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Post by Hector Barbossa on Jun 28, 2007 17:18:47 GMT -5
Hector Barbossa was not a man unfamiliar with prisons. Particularly in his younger years, he spent many days, sometimes weeks and once a number of months, incarcerated. As time progressed, his skills at evading the law grew more competent, his arrests less frequent, until he was almost untouchable. By no means above the rules of the land, he deemed himself so expertly far beneath them that they could no longer incorporate him into their judiciary system. There was no jail cell built to hold him now, no set of punishments that were apropos to his crimes. Prisons held no fear for him, for there were none that could contain him, if he were to let himself be captured, and none that he could not escape.
This place was not a prison. It was abomination embodied in a fortress of cold, steel infused masonry, wire topped palisades and thick, deeply rooted walls. It was utterly inescapable for those trapped within, and nearly so for the one man who needed to get inside. The idea of breaking into a jail was not a new one for pirates, who often did so to free valued crew men, or, more often, at least those they needed to complete their own ends. The latter was the case with the grizzled captain of the Black Pearl.
Climbing with strength that did not seem to match the aloof poise and vanity of the older buccaneer, Barbossa hauled himself from the small boat had brought him to the isolated, familiarly foggy island. He had carefully steered under the moonlight, moving slowly as not to disturb the water with hasty splashes. He had broached the island in a wide arch, finding at length a facing around the back that was not ideal for landing a boat, and thus just the spot where no one would think to watch for one. There he roped his boat to a jutting rock and, removing his heavy black coat and leaving his ostrich feathered hat behind, scaled the impressive wall.
In less time than even he had imagined he carefully pulled himself over the edge of the cliff face, staying low to the ground and creeping closer to the jail. He could see the profile of the terrible penitentiary before him in the moonlight, strained into long, thin beams from the heavy fog that enclosed the island. It was as intimidating as the hushed, unsubstantiated and dubious rumors indicated in their fanciful, exaggerated tellings. With high towers, sinister looking barbed fences and a high number of places for officers to hide and shoot rifles from, it was apparently impregnable. Except all wary eyes were turned inwards, watching diligently for those trying to escape. None cast a glance backwards, for those insane enough to willingly force their way inside.
Walking slowly, crouching low and moving with broad, careful steps, the Pirate Lord of the Caspian Sea moved towards the citadel. He found himself reasonably close to an entrance obviously intended only for the officers that allowed this hell hole to operate. It was guarded on both sides by a pair of guards and, judging by their faces, they hardly imagined they needed to be there. Slouching against the thick stone of the building behind them, the two guards chatted idly, the grips they had on their guns slack and their eyes on each other rather than the shadowed land around them. Barbossa fell on them and, in a silent flash, laid them down in a converging pool of their life’s fluid. Stealing a ring of keys from one of them, and a second sword from the other, both of which he stored on his belt, he moved inside.
The screams that had been but haunting whispers on the wind outside, audible but fleeting, now became an overwhelming symphony of agony and torture. The sound itself did not disturb the Captain, having long been responsible for forcing that sound from the throats of his innumerous victims. Moving through the shadows, a ghost despite his formidable build and strong natural stride, he stalked around guards and across long, winding hallways until he found himself at the base of a tall flight of stairs. Here the screams reached their most piercing tones, each sound as sharp and cutting as deeply as a blade of folded steel. Even the hardened Captain felt his skin crawl, bristling at the exposure to the pure sounds of hideous massacre.
No air moved in this underground area of the fortress. The dank, still atmosphere was punctuated by blasts of racking odor, putrid and heavy enough to land with disgusting potency on the tongue. Even Barbossa, so familiar with each stage of death and decay that a human body experiences, was made to gag on the incredibly pungent and racking gusts. He made his way, holding his breath, deeper into the cavern, finding himself in a hall lined on either side by iron-barred holding cells. They were small, and each held its own specific device of torture. Most were in use, others barren but for decaying corpses, or those close to it, and more with dead bodies gripped to the nefarious instruments. Having no choice but to explore each one with his eyes, Barbossa absorbed scenes of abhorrent, heinous disregard for life. The prisoners of this jail were no more than play things, their blood a prize for their sadistic captors.
For each cell he peered into he was met with at least one pair of eyes, desperate and broken. Some called to him, their voices bestial and their words unintelligible. Still, their agonizing hope in seeing a brethren pirate sliced through the almost palpable black of the unlighted torture chamber, fleeting in the blink of an eye as it crashed to oblivion. He was not there for them. He would not slow for them. Giving each atrocious, mangled form no more than a cursory glance, Barbossa moved from cell to cell unheedingly. They screamed for him, begging, ordering, threatening, yet his heart did not stir to their plight.
After a indeterminate time searching, Barbossa’s eyes, well adjusted to the grim darkness by now, fell into the cell he was searching for. Though the inhabitant kept themselves huddled in a corner, the Pirate Lord knew he was staring at the person he had been so long looking for. Moonlight fell into the room from a high, barred window, the light it shone a brilliant line of silver that fell without impediment over the floor. The occupant stirred, their head turning in the dark towards their visitor. If it knew Barbossa it did not make it apparent.
“Stand, wretch, if you can,” Barbossa said, his voice a fierce growl, “or drag yerself to me. Into the light,” he paused waiting for a comply, his eyes blurring with sudden memory, “the moonlight shows you for what you really are… Captain Bonny.”
In his pursuit of the newest owner of the cursed gold of Cortez, Barbossa had learned that Anne Bonny and her crew had been besieged by the Royal Navy while they were ransacking yet another port. Captain Bonny, along with a number of her crew, though Barbossa knew not specifically who, had been captured and detained by the Navy. Somehow they had been transported to this island without the true nature of their curse being revealed, and even now, as she sat in the darkest corner of her cell, she did well not to reveal herself. Barbossa was no fool, and too intimately familiar with the Aztec Gold to be deceived by her attempts to avoid the moonlight.
As he waited, however, a loud clang fill the room, echoing with brutal force. It was the sound of a heavy metal door being opened and then let to slam. Barbossa, having no where to go, stepped away from the cell and drew his sword, as well as the one he had lifted from the guards at the back door. Ahead of him, light flooded the hall, puncturing the eyes like acid might. Steeling himself, momentarily blinded, Barbossa immediately knew that officers were on there way down from the main entrance to the dungeon, coming towards him. He had no time to escape down the hall the way he had come, and the idea of fleeing in the shadows did not suit him.
