<table class="bbc_table"><tbody><tr><td><br/><em>A tale?  <br/><br/>What kind of tale do you want to hear?  Knights and dragons with a prince in distress?  No?  One of the ancients then, maybe the old gods and their children?  No that won't do either.  Ahhhh, here's the tale then.  The high seas, swords and spells and pirates and sex.  Yes, yes, yes, I see this is the tale for you now.  Maybe you've heard of Blackbeard the bloody?  No, you haven't?  <br/><br/>Don't feel bad, this book here, it's a magic book.  It's a book that tells a thousand tales, a thousand upon a thousand tales.  I've been reading it for a hundred fifty seven years and I've never read the same story twice.  I think there was never a man named Blackbeard in this world, but maybe somewhere out there, these men, these women, heroes, villains they exist.  Maybe somewhere ... maybe...  Oh, sorry I lost my place, what was I saying?  <br/><br/>A story, oh yes, right.  Well, sit back and let me begin.  I'll start with a death.  Why?  Because there are never beginnings and endings, only middles.  So to start this tale I pick a middle I like, and it starts with a death, well several deaths actually.  Blackbeard was good at death, good at death in a time when death was as common as an ill wind or a stormy sea.  Sit back and let me tell my tale now, maybe you'll like it, maybe you wont.  But maybe, just maybe, you'll find that you hear the story speak to you on a different level.  Maybe you'll take the story into you, become one with it... well.  There I go again gathering wool.  Why don't I just start now?<br/><br/>This story begins on a ship...</em><br/><br/></td><td>(http://i.imgur.com/T2wpXgY.jpg)</td></tr></tbody></table><br/><br/><div align="center">-=-<br/><br/>(http://i.imgur.com/6v8KCZF.jpg)<br/><br/>-=-<br/></div><br/><br/><br/>Everything was good aboard the Queen Anne's Revenge, mostly.  The crew celebrated a successful raid with massive cheer at their nearly perfect sinking of the Spanish treasure ship.  The burning wreckage of the ship could still be seen off the bow, and beyond that flaming wreckage the Brigantine and Sloop that were also a part of Edward Teach's pirate fleet.<br/><br/>On the main deck, several crewmates were hoisting sails to make for full speed away from the burning wreckage.  Others were securing plundered cargo.  Others were breifing freed english sailors, who were pressed into service aboard the Spanish ship on their new duties as crew onboard the Queen Anne's Revenge.  But most were watching and cheering as the spanish first mate, taken captive during the raid, was being tortured.<br/><br/>CRACK CRACK went the whip of the sometimes cruel Mistress Lilith Wynne across the back of the captive.  Her questions weren't important.  Spanish ship deployment, the location of the nearest naval vessel, when the next shipment of gold would be heading for Espania.  None of those questions really mattered.  What was important was that the newest members of the crew, pressed to service when they'd been 'rescued' from the now sinking ship saw how discipline was carried out on this ship.  Her face was a stern mask of control and precision, but those who knew her well enough saw the gleam in her eye and maybe the slight lick of her lips after a particularly good strike.  It was a look of satisfaction she had every time she landed a blow precisely across the man's back, causing as little physical damage and as much pain as possible with each precision strike.  CRACK.<br/><br/>The sound of the whip strikes couldn't be heard by Arafel Redsky, the half elven diplomat who sat in his tiny cabin, just large enough for his bunk and a folding desk.  His tiny bench seat was built on top of a chest that stored many of his finer clothes.  Cothes that he hadn't had call to use more than once or twice since coming to be aboard this ship.  His hand wrote a steady flowing script as he detailed the events of the battle versus the spanish pirate ship, writing back to his agents of the queen, to be delivered when they next made port in an english town.  The reason he couldn't hear the whip cracks from where he was below decks was due to the fact that his cabin was next to the captain's.  Annoyingly for him, the captain's current lover was not very quiet during her passion.  Though he tried to block out the cries of passion as best he could and focus on his duty.<br/><br/>Those cries of passion were much louder in the captains cabin of course.  Flush with the excitement of battle and a victory over their enemies, the sultry Noémi d'Volee pressed her fingertips down into Edward Teach's chest as her hips bounced up and down, riding his cock and working towards not her first orgasm of this particular encounter.  