In Honor of Quint(Bities first time around)
Mood:  hungry
Topic: Shark Troubles
And here's the JAWS soliloquy:

“Japanese submarine slammed two torpedoes into our side Chief. We’s comin’ back from the island of Tinian Leyte. Jus’ delivered the bomb. The Hiroshima bomb. Eleven hundred men went into the water. Vessel went down in twelve minutes. Didn’t see the first shark for about a half an hour. Tiger, thirdeen footer. Ya know how you know that when yer in the water Chief? Ya tell by lookin’ from the dorsal to the tail. What we didn’t know was that our bomb mission had been so secret no distress signal ‘ad been sent. They didn’ even list us overdue for a week. Very firs’ light Chief, sharks come cruisin’. So we formed ourselves into tight groups. Ya know, kinda like old squares in a battle, likah you see on a calendar like the battle of Waterloo an’ the idea was shark comes to the nearest man an ‘e starts poundin’ hollerin’ ‘n’ screamin’. Sometimes the shark go away…sometimes he wouldn’t go away. Sometimes that shark ‘e looks right into ya…right into your eyes. Ya know a thing about a shark, ‘e’s got…lifeless eyes. Black eyes, like a doll’s eyes. When he comes atcha, doesn’t seem to be livin’, until he bites ya an’ those black eyes roll over white…an’ then…ah then you hear that terrible high pitched screamin’, the ocean turns red. In spite ah’ all the poundin’ an’ hollerin’ they all come in. Rip ya to pieces. Ya know by the end o’ that firs’ dawn, lost a hundred men. I don’ know how many sharks, maybe a thousand. I don’ know how many men, they averaged six an’ hour. On Thursday mornin’ Chief, I bumped into friend of mine, Herbie Robinson, from Cleveland, baseball player, boatswain’s mate. I thought ‘e was asleep. Reached over to wake ‘im up. Bobbed up an’ down in the water like a kinda top. Upended. Well, ‘e’d been bitten in half below the waist. Noon the fifth day Mr. Hooper, a Lockheed Ventura saw us. He swung in low an’ he saw us, young pilot, lot younger’n Mr. Hooper. Anyway, ‘e saw us an’ ‘e come in low an’ three hours later a big fat PBY comes down an’ start to pick us up. Ya know that was the time I was most frightened, waitin’ fer my turn. I’ll never put on a life jacket again. Soo ‘leven hundred men went into the water, three-hundred sixteen come out, the sharks took the rest. June the twenty-ninth, nineteen forty-five. Anyway, we delivered the bomb.”

International Fellowship of Royal Privateers
Mood:  happy
The : $43.00
Model: 745

Qty Discounts New Price
1-9
$43.00 10+
$38.00
* Discounts may vary based on Options above

(The Guild of Saint Errol)

Our Motto:
"It was sinking when I got there..."

These scurvy Sea Dogs and Bitches can be easily identified by their salty demeanors, slightly swaying mode of perambulation and ceaseless preoccupation with the coveting of "booty". Privateers are one step short of Pirates, as they have managed to petition and receive from the ruling monarchy a license (called a "Letter of Marque") that basically allows them to plunder the goods of others and not get their necks stretched on the gibbet, just so long as those others are identified as "enemies of the Crown". If a particular crew's Captain is not presently with them, they have no direct management aside from vague directives presented by their Council of Captains and the mysterious Admiralty Office. They tend to look rather disreputable, but live by a strict code of ethics and can be trusted to a limited degree. While ashore, they tend to be rather spirited and eager to carouse with the best of you, albeit you may have to learn some sea chanteys and develop a taste for grog to better fit in. Eye patch, parrot and peg-leg are not necessary, though one or all may earn you brownie points for trying. And try not to take offense when one addresses you with "Yo ho!": it's just a friendly expression.