Standing brazenly, Barbossa waited for the footsteps he heard drawing nearer to him, his swords raised.
(I tried to leave it as open to joiners as possible. Once we get an Anne Bonny, they can be the person in the cell. Or it can be some other member of Anne Bonny's crew. Or, if Barbossa is way off his game, someone who had been arrested during the raid but was not a part of Bonny's crew. A 'wrong time, wrong place' situation. Also, others can be in the cells around the area, or they can be brought in with whoever is coming towards Barbossa. And as for THOSE guys, there can be any number of them, probably Navy men or... I don't know... pirates dressed as Navy men. On top of that, there is the possibility of people from Barbossa's crew who are waiting for his return and get impatient... and there are a lot of ways to drag Jack Sparrow into this place. As well as the Flying Dutchman. So... yeah! PM me if you have any questions.)
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Post by James Norrington on Jul 21, 2007 14:24:08 GMT -5
' The Captain's gone ashore.'
The news spread across the Pearl like wildfire the moment Barbossa's rowboat touched the ocean. Many of the crew feared it to be a bad omen, and a number of them headed down to the hold for some rum to ease their spirits. James Norrington just scrubbed the decks. It wasn't like he could do anything else in such dim moonlight, and he wasn't tired enough to turn in for the night either... not until the captain returned.
Norrington knew enough about Barbossa not to doubt that he would return at some time or another, but the stories that circulated about the prison on the Isla de Isla de Tacaño did not inspire one to much hope. No wonder the crewmembers were slowly disappearing and heading below. James set his scrub brush down, and glanced about the ship. Except for a few men finishing up some tasks, and those on watch, the deck was pretty much deserted. James now had a decision to make.
Standing and emptying his bucket over the side, James made a task of polishing the railings in order to get a good look at the island off in the distance. The walls of the prison were thick, and imposing. They could easily hold up under the most terrific of canon fire, and anything less would hardly be noticed inside. The metal on the gates and fences were jagged, and the place practically bristled with the rifles and muskets of sadistic naval officers who wouldn't hesitate to shoot and ask questions later. Every six minutes, a cluster of lights would circle around the perimeter, a fully armed party of sentries. It would have probably have been more frequent, except for the fact that it usually took the average body an awfully long time to get past the walls... much longer than six minutes.
Norrington resolved to do it in five. His mind was made up, and he was going in. Two swords would be better than one, especially two exceptionally keen swords, such as both the Captain and himself possessed. James disappeared downstairs, and returned to the deck carrying a squashy bundle of rather ornate clothing in a waterproofed leather sack.
They were anchored just over a nautical mile away from the prison, hidden in a well-calculated blind spot. With all their lights doused except for a single small lantern upon the bow, the Pearl was next to invisible to the gigantic prison lurking on the horizon. James Norrington, conveniently enough, happened also to be in a well-calculated blind spot from the man on watch. Wrapping his sword in oilcloth to keep it dry, James secured a rope to the banister, filled an empty barrel with his possessions, before kicking it overboard.
A swarthy pirate, a fairly intelligent bloke from the look of him, came wandering over, and stared directly at James.“ What was the noise?” he demanded, crossing his arms.
Norrington twitched his head slightly in the direction of the water. “ A barrel fell, sir.”
“ What was in it?”
Norrington shrugged slightly, giving the impression he couldn’t have cared less. “ Sounded like liquid.”
The other pirate’s eyes widened slightly, giving the impression he cared very much, especially if the barrel contained either water, or rum. “ Go get it.”
Norrington looked defiantly at the other pirate for a moment, then nodded brusquely, and proceeded to obey orders. He snatched up the rope he had tied, then scaled down the side of the boat. The moment he hit the water, he began to swim, taking the empty barrel with him. “ Throw me the rope!” Norrington commanded loudly to the other, who complied. James made an ineffective swipe at the thing, before being pulled away from the ship. It seemed to go quite smoothly, in his opinion.
Within the quarter of an hour, Norrington was standing just inside the prison, trying to turn a deaf ear to the pitiful cries of the damned and dying. Dressed in full uniform (minus the wig), he blended in quite nicely with those in authority, and as such, managed to avoid much suspicion as he traipsed through the halls of the prison. He still stuck to the shadows, and he certainly didn’t broadcast his presence, but things had gone rather well up to this point. It was getting out that would prove difficult.
The place was offensive to all of his senses. His nose seemed overwhelmed by the stench of unwashed pirates, and festering sores. The wails of agony cut through his mask of indifference like a knife, and he couldn’t help but cringe at some of the names he was called by those in the cells closest to him. He had never been a cruel man, despite being hard, and the state of the prisoners made his stomach lurch. As he continued through the inner depths of the cell block, Norrington spotted a blood-stained body, belonging to a late naval privateer. He supposed things like that happened often in a hell-hole like this, but the clean edges of the wound, and the expert precision of the cuts could only mean that Hector had already been through.
James tightened his grip on his blade as he wrenched a heavy metal door open, and slipped past. It shut with a resounding ‘boom’ that echoed around the stone corridor. Norrington grit his teeth and swore softly. He continued down, eyes scanning the dim cells for any sign of Barbossa. Even with the pale moonlight pouring in from a small slit of a window, James nearly ran into him. The two locked blades before the either could speak. [/size]
(( I hope the last sentance was okay, and not power-playing too much, but I figure they wouldn't just stand there and stare at each other for ten minutes, especially since Norrington's dressed like an officer. Considering they're both expert swordsman, I figured that neither would be liable to be snuck up on either, so the only logical compromise would be that they /both/ countered each other's attack. If that makes sense... anyways, just tell me if I messed anything up. xDD It's your call how long the scuffle goes on, or if it even progresses into a scuffle.))