As brutal as the pirate could be, he was willing to lay back and let the sexy mage ride him for she knew exactly what she was doing, and as he bellowed out and released his salty gift up into her womb, she cried out, a wordless prayer to the goddess of sex who had saved her life and empowered her, only asking for carnal worship in return.  The French born windfinder mage had proven herself a value to the ship outside of the captain's bed, and a skilled lover in it.<br/><br/>But captain Blackbeard and his windfinder were not the only ones locked in a passionite embrace.  Even at that moment, below decks and behind stacks of hard tack in wooden crates, the chef gripped the edge of the wooden crates, her teeth clenched and her breasts pressed against the rough wood as the rakishly handsome Dalen Black stood behind her, holding her hips.  Her cries were muffled and a mixture of pleasure and pain as the rogue repeatedly pumped his cock in and out of her ass.  Her thighs already slick with the leavings from their first round, he'd managed to talk her into a buggering for the second, one she was both enjoying immensley and at the same time regretting just a little as he used her ass quite well but also a bit roughly.  He liked her because she was good at holding her tongue, unlike some of the other women aboard the ship, and seemed to seek him out on a somewhat regular basis.<br/><br/>Such was a typical post victory celebration on board the Queen Anne's Revenge after a successful raid.<br/><br/>But not all aboard the ship were happy.  The first mate stood at the wheel of the ship and surveyed the activity below.  First Mate Marek Skycaller was a thrice hated bastard, and he knew it.  His first and most notable reason for being hated aboard the ship was his ancestry.  An obvious half orc, his piggish nose, pointed ears, and sloped orc like face spoke of an anscetry that was connected to the most hated orcish moors and their murderous ways.  It was a heritage that led all but the most slattern and unattractive of women aboard the ship to spurn any advances he'd ever made.  So he no longer made them, choosing instead to embrace his orcish half and choose rape and murder for outlets of his passion.  His second reason for being hated was of course his position as first mate aboard the ship.  No word was above his save the captain.  Between the quartermaster's brutal tactics and his which combined fear, hatred, and brutality, there was never a hint of rebellion on Teach's flagship.  But the third and most disturbing was his silence.  First Mate Marek spoke as little as possible, choosing actions in place of words.  A rumor abounded, told by the oldest hands who'd flown under him, a story about his brutality.  It seemed one night as the sailors ate dinner, a crewmate said to him that he'd been bet a gold crown that he could get the man to speak more than five words at the dinner that night.  Marek's response had been to simply mutter, 'You just lost that bet.'  Then the half orc picked up a fork and stabbed the man in the eye, driving the utensil deep into his skull.  Then returning to his meal while the man's corpse twitched and bled out next to him.<br/><br/>There were good men and women aboard the ship as well.  Sailors pressed into service, carpenters who could not resist the lure of wealth under the pirate, and even a deacon.  Because despite his actions, Teach was a catholic.  Oh, he broke every rule in the bible of the one god, and he knew he was damnned to hell for it.  But on paper, his ship was a god fearing catholic ship.  So the deacon, who had demons of his own, tended to those on board with religious service on sundays and bound the wounds of men and women after battle as well.<br/><br/>Later in the day, after the captain had received his reports on the haul of the booty, the state of the prisoners, and the number of men and women added to his crew, he spoke with his half orc mate quietly as they stood by the wheel.  “I've enough squirrled away now to collect it and deliver it to the shipwrights.  Though the idea of paying the crooks an additional twenty five thousand gold crowns chafes terribly.”<br/><br/>The half orc looked at the captain and nodded uttering a slight grunt.  But the captain was far too smart to take that for a sign of the man's lack of intelligence.  No, he respected the half orc bastard's brevity.  In one grunt and look he was suggesting much.  