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Garrett stepped off the raft as it connected with the land, near the louguetown harbor. How good it felt to be free at last… He took a deep breath, taking in his surroundings. Now that he was here… he needed a ship. Walking up the shore, to the nearby streets, he caught sight of the shipyard, which he gazed at longingly for a few moments… One of those ships would be his soon enough. He headed through the town, spotting one vessel that he fancied. The flag bore an insignia of a compass, which was missing a chunk, and not pointing north… A broken compass. Garrett watched the small crew of the ship step off the boat, onto the shore, one at a time. A man whom Garrett could only assume was the captain attached a chain and lock to the wheel, twirling a key on his finger, and stuffing it into his coat as he walked. He shouted at several of the men, who hung their heads and walked back onto the ship. They must be the guards.
“So… I’ll need that key to commandeer the ship.” He said to himself, watching as the men walked into a nearby tavern. “And then, deal with the rest of them… quietly.” He finished, watching as the men passed around a bottle and started a card game. Garrett walked towards the tavern, scheming of a way to get the keys off the man. Opening the door to the tavern, he sat at a bench near the entrance, scanning the crowd for the captain. “There.” He whispered to himself, spotting the man, sitting at a table with a few other crew mates. Eventually, a woman approached him, with a pad of paper in her hand.
“Can I get you anything?” She asked.
“No, I’m still thinking about what I want, thanks” Said Garrett politely. The waitress nodded and walked away, through a pair of wooden doors. Garrett tilted his head slightly, listening to her speaking to the man at the counter.
“These guys want some stronger stuff.” He said to the waitress.
“How strong?” She asked.
“The strongest stuff you’ve got!” Said one of the men at the counter, who was clearly drunk beyond belief. The waitress glanced over at the man once more.
“Get these guys some canyon rush. That’ll fix em’ up.” He told her. The woman nodded, pulling open a cellar door, and stepping down, into the dark room. She came up with a much darker ale then what most of the people here were drinking… The strongest stuff they had, apparently. But just how strong was it? Garrett sat for a while, watching the men drink it, ordering a round for a man who appeared completely sober at the time. Within minutes of drinking a glass, he was just as loopy as the rest of them. That could work, then…
“You made up your mind yet, kid?” Asked the waitress, who had walked back to him. Garrett caught sight of her notepad. It had labels for every person in there, from “The guy in green” to “Fat guy… tips well.” And… Sure enough, “Captain and crew” was written near the top. He had to think fast as to how he was going to change the order.
“Ahh, yes. Could you please tell me what THAT is?” He asked, pointing to a keg of what he could only assume was spirits, behind the counter.
“That, oh, that’s our original brew, home made from-“ She said, beginning to explain it to him, turning her head away to look at the keg. While she wasn’t looking, Garrett leaned over, pulling a pen from his pocket, and scribbling out the crew’s order, rewriting “Canyon Rush” in as close an imitation to her handwriting as possible. He had to write lightly, since she was still holding the pad of paper, just resting her arm against a chair, but he felt confident that he’d written it correctly.
“-so does that sound good to you?” She said, turning her head back to him. Garrett simply nodded.
“I’ll have one of those.” He said. The woman nodded, turning and walking away to get the drinks. Now, he waited. Within minutes, the drinks were out, the darker brew known as “Canyon Rush” landing in front of every member of the ship’s crew. They didn’t even think twice about it, they just drank it, and pretty much all of it was gone before you could blink. Garrett sipped from his own glass, paying for it and tipping the waitress, as he waited for the effects to begin. Soon enough, the men were dancing and singing loudly like children, the alcohol taxing their foresight. Garrett stood up and approached the captain, who was snoozing atop a table, rolled him over, and took the key from his pocket when no one was looking. He quickly made his way out of the tavern, towards the ship. He was almost through, now all he had to do was deal with the three men already on board. They were still playing their little card game, gazing longingly at the tavern.
“How to go about this…” Garrett wondered aloud to himself. He was without a doubt no match for the three men, especially without a weapon, but perhaps he could outwit them. Stepping onboard the ship, he cleared his throat.
“What do you want?” Asked one of the man, picking up his cutlass, and glaring at him.
“Hello gentlemen. Are you aware you’ve docked your boat on a reserved dock?” Asked Garrett in a businesslike tone.
“Private dock? Do you think we care? Do you know who owns this ship?” Asked one of the men, rising in anger.