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Post by Arienne Kelver on Jul 22, 2007 20:20:03 GMT -5
Time moved on quickly, almost too quickly for the liking of a certain British Navy man. It had not been long since the ‘Poseidon’ had stopped for re-Supplying, at the pirate port of Tortuga, not less. That was not the first unusual event on this sea journey, and would not be the last. Since being reassigned to this smaller Navy Vessel, things seemed to become stranger and stranger, and the thing that scared Miss Arienne Kelver the most, was that she had no idea what the end game was, how this would all end, what the purpose of it was, and worse than that, she was powerless to do anything for or against it. Vulnerable, not in control. That was not a feeling the woman liked. Although, since joining the Navy in her brother’s stead, Arienne, now posing as Elliot, had had to give up a few freedoms, to follow orders, she had also gained some as well. She did not like blindly following orders, although if anyone knew this, it was very probable that she would be hung for mutinous thoughts.
Although in an ideal world she would have known exactly what was going on, Navy Man Kelver had had to accept that this was not an idea world. It was easier than it sounded, allowing her to believe that the course of the Navy was just, and that these pirates, the word was a dirty one in her mind, were the thugs, the ones that would not hesitate to kill her or her family if it served their purposes. The only way to be prepared, and so in this she consoled herself to following orders without question, convincing herself that it was not her place to ask questions. That her loyalties lied with her country, and because of that, the British Navy. And that the decisions made by her superiors were as important as those made by the Queen herself. Because of this, the curiosity of Arienne would have to suffer, and it did.
It was torturous to the part of her that sought adventure and excitement, that the part of her, the larger part, that was so loyal, even stupidly so, denied her the ability to ask such questions. So her curiosity feared that its questions would never be answered, its suspicions never confirmed, a very good possibility. Because Arienne was just another navy officer, one loyal, and one willing to both serve and fight for her country up to her dying breath. What a person of conflict she could be, when you peeled back the layers.
The ‘Poseidon’ had sailed into the Isla de Tacaño within the last twenty-four hours, certain members of its crew ordered to take their turn in sentry duty in the prison. No one seemed thrilled at the possibility of trudging through the prison’s corridors, the stench putting the officers off at even the thought of it. However, if so ordered, no one would dare to refuse. Personally, Arienne didn’t see what the fuss was about. I mean, no one wanted to be on guard duty around any prison, the smell of rotting and un-bathed flesh was enough to send anyone’s stomach into turmoil, but their was something about this place in particular that just at the mention of this task made men’s skin crawl. Perhaps that was why she didn’t feel it, she mused, because she was no man.
That was why, while she did not leap for joy, holding her head tall, the woman simply nodded to the news that she was one of the officers to be transferred for a shift or two, not to mention the midnight shift, one dreaded by all, despite which prison one was guarding.
Reassured by the cutlass hanging at her hip, the Navy Man, dressed in full uniform, began her rounds, although keeping herself fully alert. Three other officers from her ship accompanied her, a few more, that she guessed to be amongst the ones stationed here at this time.
Everyone was silent, adding to the eeriness of this place. Everyone but the prisoners, that is. Their moaning could be heard from one end of the prison to the other. There were rumors circulating that this prison was fit for the Devil himself, not that one would believe such things, of course.
It was around this time when the scene changed dramatically, as the Navy Men became away of the two dead officers lying on the floor, stab wounds the reason for this. A third man, one obviously not one of the uniform, leaving only one other possibility of what he could be, stood in the moonlight, sword drawn.
In a blur, another officer, one she did not recognize, was brandishing his own sword, connecting with that of the pirate. A second later, the cutlasses of herself and the remaining Navy Men were also unsheathed, although they stood somewhat awkwardly against the pirate and the other officer, as if they did not know what to do. At a quick word from Arienne, the four others spread out, circling the pirate, but keeping a good distance from the brawl that might occur. It was like they feared this pirate. He was nothing more than a thief and a thug to Arienne, however. This was probably because, unlike the others, she had yet to recognize him from the wanted posters and briefings. The Navy wanted this man dead, almost as much as anything, the only problem was, he was too hard to kill. They’d thought they’d sent him to Davy Jones’ Locker long ago, only to find out recently that that attempt had obviously failed.
But that didn’t matter now, the woman thought decidedly, tightening her grip on her sword, not saying another word, as she watched the two like a hawk, waiting for the right moment to act, and to see how this whole situation turned out. [/size]
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Post by Hector Barbossa on Jul 23, 2007 19:04:36 GMT -5
Hector Barbossa made no eye contact with the man he had drawn swords on. There had been no time for such a respectful gesture, despite the proud Captain’s personal convictions on the matter. He would be sure, before the battle was over, to make sure this Navy scum knew the blazing gaze of the pirate he had so foolishly drawn against. In the Pirate Lord’s mind there was nothing to worry about, even considering how fast his new opponent had drawn. There was no sword that could best him, and if he ever ran into one that could he was not limited to fighting fair.
Pushing his immense strength forward, one hand gripping the hilt of his sword, while the other gripped the sword he had stolen from one of the slain guards and pressed the blade of that one to the high end of his own to give himself more allowance for such a move, Barbossa disengaged from the Navy man. He knew he was surrounded, an in glancing around to count the number of bodies he would be leaving behind him he finally swung his eyes over the vaguely familiar frame that had already attacked him.
With a snarl he recognized the filthy bilge rat that had been dwelling on his ship, alive simply because Elizabeth Turner had wished it so. Barbossa had no fond ties to the wretch named Norrington, believing the man to be a miserable waste of life, each heart beat his body propounded a resonating reminder of the air his lungs were sucking up that could have been breathed by much more worthy, even honorable men. For a pirate to hold such low regard for any man, particularly one that sailed under the same colors, was as much a blow to one as to the other. Barbossa would never trust James Norrington. He would never raise sword with him or defend him. And, if given half a chance, he would slay the man with no allegiance without remorse.
Staring at Norrington, who was dressed to match the four other men around him, Barbossa clearly identified that chance.
Holding his sword high and the other low, Barbossa shifted his weight and eased into a much more accommodating stance. His eyes moved from the unidentified men around him, to the man he was pretending not to recognize before him, and back again. There was no visible intimidation on his face or in his body, even considering being out numbered. He held his ground almost casually, piercing eyes illuminated dangerously in the moonlight.
