Tales of the Black Flag – the Venetian Arsenal
The Filthy Hag was not quite of this world. To the rest of the world, it was a crumbling abandoned port warehouse in one of the less affluent Caribbean islands. Rotten and empty, with a faded “Fil…ag....” sign hanging off it. Nobody ventured there. It was said to be haunted.
In fact, it was a thriving bar that had somehow slipped away from the world in the seventeenth or eighteenth century, nobody quite new. It stood at the crossroads of worlds. The light was always dusk, the stars and moon large, ember and gibbous. A faint smell of smoke and mist wafted outside.
The Filthy Hag served ghosts, ghouls, faerie, and even some mortal men and women, sorcerers and witches. Old “Crusty” had been slumped in his corner so long it was said that he had planted roots in his chair. It was said, because it was true. It was now hard to tell who was more wooden; his chair or his bones.
The Black Flag, which traversed many eldritch seas, was no stranger to the Filthy Hag, or its owner, Verity Crow. The short, stumpy woman was said to be a formidable witch and had her tongue cut out centuries ago to stop her spellcraft. It had little effect, for the blackboard behind the bar wrote out whatever she wanted to say, and her eyes were full of sorcery. Captain Flintlock had a tab at the Filthy Hag, but even the formidable swashbuckling sorcerer herself would not dare cross Verity Crow.
The world had been besieged by Atlantis and the seas had blazed with battle. Earthly cannons and arcane horror had fired across the waves. The Black Flag had tried to broker peace but even Flintlocks famed silver tongue could not soothe the winds of war. Perhaps Atlantis was still sore after that little problem with the silver lagoon and the octuplet octopi from the 19th Century.
But the battle had worn out, and the lands of men still stood. The Black Flag had played its part, fighting in the Mediterranean. The fiercest and strangest had been Venice, with the strange privateer floating through the waterways, with Atlantean warriors and warlocks crawling starboard and port.
What stories had the Skeleton Crew?
Handsome Jack
It was ein battle like none I’d ever seen, living or dead. Sturmwutt! they were fierce, those men from Atlantis Ja!, and the madchen even fiercer!. Good with blade and musket, fearless und bold. Not the best place to fight, either, the roads of Venice. Got the Black Flag trapped and bottled. But we had to go in, Ja, nothing else we could do….
Ich habe crossed swords plenty of times. Never say Jack was without the spine, Nein. I was a soldier before I was a pirate, and if it wasn’t for my officer blaming his mistakes on me, I probably would still be. Had to fall in with you lot of rogues, curse mien luck. Curse it zwei for ending up dead!...but dead or alive, we gave those fish-men merry hell! Ja, I hold mien head high, walking into any fight with you devils!
One Eyed Pete
They were strong. Stronger than us, with sharp blades and sharp teeth. But not so cunning, not so quick….”
I had two of them, pressing me hard. I thought my sword would snap in two, so powerfully they smote. Thought I would lose my one good eye….
But they got cocky, sure of themselves. They had me pinned in one of those tall buildings, condemned for going rotten and unsafe. And I was leading them up the stairs, one step at a time. Not so easy to fight two against one going up stairs. Not so easy at all. But I let them have the better of me. And I could feel the stairs creak with every step I took…
Now, you know I’m no coward, but you also know I ain’t in the habit of fighting fair, neither. Not when you can win by fighting dirty, anyhow. So, top of the stairs, I get a little spring in my step. Hop, hop! Up I go, leave them floundering a bit. Then, I take a swipe. Not at them, no. Instead, I shove my cutlass right across the rotting stairs with every bit of strength I had in me. Truth was, even dead, I was scared white. I hadn’t in me to fight them both. Maybe not even one of the blighters. But, as I said, other ways to fight. They were meant for the sea, not the land. So with a spinterin’ of wood, and a cracking of beam, down they go, tumblin’ four stories. I didn’t go check the bodies, but I could hear a big wet thud that didn’t sound so healthy…
Ginger Rose
Mister Beaky was flapping about on deck, so he was. I was trying to calm the bird, but twasn’t no use. A fish man had clambered about whilst the rest of you were off fightin and galavantin and getting drunk ‘n up to no good, I bet!
