Search the Community

5th of June, 2016 Jolly Harbour, Antigua The earliest of morning, just shortly after midnight It was a busy Saturday night, here in Jolly Harbour. Each of the many bars that made up this town were sprawling. Locals, sailors, tourists, the occasional rich man, and sometimes, stranger fellows. One of them was currently sitting in “The Parrot’s Cage”, an old and rather small bar, which had stood at a small street leading into the harbour for a good 150 years by now. The owner had changed many times, but one client always returned: The Sorceress known as Captain Flintlock, one of the very few true pirates on the island. So far the night hadn’t been spectacular, everything was the same as it usually was in this small town. Outside, those who easily lost their sobriety could be heard yelling and singing traditional shanties, butchering everything about the songs in the process. The bar had also not changed much. The owner had changed again since the last time the Captain had visited, but the booze remained the same as ever – exquisite. It had gotten rather late already, and the drinking started to get to even the most experienced patrons. The atmosphere turned more relaxed, people started talking more. Some about their own businesses, some about things more confidential than what one would be allowed to say. A group of young men, probably children of the local population of wealthy men, could be heard talking about the eccentrically dressed Captain, but neither seemed confident enough to approach her. An old man, probably a retired sailor judging by his clothes, was standing in a corner and addressing the crowd of people that had gathered around him. His breath and stature were witnesses to his state of drunkenness, but the crowd followed his every word. Whether out of actual interest, or just to see this old man stand on a table and drunkenly shout, that was unclear. “… All these rumours about … those ships. Cargo doesn’t just vanish, I tell you. It’s the sea-dwellers. They go after them. They want something. What, you ask? Eh, young’uns, isn’t it obvious? They’re after … “

OOC for this