“Not a very obliging place,” he said, his tone laced with acidic sarcasm, each word dripping with increasing rage. He could not contain his desire to murder those that pledged themselves to trap and torture pirates, stealing them from the seas that should hold the honor of their last days, “you lot like bringing pirates here, yet you treat me so roughly when I simply come to visit. But come now, and learn for yerself why Barbossa be so feared a name.”
He lunged at Norrington then, thrusting with his sword in a powerful, direct attacked. The movement brought him closer to one of the other Navy officers, who had been forming a circle around him that he did not approve of. With a grace and speed that his bulky coat and wide gait did not lend to, he swung his other sword in a wide arch behind him and slashed the surprised officer from hip to shoulder. Barbossa did not check if the blow had killed the man, the knowledge that the pain would keep him out of the fight enough to allow him to bring his second sword into the battle against Norrington.
Staring at his opponent, straight into his eyes, Barbossa watched for Norrington’s next move. It would decide the direction of the battle and, ultimately, the fate of their crossed swords.
(Sorry if it feels rushed. I'm out of practice. XD)
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Post by James Norrington on Jul 24, 2007 14:37:17 GMT -5
Barbossa's reaction times were some of the best that Norrington had ever witnessed. With the exception of the three-way fight between Mr. Turner and Mr. Sparrow, James didn't think he'd ever met someone quite as adept with the blade as Hector. James's sword rasped against Barbossa's as the older man shoved him away. Observing with seeming indifference the look of utter hatred the older man sent in his direction, James never once moved from his smart, ready stance. Given a momentary reprieve before the real battle was to begin, James let his emerald gaze drift around to the Navy men who had so unwisely surrounded himself and Barbossa.
Norrington felt little pity, for he knew their deaths would be swift, but he couldn't help but catch the eye of a young man... whom he had seen at a tavern in Tortuga not a month prior. The lad wasn't half-bad a swordsman, by the way he stood, and by the way he held the cutlass hilt with an ease of familiarity, but James knew there was no way, not unless heaven itself decided to intervene, that the lad, Elliot, was it? would escape unscathed from this fight.
Barbossa spoke, his every word a warning to those around... a warning to Norrington. James hadn't expected anything else. He knew of the low esteem Barbossa held for him, considering him little more than a useless bag of flesh. Not that James could blame him, he /had/ been one of the most successful apprehender of pirates in the Caribbean, after-all. What he couldn't fathom though, was how Barbossa had undoubtedly done many of the same things James had done, and yet it was only Norrington whom he blamed. Barbossa had killed, betrayed, bargained... used the curse for his own gain. At least for a while. It was evident in the way he spoke, walked, and the very fact that he was the captain of a ship. Norrington knew about the mutiny of Jack Sparrow... so what was it that made James so entirely different from Barbossa? Why was he the object of Hector's complete loathing?
He didn't have time to think about that for long. Barbossa struck with speed and intensity to rival a hungry barracuda. James blocked instinctively, his sword connecting solidly with one of the Captain's with a distinctive ring of steel upon steel. Staring defiantly into his rival's startlingly blue eyes, Norrington spoke to those around him. " Gentlemen, as ex-Admiral, I have no authority whatsoever to command you. However, I do offer you this warning. Remain, and I highly doubt you will be allowed to live. Your lives are in your own hands, and your blood upon your own shoulders. And now, Captain Barbossa, we begin."
Inclining his head slightly to his opponent, Norrington broke off, stepping back enough to give himself room to maneuver. He slipped easily into the rhythm of the fight, his blade clashing against Barbossa's at regular intervals, dodging, weaving against the serpent-like bite of the other's sword. By this time, a few of the officers had joined the fray, so in the cramped hallways of the prison, all was a writhing knot of confusion and chaos.
James jumped back, arching forward as a cutlass swept across where his midsection had been only a moment before. It caught momentarily on the loose cloth of his jacket, leaving an opening for Norrington's blade to slip between the ribs of the unfortunate guard. As he drew it back out, his elbow jammed into the chest of another. He pushed the ailing man out of his way, and turned around with vehemence to stare once more into the stony face of Barbossa. They fought, only breaking apart from their intense duel for short intervals when they were distracted by the pressing fray around them. The Naval officers around them fell, cut down in the heat of battle with little more thought than the harvester gave to the ripened wheat.
They would all have to be extinguished, in time, because though James and Hector could easily take on more than twice the amount they were currently combating, the two weren't invelnerable, especially when bullets began to fly. It wouldn't do to have any sound the alarm, and that was just what Norrington feared. Not to mention that such an unfortunate even would all but force himself and Barbossa to work together, and he happened to be incredibly doubtful that such a pairing would end well. [/size]
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Post by Arienne Kelver on Jul 24, 2007 21:48:56 GMT -5
All around her, Navy Men fell, a red liquid spilling from their wounds. Some strangers, but most friends. Sadly she noted that two were men she had spent the last few months cooped up with aboard the ‘Poseidon’. Any part of her that might have considered backing up now was silenced. These were good men that had fought for what they believed in and had all been slaughtered by one man. Their deaths would be avenged, if it was the last thing she did.
Out of the corner of the woman’s eye, she noticed that apart from herself, and the man that had identified himself as the ‘ex-admiral’, only two other officers stood. As she watched, another was cut down, another she recognized as Phillip Ramsey. The closet thing she had to a friend, she supposed. But there wasn’t much time to think, in the heat of the battle. There was no way in hell that she would flee, heed the stranger’s warning. It wasn’t even a possibility, for if she did, if any of them did, they would be charge with treason, no doubt. Letting a pirate escape. However, the navy men were like lambs in a slaughter yard, Arienne was not too blinded by pride to see that. How easily this man cut them down, like they were nothing more than children wielding broomsticks. As the last man fell, with an awful feeling of realization it dawned on her that she was the last one standing. It was just her, the ex-admiral, Norrington, she believed his name was, and this remarkably skilled pirate.
Focusing on her foot work, the woman positioned herself deeper into the fight, her skill of sword play not watching that of the pirate by far, but quite close to the other man, the ex-Navy Man. At least this meant she might have a small chance of hope. A small voice in the back of her head told her that she was kidding herself, but she needed to maintain some sense of hope, for their was no sense in fighting if one did not have a chance, was there?