He was taller than the others, four arms, and a sword in each hand. Seven, no eight feet tall. Maybe nine! I swear on my mothers grave. And ‘me own, so I do. And each sword was as tall as I was. And he breathed fire!
Brave Mister Beaky sped through the air, swift as a sparrow, it’s the truth, even if he is a parrot. Swift as a sparrow, I swear! Swifter, even! Like an arrow, he was.
Off he goes, and pecks out the fish man’s eye! Well, one of them, anyway. Did I tell you he had seven!? Well he did. God’s honest truth. And two heads, now I think about it.
Anyway, I sees me chance, and off I go. Stab him once, straight in the heart. He keeps on going, roaring like a dragon. Stabs him twice, in his second heart. Still keeps on going. Bleeding all over the deck. Had acid for blood, so he did. And don’t forget he breathed fire too.
So with one mighty swing, I chop off his head. I mean head’s. That’s right, clean off it came, I mean they came. Two heads, one swing.
And that’s the truth about how me and Mr Beaky saved the day. Strike me down if a word of it’s a lie.
Thin Lucy
Me, I be rallyin ‘ dem troops. Some o’ the local boys and girls, ‘dey had got together armed wit’ whate’er dey could fin’ anytin’ from guns to knives. ‘Ting was, dey got cornered inside a shop. Ey had nice ‘tings dere, all fancy clothes and fine hats. Helped meself to a nice feathered one meself, well, it suited me!
Now, dey was scared bloodless, like devil ‘imself had em by the hair and was pullin. Screaming and cryin’, all in mess. So, I come along, now, and make sure I look all presentable an’ bootiful, not like ‘em zombie. Now den, I say, yous got two choices. Scream and cry and wailin’ and get eaten, or being brave and having ha’ chance, I says.
Now, you know song? “Stab em in de heart merrily”? I fingurin’ dat jolly song be them cheering! So I be getting out my violin, I be mine stompin feet, and getting em all in de mood for some murderin and slaughterin and stabbing. Soon, wit’ some laughter and hootin and hollerin, dey be ready for fightin. Good ‘ting too, for fishmen be coming and not laughing nor hootin neither. I be smackin’ first one round lughole wit’ me violin. Be smashin’ it to bits, shame. But it be givin’ courage and fire to us all, and before we be knowin it, we smackin’ em all round head and be dancin’ victory!
Spike the Monkey
Arrr! I was the first to see them! Up on my lonesome, on the crows nest. An Atlantean Warship! All guns and fins and spikes. Came ramming right up the backside of the Blag Flag. Thought we would be holed, but seems our ship be made of sterner stuff.
All of a sudden, they were upon us. Now, you were all busy with your black powder and clashing cutlasses on deck. Did you look skyward? Well, did you?
If you had, well you would have seen old Spike swinging around like a trapeze artist, from port to starboard and back again. And I wasn’t alone, me ‘earties! No! Some crazy Atlantean had climbed to face me, bubbling away with his gills, frothing he was. Knife between his clenched teeth, ready to disembowel me and gut me like a fish.
The rigging had come loose, cut by some scoundrel. Maybe one of you lot, the way you were swinging and chopping every which way. So I jumped from one rope to the next, spinning and rolling, dizzy with it all. I couldn’t reach me foe, what with all the lolling this way, the lolling that. Didn’t rightly know if I was coming or going. Had me foot wrapped round something, tied up I was.
Now, that would have been the end of ‘ol Spike. Well, if you can end me or any of us, on accounting of us being dead an all. But I wasn’t going to find out what would happened if I happened to swallow the business end of an Atlantean knife. So I clambered up, right to the top of the ship, and with another heroic swing, chopped down all the rigging, and grabbed on to the top of the mast like my life depended on it. Or my unlife. Well, Spike lived, or unlived, to tell the tale here, and meanwhile I left me would – be killer all in a tangle, trussed up like a turkey, hanging from the mast. Right silly, he looked!
Gaston “Gutboy”
Zut Alors! I have never seen a thing like it! Zey smell like rotten fish! Like ze barbarians of Iceland make!
Our rations were running low. Well, I know, I know. We are zombies. We don’t need to eat. Maybe ze odd steak. Maybe ze odd brain. I joke, like you Englishmen, oui?