Blackbeard narrowed one eye and said, “They won't complete the work without the last payment.  By the time the ship is done, we'll be through winter, past most of spring, and almost into summer again.  Those louts up in Orleans will have gampled, drank, and whored away most of the pay by then anyways, even if we did blockade the harbor using the new ship.<br/><br/>Marek sighed softly and nodded, his eyes scanning the horizon.  Blackbeard followed his gaze and continued, “No, best to pay the price and get the ship finished before summer sets upon us and all of the seas are a sail with the ripest targets.  We can't aford any more delay.”<br/><br/>Marek turned to Blackbeard and in a surprisng burst of speech from the half orc asked, “So this last raid won't see a split back to the crown then.  What of your half elven 'diplomat'?”<br/><br/>Blackbeard rubbed his chin thoughtfully, “Yes, he will be a problem.  Likely he'll be sending off a note to the crown the second we make landfall anywhere civilized.”<br/><br/>“We?” Marek asked, “or He?”<br/><br/>Blackbeard stroked the whiskers on his face that gave him his nickname and said, “I think we need to make a stop before we head to Orleans.  Take us to the island of the oracle.  I wish to be told of my future endevours.”<br/><br/>Marek nodded before making an adjustment to the wheel and starting the ship listing to port as the boat began turning.<br/><br/><br/><div align="center">(http://i.imgur.com/CoRBowI.jpg)</div><br/><br/>“That's it?”  Greasy Sue asked quietly as she looked out over the edge of the rail, taking in the small speck of an island that they sailed towards.<br/><br/>“Shhhh....”  fellow pirate wench Rinia warned, looking over her shoulder to make sure that no one heard their conversation.  “The isle of the oracle might not look like much.  But I've been here once before.  The captain likes to consult with the oracle before something big.  It doesn't look like much, but I've heard that the caves she lives in go down to the center of the world, where her people are from.”<br/><br/>“I've never met a drow,” Greasy Sue whispered back, “Is it true they only eat surface elves?”<br/><div class="floatright">(http://i.imgur.com/m80qZ3q.jpg)</div>Riania rubbed the pointed tips of her ears, showing her half elven blood, before pulling her hair out of the braid it was in and moving it about her shoulders. “No, can't be true.  But I didn't meet her last time, I steered clear, just to be safe.”<br/><br/>“Look, the longboats are almost back... what... what is she wearing, are those skulls?”<br/><br/>Both pirate women peered at the long boats as they rowed back to the Queen Anne's Revenge, the strange black skinned passenger looked up at the ship, and the two women standing at the rail suddenly felt the great need to flee, feeling as if the drow witch was staring directly at them.<br/><br/><br/><br/><hr/><br/><br/><br/>“You lie you filthy sea witch!”  Blackbeard screamed.  His fist rattling down on the table in his quarters as the black skinned drow, clad only in scraps of silk, skulls, bones, and ocher paint shook her head.<br/><br/>“No, I do no lies captain.”  She grinned, her teeth as white as the shock of unurly hair that was done in thick dreadlocks on her head.  Somehow when she addressed the man as Captain, it sounded hollow, sarcastic.  She had no respect for him, and that was something Teach did not tollerate.<br/><br/>“Watch your tone you filthy pagan.  Don't think I won't slit your throat and toss you overboard for the sharks.”<br/><br/>The witch laughed, “You think I fearin death?  I long past death foolish man.  I speak wit th' dead an feel lady Lolth's hand on me.  Ain nuttin you can do to me.  An' getting' mad at me fuh readin the bones  just show why men always lose to women in da real culture.”<br/><br/>Blackbeard's teeth ground together and his fist gripped the handle of his sabre, threatening to draw it forth.  But the witch taunted him further.  “Aye an you pull out your little sword, I tol you, death won' even slow me down.  So draw out that metal an I'll laugh knowin that it's probably the only sword you're packin' worth speakin of.”<br/><br/>She looked downwards at the crotch of his pants and laughed again, making it very clear how little she thought of the man.  With a scream of rage he drew his sabre and swung it, slashing for her neck and aiming to take her head clean from her shoulders.  But the drow witch simply laughed as the blade passed through her as if her body was made of smoke.  “I tell you true an you still don' believe foolish man.  Why you come to me if you don' listen?  