The reasonable part of her suggested assisting Norrington in taking out the pirate, before focusing on him. Would be much easier than focusing on two enemies at once. However, not trusting her words, she had no way of conveying this to him. She attempted to do so with eye and hand signals, but as she parried a blow from his sword, she was next to certain he had not received or understood her intent. Stumbling over the fallen body of one of her allies, her colleagues, the woman managed to duck before picking herself up, being narrowly missed by the blade that would have cut her down to join the others.
The sight of the bodies, just lying there, was almost enough to make her wretch, right there and then. Not being able to afford showing such weakness, she forced herself to breathe normally, and get back into the fight. She was no fool, she could see there was a chance, a very good one she would soon be joining her friends. Even though, she could not hold her tongue much longer. “Do not keep me out of the fun.” She quipped, moving to make a blow at the pirate, but pulling her cutlass back at the last minute, as she realized that she had left herself open to attack herself in doing so. Having her wits about her was important, although in such a situation, it was not something she was used to.
Being the junior of the Navy Men that had been patrolling, how ironic was it that she was the only one still alive? And being the woman, at that? How would the men react, to know that a woman outsmarted them? Then again, it was very likely they would never know. If they found her body laying among side those of the others, they would simply regard her as ‘Elliot Kelver’ or a ‘fallen man’.
Pushing these thoughts out of her mind, she attempting to land a blow on the one called Norrington, while paring a blow from the other opponent. This was going to be much harder than she had originally thought. [/size]
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Post by Hector Barbossa on Jul 25, 2007 14:09:05 GMT -5
Hector Barbossa, as amused as he was by the fray, had many important things to accomplish at the prison that evening. Should the battle last longer than he liked he would find himself knee deep in Navy officer bodies, with more pouring into the small area as news of the pirate invasion spread. The easy solution was to end things quickly and quietly, before word could leave this portion of the dungeon. Yet, even as he was planning this course of action, he knew there were other choices left to him that would yield greater satisfaction and, if he played his cards right, grander rewards.
Shifting his weight from a defensive stance to something much more light of foot, Barbossa swept his eyes around the dungeon. The bodies on the floor, he could see, were well and truly dead. No possums to be had. It had surprised him that Norrington, dressed as he was, had opted to forsake subtlety and grace to engage in battle against men who, in the dim light of the forsaken prison, would not have easily recognized him and would have gladly fought along side him against the Pirate Lord. Still, it had not been a disappointing choice on Norrington’s part; not only did he engage Barbossa’s ever present desire for a good sword fight, but helped him clear the room of uninteresting pests before they had a chance to cause much trouble. Now all that was left to the pirate to sort out was a stray Navy Officer and Norrington himself.
Or, he thought with a casual sidestep to avoid Norrington’s sword, he could simply let them take care of each other.
The young Navy Officer, a face Barbossa had already all but forgotten, seemed to decide Norrington was more his speed as far as fighting was concerned. Barbossa obliged that decision, hooking the arch of his cutlass against Norrington’s sword and using his own sheer brute strength to shove the ex-Admiral towards the nameless lad’s attack.
Barbossa, noting that his current goal to address and interrogate the prisoner held in this portion of the jail was foiled for the moment, opted to return at a later time. He knew there was no escaping the prison at the moment, and really had no intention towards that end anyway. Delving into the shadows, his new path was to make his way to the holding area for the clothes, weapons and other items taken from pirates brought to this floating hell. There he might find the next clue to his thus far fruitless search. Or, at the very least, a nice new weapon to slaughter Naval bilge rats with.
All he needed to remember was to not get caught.
Abandoning the battle would have been easy enough without any more assistance from the pirate himself, as occupied as the two remaining combatants were by each other. Yet Barbossa hardly felt he had established himself in this duel, the most fearsome thing he had accomplished being the hapless slaughter of remotely skilled officers. His pride as a pirate forced his next action, which was one with no more meaning than his need to be malicious.
He pulled from his belt the long, silver pistol that had been harnessed there, patiently waiting for its turn in battle. Without aiming, but for a cursory glance back towards the two similarly dressed foes, Barbossa fired a shot into the duel. He did not need to see what he had hit, knowing well his skill with his gun and certain that his bullet would find a home in one of the two bodies. That random act of piratical aggression accomplished, Barbossa used his surprisingly slender frame to his advantage by escaping down the hall, the way he had come.
(Sorry if it’s choppy and rushed. I had a late night last night and I’m still reeling. Ha. The shot can… do whatever. Whoever gets to it first, methinks. Be sure to do Barbossa justice, though –shifty eyes- –cough-. I also feel like I was a bit too comedic in this one. Ho hum. Can’t be helped. I’m just trying to move the plot along. I’m not one for sword fights, really, unless they’re fast and furious.)
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Post by James Norrington on Jul 25, 2007 21:49:23 GMT -5
The young Navy man seemed to think that Norrington was the easier prey. Well, let him think what he would. Though the lad was surprisingly talented for his age and build, he would hardly last. Norrington honed in for the kill, and turned up the intensity in his fighting. Perhaps when this one was dead, regrettable though that would be, James and Barbossa could finish their combat uninterrupted. Who would come out alive, no one could tell.
James swung his sword forward, only to be frustratingly thwarted by Barbossa's own. It was then that Hector did something that Norrington was not entirely expecting. With a tremendous shove, the older man disengaged himself from the fight, sending Norrington careening over to Elliot. Swinging his blade around with a calculated arc, James narrowly missed striking his opponent. The man was good. Norrington, however, was determined to remain unphased.
Having kept Elliot at bay until Hector no longer appeared to be an immediate threat, James then turned his full attentions back to the young, beardless officer. Ever wary of the deep shadows behind him, where the Captain of the Pearl surely lurked, Norrington flicked his blade out like a viper, this time drawing a long sweep down the front of Elliot's jacket. Intending to move in for the kill in the very next precise stab, James froze at what awaited him: a form of corset obviously meant to conceal a girlish figure beneath the ample layers of a navy uniform.