Just because we don’t need to eat, doesn’t mean we don’t like to. Gutboy, he makes ze ship march, oui? With ze wine, with ze food….mainly with ze rum, though.
Alons Ze! Gutboy, he spies his chance! Ze Atlantean submersible, all green flesh and strange metal. Ze warriors had flooded out of it, and now, it was empty!
Well, nearly empty. Gutboy squeezed himself inside. Oui, oui, I am not so fat, I just have heavy bones. And a big gut. So Gutboy squeezes himself in, shred a few pieces of dead flesh from his middle, and lands in ze ship.
Ah, what strange smells, what strange meats. Like nothing Gutboy has seen before. Shark and Squid, and creatures that have never seen the light of the sun. Strange and ugly behemoths carved into delicacies. I could not resist! Bladder of Octo-eel, Spleen of Megaladon. Glowing bulbs from a giant angler fish.
You rogues know that Gutboy did his part, Oui! I cut and thrust my way though the Atlantean Hordes. Got a spear through my back and an axe in my head. Took Gutboy a week before he could dress himself whilst his brain grew back.
But Gutboys greatest victory was restocking the Black Flag with delicate preserved feasts! Oui! Gutboy prepared the strangest and most exotic victory feast you have ever eaten! Magnifique!
Who knew a Zombie could be so ill afterwards?
Billy the Fish
They are Atlanteans. Fish-men. Fightin’ them on the streets of Venice? On the decks of ships? You all forgot didn’t you? Who checked beneath the waves? Billy the Fish, that’s who!
Whilst you were all crossin’ sabres and knives. And don’t think me didn’t see Sweet Jennie bit that fishmans ear off…me dove underwater, down down, were me am at me best. Me always loved the sea, only freedom me had when was being a slave, down there, floatin’, diving for pearls or spearing fish. Now me dead and all that, me can be staying down there all day, on accounting of not breathing. Har har. Life if for losers!
Anyways, Me had felt something Jar. The Anchor! Must be! It’s a fine anchor too, shaped like a hammerhead shark. Suits the Black Flag. Maybe it had gotten all tangled up in something. But me worries it was being something more than that!
So me dove in. Splash, like an arrow. Sped down, under the Black Flag. Darkness and shadows, but that don’t be bothering us dead folk no mores, now does it?
So me does spies, with me big brown eyes, two fish mem trying to drill into the Black Flag from below. Aiii! If it sunks again, Cap’n Flintlock would never let us be hearing the last of it! No Rums rations for a week, maybe two! Arrr, she be a harsh captain. Harsh, but fair.
So me swim to em, Knife in hand, and gets to doing the works one does with knife. Stabbing here, thrusting there. Now, me don’t be liking killing or guttin’, me got me principles, I swear. Yes, it’s true, not like Razor. But when one of them is trying to chew of yer hand, and the other is trying to poke out yer eyes, well, stabbing comes more naturally. Soon de water is dark with blood, and seein its not mine, as me don’t bleed, me knows me did me part. Saw them swim off, tails between them legs, off to be nursing their wounds, me reckons.
Razor Renzo
A silent blade cuts best!
You all make noise! Shouting, screaming. Thin Lucy trying to sing, sounding like a strangled cat. Now, if you want to fight fair, then on your own head be it. Or maybe, your head will be spinning through the air, chopped off by Atlantean sword! Muahaha!
Not for Razor.
Us pirates, we can hold our own on sea, or in land. Strong and true, yes, Razor knows. But in the air, arrrr! Then it not so Bella! And one of the Captains of the sea-men, he was wearing that shiny shell on his back. Jets of steam! Pfff! Pfff! Off he flies, through the air, shooting at us. Good thing we are already dead, or we would have died!
Into the streets of Venice Razor went, the sky captain hissing behind me. Razor dodges this way, dodges that way. Goading him, taunting him. And then, Razor goes silent as a graveyard at night. Into the shadows, unseen, and unheard.
We can’t be having some one shooting at us from the skies. Not fair. Now, you all know we don’t fight fair, true, and Razor fights least fair of all. Keeps us alive. Well, keeps us half alive. So Razor had to even the odds for us. Razor is thinking – its that shell on his back that’s the problem. Not the man, or fish, wearing it.