“Well, if you don’ want your ship commandeered by the navy, I’d suggest you take it up with the dock’s owner.” Countered Garrett.
“Who would that be?” One of the men asked, folding his arms.
“That man.” Said Garrett, pointing over to a rich-looking man, who was currently speaking to a sailor. The men on the boat looked at each other, before quickly jumping onto the dock, making a beeline for the man, looking very frustrated. Garrett noticed that two of them carried swords, and two of them had guns on their belts. Looking to the place they were sitting, he saw a sword and pistol laying on a stack of barrels. He quickly put both pieces of equipment on his belt, just in case the sailors turned and saw him. Looking over at them, they seemed very preoccupied with shouting at the man Garrett pointed out, who seemed very confused. Garrett sniggered, quickly and quietly moving to the wheel of the ship, and sticking the key into the lock, watching the chains fall to the floor. Now was the question of… how the hell was he supposed to do this by himself? His plan was too far along now, he couldn’t just stop… He shrugged. He knew quite a bit about how to pilot these things, since he’d been confined to a study with nothing but books for company for most of his life. He quickly climbed the mast, shimmying across and untying the sail on each end, so that it dropped down and caught the wind, which was thankfully blowing in the right direction to get him out of the harbor. The boat moved quickly through the water, away from the harbor. In the distance, screams of rage could be heard, and three gunshots went off, echoing. Garrett just grinned, turning the wheel so that he wasn’t just going straight out into the sea. He wasn’t all that good of a navigator, so it was probably best to stick to the shores, and stay near landmarks.
Eventually, He found himself a discreet location not too far from a harbor, where he managed to pull up the sails, figure out how to use the oars at the bottom of the ship, and drop anchor. Then he got the chance to take inventory of what exactly he had. It was quite a nice vessel, with six bunks and three hammocks, a well-stocked kitchen and medical area, and even a captain’s quarters. He stepped into the quarters, looking at the maps strewn across the table. He walked over to the bed, and noted he would have to wash the sheets. Walking back out to the main deck, he climbed the mast again, just for the sake of doing it, and noticed the flag again. A broken compass… “The Broken Compass. She’s perfect.” He said, standing on the masthead and holding out his arms, as the wind rushed into his face. This had gone pretty well, all things considered, he’d gotten basic armaments, and a ship. “Now all I need is a crew…” He said, looking off into the distance. That harbor nearby was as good a place as any to start. He let the sails fly again, quickly hopping down and taking the wheel. “Here we go.” He said, smirking as he turned the ship to the harbor.
(Word count: 1510)
- The Broken Compass aquired
- Basic cutlass taken from the ship guard
- Basic flintlock pistol taken from the ship guard
“So… I’ll need that key to commandeer the ship.” He said to himself, watching as the men walked into a nearby tavern. “And then, deal with the rest of them… quietly.” He finished, watching as the men passed around a bottle and started a card game. Garrett walked towards the tavern, scheming of a way to get the keys off the man. Opening the door to the tavern, he sat at a bench near the entrance, scanning the crowd for the captain. “There.” He whispered to himself, spotting the man, sitting at a table with a few other crew mates. Eventually, a woman approached him, with a pad of paper in her hand.
“Can I get you anything?” She asked.
“No, I’m still thinking about what I want, thanks” Said Garrett politely. The waitress nodded and walked away, through a pair of wooden doors. Garrett tilted his head slightly, listening to her speaking to the man at the counter.
“These guys want some stronger stuff.” He said to the waitress.
“How strong?” She asked.
“The strongest stuff you’ve got!” Said one of the men at the counter, who was clearly drunk beyond belief. The waitress glanced over at the man once more.
“Get these guys some canyon rush. That’ll fix em’ up.” He told her. The woman nodded, pulling open a cellar door, and stepping down, into the dark room. She came up with a much darker ale then what most of the people here were drinking… The strongest stuff they had, apparently. But just how strong was it? Garrett sat for a while, watching the men drink it, ordering a round for a man who appeared completely sober at the time. Within minutes of drinking a glass, he was just as loopy as the rest of them. That could work, then…
“You made up your mind yet, kid?” Asked the waitress, who had walked back to him. Garrett caught sight of her notepad. It had labels for every person in there, from “The guy in green” to “Fat guy… tips well.” And… Sure enough, “Captain and crew” was written near the top. He had to think fast as to how he was going to change the order.
“Ahh, yes. Could you please tell me what THAT is?” He asked, pointing to a keg of what he could only assume was spirits, behind the counter.