" A woman?" James stated incredulously, obviously not expecting this twist of fate. He immediately pointed his sword at her neck, resting the cold steel almost delicately against the skin of her throat. He stole an almost disgusted glance to the floor, littered with bodies as it was, and wondered a little bit remorsefully if any of the others had been of the fairer sex. Eyeing the features of Elliot's- the girl's- face, Norrington sighed. " You're good," he commented dryly, " and I don't just mean for a woman."
A round of jeers and other crass comments drifted about the cells at the mention of a woman, and in a voice easily familiar with command, Norrington silenced them. Or perhaps it was the gunshot that silenced them. A sharp, searing pain screamed through Norrington's shoulder as a ball entered it, tearing through both flesh and cloth. He couldn't tell if it had clipped the other before sinking into him, but as his breath was forced out of him by sheer agony, he really didn't care.
Licking his suddenly pale lips, Norrington gingerly shifted his sword from his right hand to his uninjured left. Though still extremely formidable to any average swordsman, the ex-Admiral had lost his edge. Chills rippled up and down his spine, and the rest of him felt suddenly cold in contrast to the burning sensation in his wound. The rest of the minor injuries he had sustained suddenly leapt to life with the addition of this one. He stared silently at the sodden, stained cloth on his upper arm.
Like so many other times in his life, Norrington had a decision to make. " Tell me, Miss Elliot, what should I do with you? " He wasn't really planning to use her responce in any way to aid his thought processes. Answers could be feigned, promises forgotten, and he wasn't planning on getting into the habit of trust. He had learned better than to do that.
On the one hand, he could kill the girl, go against everything he had ever stood for, run off to his noble opponant to combat Barbossa with one bad arm, and probably die a traitor to the crown. It was difficult to be double-crossed by one who was dead, so killing her would certainly decrease the risk of being caught under alarm, but would do little to assuage the guilt already piled upon him.
On the other hand, there were definite advantages to letting her live. With a genuine soldier to prove his authenticity as a commanding officer, perhaps leaving the confines of the prison might prove to be a simpler task. It would be helpful to have another sword on his side, should he run into trouble. Though in some ways Barbossa might have been 'on his side', he highly doubted that either he, or the Captain would be willing to put aside their violent hatred for each other... though Norrington might eventually hope to earn Barbossa's favour, he highly doubted that Hector would be generous in giving it. Tonight, wounded, in the midst of one of the most horrible prisons in the civilized world, Norrington wasn't going to risk his life on the whims of one of the nine Pirate Lords.
" The scales seem to tip in your favour tonight, Miss Elliot," Norrington told her, glancing from his blade to her face and back again. " Though I cannot promise that fate will be so kind the next time we meet." Norrington removed his sword from her neck, letting it hang loosely, yet readily at his side. " And what now will you do, when confronted with such a choice as this? Will you run me through, or sound the alarm? " James crouched down, and sliced a section of cloth from the uniform of one of the dead soldiers. Lifting it to nearly eye level, he made a point of examining it with indifference. " Or will you help me bind this bloody bullet hole?" [/size]
(( I hope that this post wasn't godmoding too much.
If you think it was, let me know, and I'll switch it.
I hope that hitting Norry in the shoulder of his good arm was doing okay justice to Barbossa's mad shooting gallery skilzzz. -rofl-
Also, I figured that the sword fighting would have to end at some point, and being the better swordsman, Norrington would come out the victor. Also, I couldn't really find a reason why James would /not/ just kill Arienne without a second thought, if he didn't know she was a girl, so in credit to her skill, when he went to open up her front, she moved enough that it only caught her clothes, and there you have it. ))
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Post by Arienne Kelver on Jul 27, 2007 2:30:58 GMT -5
It appeared that fate wasn’t on the side of this Navy Officer. Or perhaps it was. If lady luck truly was against her, her body would have been decorating the floor, just like those of the other officers that had been in her company. However, it was over. This whole charade. Months and months of pretending to be ‘Elliot’, and it was over, because of what? A simple mistake? She had moved, the tip of her opponents sword catching her clothing, instead of cutting her open. That was all it had taken, to blow her cover. Now someone knew, knew that she was not the man she pretended to be. At least he was the only one. Part of her considered killing him, just to protect the secret she held so dear. Then again, she doubted he would let himself suffer the same fate as he had spared her from so easily. Even wounded, what she had seen of his swordsmanship had proven that he could most likely take her, even in this condition.
Arienne knew that his choice to spare her had nothing to do with her skill as a swordsman. No, but it had everything to do with her gender. Was that it, he would not lower himself to killing a woman? Did he not consider her as much a threat as any of the man he had delivered unto the other side, with a blow of his sword?
“My name is not Elliot, although you may call me so if you wish, ex-admiral.” The woman spoke curtly, her lips pursed, as she scrambled to her feet, her eyes never leaving the blade in the other’s possession. Stressing the rank he had identified himself as, while not sure whether it was actually his or not, gave an all-too-icy edge to her already frostbitten words. For a moment she said nothing else, as if trying to make up her mind, what to do? After all, it was her duty, to kill him, or to attempt to sound some sort of alarm. She knew, however, that if she were to attempt either, any merciful thought that had stopped him from running her through before would be merely a thought of the past. Nothing would stop him from defending himself, and her success in winning this duel was undetermined.