So when he is hovering, Razor is climbing. Up, silent, in the shadows. Those Venetian buildings are dark and tall, Perfect for Razor. And then, Razor heroically leaps on foolish fish man! Slam! Razor Scares him so much, fish man puffs out his black ink!
And then Razor gets to work. A cut, a second cut. A mighty hissing! The shell goes out of control, spinning the fish man into the air. Razor quick as a flash, he jumps off, sees the fish man fly through the air with a trail of steam. Phlllsh! He goes, hitting the ocean a few miles out!
Lash
Every war brings out the best in a man, every war brings out the worst. I was a slave for seven years, I saw the best, I saw the worst. I have a web of scars on my back to show for it.
I I became a thief, a pirate, a scoundrel, some would say. But at least on a pirate ship I was a man and judged no less or worse than any other man. A pirates’ life for me.
Despite, or mayhap because, of the civilization of this day, when it comes to wars, and fighting…when it comes to fear and rage and blood, you see the best and worst again. People start going crazy, become the animals that live in all of us. I lived through the worst of humanity, and I got no patience for it.
So we were fighting. We were warring. Protecting, saving, whatever you want to call it. And I did my part. I wrestled with Atlantis. I punched and kicked and stabbed and cut at the warriors and the things from beneath the sea.
I also fought the scum of humanity who thought they would take advantage of the misery of war. Couple of guys, young. Thought they would help themselves to some coin of the scared and the old and the weak. Thought they would do it by getting violent, by hurting, by whipping. And laughing about it too.
Maybe they were too young to young to know better. Maybe they were too scared to do better. Philosophers and fools can spend time and drink wine discussing that. Lash has a book of scars on his back that tell more truth. Lash doesn’t make excuses for scum.
I fought the Atlanteans like of all you. But I also gave a couple of evil men a lesson. Brutality breeds brutality. And they won’t forget me, I will swear to that….
Sweet Jennie
All you idiots, with your swords and your fists, your leaping around, your singing, and tall tales. “Oh, I was so heroic” “Oh I was so manly” “Oh I was so dashing”…well, you are all idiots. Dead, rotting idiots. I’ve eaten rotting fish with more brains than you. Drunken fools!
Pass the rum, I have a tale to tell...
It was as we were sailing into Venice. Horrible town, all high n mighty and full of art and culture and all that. I wouldn’t spit my own spit on it.
Anyways and anyhow, the Black Flag was beset by a Atlantean warship. Fast we are, but so was it, we were abreast of each other. Atlantis was firing all types of strange at us…blasts of freezing cold blue, bolts of copper lightning. Everyone running around on deck telling everybody else what to do, and nobody actually doing anything but flappin and panicking. Sorry lot of Pirates, I hate the lot of you. Idiot alcoholics!
Pass the rum…
Except Sweet Jennie. She knew what was to be doing. And she knew, on accounting of you all be feeble minded, she was the one that had to be doing it. Because of my lovely kind-hearted personality.
Made from shell, was the ship from Atlantis. Now, I remembered when the Black Flag faced off against the giant lobster from Leng. All purple and green, horrible thing. Still looked better than you lot.
We used those enchanted cannonballs, all spikes and strange oils, burned the prettiest purple you ever so, like some strange rose. We still had a pair of them left over after that skirmish. So I load up the cannons, no help from you dung heads singing your sea shanties on deck. No no, Sweet Jennie always down below, looking after the cannons, on her own. Talk about doing all the heavy lifting.
So I am handling the balls…stop smirking, Spike… I am handling the balls and hoping they don’t go off too soon…Quit your laughing, Lucy…take some skill and love. You have to grip the cannon just right…
…Shut up, the lot of you! I am trying to tell my tale, here!
So I load it up, light the fuse, timed just right. And then…FIRE! Two shots, bang! Bang! Off they flew, over the waves, bending towards the Atlantis ship. Clunk! Clunk! They hit, sticking right into the shell of the ship and burning so pretty. The shell starts to crack, then splinter, and then, all o’ a sudden, falls apart like dust!
And without Sweet Jennie down below deck, none of you would have made it to Venice in the first place.
Thank you, Sweet Jennie!