“That, oh, that’s our original brew, home made from-“ She said, beginning to explain it to him, turning her head away to look at the keg. While she wasn’t looking, Garrett leaned over, pulling a pen from his pocket, and scribbling out the crew’s order, rewriting “Canyon Rush” in as close an imitation to her handwriting as possible. He had to write lightly, since she was still holding the pad of paper, just resting her arm against a chair, but he felt confident that he’d written it correctly.
“-so does that sound good to you?” She said, turning her head back to him. Garrett simply nodded.
“I’ll have one of those.” He said. The woman nodded, turning and walking away to get the drinks. Now, he waited. Within minutes, the drinks were out, the darker brew known as “Canyon Rush” landing in front of every member of the ship’s crew. They didn’t even think twice about it, they just drank it, and pretty much all of it was gone before you could blink. Garrett sipped from his own glass, paying for it and tipping the waitress, as he waited for the effects to begin. Soon enough, the men were dancing and singing loudly like children, the alcohol taxing their foresight. Garrett stood up and approached the captain, who was snoozing atop a table, rolled him over, and took the key from his pocket when no one was looking. He quickly made his way out of the tavern, towards the ship. He was almost through, now all he had to do was deal with the three men already on board. They were still playing their little card game, gazing longingly at the tavern.
“How to go about this…” Garrett wondered aloud to himself. He was without a doubt no match for the three men, especially without a weapon, but perhaps he could outwit them. Stepping onboard the ship, he cleared his throat.
“What do you want?” Asked one of the man, picking up his cutlass, and glaring at him.
“Hello gentlemen. Are you aware you’ve docked your boat on a reserved dock?” Asked Garrett in a businesslike tone.
“Private dock? Do you think we care? Do you know who owns this ship?” Asked one of the men, rising in anger.
“Well, if you don’ want your ship commandeered by the navy, I’d suggest you take it up with the dock’s owner.” Countered Garrett.
“Who would that be?” One of the men asked, folding his arms.
“That man.” Said Garrett, pointing over to a rich-looking man, who was currently speaking to a sailor. The men on the boat looked at each other, before quickly jumping onto the dock, making a beeline for the man, looking very frustrated. Garrett noticed that two of them carried swords, and two of them had guns on their belts. Looking to the place they were sitting, he saw a sword and pistol laying on a stack of barrels. He quickly put both pieces of equipment on his belt, just in case the sailors turned and saw him. Looking over at them, they seemed very preoccupied with shouting at the man Garrett pointed out, who seemed very confused. Garrett sniggered, quickly and quietly moving to the wheel of the ship, and sticking the key into the lock, watching the chains fall to the floor. Now was the question of… how the hell was he supposed to do this by himself? His plan was too far along now, he couldn’t just stop… He shrugged. He knew quite a bit about how to pilot these things, since he’d been confined to a study with nothing but books for company for most of his life. He quickly climbed the mast, shimmying across and untying the sail on each end, so that it dropped down and caught the wind, which was thankfully blowing in the right direction to get him out of the harbor. The boat moved quickly through the water, away from the harbor. In the distance, screams of rage could be heard, and three gunshots went off, echoing. Garrett just grinned, turning the wheel so that he wasn’t just going straight out into the sea. He wasn’t all that good of a navigator, so it was probably best to stick to the shores, and stay near landmarks.
Eventually, He found himself a discreet location not too far from a harbor, where he managed to pull up the sails, figure out how to use the oars at the bottom of the ship, and drop anchor. Then he got the chance to take inventory of what exactly he had. It was quite a nice vessel, with six bunks and three hammocks, a well-stocked kitchen and medical area, and even a captain’s quarters. He stepped into the quarters, looking at the maps strewn across the table. He walked over to the bed, and noted he would have to wash the sheets. Walking back out to the main deck, he climbed the mast again, just for the sake of doing it, and noticed the flag again. A broken compass… “The Broken Compass. She’s perfect.” He said, standing on the masthead and holding out his arms, as the wind rushed into his face. This had gone pretty well, all things considered, he’d gotten basic armaments, and a ship. “Now all I need is a crew…” He said, looking off into the distance. That harbor nearby was as good a place as any to start. He let the sails fly again, quickly hopping down and taking the wheel. “Here we go.” He said, smirking as he turned the ship to the harbor.
(Word count: 1510)
- The Broken Compass aquired
- Basic cutlass taken from the ship guard
- Basic flintlock pistol taken from the ship guard
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