“It seems that lady luck is also in your favor, ex-admiral.” Her words were decidedly, as she returned her cutlass to its sheath, although her hand stayed rested on the hilt, gripping it firmly, her knuckles even paler than usual from the force. “Do not think that my decision to spare your life is by any means because you did not kill me. Quite the opposite, sir, as I think you foolish for letting me live, for mark my words, shall I have the opportunity again, I will not hesitate to end your lives as you did those of my colleagues. I do, however, believe that it is my duty to bring you into custody, given the chance, and I am more than sure that my superiors would prefer you alive. This means that we must do something about that bullet wound of yours.” Not exactly the building of a bridge, but some small consent on her part, even if the man did not see it. Bending down, trying not to look at the face of the soldier over whose body she leant, the woman tore a piece of cloth from his uniform, before standing again, gesturing towards the man’s injury. “Are you going to keep the only person that can stop you from bleeding to death at sword point, or are you going to let me bandage your wound?” To tell the truth, Officer Kelver had no idea at all why she was even helping him. To the best of her ability, she had fixed up her jacket, but Norrington’s sword had torn the fabric to which the buttons had been sown. Her appearance was quite scruffy, but normal for someone that had been in a sword fight, she supposed. However, the girlish figure that was a curse to her had been once again hidden for the most part, and she hoped that her secret was safe, with this man she knew nothing about. If he decided for some reason to turn her in, she would be facing the gallows, this she knew all too well. “So, are you going to let me help, or not?” Her tongue was sharp, and her words pointed, as, keeping an eye on the shadows for the pirate she knew was lurking, she held the piece of cloth outstretched to the man, awaiting his decision. [/size]
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Post by James Norrington on Aug 2, 2007 12:16:51 GMT -5
Staring at the young woman before him, James watched with vague interest as she addressed him, playing with the idea that it was somehow lucky for him that he had spared her life. He decided to humour the idea, and awkwardly slid his sword back into its sheath by his side using his left arm. Examining the problematic situation of drawing a sword with his left hand from his left side, James unbuckled his weapon, and tossed it to the floor, placing his foot soundly on it to wait until 'Miss Elliot' began to bandaging process, to allow him movement without fear of loosing blood.
When she addressed him again, he shrugged. " Elliot will do for now," he responded, inclining his head slightly at the proper use of his title. At least she got it right. " Unless of course you want to call you something preposterous like ex-Elliot." He smirked at that, then inclined his head. " Just call me Norrington, and yes, I'm going to let you help me. Why else do you think I'm standing here?"
James held out his arm, ushering 'Elliot' around so that she was able to bandage his arm without forcing him to turn his back to the shadows where Barbossa so certainly lurked. She managed to extract the bullet, filling the hole with a tightly packed ball of cloth before binding the wound freely. All in all, it was more than he had expected. Swinging his arm around a little, despite the pain, James examined the work she had done, and found it quite up to par with what he would have expected from one of his own crew members. Maybe the Navy's standards hadn't slipped quite has far as he had thought.
" I'm quite impressed. You've done a fine job. " If he had still possessed some sort of authority, he might have even put her name up for promotion... if she wasn't a woman, at least. Too many 'ifs' had come up in the last few years of Norrington's life it seemed. " I would expect you to continue in such a manner in every aspect of life. So, I ask you, what is it you plan to do with me now, Elliot?" Running his hand over his now clean-shaven face, and pulling his loose brown hair back into some semblance of a pony-tail, Norrington picked his sword up from the ground, and buckled it again on his waist, this time hanging off his right hip.
He stared down at the dead men at his feet, then looked back at Elliot, green eyes dancing in the light of the torch bracketed to the wall. " You can seek revenge on the man who killed your shipmates, or you can work with a pirate. You don't have any easy paths, I'm afraid."
(( Ew. Ugliest post in the universe of posts. -pleads forgiveness-
We don't have any Anne Bonny, so I can't make Norrington talk to her and be all like 'Oh look, shiny Aztec gold... ANGST + GUILT!!!', because it would be kinda pointless to do so while he's trying to hold some sort of a conversation with Arienne.
UGH! -feels horrible- ))
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Post by Arienne Kelver on Aug 6, 2007 19:45:54 GMT -5
Work with a pirate? This idea was so absurd, in a way, even a tad frightening. The frightening part, however, was that she considered it, if even only for a moment. It would never work, she knew that. Pirates like he might have been able to push aside all their responsibilities and loyalties; betray everyone that mattered, and think of only themselves, but Arienne knew this was one of the things she could not do. There was also the issue of most of the world; those that mattered anyway, believed that she was her brother. Imagine what grief that would cause him, to have his own name plastered all over a ‘wanted’ poster. Even after identifying that it was not him, by people that had worked with her, he would know. He was like that, Elliot. The real Elliot, anyway. He knew her too well, and it terrified her at times. All these reasons were why she would never take up this pirate, this Norrington, that had thrown everything away, his whole career, and yet she was still tempted. She still considered it, even though she knew she would turn him down. That puzzled her. It didn’t seem as absurd as it should. Still absurd, yes, just not as much as it should have.
Hand immediately tightening around the hilt it had never left, the woman shifted the majority of her weight from one foot to the other. “Actually, Mister Norrington,” the word, his name, was spoken somewhat awkwardly, as she tried out the pronunciation. “There is a third option.” On cue, her sword was drawn, as she shrugged almost apologetically. “You, Mister Norrington, are under arrest.” The tip of her sword rested gently on the front of his shirt, and she hoped she wouldn’t have to use it. However, he had been right, none of the paths before her were easy, this one in the least. He would not go quietly, she knew, for she would neither if the situation were reverse.
To be truthful, she almost expected him to laugh at her. He did have something over her, he knew that she was not ‘Elliot’, and what Arienne had not to stopped to think was that he might pass along this tidbit to the prison guards, when she turned him in. If she turned him in. It was all very likely that he would rather die than be turned in, as most pirates did.
This was how it came to be, how Miss Kelver came to be holding a pirate as sword point, ‘arresting him’. The navy Man’s eyes were fixed on her opponent’s face, never wavering, waiting for him to make a move.
((Gah, that post of mine absolutely sucked. I apologize for it, and for the fact that there was a delay in getting it up.))[/font][/size]
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Post by James Norrington on Aug 9, 2007 15:05:49 GMT -5
She was considering it. If only for a moment, it was evident that he had connected with her in some minimal way. James watched 'Elliot' intently, his peircing green eyes examining her every expression with a degree of scrutiny. He saw her fearfully trying to deny the very fact she was considering it, and with a great burst of tremendous self control, she reached one of the hardest decisions she possibly could have. The right one.
The gentle touch of cold steel on his chest brought made Norrington smile. His display of emotion however, was not one of jest, but rather of approval. Sometimes- oftentimes -the right path was the most difficult, and she proved herself to be firm in her values. He certainly couldn't blame her for attempting his arrest, in her position he certainly would have done the same... once upon a time. Inclining his head, Norrington accepted her decision, and made one of his own.
