says, "you can call me by name. Captain Lugo, at your service." Lugo finishes with a deep bow. "That's Jerkins over there," Lugo adds, pointing at the man who accompanied him earlier, though remained from sight. Noticing your attention, Jerkins stops, flashing a gap-toothed grin, and turns to wave, much to the dismay of the others attempting to transport a cannon to Admiral Conway's galleon.
  
  Lugo fills you in on the details. "The pirates are holed up in a cove half a day's journey from here. We'll be able to land at night and sneak up on the bastards. I'm sure your leaders want the glory for themselves, so we'll act as the reserves, supporting as necessary. Once the way is clear, we'll get to work transporting the goods, good?"
  
  "Good," Corporal Redding answers on your behalf.
  
  "Good," Lugo finishes. A little bit aways, Jerkins flashes you another smile. Great.
  
  "There are many smaller islands such as this," Lugo explains as you row silently in the night. Moonlight glints off the water, reflecting the stars sparkling in the night sky above. "Unnamed, mostly uncharted. Perfect place for holing up pirates."
  
  The sea is filled with boats transporting soldiers to the cove. The main fleet is anchored on the opposite side so as to not alert the pirates to your presence. At a moment's notice, they could be called upon to rain cannonfire down on the place. For now, however, Admiral Conway is content to use Captain Briggs' men.
  
  Sure enough, several ships are moored on the island's inlit. The light from the moon barely allows you to see a small beach behind the ships, and behind that, is a series of primitive structures, likely in place before the pirates settled here. Built by who is up for speculation.
  
  "They fly under our colors," Lugo adds on. "Damn scoundrels. They don't deserve to wear Fargrave's sigil."
  
  "Supreme Leader Fargrave," Corporal Redding corrects, rowing next to you. Notably, he doesn't spit.
  
  "Yes, of course," Lugo answers.
  
  The first line of rowboats land. Soldiers exit with deliberate attempts to keep from splashing water. Once two or three men exit, they drag the rest of the boat to the sand so the others have a quieter place to step off. Your rowboat does the same. The beach, now littered with the High King's men, ready to enact justice on lawless thieves, feels foreign on your feet. You realize it's the first time in weeks that you've been on "solid" ground, and it will take some time to adjust--time that you don't have. A few awkward movements from your fellow soldiers alerts you that they are experiencing the same thing.
  
  The primitive structures are built in a series of ramps and huts. A few fires shine from within windows, not many on the open ground itself. As you draw closer, you realize the huts have a central tube that runs through all levels, a community chimney of sorts. Perhaps it's not so primitive after all.
  
  "How do you handle an infestation problem?" Lugo asks.
  
  The answer comes in the form of a bottle and oil-soaked rag. Lugo takes a heavy swig from the bottle's contents, stuffs the rag down the opening, and flicks a match. Lugo chucks the bottle into the nearest hut. An explosion, rivaling that of a fire mage, erupts, filling the dark night with a sudden burst of light, like exiting a cave into the noonday sun.
  
  Immediately, those in your company follow Lugo's direction. Apparently, acting as "reserves" means starting the skirmish with a bomb. Men's shouts fill the once-silent night air as the pirates scramble to muster a defense. The High King's soldiers surround the burning structures, cutting down men who seek to escape the fire within.
  
  "These folks have a firm grip on things," Lugo observes. "Might as well get started on loading the boats."
  
  Redding looks like he wants to protest, but then realizes, or perhaps, thinks about loading cargo deep into the morning. Better to get it done now. The pirates rushing from the burning structures don't even bother donning their false armor showing the sigil of the Supreme Leader. Corporal Redding nods, and those under his command follow the lead of Captain Lugo.
  
  Like any good pirate, the wealth is hidden far away. In this case, it lies in the furthest structure on the highest level. Burying it deep in the sand underneath an X is too much work for a temporary location, which is what you take the cove to be, a short-term hideout until a buyer can be found. Lugging around wealth is asking for it to be stolen. Probably how the pirates came into possession of it in the first place. Along the way, you're met with haphazard resistance; some pirates are more concerned with surviving the fire, while others find a deep sense of honor within themselves and attempt to stop you. Either way, led by honor or survival, you cut them down, casually shooting a few with your flintlock.
  
  After traversing a winding ramp, wrapped to one structure like an overgrown vine, you arrive at the top level. A single platform lies at the top, a canopy above it for shade and protection against the occasional rain, leaving the sides open, a potentially lethal fall from this distance. Broken legs for sure.
  
  "Lugo, you mad dog," a grizzled voice greets you. Its origin is an older man, wrinkles displayed on his face like war medals. Hardened by years of combat. Like the others, he's not wearing armor, save for his weapons belt tied around his waist. "How the hell did you convince the High King's men to aid you. This is an act of open war between states."
  
  Curious. He speaks as if...
  
  "It's been too long, Porter. Wasn't hard, really," Lugo answers. "I simply explained it's better for all parties if you are, let's say, unencumbered by that treasure chest of yours."
  
  There are several behind the man along with trinkets and artifacts infused with precious gems. Strange...Lugo speaks like there is a singular chest he means to take, one that is the cause for the entire raid.
  
  "Fools. Do you know what you have done? There is peace between our nations only because the New World expeditions are treated as if a competition, not open warfare. You have upset the balance finely keeping the generals at home, while explorers lead missions. All that is gone now, thanks to your little agreement with this pirate.
  
  Pirate. Captain Lugo. Suddenly, it all makes sense. The fleet was so concerned with their rivalry with Supreme Leader Fargrave (may you spit), they didn't question the story fed to them. Law. Order. Competition. Conway attributed the ways of the Old World to the New. That's the problem with tradition: it makes the mind stagnant, somehow creating universality where the relative needs precedent.
  
  "Shame. You've learned my dirty little secret," Lugo says to Redding and the company. At once, those under command of Lugo act from their strategically placed positions, pressing you and the High King's men to your knees, blades and flintlocks placed threateningly against the back of your necks.
  
  "Now I will spare you the usual compelling speech as we're pressed for time. I'll just read you the main parts." Lugo searches within his coat pockets, humming, as if he were looking for his last match to light a smoke. "Ah, here we are," he says, finding a crumpled piece of paper. "Wealth. Equality. Freedom."
  
  He couldn't have memorized that? Still, the choice presented is blindingly obvious. Join his crew or die.
  
  > Die
  You begin a response, filled with themes of loyalty to one's country and how civilization can only thrive with clear, distinct leadership only to get cut off--well, shot off?, mid-sentence. The choice presented was blindingly obvious. Join his crew or die. Seems you've chosen the latter. Come on, though. What did you expect to happen?