Them what gon kill you be on board your ship right now, an you been told of it, yet you still take out your anger on me?  Must be a powerful small sword you packin then I think.”<br/><br/>Blackbeard threw his sabre to the ground.  Metal wouldn't hurt the witch, and she didn't fear death.  But he knew what a drow, a woman like her who had no respect for men, would fear.  He grit his teeth and grinned an evil grin, his fists clenching together.<br/><br/><br/><br/><hr/><br/><br/>The sounds of the screams and shrieks that came from the captains cabin could be heard aboard the entire ship.  Whatever evil was being done in there, everyone was afraid to ask.  More so, the captain had ordered everyone to stay above decks while he'd met with the witch.  But even more terrifying than the screams and shrieks was the awful, terrible silence that came afterwards.<br/><br/>Blackbeard's footsteps echoed through the wood and pitch of the ship as he stomped onto the deck.  Behind him he was dragging the drow by her white dreadlocks.  The makeshift 'loincloth' of silk and bone she'd been wearing was gone, and the blood and semen between her legs gave all about a clear indication of what had happened to her.  The captain bore scratches on his face that still bled, but his death grip on her hair, and the way she barely struggled, hanging limply, spoke to who was the winner of that particular fight.<br/><br/>He drug her out into the center of the deck, and as the bright Carribean sun hit her face, she finally reacted, weakly, limply, trying to show some sign of restraint.  But the captain reached down with his other hand and picked her up with one ham fisted hand about her neck.  He tossed her down to the center of the deck and gestured for his first mate, Marek, to approach.<br/><br/>He whispered in the half orc's ear, and the man nodded once and moved into the assembled crowd.  Then Blackbeard addressed the crowd.  “This bitch,” he said spitting on the drow as she lay curled in the fetal position, “claims to have the gift of second sight.  In the past she has shown me things, but today she spat only lies and poison.”<br/><br/>He remained silent and his gaze slowly took in his crew.  Every man and woman on the ship was riveted, powerless under his gaze.  “But today she said that my defeat was at hand.”  He again went silent and there were one or two murmers from the pirates.  “Do you think that I will be defeated?”<br/><br/>There was silence, and he roared at the crowd, a force so powerful that those nearest him flinched at the ferocity, “I SAID DO YOU THINK I WILL BE DEFEATED!?”<br/><br/>A few of the crew called out “No!”<br/><br/>“No WHAT?”  He yelled.<br/><br/>Then most everyone knew that they'd better answer, “NO CAPTAIN”  the cry returned from the assembled pirates.<br/><br/>“No,” he said crossing his arms across his chest, “Because while this fool, this false prophet makes up lies about me...” he paused again and looked over the crowd, nodding, “...she also gave me names, names of those who would betray me.”<br/><br/>He pointed at the quartermaster of the ship, “Mistress Lilith, tell me, how do I deal with Mutiny on my ship?”<br/><br/>The platinum haired disciplinarian smirked, and her answer came out with a throaty purr, “Harshly, captain.”  There was no doubt that there was a threat in her voice, one reinforced by the fact that she let her whip uncoil as she looked towards the drow laying on the deck.<br/><br/>The captain smiled and turned to the diplomat from the crown and in a voice that was suddenly soft asked Arafel, “Mr. Redsky, tell me, as an agent of the crown.  What do the english do with mutineers?”<br/><br/>Arafel's voice was calm, almost detached.  One could almost hear an inperceptable sigh just before he spoke.  He'd gone a long way to stay out of the captain's jurisdiction and tried not to take any interest in events unless they affected him directly.  “Death of course.  Hanging, keel hauling, beheading, walking the plank... any of those are good really.  Captain's choice.”<br/><br/>Blackbeard laughed, “Yes, yes indeed.  Well said mister Redsky, I think I've almost come to like you.”<br/><br/>He nodded once more, and added, “almost.”<br/><br/>Then suddenly there was a burst of activity as Arafel gasped out and stared down at three inches of steel burst forth from his chest in an explosion of blood and air.  His lungs pierced, Arafel had just enough time to look down and then behind him at the grinning face of the first mate.  Then he fell to the decks.