Keeping his hands in plain sight, Norrington reached down and unbuckled his sabre, resting it on the floor and tossing it gently towards his opponent's feet. He rose slowly, allowing his navy and yellow Admiral's jacket to slide off his shoulders as he did so. He slipped his arms out of the expansive sleeves, and held it, folded, over his arm as he stared evenly past Elliot into the shadows beyond.
" What do you fear, Miss Elliot?" He inquired, gesturing around to the halls around him. " Death?" the soldiers below his feet. "Disease?" the sick, withered creatures pleading from the nearby cells. "Darkness?" the inky blackness seeping from every corner. Or perhaps it was something else entirely.
" Do you fear yourself? Is it perhaps that you're frightened of the unlimitless evil that the human mind can be capable of... of the unlimitless destruction that you yourself could commit if you allowed yourself a little free-reign on life? Do you fear emotion, just because it's less painful just to block it all out? Do you fear that one day, you'll make the wrong choice... and it will all go downhill from there?" He gestured this time to himself, his face deadly serious.
He side-stepped suddenly, drawing his jacket across his front as he did so, catching the tip of her sword in the folds of cloth and flicking it just enough out of his way for him to escape. He ducked down, snatching his blade from by her feet and bringing it up, sheath and all, towards Elliot's sword. The two blades connected, the clash of metal muted by the leather casing on James's weapon. He jerked his sword rapidly back, tugging it out of the casing and driving the hilt down firmly upon the back of her neck, delivering a formidable, yet non-lethal blow. For a moment, he stood there, heart heavy. James slipped his cravat from his neck. With the ease of a seasoned sailor, he tied her hands together, lashing her firmly to the bars of an empty cell.
" By your leave, Miss Elliot," he muttered, inclining his head once more toward her before starting away. His eyes now sought the cell Barbossa had been so set on examining, and eventually, Barbossa himself. [/size]
(( Feel free to have Arienne wake-up and escape within the next couple of minutes. Also be warned though, that we will probably end up having to make them come to some sort of compromise, because it'd be really boring having them fight forever. xDD ))
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Post by Arienne Kelver on Aug 16, 2007 4:54:07 GMT -5
Navy Man Frederick Jarr held his breath, lest the sound of his lungs taken in air betray his position. A faint sound in the distance, not enough to justify sending more than one man to check it out, just for peace of mine, if nothing else, had brought him to this very moment in time. To this shocking discovery. His body was hidden in the shadows, watching the scene unfold before him. An officer, one named Kaeller, Kaller, Keeler, or something like that stood facing a pirate admit a sea of bodies, bodies of his colleagues. There was no doubt they were dead. The lips of the two moved, although Jarr was too far away to make out the words. Just when he had been about to make himself known, approach his fellow navy man, when he made a move that shocked Frederick to the core. Kelver, that was his name, slid his sword back into his sheath, before ripping a piece of fabric from the uniform of one of the fallen. More words were exchanged, and the Navy Man bandaged the wound of the pirate. This was too much to handle. This man, Kelver, was in cahoots with a pirate?
He must have helped this fifthly pirate cut down the loyal countrymen that now littered the floor. A traitor. One as deserving of the gallows as the pirate himself.
Jarr could not take it any longer. As silently as possible, he turned, hurrying back towards of the guard stations. He’d sound the alarm, teach Kelver and any man like him to betray his motherland.
----
The pounding in her ears was as loud as the firing of a cannon. The young woman felt as though she, or more accurately, her head, had been run over by a dozen horses. It was in that moment, of coming back into consciousness, that she remembered what had happened, who had gotten away, and realized her predicament. The reason behind her throbbing arms was the fact that both her wrists had been bound, securing her to the bars of one of the empty cells. The sword that not too long ago had been firmly gripped in her hand lay a few feet away, just out of reach, but it wasn’t like that would stop her from trying. She couldn’t let the pirate get away, she couldn’t. Using her left foot, Arienne reached out for the hilt of the sword, biting her lip in pain as the rope that bound her bit into her flesh as she attempted to pull away from the steel bars of the cell and towards the cell. Just a little further, only a few centimeters now. She could do this, she had to. Warm blood trickled down her wrists, from the wounds the rope had formed.
Letting out a gasp in pain, the Navy Man had almost been ready to give up, when her boot hit the flat blade of the sword. Drawing her leg back towards her, and subsequently the blade as well, she worked it so that the blade of the sword rested flat on the top of her boot. “One…two…three…” She muttered, before taking a deep breath. With that, her foot jerked in an upward motion, sending the sword flying, landing with a clang next to the bars, and next to her hands, which had been tied behind her back. Stretching out her fingers, they grasp the hilt awkwardly, using the sharp blade to saw through bindings.
Finally, she was free. Rubbing her wrists, the woman stood, holding her sword ready. Now to find the pirate. Surprisingly, she had a pretty good idea which way he had gone. Nothing as conclusive as evidence, mind you, but something as simple as a gut feeling. One that felt so right that it couldn’t be wrong. Without so much as a second’s hesitation, Arienne took off at a runner’s pace, careful to sheath her sword before doing so, lest she trip and run herself through.
It did not take long for the sword to be brandished. Eyes locked on her target, a man that had not yet spotted her. “Norrington.” She called out, advancing on him. No, there was nothing honorable in killing a man from behind. He had to be facing her, that was the only honorable way.
However, a shout from behind made her whirl around, somewhat startled, one eye kept on the pirate at all times.
Eight Navy Officers were quickly making their way towards her, swords brandished, all spying the pirate at that point. What she had expected, however, when they came to a halt was not what had happened. No, they had quickly milled to surround Norrington, a move she had anticipated, but when they surrounded her also, she knew something was wrong. “What is the meaning of this?” She questioned, taking a few steps towards the leading man. Threateningly, he waved his sword at her, pressing her backward the few steps she had moved. “You’re a traitor, Kelver.” The man practically spat, as if the word’s left a vile taste in his mind. “Both you are you’re pirate ‘friend’ will face the gallows. I’m disgusted by people like you, do you have no loyalties but those to yourself?” Obviously he expected no answer.
‘People like you.’
He had no idea what he was talking about. The young woman attempted to protest, but knew it was no good. They weren’t going to take her word above what evidence they thought they had. Stealing a glance at Norrington, she gulped. They really were in the same boat now. [/size]
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