So, Keelhaul Ass and sign the book, laddies and lassies! There's booty to, ahem, REDISTRIBUTE and shore leaves to plan! Don't let your ship of fools sail without you. If you don't presently know a crew you wish to join or have a billet in mind, check the list of Ships and positions available in the Guild Fleet. Who needs a Press Gang when you can do it all y'rself?

Your membership order includes:

* pin
* Letter of Marque
* ID Card
* Quarter/No Quarter cards
* handy Chits of Ransom

[Go To Guild]

The Guilds
Mood:  hungry
Topic: Join the guild fleet?
After talking to a large pyrate commander who fancied himself a fleet admiral of my ship's waters, I had to make a choice about being the captain of the Stygian Sun. He offered power and wealth of a pyrate fleet, but wanted me to pilot a smaller sloop ship. I might not be allowed to be the Capitan even. Maybe it was the rum, but I was thinking about it. TwoGuns was with me during the parlay, so afterwords I asked his thinking on the offer. He gave me his sage-like advise in the form of a fist to the face. Then while I was reaching for me saber, I thought about it. Instead of slicing off his ear, I just turned back to him and said,
"Aye, you make a good point lad. We would lose our Independence and be trading one master for another of another..."
I then gave him a right cross saying,
"Don't hit your Captain I might take it personal like."
As for the other "Guilds", there are many and I saw nothing that said we HAD to be partnered to a fleet. So I be disinclined to aqueous to his request.

Origin of the Curse
Mood:  don't ask
As the sudden shock of saltwater rushed into his empty eyesockets like acid-fire, he knew this was his bloody reward for his cruel life. His nostrals filled too with brackish waters as he vanely fought the crazed men who pulled him deeper into oblivian. The same men he had just moments before prepared to blow down with a 6 pounder at 2 paces. Anger replaced fear and the word "mutiny" wormed into his dying brain. With a gurgaling final scream, he began to drown. His last breath bubbled away and he could no longer feel his attackers. Was he alone now in the deep dark cold embrace of Davy Jones' Locker? Far colder then the artic waters, he trembled. The life faded from his body. He thought of all the men he sent to this same hell. Suddenly, a bright ball of light apeared before him. So bright in fact, he needed no eyes to see it. His gagging breath eased as sea water replaced air. An image was forming in the sphere of light. At first almost a human unborn baby, but soon it grew in size and its nose extented forth. The things legs merged together, arms shrank to flipers and a large fin emerged on the back. This was now clearly a shark, but bigger then any he had ever seen or heard of. A Great White, but the size of a whaleshark. Finally, the beast stopped growing and turned to face the shreaded remains of Captain Codwel. The sharks eyes, grand glassy portals, gleaming with the glow of hellfire as it spoke in a deep booming voice.
"CAPTAIN CODY CODWEL, KEEL HAULED SCOURGE OF THE SEVEN SEAS...AND FATHER."
The words hissed as they left the sharks mouth and boiled the water. The huge monster spoke on.
"CONCIEVED IN THE BLOOD OF YOUR FIRST MURDER, I FED THROUGH OUT YOUR LIFE ON THE EVIL YOU DID. GREED WAS MY STAKE AND HATE A FINE BRANDY-WINE. I AM YOUR CREATION AND I HAVE COME TO GRANT YOU A DARK WISH IN EXCHANGE FOR MY FINAL MEAL. DO WE HAVE AN ACCORD?"
"I have only one wish demon!"
Codwel's words whispered from his torn lips in a guteral growl as he furrowed his brow looking upwards to the ship far far above.
"Revenge....."
The Shark lurched forward saying,
"NO QUARTER WILL BE GRANTED"
It peeled back huge lips and thousands of black teeth filled Codwels dead vision. Suddenly the jaws reached forth and sliced Codwel in twain. A shake of the head, a thrash of massive tail, and the other half was eaten as well. The bloody water seemed to extinguish the fire in the shark's eyes turning them black as it slowly turned to give chase to the now cursed, Stigian Sun.