<br/><br/>Pandemonium broke out and the captain waded into the fray as half the crew drew weapons and the other half scattered, wanting nothing more than to be away from this force of nature that descended to the decks like a huricane bearing down on the ship.  Mistress Lilith had time to get her bladed gauntlet up and block the first blow the captain swung at her, completely stunned by this attack, but she was not quick enough to do anything about the two crossbow bolts that pierced her side, or the dagger thrust into the back of her spine.<br/><br/>A quick spin and the sexy siren that had shared his bed so often left the french windfinder, Noémi bleeding out faster than an overturned grog barrel, with not a word given other than a single look of hatred.<br/><br/>Dalen Black knew that something was wrong and while he had no reason to suspect he was in danger, every instinct told him he was.  He almost made it to the railing, had one foot leaping from it to dive into the ocean below.  But a hand caught him, dragged him back.  He fell forwards, his face smashing against the railing and jarring him to the core.  Countless hands flipped him over and pinned him to the ground, he struggled, every instinct, survival, escape, denied by the sheer press of reeking, hot, sweaty pirate flesh.<br/><br/>Blackbeard strode up to stand over him, his sword still dripping from the blood of the noblewoman turned mage.  He spat in Dalen's face and said, “and you... I gave you a place to live, a place to escape your troubles, and all I asked was for good service, but your betrayal... your betrayal would have been the worst of all of them.  You disgust me traitor, enjoy your time in hell.”<br/><br/>He raised his blade and Dalen tried the last thing he could think of, that which had always served him, his words.  “Wait, captain I haven't done anything, I would never...”<br/><br/>The words never finished as the blade fell.<br/><br/><br/><hr/><br/><br/>Black emptyness, a void, nothingness other than a sound, far off.  A sound like waves lapping against the side of a boat and crashing against a rocky shore.  No pain, no feeling, just that sound in the blackness.  A sense of movement, of rising and falling, like the tides themselves.  Then a voice.<br/><br/>A question.<br/><br/>“What would you do if you could?”<br/><br/>More of nothing, the sound of waves, the steady beat of a drum, or maybe of a heart.  It didn't matter in this void.<br/><br/>“Would you seek revenge upon the monster who killed you?”<br/><br/>Light bursting in the void, starbursts of light and color, then black water washing over again.<br/><br/>“Would you seek your revenge and find that which you need the most?”<br/><br/>Pain now, sharp exquisite pain.  White hot fire lancing down across a perfect face, cold ice cutting across a beautiful breast and into the cracked ribs below, lightning bolts of heat in the side and in the back, and a gaping hole, a world of pain that penetrated the chest.<br/><br/>Four voices in that dark now, overlapping, talking over each other but somehow each distinct and understandable.<br/><br/>“Would you seek your revenge and see the monster suffer for his crimes?”<br/>“Would you seek your revenge and find the one you lost so long ago?”<br/>“Would you seek your revenge and bring to justice another man who hurt you?”<br/>“Would you seek your revenge and find your destiny?”<br/><br/>Silence again, the pain fading slowly into the darkness as the black tide washed over everything.  Everything fading away to the void.<br/><br/>“Or maybe you are too weak.  Maybe the void, nothingness is where you wish to be.  So tell me, do you choose the void, or are you strong enough, willing to do what must, to come back, and to take your revenge?”<br/><br/>When presented with a question like that, how else could one answer?<br/><br/><br/><br/><hr/><br/><br/><br/>Pinpricks of light invaded the blackness.  The sound of the waves was still there, still crashing against rocks, but the blackness faded as more and more specks of light filled the vision of the four laying on the beach.  It became clear that it was not the void, but the night sky.  As one each of the four sat up, gasping, taking the first breath in their reborn bodies.  The first breath since they'd been killed.<br/><br/>They sat up, nude and facing each other.  But in the middle of them sat a golden eyed drow witch.  “Welcome back from the dead.  You know why I brought you back.  You know what you have to do.”<br/><br/>She grinned, her white teeth glowing in the moonlight as she looked around at the four she'd brought back.  As one, each of them had the same thought...<br/><br/>Revenge.<br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/>Revenge.